‘Unfortunately, yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard of all of them, but I can’t see a connection to anything I’ve worked on.’
‘But you have heard of them,’ Hayley said accusingly. ‘Even though, technically speaking, you must know you’re not supposed to have done so.’
‘I hear all kinds of things, in my line of work,’ I said. ‘Gossip is what makes the secret agent’s world go round. The trick is to tell people things that don’t matter in the hope they’ll tell you things that do. Of course, a lot of the time you don’t know what really matters until you find out the hard way, much later. I don’t see how any of those cases could possibly connect to what’s happening here. And let’s face it, you can cross-examine Parker all you like, hoping to catch him out in a detail here and a name there. But if he is a fake, you can be sure he’ll have been very thoroughly briefed and you won’t trip him up on anything that obvious.’
Hayley nodded reluctantly and put the file to one side.
‘Frank Parker had an excellent record as a field agent,’ said Doyle. ‘A high success rate, with minimum exposure and an acceptable level of civilian casualties.’
‘Which is not always the way,’ said Hayley. ‘I have read about what happened at Belcourt Manor, Mr Jones.’
‘Change the subject,’ I said.
Something in my tone must have got through to her, because she averted her gaze.
Penny fixed Hayley with her coldest stare. ‘What does your file tell you about the kind of person Parker was? I mean, was he an honourable man? Could he have come back just because he discovered there were traitors inside the Organization?’
‘He did imply he left because he found out the Organization wasn’t what he wanted it to be,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he wants to save it from itself?’
‘Honourable behaviour?’ said Hayley, almost smirking. ‘Rare, I would have thought. In your line of work.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ I said. ‘What is a cynic after all, except a disappointed idealist? People get into our line of work for all kinds of reasons.’
‘And you, Ishmael?’ said Doyle, quite casually. ‘What brought you into the hidden world?’
‘I belong there,’ I said. ‘It feels like home.’
‘We were assured we could expect your full cooperation,’ Hayley said coldly. ‘But I have to say you’re not being very forthcoming.’
‘I don’t have to be,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I’m just here to oversee the process and make sure everything runs smoothly. Parker is the subject of your interrogation, not me.’ And then I stopped and studied Doyle and Hayley carefully. ‘Unless, of course, things have changed …’
‘No, sir, they have not,’ MacKay said immediately. ‘You are currently in charge of Ringstone Lodge, with authority over everyone here. My instructions on that were most particular.’
‘Good to know,’ I said. I gestured at Parker’s file. ‘It could be that we’re looking in the wrong place. It’s always possible the answer lies in where Parker went after he left.’
Hayley opened the heavy file again, and turned to a section at the back. ‘We have some information on that. Parker seems to have done secret work for all the usual subterranean groups, at one time or another. Quite often he would work for one side and then go do something for their opposite number. Almost as if he was trying to balance things out. Interesting.’
‘But what kind of work did he do?’ I said.
‘Does it matter?’ said Penny.
‘It might,’ I said.
‘Information gathering and wet work,’ said Hayley. ‘He was very skilled at both.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Penny. ‘You mean …’
‘Yes,’ said Doyle. ‘That much we can be sure of. Mostly, Frank Parker killed people.’
‘Bad people?’ Penny said tentatively.
‘Good and bad, in as much as the terms have any meaning in intelligence work,’ said Hayley, almost offhandedly. She was working her way through the file, turning the pages more and more quickly. ‘His targets included high-up personages and complete unknowns. He didn’t seem to care who he was sent after, as long as someone was willing to pay to see them dead. Parker was a consummate professional, untroubled by any sense of conscience or morality.’
‘But he stopped,’ I said. ‘Just gave it all up and walked away. Disappeared so completely even the most experienced people on both sides couldn’t find him. So why did he stop?’
‘Maybe he decided he had enough money,’ said Doyle. ‘But then later something went wrong, the money ran out … And that’s why he’s back.’
