The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  ‘Have you tried a match from his home – a hairbrush, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Not yet, I was going to put a forensic team in but when I went to look over the place I found it had been cleaned. That won’t be easy, you wouldn’t think anyone had actually lived there. I don’t hold with conspiracies, but I would like to know who did the clean-up. It was us, I’m sure, but what department, and who authorised it?’

  ‘Cock-up rather than conspiracy, you think? I’m sure forensics will turn up something you can use.’ Howard turned to a small computer terminal on his desk and tapped in the names.

  From where Toni sat, she couldn’t see the screen but she guessed it was likely to generate information similar to her own. Access denied, with an MI6 reference number.

  She was wrong. Howard’s higher security clearance did the job.

  ‘Webb was an asset. That much I can tell you,’ Howard said, looking at the screen. ‘I will speak to his handler to see if we can authorise your access to his PF. Monaghan will be harder. The block on that is at a much higher level.’ He turned off the screen and stood up. ‘Leave it with me,’ Howard continued. ‘I’ll get back to you in a day or two.’

  Meeting over, Howard walked Toni back to the security reception. They shook hands.

  ‘Just out of interest,’ he said. ‘Have you actually read the Cyclone book?’

  ‘Not really, no. I had a scan though a copy and, of course, I read the analyst briefing on it.’

  ‘Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother. The author has upset some major players by revealing some very embarrassing facts – as per the analyst report – but much of it is fantasy, hardly worth the paper it’s written on.’

  ‘Thanks … I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘One other thing, Toni,’ Howard leaned closer to her.

  ‘Something else?’

  ‘Just a reminder. Security on foreign soil is the job of Six, not Five. Leave Cristea to us. We’ll find the author and we will find who spilled the beans on the Cyclone operation.’

  Before she could respond, Howard had turned away and disappeared back into the building.

  Chapter 22

  Outside, the rain had eased off but it was still cold.

  On the return walk, Toni found herself thinking deeply about what Howard had said and, the more she thought about it, the more she concluded it didn’t really matter.

  What she had learned was invaluable. MI6 were also interested in Cristea. If Howard saw access to Chas Collins as important enough to warn her off, then, clearly, there was mileage in establishing such a contact. If she could persuade Finlay to take up the offer to travel to Romania, he could provide the very boost her career needed.

  It was a competition, and Howard, it seemed, was prepared to play dirty. But she had the edge, she was in front. She had Robert Finlay.

  For some time, she had been wondering what to do next. MI5 was a hard act to follow; no office job or commercial career would bring the level of excitement and sense of personal worth Security Service membership provided. But if there was kudos about being an officer in MI5, the mystique surrounding MI6 was all the greater. The fictional life of James Bond may have been just that, but breaking and entering in foreign lands, undermining and spying on both friendly and unfriendly governments, and operating behind enemy lines really were all part of the job. The 1994 Security Services Act had given MI6 immunity from prosecution for illegal acts committed abroad, provided prior authority was given by the Foreign Secretary. So MI6 agents could, and did, break laws and, of course, ran the risks that discovery involved.

  Howard Green had hinted he was involved in exactly this type of work – work that appealed to her. If she secured the intelligence MI6 were seeking, she could engineer things to ensure they both shared the limelight; she and Howard. Surely, he would then forgive her for not obeying his orders.

  In the coming months, she knew the overwhelming demand upon the Security Services was going to be the threat from Moslem extremists. MI5 would try and deal with the home-grown problems but it would be MI6 that would be facing the greatest challenge. They would need people like her and she was ready to make the move. She could speak Spanish and French, had a working knowledge of Russian and her Arabic was improving by the week.

  By the time she turned into Broadway and walked across the front of St James’s Park tube station, her mind was made up. As she approached the rotating doors of Scotland Yard and smiled to the two MP5-carrying policemen on duty outside, she was already making plans.

  MI6 it was.

  Chapter 23

  Heathrow Airport, London

  ‘You’re brown,’ said Jenny.

  I grinned, dropped my bag, and threw my arms around her. ‘No Becky?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s at home … at the house. A new man from Toni’s office is looking after her until we get there.’

  ‘No worries.’ I placed my hands on Jenny’s face, caressed her cheeks and then kissed her gently. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Likewise. You look really well. And before you say anything, Toni has told me all about your heroism. Saving beautiful Romanian princesses from certain death now, are we?’

  I laughed as I leaned down to recover my bag, nearly tripping over it as I did so. ‘News travels fast; that’s a slight spin on the story, I think.’

  Jenny held my arm tight. ‘Why didn’t you say anything when you telephoned?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you … make you think I had been doing something risky. It really wasn’t a big deal, I just happened to be there when she got into difficulties.’

  Jenny stopped, turned to face me and shook her head, gently. ‘That’s so typical of you, Robert. A girl owes you her life and you make it sound like what you did was all in a normal day’s work.’

  I cracked a grin. ‘OK … so maybe I did a good thing. But anyone else would have done the same. Now, where’s the car?’ For a moment, I thought I detected a mischievous look in my wife’s eyes.

  ‘In the short stay, come on … let’s go.’

