The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  I settled down on the same settee I’d used on the day Dr Armstrong had told me how dangerous possession of the Al Anfal document might be. I was sweating – something that always seemed to make bites all the more irritating – and I was thirsty. I’d left the backpack hidden behind a wall that marked the boundary between the yard and the adjacent moorland so I scanned the room for something to quench my thirst. There was nothing of any use, just a small drinks cabinet containing two half-finished bottles of wine and a barely touched bottle of the same Penderyn whisky Matt Miller in the trafficking office was so partial too.

  Whisky wasn’t quite what I needed though, so I headed for the kitchen. Just as I was about to run the cold tap for a drink, I heard a car door close. It was time to leave.

  Moving quickly, I headed through the back door, eased it shut and, using the building to hide my movement, sprinted for the cover of the low wall I’d first used when checking the house was empty. I’d planned for such an eventuality and, as I had already checked that none of the front windows allowed a view all the way through to the rear yard, I knew I had time to escape. Inside of a few seconds, I was out of sight but close enough to keep a watch on the visitors.

  A male voice reached my ears. It sounded like he was giving instructions. At least two of them, then. I crawled to a position slightly further away, using the cover of another dry-stone wall.

  More noise. What sounded like internal doors being slammed. Whoever it was, they weren’t worried about being disturbed or overheard. Then a crash, heavy, like something wooden hitting the floor.

  The sound of splintering wood suggested a search was going on and that they were being thorough. I wondered whether the visitors were from the local Special Branch office, back to conduct a second search. Two more voices caught my ear, one shouting. They were different from the one who’d been giving the initial orders. Possibly three men, then? If they were looking under floorboards, it was possible that, like me, they were now checking places not previously searched.

  It was nearly an hour before they finished and for the whole time the focus seemed to be on tearing apart places not previously investigated. Whether they were looking for something specific – possibly the same thing as me – or whether they were simply looking everywhere for anything of interest, I wasn’t able to tell. But as I watched them head back to their car, I confirmed three men, and I noticed the way they all moved. They were fit and light on their feet. And there was no joviality to be heard, no jokes or ribbing of the kind cops habitually subject each other to; and they didn’t appear to have found anything. In fact, I thought as I watched, if they’d been plucked from a movie and given American accents, they would have made perfect FBI or Secret Service caricatures.

  Not cops then. But if not, who? Intelligence services was my best guess. I waited for ten minutes after their car disappeared from view down the lane before returning to the house. They’d been busy. The house looked more like it had been robbed than searched and it crossed my mind that may have been the intention.

  I wandered around, surveying the damage. Floors were up, cupboards and chests of drawers broken up in what appeared to be an effort to locate hidden compartments. They seemed to have quit only when everything had been checked. I thought back to the time when Dr Armstrong had shown me around the place and I tried to imagine where he might hide something he didn’t want anyone to find but which he could readily access should he need to. Once again, I returned to the settee in the living room to think for a moment. It was torn open, so I contented myself with a perch on the armrest.

  The doctor had experience in both Iraq and Northern Ireland, so he’d told me, and he would have seen some of the ingenious methods used in those places to conceal not just documents, but weapons and explosives. I wondered if he had copied something previously seen.

  I noticed the whisky was gone. I smiled. Cheeky bastards couldn’t resist taking it, I guessed. Perhaps they’d decided their trip shouldn’t be a complete waste of time and had thought they’d help themselves to a little token for their efforts.

  I headed upstairs. They really had been thorough. Mattresses in all three bedrooms were ripped open, as were the pillows on the beds and in a store cupboard. The attic hatch was removed – so they’d checked there – and the content of each and every drawer was now spilled on the floor. It was a real mess. But the effort they’d gone to was telling. If they thought there was something to find it was worth me having another look as well.

  The only place left for me to look through again was the outbuildings. A small shed produced nothing useful so I decided on one last check through the barn. The old motorcycle was undisturbed but I saw that a rug on the floor had now been pulled to one side. The visitors had been looking for a hidden trapdoor, I surmised. The tools had been moved and an old door that had been leaning against the wall now lay on the floor. I stepped gingerly on it and, rather unexpectedly, I saw that the surface gave way to the pressure of my weight.

  ‘You clever old bugger,’ I said, under my breath.

  A solid wooden door wouldn’t have that much give in it. I tried again, this time pressing harder with my foot. Once more, the wood gave way more than it ought to have done. It was hollowed out.

  I lifted the door up and checked the ends. The top was sealed with a narrow edging strip of timber, stained to match the remainder. To the casual glance, it looked like part of the door. I rummaged through the tools, found a chisel and levered the edging free.

  Bingo.

  Chapter 39

  Toni swirled the wine in her glass as Bill finished the washing up. It had occurred to her as they talked that, quite possibly, she had revealed too much. She reconciled herself, however, to the reassuring thought that if you couldn’t confide in a lover who also happened to be Head of the Anti-Terrorist Squad, who could you talk to?

