The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  ‘Already in hand,’ said Dyer, his voice, once again, calm. ‘What I want to know, people, is if any of you know how Armstrong came to be in possession of this document?’ He tapped the papers firmly with his pen.

  No further hands were raised or contributions forthcoming. But Toni felt the almost palpable tension in the room.

  And the Assistant Director also appeared to sense it.

  But he remained silent. Returning the document to his briefcase, he slid back in his chair and, making no further comment, he walked the short distance to the closed door. And then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him, leaving those present wondering exactly what had just happened.

  Chapter 37

  Toni bore down on Miles Chadbourne like a guided missile.

  His office, below ground and devoid of natural light, was where she knew he would be headed and where she expected to find him alone. She wasn’t disappointed. His door was slightly ajar and, as she pushed it fully open, she found he was already back at his desk, hunched over, nose in what looked like a lengthy report.

  ‘I half expected to see you,’ he said, without lifting his gaze from the papers in front of him.

  ‘May I sit down?’ Toni asked politely. Catch more flies with honey, she thought, than you ever would with salt. It was an expression her mother had often used when she was young, normally with reference to persuading her father to do something around the house. It had been good advice.

  Miles was old school. An Oxford graduate – Balliol, if Toni remembered correctly. Recruited straight from university and now with more than fifteen years in the Service under his belt, it was said he was on first-name terms with several very senior politicians. But now Miles was ensconced in the basement of Thames House. His progress up through the ranks had come to a sudden and rather mysterious halt. There were rumours about what had happened, of course. His liking for alcohol, his bachelor status and his reputed interest in ‘the ladies’ were all possible reasons why he’d been black-balled. Truth was, nobody outside of Miles and the need-to-know few had any idea. All his peers and subordinates knew was that Miles remained in T5 department, where he was left, very much on his own, to get on with handling whatever report was sent his way.

  He extended a puffy hand, indicating Toni could make use of the single wooden seat opposite him. She sat and waited, taking the opportunity to cast an eye around her. Everything looked temporary. A large number of dusty box files sat three-high in one corner and in another a grey two-drawer filing cabinet stood with its bottom section open. There were no pictures, no books, not even a pen holder – nothing to give the room any sense of personal investment.

  It looked like Miles had been using the floor to study a selection of documents, which still lay where he had left them. Her guess was that it wouldn’t take long for his pretence at being rather too busy to give way to curiosity.

  She was right. Fifteen seconds was all it took. He leaned back in his chair and placed his reading glasses on the paperwork.

  She smiled warmly. ‘You were expecting me?’ she asked, with exaggerated curiosity.

  ‘You’re new,’ Miles answered. ‘And I saw the way you were studying us all as the Assistant Director spoke. You were looking for a reaction.’

  ‘Is that how it appeared? I’m sorry. It’s only my second such meeting and I guess I’m still learning the etiquette.’

  Miles huffed. ‘So, I presume you want to talk about what was going on in there?’

  ‘That would be nice, yes … if you didn’t mind. I’m feeling slightly out of my depth and, well, I hoped I might reach out to a friend, so to speak.’

  ‘Drink?’ he asked.

  ‘A tea would be nice, I don’t mind making.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a little stronger.’

  Toni frowned slightly. ‘Perhaps a little early for me.’ She cast around the office, looking for any sign of a kettle or percolator. There was none. Miles might just be toying with her, she thought.

  ‘Yes, it probably is. Anyway, when I saw you looking at me in the Long Room meeting – I wondered if that might bring you down to the dungeon.’

  ‘The dungeon?’

  Miles smirked. ‘It’s what we call the lower levels. Rumour has it that many years ago, some of these rather shabby offices were actually used as cells and interrogation rooms. Nice and quiet, you see, away from prying ears and eyes.’

  ‘Just a rumour?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Miles eased his heavy frame out of his chair, then walked around the desk and behind Toni. She had left the door slightly ajar. ‘Best keep this between us,’ he added, as he pushed it closed.