  As we walked to the car park, we chatted and laughed. I felt good, better than I had in weeks. I explained about the extra dive course, the Romanians and who Marica was. Then, as briefly as I could – given Jenny clearly wouldn’t rest until she knew everything – I explained what had happened on the day Marica had nearly drowned.

  ‘Well, it sounds to me like you definitely saved her,’ she said. ‘You must have taken to the diving then?’

  ‘It was amazing. I used to love the helicopter trips in the army but this was way better. It was like being Superman, able to float and fly … to be weightless.’

  ‘Worth the trip, then?’

  ‘More than. And being in the right place for Marica was the icing on the cake.’

  ‘She was grateful?’

  ‘She was very grateful.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Jenny answered, coyly. ‘How grateful?’

  ‘Enough to invite us both to her wedding in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘She’s getting married in Egypt?’

  ‘In Romania, at her home near Bucharest. She gave me an official invitation.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I’d ask you.’

  ‘But you’d like to go.’

  ‘I think so … but I’m not sure if work would permit me the time off. I’m due to start the new job on Monday with a new team. They might not be keen on me taking leave so soon.’

  Jenny paid the parking fee with a credit card as we chatted, and then we made the short walk to the first floor and along the lines of cars. Her reaction to the invitation was more positive than I had expected. Somehow she had read about Romanian weddings and was aware they could be great parties with a lot of music and dancing. But the cost, that would be a significant factor. Whether we would be able to afford the trip might decide whether we went or not.

  As we drew level with a little yellow car sat at the end of one line, I saw Jenny glance across at it.
The familiar shape filled me with sadness. A 2CV. Just like the one that had been blown up on our driveway some weeks previously.

  I made to walk on, looking for our Audi, but Jenny turned in front of me, and placed her hand on my chest. Without uttering a word, she held out some keys with a Citroen fob attached. The reason for the mischievous look in the arrivals hall became clear. This was the surprise she had been teasing me about. There were tears in my eyes as I threw my arms around her. Between salt-flavoured kisses and hugs, we eventually put my bag on the back seat and then climbed in.

  ‘You bought it?’ I asked.

  ‘It was in the supermarket car park with a ‘for sale’ sign in the windscreen and a phone number. It was impulsive, I know, but I rang the number straight away. The man who owned it came out of the shop and we agreed a price there and then.’

  ‘Some things are just meant to be, I guess.’

  ‘It was £750. But, I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  I didn’t. Jenny drove us home. I was tired and the surprise of the car had left me feeling a little emotional. For the whole drive home my hand subconsciously stroked Jenny’s left knee. I didn’t speak, there was no need.

  Chapter 24

  Reluctant as she was to admit it of someone so new, Toni Fellowes was impressed by Stuart Anderson. A transfer in from the police, he was a quick learner and had a wealth of experience.

  He was surveillance trained, an expert interrogator and spoke Arabic thanks to his time in Special Branch. In many ways he was ideal Security Service material. He wasn’t a graduate, though, which explained why he hadn’t been noticed earlier. It was only recently that the Service had realised the need for Arab linguists. Stuart became one of the fast-tracked entrants. He was yet to complete his initial MI5 course and had been allocated to her department temporarily until he did. As a result, his security clearance was very low, which limited what she could do with him.

  Stuart had been a little reluctant about child-minding – that was until he had actually met Becky. Her cheeky laugh and huge smile won him over, as Toni knew they would. Inside of ten minutes, the two of them had been sat side-by-side playing Nintendo on the television.

  With Becky now settled on a different game, Toni led the new addition to her team on a tour of the safe house to discuss the layout and security risks. She left doors open so they could be sure their charge was OK.

  Stuart’s assessment of the house was spot on. With strengthened windows and doors, the building was to some extent a fortress, but one that could only withstand so much. Its real strength lay in its anonymity and secrecy. As they walked around, she brought him up to date on the Finlay family and what she knew about Webb, Monaghan and the hit team that had been employed to kill former soldiers.

  Two of the would-be assassins were dead, she explained, and the remaining pair were in the high-security prison at Belmarsh. Of those, one was just a sleeper; he knew nothing. The other, Dominic McGlinty, wasn’t talking; as a seasoned IRA man he knew better. Toni had interviewed him briefly, about a week after she had inherited the Finlay case. It had been a wasted exercise.

  She also shared her concerns with Stuart about the cleansing of Monaghan’s home. Although he was new, Stuart had a policing career behind him, and he agreed with her assessment that the possible removal of any forensic evidence they might have gained was more likely cock-up than conspiracy. Just like the Met, MI5 was a big, unwieldy organisation and was well known for its communication breakdowns, both internally and externally. It was no surprise that a department would be tasked with taking care of a dead operative’s house without thinking another department might be investigating his death.

  Howard Green, she kept out of the conversation. If he came up trumps then she would learn more about what had driven Monaghan to murder and how Richard Webb had been pulled into the plan. As things stood, Stuart didn’t need to know where that information might come from.

  They had not long finished the tour of the safe house when the Finlays returned from the airport.

