The Robert Finlay Trilogy

by Matt Johnson

  ‘It’s a transmitter?’ said Toni, her hopes raised.

  ‘Yes, but before I disconnected it, whoever was listening in could relay it using a mobile device to send the signal anywhere. They wouldn’t have needed to be nearby.’

  Toni leaned back in her chair, now feeling slightly despondent. ‘So, we’re really no closer.’

  ‘Unless I can find out who planted it. If I can find a record of some kind?’

  ‘Which we’ve already tried.’

  ‘There might be a paper record,’ Stuart piped up.

  ‘Where though?’

  ‘Like we talked about before, the police stores,’ he continued. ‘I’d start there as that’s where they seem to have come from. Everything goes through them at some point, whatever the source.’

  Toni thought for a moment as she weighed up the options. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Go for it.’

  She was just about to continue the conversation when her phone started to vibrate. It was Finlay. She answered and asked him to wait for a moment.

  ‘Sorry guys…’

  ‘We know,’ said Nell. ‘Time for a break.’

  As soon as the office was empty, Toni returned to the call.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ she said.

  ‘Likewise,’ said Finlay. ‘I found what I was looking for.’

  Toni frowned, hesitant in case she had misheard what he’d said. ‘What did you find exactly?’

  ‘Can you speak?’

  ‘Of course. You mean you managed to get into the house?’

  ‘Yes. And I found what I was looking for.’

  Toni was perplexed, wondering if she was misunderstanding what he was saying. ‘The document Kevin Jones had given him?’ she asked, to try and make sure she was hearing him right.

  ‘Yes, yes. Is everything OK, Toni? That is what we agreed I would do.’

  ‘But you can’t have.’

  ‘Can’t what? What’s going on here?’ It was Finlay’s turn to sound confused.

  ‘You can’t have found Kevin’s copy of the Al Anfal document,’ she explained. ‘You can’t have. Only yesterday I saw our Assistant Director produce it at a meeting. Special Branch seized it and sent it to us.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you I have. In fact, it’s sitting in my briefcase next to my feet as we speak.’

  ‘So, if that’s the case, what was it the Assistant Director waved in front of us and asked us about, if it wasn’t the Al Anfal document?’

  ‘Your Assistant Director has another copy?’

  ‘Yes, like I said. And we’re told it came from Dr Armstrong’s house.’

  ‘What did he say about it?’

  ‘He was asking everyone what we knew about it.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. For pretty obvious reasons I kept quiet.’

  ‘Maybe the doctor made a copy?’

  ‘Maybe … I’m really not sure what to think now. But I’m pretty sure it was the genuine article I saw in the Director’s hands.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Because of what happened after the meeting when it was produced.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I met with a colleague who seemed to know something about it. He told me he had been black-balled, passed over for promotion, just because he’d stumbled across the existence of Al Anfal. Yesterday he seemed to be buoyed up because the document – the one we think Kevin left with Dr Armstrong – had fallen into the hands of Special Branch and now isn’t such a secret.’

  ‘Did they say if they’ve had it translated?’

  ‘They didn’t, but quite possibly they have, because, with one notable exception, every single person at that meeting was given a warning by our Deputy Director-General not to discuss the document with anyone. And you want to know who the notable exception was? Well, I’ll tell you. It was the very same man who told me all he knew. He wasn’t there.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Finlay,’ she answered, impatiently.

  ‘You were all warned off – all of you? I would have thought that doing that would have raised everyone’s interest, got them talking about it?’

  ‘That’s not how things work here, believe me. When a Director-General puts the frighteners on, people stay shtum’

  ‘It’s … it’s just like last year,’ said Finlay, his voice becoming more subdued. ‘With Howard Green.’

  ‘Trust me, you’re not the only one to notice that his name keeps popping up at the moment.’

  ‘Toni, something has just occurred to me.’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘This document I have sitting at my feet. It has what looks like a complete translation with it.’

  ‘Done by Armstrong?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘He didn’t hang about.’

  ‘That’s just what I thought. So, there’s another possibility.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That what I have here isn’t the copy Kevin gave him. Last year, I agreed with him that the copy I gave him would be destroyed. What if he kept it, what if the one I have here is that one?’

  Toni hesitated as she caught her breath. Finlay had to be right. She recalled him saying that he’d not actually seen the document destroyed, despite agreeing that would be its fate.

  ‘Is there any way to tell?’ she asked.

  ‘Not that I can think of. Shall I bring it to you?’

  ‘No need. Now that she knows about it, I’ve decided to ask Nell to give it the once-over. I’m here at the Yard, with her and Stuart so I’ll come downstairs to collect it from you. Have you given any thought as to what you’re going to tell Kevin?’

  ‘Nothing … at, least not at this stage. To be honest, what does or doesn’t happen with this document is the last thing Kevin needs to worry about.’

  ‘How did it go?’ Toni asked. ‘The entry into the Armstrong house, I mean?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t arrested, if that’s what you mean. But I did have visitors. A three-man search team turned up. Thing is, they definitely weren’t police. Cops have a way of working and moving. These guys were military by my guess.’