  He was thinking. She knew that because he always hummed to himself if he was mulling things over. In the few short months they had been seeing each other she occasionally wondered what had gone wrong with his marriage. He was great company, intelligent and attentive. And, as a lover, he was very caring and imaginative. But she had also begun to realise what his employers might see as positive qualities, a wife might have some difficulty adjusting to. He lived for his job, pure and simple. If he wasn’t sleeping, Bill Grahamslaw was either at work or thinking about work.

  As the tuneless hum came to a halt, he appeared in the doorway to the living room. ‘Top-up?’ he asked.

  She smiled, and nodded. He turned his back for a moment and then reappeared with the bottle and a second glass.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this Miles Chadbourne chap,’ he said.

  ‘What exactly?’ she asked as he poured the wine and sat beside her.

  ‘I was wondering why he opened up so easily? As you say, you don’t really know him that well and it’s hard to see how he might regard friendship with you as being in his long-term interest.’

  ‘Actually, it would seem he currently has no friends at all in the Service. Ever since he was sent to the dungeon he’s been persona non grata, so maybe it was worth a punt.’

  ‘Maybe he fancies you?’ Bill grinned mischievously. ‘Male lust has seen better men than Miles make errors of judgement.’

  ‘Well he was certainly leering at me,’ she said, settling down onto her chair. ‘You think speaking to me was an error of judgement?’

  ‘Don’t you? He revealed he was under threat of death to keep a secret.’

  ‘Only because it’s a secret I know as well.’

  Bill sipped at his wine before replying. ‘If the order of conversation went as you describe, he didn’t know that when he chose to share it with you.’

  ‘But he did know it was out in the open … after our new Assistant Director produced the report on it.’

  ‘And you think that’s what it is, a report?’

  ‘Possibly, or a manual of some kind,’ she suggested. ‘I think Miles is fairly confident that so
many people will know about Al Anfal in the near future that there will be no justification in continuing his exile.’

  ‘And the Service would welcome him back with open arms?’

  ‘I don’t really know. But he may well be thinking the more people who know the reason he is in the dungeon, the better. Or he may simply think of me as a temporary friend, to be used or cast to one side depending on what happens.’

  Bill pursed his lips as he went quiet for a moment. ‘So, why weren’t you treated in a similar way? How come you get a promotion while he was shafted?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that too. It was Howard Green who was responsible for warning both of us off, but the strings were pulled within Five. I can only conclude it was somebody very senior, maybe the Director, who mothballed Miles’ career? Maybe Miles is so well connected that eliminating him wasn’t an option?’

  ‘Don’t forget you’re talking about the same man who promoted you.’

  ‘I could ask him?’

  Bill laughed, and flecks of wine sprayed onto the table. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  She felt her hackles rise. Sometimes he was just a little bit too blunt.

  ‘It has to be something more than that,’ he continued.

  ‘I made a video recording of him that he would rather I hadn’t.’

  Bill smiled as he seemed to contemplate what she had just said. ‘What kind of film?’ he asked, slowly and deliberately.

  ‘He was with a prostitute, doing things that, well … you can guess, I’m sure.’

  ‘And he knows you have that recording?’

  ‘He does. It’s what we used to get him to tell us about Al Anfal in the first place.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My old Section Head was with me. He arranged the surveillance that found him out.’

  ‘Christ, Toni, you play a wicked game. It’s for certain you won’t be on Howard Green’s Christmas card list.’ Bill supped again at his glass and then lifted the wine bottle in a gesture that suggested they open another.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Toni. ‘I need a clear head. I’m meeting early with Nell and Stuart. We’re making a start on your ideas about looking at Howard Green in more depth and … Oh hell. I forgot to call Finlay.’

  ‘Something urgent?’ said Bill, as he headed off to the kitchen. Despite her abstinence, it looked like he was intent on extending their session.

  ‘He was going to check an address to try and recover the copy of the document that Dyer produced at today’s meeting. I’d better ring him now.’

  Bill called out something unintelligible as she flicked through the address book on her mobile for Finlay’s new number. She pressed the listing, waited for it to connect and listened as the automated response from the service provider told her the recipient phone was turned off.

  ‘Damn,’ she said, under her breath. ‘I told him to keep it turned on.’

  ‘No joy?’ Bill asked, emerging with a fresh bottle of wine. ‘Sure you won’t?’

  Thoughts elsewhere, she shook her head to again decline the offer. ‘His phone is turned off,’ she replied.

  ‘Complaints have seized it. I thought I told you?’

  ‘You did. If you recall, I said I’d give him a burner to use in the meantime.’

  ‘Ah, sorry, I do remember. Is it one of the new type?’

  ‘The latest,’ Toni smiled. ‘And he knows about the “help me” facility it has.’

  ‘And the fact that you can use it to follow him?’

  ‘I may have omitted to mention that, Bill.’

  He laughed. ‘Naughty … but I can’t claim to be surprised. Go easy with Finlay won’t you? He doesn’t talk about it but I can tell you with some certainty that he’s still having some issues.’

  ‘I know. I’ve seen it in his face. He’s feeling pressured.’