  Toni noticed the changed appearance as soon as Finlay walked through the door. A slight suntan made him look much healthier and he was smiling. It was a warm smile, telling her his emotions hadn’t been completely killed off by the events of recent weeks. It was a good sign he might just be on the road to recovery, and suggested her decision to send him to Egypt, although convenient, had been the right one.

  She introduced Stuart, who offered to make tea and then, as a group, they sat down to talk. Throughout the discussion, she was careful to appear that she was talking from a welfare perspective, but occasionally, carefully, she slipped in a loaded question. Did Robert have any problems saying he was a driving instructor? No. Did the girl he saved have lots of friends with her? Yes; and he provided some useful detail. When he mentioned the incredible coincidence of Marica’s family being the publishers of the very book Jenny had given him to read on the holiday, she smiled to herself. It was a pity Chas Collins hadn’t been there, but now, with the book so fresh in his mind, Finlay would probably take the opportunity to talk to the author should they meet in Romania. There was one awkward moment – when Finlay asked how she already knew he had saved the girl – but she easily deflected it by reminding him the hotel was approved for use by MI5 officers. The answer seemed to satisfy him. On the subject of whether the couple could afford a trip to Romania, however, she played it safe, suggesting it was unlikely funding would be available for a second trip.

  But, all the while she promised herself – hell or high water – Finlay, would be going to the wedding.

  Chapter 25

  The following day, Toni was working late. It was almost eight o’clock when an email came through from GCHQ. If she had had any doubts about persuading Finlay to take up the wedding invitation, the contents of that email removed them. It concerned Chas Collins’ literary agent.

  Almost all monitoring of telephones was automated, with certain trigger words being programmed to prompt further attention. If used during the conversations of ‘persons of interest’, a report would be generated.

  The agent was a ‘person of interest’.

  A short transcript was attached to the email. It read:

  Subject: Maggie (Margaret) Price

  Occupation: Literary Agent

  Date of recording: 10/21/2001

  Time of Recording: 1525 hrs

  Trigger word combination: Robert Finlay

  Type of recording: Cell phone

  Transcript part summary:

  Incoming caller: Her bodyguard had to be helped by the tourist.

  Subject: Really, didn’t the bodyguard swim?

  Incoming caller: I’m not sure. Anyway, I have the man’s name. Can you check on him? Marica wants to invite him over here to her wedding.

  Subject: Give me a minute (pause). OK, what’s his name?

  Incoming caller: Robert Finlay [trigger]

  Subject: Not heard of him, give me a couple of days. Have you googled the name?

  Incoming caller: Done what?

  Subject: Googled. Run the name through a search engine, the internet. That will give you a heads-up on him I should think.

  Full Conversation Time: 3 mins 7 seconds

  The email concluded with contact details for requesting a full transcript or recording. A recording would be put on CD and sent via secure mail; it would take up to seven days.

  Toni tapped her pen on the edge of her desk. Someone was asking Maggie Price to check on Robert Finlay. She had no doubt in her mind it was a member of the Cristea staff.

  She typed ‘Maggie Price Literary Agent’ into her secure search engine and found the agency’s website. She scanned the various pages: how to contact, submission guidelines, fees, clients, etc. Then, on the events page, she found the very information she sought. Accompanying Chas Collins to the wedding of his publisher’s daughter – looking forward to letting my hair down. Maggie Price was going to Romania … and so was Chas Collins.

  She ke
yed in the request for the full transcript. It would make for interesting reading.

  Chapter 26

  Sex Trafficking Unit, New Scotland Yard

  The first meeting with my new boss had gone badly. Starting a new job by asking to take a long weekend off was never going to go down well. And Superintendent Max Youldon wasn’t known as ‘Mad Max’ without good reason. The thin walls of his office seemed to shake as he roared his disapproval.

  Youldon was an experienced career detective. He had read my police file before my arrival and, as he took pleasure in telling me as I sat down, had immediately gone to see Grahamslaw to register his disapproval.

  He pointed out in no uncertain terms that, with the exception of a short stint on a crime squad in Kentish Town, I had no CID experience. I hadn’t completed the CID initial course at Hendon Detective School and I knew little about interrogation, forensics, crime investigation, running informants or any of the other skills he considered essential to detective work, particularly the rank of Detective Inspector. He objected to being, as he put it, ‘lumbered’ with me.

  Grahamslaw, much to my relief, had sent him packing. I was coming to his command, whether he liked it or not.

  He stared at me intently for a moment across the top of his glasses, and snarled, ‘You, Finlay, are what we call a plastic. You’re a cop in name only. You protection people wear the uniform but how many collars have you felt, how many court cases have you put together, how many times have you gripped the rails at the Old Bailey?’

  His questions were clearly rhetorical, and I thought it best to keep quiet.

  ‘Right, I’m teaming you up with Matt Miller and Nina Brasov. Matt’s also an inspector but he’s a proper DI. He’s been Flying Squad as well as come through the mill on division. If you drink Penderyn whisky you two might just get on. Nina … well, you can find out about her yourself, but she won’t be with us for long, she’s off to the Organised Crime Squad. Now get out of my sight and see if you’ve got enough detective ability to find them.’