  ‘Were they looking for the same thing as you, do you think? Maybe they weren’t aware Special Branch had already found it?’

  ‘No way to be certain, but they were looking for something and they were very thorough.’

  ‘Not thorough enough if you found it, though … Makes you wonder, if they were Security Services, just what else they may have been looking for?’

  ‘Armstrong was still a weapons inspector wasn’t he?’ Finlay asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. Still on the list, I think. We were told this morning he’d been doing some work on the planned Iraq invasion for the government,’ said Toni.

  ‘What kind of work?’

  ‘We weren’t told.’

  ‘Perhaps somebody making sure the good Doctor hadn’t left anything embarrassing behind?’

  ‘I guess.’ Toni wasn’t sure though. Once again, the name Howard Green was foremost in her thoughts. And she wondered if – like the Increment soldiers before him – Dr Julian Armstrong had been silenced.

  Chapter 41

  Toni noticed the post-it note on her desk the instant she opened the door to her office.

  ‘Call me. SB.’

  The writing looked rushed.

  Sensing there was some urgency to the request she immediately hurried along the corridor, tapped on her colleague’s door and opened it.

  A very startled Suze Bickerton almost fell from the chair she was standing on while she fiddled with the ceiling light fitting.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Toni asked.

  Suze pressed a finger to her lips, eased herself down and beckoned Toni to follow her. They headed along the corridor and ran up two flights of stairs. Soon, they were outside the door to the Long Room. Suze eased it open and peered in.

  ‘OK, we’ll be fine in here,’ she said,
between deep breaths.

  ‘Were you checking your office for a bug?’ Tony asked.

  ‘As should you. Something’s afoot, can’t you tell?’

  ‘I don’t know … I’ve only just got back from Scotland Yard. I came the moment I saw your note.’

  ‘Well I can tell you that lecture from the ADG has got everyone on edge.’

  ‘He made himself pretty clear. National Security, reputation of the Service, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Indeed. Look, I left that note because you were asking about Miles Chadbourne before the meeting. I just wondered what your interest in him was.’

  ‘Was? Surely you mean “is”?’

  Suze paused and glanced to the now closed Long Room doors. ‘Come with me, I want to show you something.’

  Again, they took the stairs, but this time headed down. Every so often, Suze glanced behind them and, as they entered the dungeon-floor level, where Miles’ office lay, she glanced in both directions along the empty corridor before proceeding.

  She’s nervous, Toni thought, but why?

  Outside Miles’ office, they stopped. ‘After you,’ said Suze.

  Toni frowned. Was this some kind of set-up? She tried the door. It opened easily.

  Into an empty office.

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘My words exactly,’ said Suze. ‘I came down to find out why Miles hadn’t responded to my all-ports warning to attend the Long Room meeting this morning. I figured he must have been late in or something. This is what I found.’

  ‘It’s like he was never here,’ Toni mumbled.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Toni fumbled hurriedly through her handbag in her effort to locate her phone. It had now rung three times in the last few minutes.

  At first, she’d ignored it, needing some time to herself to think through the implications of what she and Suze Bickerton had seen.

  Others had to be aware, of that there was no doubt – colleagues that Miles had worked with in the past; some of whom had been his friends, and all of whom would have noticed his absence from the meeting. But if they all knew he wasn’t around, why was nobody saying anything? Nobody was trusted, so nobody asked … nobody was that brave, or that foolish.

  The ADG’s warning had therefore had the desired effect. They were all afraid – afraid of the unknown, afraid that whatever had happened to Miles could happen to them too. Suze had been curious to know why Toni had been asking about Miles. She seemed to accept the explanation that Toni had simply felt sorry for him, and that, as a newcomer to the supervisory ranks, she’d seen Miles as possibly receptive to a friendly voice.

  The phone went silent just as her fingers wrapped around it.

  ‘Why does that always happen?’ she muttered to herself as she read the screen: caller identity withheld.

  Slipping the phone back into her bag, she glanced up and down the street. It was busy with cars, vans and people on foot, all going about their daily business. She found herself scanning the faces, looking for anyone familiar or even the slightest indication she was being followed. She’d come out for some fresh air, to the same small square where she’d recently met up with Finlay. Here she could be alone with her thoughts; at least the watchers hadn’t mastered how to read those, she mused.

  She stopped herself. ‘Get a grip, Toni,’ she said, quietly. Miles’ disappearance had rattled her. Even though it wasn’t particularly unusual for an officer to move at very short notice, the fact that it had happened the very day after they had been talking about Al Anfal meant she now needed to be very cautious.

  Above the sound of the fountain, she once more caught the sound of her ring tone. It was Nell. She sounded excited.

  ‘I’ve found which stores the listening device was issued to. It was CIB, the police complaints unit.’

  ‘That’s really great, Nell, thanks. But couldn’t that have waited until tomorrow?’

  ‘Ah, sorry. But that wasn’t the main reason I called. Have you heard the news?’

  ‘Prime Minister Blair has resigned?’ Toni said, a little flippantly, immediately regretting her words and the fact that her researcher wouldn’t be likely to see the joke.

  ‘Er … no. Has he?’ said Nell.