  For a moment Toni felt vulnerable. Miles was behind her, the door now shut. And, to the best of her knowledge, none of the offices in the immediate vicinity were occupied. She brushed the feeling aside.

  ‘They listen in on us, you know,’ he continued. ‘Monitor phone calls, bug offices. Spying on the spies.’

  ‘Should we be surprised?’ Toni replied, as Miles returned to his chair, the frame creaking. ‘After all, who better to be targeted by a foreign power than the very people charged with keeping a country’s secrets?’

  Miles scowled. ‘You’re comfortable with the idea of being spied on?’

  ‘In some ways I find it reassuring. For example, I know you are someone I can trust as I’m aware that, if you weren’t, the watchers would have found you out. So, yes, I’m fairly comfortable with it.’

  ‘I see your point, but I’m not sure if everyone upstairs would agree with you. Anyway, what I can tell you is that I sweep this office every day. So far as I’m able to tell, the watchers are happy with me for now.’

  ‘You do have a pretty good reputation.’

  ‘I see.’ Miles paused, as if assimilating what Toni had said, making an assessment of her, weighing up if she could be trusted. ‘What, in particular, piqued your interest at the meeting?’ he asked, finally.

  ‘The death of the weapons inspector.’

  ‘Ah … Dr Armstrong. I should have guessed.’

  ‘I wondered why he should have a PF?’

  ‘That’s easy enough to answer. He travels to countries that interest us, mixes with people we’re interested in and gets to see things we want to know about. Each time people like him return from an inspection, we debrief them fully.’

  ‘To good end?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Toni; it’s not something I’ve been privy to. But, I expect so. Armstrong was in Iraq, so I’d be pretty confident that, despite Saddam’s best efforts, he would have seen and heard things.’

  ‘We spied on him?’

  ‘Likely as not, he was an asset, either formally or through monitoring. His demise will have to be looked at to make sure nothing has been going on that we ought to know about.’

  ‘So why would Dyer be asking us about him?’

  ‘He’s fishing. He’s new to this branch of the service and he’s trying to get up to speed. I’d be fairly sure there were people in the Long Room who know more about Doctor Armstrong than they wanted to say at that time. It wouldn’t surprise me if one or two rather more intimate conversations were taking place, perhaps even now as we speak.’

  ‘And what about that report? He mentioned it was called Al Anfal. Is that an Al Q’aeda affiliated group?’

  Miles paused, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Did I say something out of turn?’ Toni asked.

  Again, there was hesitation. For a moment, Miles went to speak and then stopped himself. Toni waited, silently urging him to say what he was thinking.

  ‘You can’t say?’ she finally asked.

  ‘I … I can say … and I think perhaps I should. But Toni, I do this as a favour that, one day, I hope you will return.’

  ‘We all need friends in this world, Miles. And I’m not the kind who turns her back on a mate or forgets a favour.’

  Miles picked up his reading glasses and spun them slowly between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Very well … I
’ll tell you this. Al Anfal is a name you’d best steer clear of. To the best of my understanding it’s the focus of a clandestine operation run by Six. I stumbled across it a few months ago and started asking questions. Next thing, I’m grounded, given the warning formula and assigned to my new office for a period “to be determined”.’

  ‘Given the warning formula?’

  ‘Told to forget what I knew. The threat was quite clear, Toni. I keep quiet, serve my penance or I end up black-bagged.’

  She was stunned. ‘You … you mean killed?’

  ‘As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the Service tends to use rather more sensitive words than “killed” to describe its darker arts. But yes, that is what I mean.’

  ‘You’re saying there are people who threatened to kill you?’

  ‘Not so much people, as a particular person. But there were others and I have no doubt it went to a high level. I’m not without connections, believe me, but, despite all my very best efforts, my security grading was downgraded – as I was warned would happen – and I was royally shafted. Some would argue that a few years in the dungeon…’

  ‘…was a lot better than what could have happened?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he continued. ‘And you still want to be a friend to me?’