‘Looking to sell his soul one more time,’ said Hayley. ‘In return for protection from the one Organization that could hide him from all the enemies he’s made.’
‘Could there be a clue in the new faces he chose?’ Penny said suddenly. ‘Character traits in common, for example? Perhaps they were the faces of people he wanted to be?’
Hayley and Doyle looked at each other, and then Hayley flipped back to the beginning of the file and the photos showing Parker’s previous faces. She looked them over carefully, with Doyle leaning in close beside her.
‘Interesting idea,’ Hayley said finally.
Doyle nudged her arm and she reluctantly laid the file on the coffee table, in front of Penny and me. And then she turned away and rested her chin on her hand, staring off into space and thinking hard. Doyle watched her do it. I studied the various photos carefully, but couldn’t see any connection between the faces.
‘To change his appearance this completely,’ I said finally, ‘Parker must have undergone major plastic surgeries, including subcutaneous implants to change the shape of his face.’
Hayley looked at me sharply. ‘Implants? Are you sure? No one said anything about implants.’
‘It’s what I would have done,’ I said smoothly. ‘Surgery just alters the outer appearance; you have to change the underlying bone structure if you want to make yourself really unrecognizable. But why did he feel the need to change his face that much? So he could tell himself he wasn’t the person who’d done so many bad things? He said something to me about not liking to look at himself in the mirror. Check the recording and get the exact words.’
‘All these faces have one thing in common,’ said Penny. ‘None of them look particularly happy.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Paging Doctor Freud …’
‘But on the other hand,’ said Doyle, ‘our guest could be using these past faces to hide the fact that he isn’t Parker.’
‘The man in the cell has had surgery and implants,’ I said. ‘I saw the scars.’
Doyle frowned. ‘Really? I couldn’t see anything.’
‘I have experience in these matters,’ I said.
‘Are you saying you’ve changed your face, Ishmael?’ said Hayley.
I just smiled.
‘Frank Parker is famously supposed to be unkillable,’ said MacKay. ‘If all else fails, we could try killing him. See if it takes.’ We all looked at him. He took in our faces and shrugged. ‘Just a thought.’
‘I think we’ll leave that as a last resort,’ I said. ‘Rather than risk losing the goose that could still lay golden eggs.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘I need to talk to Parker,’ said Hayley. She closed the file with a snap. ‘Really get to work on the man.’
She didn’t actually rub her hands together in anticipation, but the sound of it was in her voice. Doyle nodded solemnly.
‘He’ll crack. They all do, in the end.’
Penny didn’t even try to hide her distaste. ‘Whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath?’
‘Suspended,’ said Hayley. ‘For the duration.’
‘The duration of what?’ said Penny.
‘Sorry,’ Hayley said smugly. ‘That’s classified.’
I considered her thoughtfully. ‘What exactly are your orders? To get to the truth? Or to break the subject? Because it does occur to me that if you were t
o decide this isn’t Parker, then the Organization wouldn’t have to take his accusations of traitors seriously.’
‘Everyone here wants him to be the real Frank Parker,’ Doyle said firmly. ‘Because bringing his valuable information to the Organization would be a success big enough to make all of us. Even apart from the traitors within, what Parker knows could bring down any number of important enemies and save the lives of many of our people currently out in the field.’
‘Really?’ said Penny.
‘Of course!’ said Doyle.
‘The hidden world is in a constant state of undeclared war, Miss Belcourt,’ said Hayley. ‘You must have noticed. And in a war like ours, information is ammunition. If Parker really has what he says he has, then we want it. But if we get it wrong, if we let a fake get past us, the damage his disinformation could do to the Organization would be incalculable. He could spend years eating away at us from the inside. As a sleeper, a saboteur, an assassin …’
‘So,’ I said. ‘No pressure, then.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to kill Mr Parker?’ said MacKay. ‘It wouldn’t be any bother.’
‘No,’ I said firmly.