  ‘The point I’m making is that you ought not to be asking him to do little jobs for MI5 as well as his day job.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Toni protested. ‘He was doing it for Kevin Jones. We wanted to prevent him trying to sell the Al Anfal document to the newspapers.’

  ‘Could Jones do that?’

  ‘Absolutely not. It would get him killed. Anyway, it’s academic now that the Assistant Director has their copy.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Bill topped up his glass again. ‘You quite sure you won’t?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thanks … and you should be taking it easy as well. What if you get a call-out?’

  ‘I’ll have a driver come pick me up. Promise me something Toni?’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘Don’t take any risks. Howard Green wasn’t bluffing when he threatened you.’

  Toni reached out and squeezed his hand ‘I’ll be careful,’ she said.

  Bill smiled but she saw doubt in his eyes. He wasn’t reassured.

  Chapter 40

  MI5 Headquarters, Thames House

  The phone was ringing as Toni opened the door to her tiny office. She dropped her bag on the floor near her desk and picked up the receiver.

  It was Nell, with a request. Could Toni pop over to New Scotland Yard to see her and Stuart? ‘We found something,’ was all her researcher would say. No detail.

  ‘This early?’ Toni asked. ‘I was planning to come over at about nine.’

  ‘How about right away?’

  She was just about to reply when the office door sprung open. Suze Bickerton, Department Head at T5B, arms trafficking, leaned in. She looked flustered. ‘Long Room, five minutes, Toni. Headshed have called an emergency meeting.’

  Toni nodded and Suze headed off along the corridor. Ending the call to Nell with an apology, she explained that things would have to wait. ‘Headshed’ was a colloquial term to describe the bosses, but it wasn’t used that often. In fact, the last time Toni had heard the term used was in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 when the Deputy Director-General herself had addressed a meeting of departmental and section leaders.

  Certainly, something was up. Before heading upstairs, she glanced in the mirror, tidied her hair and flicked away a speck of mascara she spotted beneath her left eye. A quick check of her in tray revealed nothing so urgent that might give an indication as to the reason for the meeting.

  In the Long Room, the atmosphere was alive with gossip. Toni noticed that Suze Bickerton was standing at the far end on her own. Ignoring the nervous smiles of her peers, she negotiated the narrow gap between the walls and the empty chairs until she was close enough to speak without being overheard.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, as Suze glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ve no idea. All I can say is that Mr Dyer rang me and said to get everyone who was at yesterday’s meeting up here straight away.’

  ‘Dyer called this? It must be about the poor response he received.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Hey up … he’s here.’

  Toni turned on her heel towards the door and noticed there were two people waiting outside in the corridor. The room fell quiet as Alex Dyer entered, followed by the Deputy Director-General.

  Sometimes, Toni wondered if Stuart could actually function without a mug of tea on the go.

  For once, she declined the offer to join him. The tiny listening device that sat nestled between her thumb and forefinger held her full attention.

  ‘Just this one, Nell?’

  ‘Yes … although I would have liked a little longer to conduct a full sweep but he said we had to leave.’ Nell nodded her head towards where Stuart stood near the kettle.

  Toni smiled. The mischievous grin on her researcher’s face suggested she was having a little joke at her new supervisor’s expense.

  ‘I heard that,’ called Stuart. ‘Having found what we were looking for I decided discretion got the better of valour.’

  A few moments later, all three were huddled together, all eyes on the bug. ‘And it’s the same manufacturer as the one found at Kevin Jones’s house?’ Toni asked.

  ‘Same
model,’ replied Nell.

  ‘But there was nothing else in the house to interest us?’

  It was Stuart’s turn to speak. ‘The forensic teams were thorough … as you’d expect, really. We only found this as we had an idea where to look.’

  ‘Behind the plug sockets?’

  ‘Exactly. Nell found it in one of the main sockets in the living room, near to where PC Jones had collapsed.’

  ‘After taking an overdose that in normal circumstances would have killed him,’ said Toni.

  ‘So they say. Although ketamine seems a pretty odd choice and not something you’d expect the average PC to have so readily available.’

  ‘Jones isn’t your average PC, Stuart,’ Nell interrupted.

  ‘Sure, but you know what I mean,’ he replied. ‘Ketamine isn’t like … like paracetamol or one of the stronger pain killers. It’s a horse tranquiliser, from what I’ve read.’

  ‘It’s an anaesthetic,’ said Toni. ‘And it’s becoming popular as a recreational drug. So it’s quite possible a cop could have had come into possession of it.’

  ‘Illegally?’

  ‘Yes. I do understand the point you’re making, and I also doubt very much if Jones was in the habit of anaesthetising horses, Stuart. So, almost certainly he shouldn’t have had it. The question is, did he take it, or did someone pour it down his throat, like Robert Finlay is suggesting? Now let’s get back to this bug as it’s the best lead we have to help us answer that question.’ She held the device up to the light.

  ‘What can we do with it, Nell?’

  ‘This one is working. I may be able to use that to trace the receiver.’