  ‘To be honest, I could do with a friend, someone I can trust to discuss things honestly and openly with.’

  ‘Trust? Ha, that’s something the Service plays lip service to but … well, when it comes to substance, I fear our seniors show very little faith in us.’

  ‘I know what you mean. But surely mistrust is something inherent in a world full of secrets.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he continued. ‘And it seems I may already be sharing things with you that require a level of trust verging on a kind of friendship, yes?’

  ‘I agree, and I’m flattered, truly. So, maybe can we start here and now? If I show some trust in you, will you continue to return the compliment?’ Toni crossed her legs, easing her discomfort on the chair, and, as she did so, she caught the flicker of movement in Miles’ eyes as he glanced downwards. He was studying her.

  ‘We can try,’ he suggested. ‘What specifically was it that interested you about Dyer’s questions?’

  Toni cleared her throat. ‘It was just what we were talking about. The request for information about Al Anfal. I had the impression you weren’t the only one in the room who’d been warned to stay quiet on that topic.’

  Miles breathed deeply then clasped his hands together, almost as if praying. ‘Possibly,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘We may never know as it’s not something we would discuss. And for obvious reasons, if others have received similar warnings.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask who it was that warned you off?’

  ‘That I can’t say, again for obvious reasons.’

  ‘Did you get any further than just learning about the name?’

  Miles glanced over her shoulder towards the door. It was as if he feared someone may be listening outside. Then his lips curled as a smile of realisation began to form. ‘You’ve also heard of it, haven’t you?’

  Toni was silent for a moment. To learn more she was going to need to give a little. ‘Last year. I was researching that book that blew the lid on the Afghan operation to support the Mujahideen.’

  ‘Cyclone. When we were trying to beat the CIA in the race to find the author?’

  ‘Exactly. I stumbled across the name and then followed it up as a line of enquiry.’

  ‘Did it get you anywhere?’

  ‘A call to see Dir‘T’ and a warning to drop it.’

  ‘Which you did?’

  ‘Immediately, yes.’

  ‘The very thing I should have done. Unfortunately, for me it wasn’t the Director of T Section who warned me, otherwise I should have certainly heeded it, as you did. No … I continued to dig and that’s when things went tits up.’

  ‘That’s when you were threatened?’ Toni prodded, hoping she was getting closer to the answer she sought.

  Miles nodded.

  ‘And now,’ Toni continued, ‘given that Dyer is asking questions about the very thing you were grounded for, surely that means it must be less sensitive?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Who knows, I can only hope. Don’t imagine that very thought hasn’t been going through my mind as we speak. So, for all the good it will do you, I’ve decided to give you the name you’re after.’

  ‘What’s changed your mind?’ she asked.

  ‘The realisation that, if something happened to me, at least someone should know who was responsible.’

  ‘So who is it?’

  ‘Not one of us. In fact, it’s someone who is not even a member of this Service.’

  ‘He or she is outside MI5?’ Toni felt the hairs on her neck rise.

  ‘Yes, but not too far outside. The man I’m referring…’ Miles hesitated. As if weighing up, once again, the pros and cons of revealing what Toni wanted to know. ‘Did you ever find that author chap?’ he continued. ‘The one who wrote the Cyclone book.’

  ‘Gone into hiding,’ said Toni. ‘Last heard of in Brussels, we believe. So … the name of the man who warned you off Al Anfal?’

  ‘Ah, yes, the man I’m referring to,’ said Miles. ‘It’s Howard Green.’

  Chapter 38

  The Black Mountains, Mid Wales

  I knew I should have been watching the house, but it wasn’t every day you got to see a sparrowhawk hunt. It looked to me like a female. Not that I was particularly expert, but I remembered being told by an old twitcher who knew a thrush from a fieldfare that the males were too small to hunt anything larger than a blackbird. This one was targeting a small covey of grouse that had been scratching around in the grass upwind of me, unaware of my presence. As I kept a lookout for any movement in Ty Eira – the Armstrong home – I’d become entranced by the family group and had been pleased to see how they reacted quickly to the appearance of the hawk in the sky above them.