‘We have to get back to Parker,’ said Hayley. ‘We were just starting to make some progress with him when word came that you were on your way and everything had to be put on hold till you got here.’
Hayley and Doyle stared at me challengingly. I just smiled, and met their gaze perfectly steadily.
Penny gave me a hard look. ‘You’re being far too casual about this, Ishmael. Would you let them torture Parker, if that was what it took?’
‘Of course not,’ I said.
No one in the room looked like they believed me. But I could hardly say to Penny ‘It depends …’
‘My associate and I have a long and successful record in getting the truth out of people, Penny,’ said Hayley. ‘This case may be a little more complicated than most, but we’ll get there.’
‘It’s what we do,’ said Doyle.
They exchanged tight professional smiles, the little black woman in the business suit and the dumpy college professor. Sometimes the most frightening people can have the most ordinary faces.
‘Whatever happened to showing good faith and winning a man’s trust?’ said Penny, stubbornly returning to her point. ‘You never know, you might get better results out of Parker that way.’
‘We don’t have the time,’ said Hayley.
‘Or the inclination?’ I said.
‘We have to make a decision soon as to who he is,’ said Doyle, ‘so we can decide where to send him next.’
‘What are the options?’ I said.
‘Just two,’ said MacKay. ‘Either we pass him on to a more secure location where he can safely unburden himself of all he knows. Or we bury him among the tombstones at the side of the Lodge.’
Penny was shaken by his bluntness. I wasn’t.
‘We need to get back to work,’ said Hayley. ‘Time is not on our side.’
‘It never is,’ I said. ‘Go ahead. Don’t let me keep you.’
Penny shot me a look, as though she’d still been half expecting me to stop them. To protect Parker from the nasty interrogators. But that wasn’t what I was there for. I met Penny’s gaze steadily. Her mouth tightened, and she turned away from me.
‘Before you go, doctors,’ said Penny, ‘There’s something else we need to discuss.’
‘What?’ said Hayley, with heavy patience.
‘The hauntings,’ said Penny.
‘They need to get to work, Penny,’ I said.
‘I’m not stopping them! I’m just interested.’
I looked around. MacKay’s face was unreadable, but interestingly Hayley and Doyle both looked unhappy. As though they really wished Penny hadn’t asked them that question.
‘No one in the Lodge has seen a ghost,’ said Hayley. ‘As such.’
‘But there have been … unexplained incidents,’ said Doyle.
‘Things that go bump in the night?’ said Penny.
‘And in the daytime,’ said MacKay.
‘And you’ve actually seen these things?’ I said.
‘We have all seen or heard something,’ said MacKay.
‘I’m not convinced it’s anything more than group hysteria, from all the pressure we’re under,’ said Hayley. ‘Cabin fever.’
‘What I find particularly interesting,’ said Doyle, his professionalism coming to the fore almost in spite of himself, ‘is that it’s never anything you can put your finger on. Never anything definite or identifiable.’
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ Penny asked bluntly. ‘Ishmael keeps saying he doesn’t …’
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I really don’t. Why are you having such a hard time believing me?’
‘How can you say that?’ said Penny. ‘After everything we’ve seen.’
‘In all my time in the field,’ I said, ‘dealing with the darkest areas of the hidden world, I have never once encountered a ghost or a spirit. Or anything to convince me that the dead ever come back to bother the living.’
‘But what about …?’
‘Hush,’ I said. ‘Not in front of the children. I’m not convinced she was anything more than some kind of creature, perhaps an evolutionary offshoot.’
‘Denial isn’t just a river in Africa,’ said Penny.
I looked at her. ‘Sometimes I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I am more than willing to entertain the notion that there is a scientific explanation for the … unusual things we have all experienced,’ said MacKay. ‘If only someone would provide one.’
‘Dead is dead!’ said Hayley.
‘They are if I have anything to do with it,’ I said.
‘I still favour the idea that it’s all some kind of psychic phenomenon,’ said Doyle. ‘The stone tape theory, with the solid structure of the Lodge playing back stored memories of past events.’