  ‘Probably not, Nell. I’m out at the moment, should I ring you from the office?’

  ‘No need. It’s nothing Service related. I just thought you’d want to know there’s been a breakout from Barkingside Magistrates’ Court this morning. It’s just come through on the wire and the news channels are already onto it. Kevin Jones has escaped from custody.’

  Chapter 42

  ‘Is that Robert Finlay?’

  The voice on the telephone was familiar but I couldn’t place it. I was still transfixed by what I was watching on the television in the main Anti-Terrorist Squad office. Bill Grahamslaw had called me up there to watch the coverage being transmitted from Barkingside. And he wanted me in his private office immediately afterwards.

  I wasn’t surprised he’d summoned me upstairs, given the subject matter. It was live from the local Magistrates’ Court where armed men were said to have helped the escape of a defendant who had been appearing to face a charge of murder. The reporter, quoting a reliable source, was saying that the escaped suspect was a police officer.

  It was Kevin, of that I had no doubt. I racked my brains to see if he’d given me any clue that this had been about to happen. He’d said the solicitor I’d seen him with had ‘everything in hand’ – perhaps that was it. I also thought about his kit, still safely hidden beneath his allotment shed. I’d assumed he’d asked me to move it simply to prevent it being discovered. I now wondered if he’d known all along what was going to happen and if he might attempt contact to try and recover it.

  A departmental telephone had interrupted our viewing. The detective who’d answered it had called across that they were asking for me personally.

  ‘Who is this?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s Sue Corfield, guv. Do you feel ready to save a life today?’

  Ten minutes after receiving the call, I was once again in the back of a police traffic car, sirens and blue lights on, headed north. Grahamslaw had agreed to postpone our talk, on the solemn promise he was the first person I’d come to see on my return. Once again, I was on my way to Kentish Town.

  This time I was heading to a section house – an accommodation tower block immediately adjacent to the main police building, where single officers lived in individual rooms. I’d lived in a similar one myself. MacNaghton House it had been called, situated just south of Euston, where it provided very convenient housing for officers, new out of training school, who were posted to the nearby areas of Holborn, Tottenham Court Road and Kings Cross.

  Sue had given me a very quick briefing on what I was facing. It was Doug Powell again, the very same PC I had spent an hour with in the police station toilets. Apparently he had turned up at the front counter to the police station in a distressed state, asking to speak to John Southern, the Chief Superintendent.

  Southern hadn’t been available, and before anyone had realised what was happening, Doug had run off. A few minutes later, the warden from the section house next door had dialled 999 to report someone standing out on the top-floor ledge.

  The local duty officer was, apparently, talking to him, so far without persuading him to climb back to safety. The crisis negotiation team had been contacted and, as soon as they realised who the ‘jumper’ was, they’d made the immediate decision to call me.

  From my limited view in the back of the traffic car, everything appeared a blur as we sped past. I was long enough in the tooth not to experience the adrenalin rush my first experiences of ‘blues and twos’ shouts had triggered, but I still enjoyed the thrill of racing along the London streets in the safe hands of one of the best drivers the Met had to offer. Faces turned to watch us, follow our progress for a moment and then turn away as, seconds later, they were left behind.

  Once in a while, I caught our reflection in a shop
window and saw my own pale face staring out from the rear of the police car. I looked isolated, lonely. The image brought to mind the face of another man, the tortured soul depicted in The Scream, the haunting figure created by Edvard Munch so many years previously, and I worried whether I was up to what was being asked of me. I worried that my preoccupation with Kevin’s situation would distract me, and I worried I might lose focus, let my colleagues down, and that a young man might die because I’d failed him.

  Camden Town tube station appeared.

  ‘Nearly there, guv,’ said the PC in the front passenger seat, bringing my thoughts back to the here and now. He was the radio operator and acted as a second set of eyes to the driver. Probably as highly trained as his colleague, it was his turn to ‘ride shotgun’.

  ‘Can you kill the siren, please lads?’ I said, straining to be heard above the din.

  As the electronic wailing stopped, I told myself to relax. I wanted to get to the scene as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want to turn up like Jack Regan in a scene from The Sweeney. A silent approach, even if it cost us a few seconds, was infinitely preferable to startling a nervous man stood on a ledge and then causing him to either make a decision I was going to try and talk him out of, or worse still, to have him distracted to a point where he lost his footing and slipped.

  ‘Can you find out which side of the building he’s standing on?’ I asked.

  A moment later, the reply came over the radio. West side, overlooking the yard to the police station. That was good news. It meant we could approach from the High Street and our arrival would be concealed by the building. And, it also meant the local press would find it harder to find a vantage point from where they could watch what was happening.

  As we slowed to a halt, I saw that blue-and-white tape had been strung across Holmes Road, the side street that gave access to both the police station and section house. On one corner, a McDonald’s restaurant looked to have been closed to allow the area to be cordoned off.

  Two PCs, posted at the junction, raised the tape so we could get through. I estimated that only thirty to forty minutes could have passed since the 999 call had been made to alert police. Already, the street was chock-a-block with parked response vehicles including a ‘forward control’ van, complete with satellite phones and a small briefing room, a fire engine and ambulance.