  The drive down to Wales had taken me nearly three hours and then there had been the challenge of finding an Ordnance Survey map of the local area to enable me to plan a safe approach. The local town had a decent selection of newsagents where I found every map you could want … except the one I needed. They were sold out and, it was only after several blanks and one long but ultimately unsuccessful hunt through old cardboard boxes with a rather sweet young girl on work experience from the local school that I eventually found a shop that had what I needed.

  I located a quiet car park near to the Offa’s Dyke trail walk, about two miles north-west of my target, worked out what looked like a reasonably safe approach route to Ty Eira, and then used the natural contours of the surrounding hills to conceal my movements. I dressed as if I were hill-walking, with the map hung around my neck in a plastic pouch. If spotted, I doubted anyone would pay me much attention given the number of ramblers and walkers who explored the mountains. Later on though, I’d need to be a lot more careful. One thing I certainly didn’t want was to run into the local police and have to explain why I was searching through the home of a recently deceased weapons inspector.

  It was a hot day, unseasonably so, the pale-blue sky criss-crossed with just the odd wisps of cloud. In the distance, the peak of Waun Fach dominated the skyline. I was now tucked in to a pretty decent vantage point on the edge of the heather, my prostrate form nicely concealed by the green bracken. I’d made use of an old dry-stone wall to get as close to my target as I needed – far enough away that I wouldn’t be seen or heard, but close enough that I could observe movement at both the house and the single approach lane.

  It looked quiet. I’d come prepared for a wait, and just in case, I’d packed a small backpack on which I rested my chin. It contained two water bottles, a compass and some high-protein snack bars. I’d decided against bringing binoculars, figuring I could get close enough to the house to see what I needed to. The phone Toni had given me was on silent – a precaution in case it picked up a signal, a
lthough that was something of a rarity in these parts.

  I gave it twenty minutes, guessing that, if the house had any occupants, they would reveal their presence in some way during that amount of time. As I waited, I was grateful for the cushioning effect of the short mountain grass. Rapid and unexpected movement drew attention so I kept everything slow, moving my eyes first, and then my head. It was habit drilled into me many years previously, and had now become so automatic I did it without thinking. I’d spent many a long hour in hides watching caches of concealed weapons that had been discovered by the local police; afterwards, we would wait for someone to try and recover them. Twenty minutes watching a house was child’s play. It also gave me time to put together a plan to deal with the kit that lay hidden beneath Kevin’s allotment shed. I was going to need to move it, and soon, before Mellor stumbled across it and we were all in the mire.

  The sparrowhawk appeared again, then dived and jinked as it narrowed its wings on an attack run. Three, four times, it struck as the covey of grouse dispersed, some on the wing, others on foot into the nearby gorse and heather. The early alarm of one observant bird together with the instant reaction of its pals was sufficient to save their lives. The hawk moved on, and I returned my gaze to the house. It was time to move in for a closer look.

  The search wasn’t going well. And when I say that, I really mean I was getting frustrated because I hadn’t found what I was looking for. And now, that sense of disappointment was beginning to build into a feeling of having been sent on a fool’s errand.

  I knew there was every possibility, of course, that Kevin’s copy of the document had already been seized by the local lads and, as I stood rubbing at an insect bite I’d picked up in the bracken, I was beginning to lose heart.

  I’d tried everywhere obvious; desk, drawers, cupboards, boxes, the kind of places where people normally stored paperwork. I’d even looked around the outbuildings, but this had revealed little apart from an ancient, rusty motorcycle and a collection of antique tools that looked like they’d seen much better days. I’d reached the conclusion that the document either wasn’t here or it was hidden somewhere I wasn’t going to find. Time was now moving on and the longer I stayed, the more likely it was I would be disturbed.