Hayley sniffed loudly. ‘The world has enough strange things in it without dragging in pseudoscience.’
‘And yet,’ murmured MacKay, ‘still, it moves …’
Hayley and Doyle looked at each other, and had nothing more to say. Penny looked at me triumphantly.
‘Come with me, Mr Jones, Miss Belcourt,’ MacKay said finally. ‘It’s time you visited Mr Martin in his security centre. He can present to you what evidence we have of the supernatural at play in the Lodge.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Evidence is always good.’
And back through the pleasantly appointed corridors we went. With so few people in it, the Lodge seemed almost eerily quiet. Like walking through a hotel after all the guests have been evacuated. The absence of people can make just as strong an impression as a noisy crowd. Silence has a presence all its own. The security centre was tucked away just round the corner from the entrance hall, behind a closed, locked and heavily reinforced steel door. An ominous presence, in the country hotel setting. MacKay didn’t even bother to knock, just leaned in close to the intercom grille.
‘Mr Martin, you reprehensible creature! This is MacKay. Open up.’
There was a pause. During which I thought I detected a brief uncertainty in MacKay’s face, as if there was a real chance Martin might not let us in, just to show MacKay up. And then there was the sound of several heavy locks disengaging, one after the other, and the door swung slowly back. I looked thoughtfully at the layers of steel upon steel that made up the door. I like to think there isn’t any door that could keep me out if I just put my mind or my shoulder to it, but this one looked like it could give me some serious problems.
MacKay politely but firmly insisted on entering the security centre first, presumably to reassure Martin with a familiar face. Like a keeper at a zoo. Once we were all inside, and the door had closed itself firmly behind us, the room seemed uncomfortably small. It was packed with all kinds of surveillance equipment, a lot of which still had that bright shiny look that suggested it had come straight fro
m its packaging. Some of the tech was so advanced I had trouble deciding what it was, and it’s part of my job to be up to date on such things. Rows of monitor screens covered three of the walls, crammed together and showing detailed views of the interior and exterior of Ringstone Lodge, including the woods, the grounds and the perimeter walls. Which added up to a hell of a lot of hidden cameras.
Philip Martin sat in the middle of it all, on a battered old swivel chair that made soft protesting noises as he turned this way and that, his gaze jumping from one screen to another. He didn’t get up to greet us as we entered, just nodded brusquely to MacKay and Penny, and scowled at me. There were no other chairs in the room, and it didn’t look safe to lean on any of the equipment.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Show me everything. You know you want to.’
‘Welcome to my world,’ said Martin. ‘I see all, hear all, and remain diplomatically quiet about most of it. Unless it’s really funny. Watch, and wonder.’
His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard resting on his lap. The views on the screens zoomed in and out, closing in on individual trees in the woods or opening up to show whole sections of the grounds. Martin smiled proudly as he presented us with shuffled glimpses of room after room and all kinds of sounds picked up by hidden microphones. One screen hooked on to movement in the woods, and Martin zoomed in to show Baxter and Redd emerging from the dark shadows between the trees. Martin boosted the sound levels so we could hear what they were saying.
‘Ishmael Jones!’ said Baxter. ‘I ask you! What kind of a name is that? If he’s going to use a cover name, he could at least choose something that doesn’t sound so obviously fake. Bloody field agents. Always looking down on the rank and file like us, who do all the real work. Ishmael Jones … He thinks he’s so much. I could take him.’
‘Pretty sure you couldn’t,’ said Redd. ‘Field agents are supposed to be just a bit special when it comes to the old ultraviolence.’
Baxter growled and shook his head. ‘They make that stuff up to scare the opposition. You watch how fast he backs down once I stand up to him.’
Martin shut down the sound. ‘If he was any more alpha male, he’d sweat testosterone. You want to steer clear of him, Ishmael. He’s trouble.’
Dead Man Walking Page 7
