by Oliver Tidy
From what stage in the negotiations and arrangements of his return to England he had been deceived and who was involved in the deception, he couldn’t know, yet. But the intentions of the men – Osman and Sharp and the other one – seemed crystal clear. The more he thought about it, piecing together the fragments of his time with them, the more convincing his belief became that he had done the right thing.
Eda’s arguments came back to haunt and taunt him. She would be waiting for word from him, although he had warned her that it might not be possible for a while and was dependent on how he was received. The thought struck him with a spasm of his insides that, with him out of the way, she might be at risk herself as an accomplice to what had taken place in Bodrum. He forced himself to believe that Havers just wasn’t the type, Eda had even said so, but hadn’t he countered her observation with one of his own, that the man’s capabilities shouldn’t be underestimated? He was suddenly racked with helpless indecision.
Struck by an idea, he fumbled in his jeans pockets for the slip of paper where Eda had written her mobile phone number. Praying that there was not some block on making international calls from the mobile in his possession, he dialled. After a series of intercontinental clicks and connections, it rang. With each successive ring his level of anxiety ratcheted upwards. After six, Eda’s sleepy voice answered. ‘Acer? Is that you?’
‘Eda, listen to me. I don’t know how much time I’ve got on this phone.’ He hurried on, not giving her a chance to respond. ‘My return has been compromised. I’m safe for now but I don’t know how long for. Eda?’
‘I’m here,’ she said, now sounding fully awake.
‘You could be in danger. I don’t know if Havers is part of it. Do you understand me? You can’t stay there. Is that clear? You have to leave – now.’
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘What can I do to help you?’ Her question unlocked an opportunity that he could have kicked himself for missing - Eda had Tallis’s home phone number.
‘Phone Stan for me. Give him this number. Tell him to call me. I’m not far from him. I’m safe for now. Do you understand? Do it now. Ring him and get out.’
‘I understand,’ she repeated. ‘I love you.’ She hung up before he could respond.
The thought occurred to Sansom that if all else failed he could contact his father-in-law for assistance. He had helped him before. However, as soon as the notion occurred to him, he remembered that those who he had been involved with before had known about the help he had received from the old man. If, as was likely, it was them he was up against now they would be aware of Gerald as a possible contact and place of refuge and act on that. He wouldn’t put the old man in danger again.
He ventured a look out from where he had hidden himself. The rain was heavier now and would keep people inside.
The phone began playing some novelty ring tone in his palm, making him start. The number was withheld. He answered. ‘Stan?’
‘Hello, Acer. Long time no hear.’
With a surreal sense of wonder, Sansom recognised the voice of the man he knew only as Smith, the man who had been instrumental in setting him on his path of vengeance in Turkey. Smith was also, Sansom suspected, directly involved in framing him for the murder of a journalist before he left the UK.
‘Who’s Stan, then, as if I didn’t know?’
Fuck, thought the soldier. He’d just betrayed the name of his one contact, his friend, to a man he had come to believe was a ruthless murderer operating beyond any laws from a position of power in some State agency.
‘Cat got your tongue? You’re probably wondering how on earth I’ve got this number, aren’t you? Good old-fashioned police work, Acer. That’s all. You steal a man’s coat. He says it’s got his phone in it. He gives us the number and, hey presto. Here we are chatting away like old friends.’
Stunned with the simplicity of it, Sansom could only listen intently. If he had not been straining with all his focus on what he was hearing, he may not have heard a voice in the background utter the triumphant words. ‘Got him. Junction Fourteen, M4.’
Realising instantly what had happened, how he’d been suckered by Smith into maintaining the call long enough for them to triangulate his position, he reactively terminated the call, swearing out loud at himself. A wave of nausea swept over him at his naivety and his situation. In seconds, he had gone from being relatively secure to a sitting duck in the middle of nowhere. He wanted to smash the phone into a thousand pieces for its betrayal. But he needed it. He needed it until he had spoken to Tallis.
Understanding that he couldn’t just wait there for them to turn up; fearing that to do so could mean his death, he moved quickly around to the forecourt of the petrol station. He had no need of caution now.
A young man finished filling his car with fuel, replaced the petrol cap and began walking in to pay. Sansom moved to the vehicle. The keys were in the ignition. His girlfriend was in the passenger seat. Sansom got behind the wheel.
He said, ‘You’ve got five seconds to get out or you’re in the worst trouble you’ve ever been in.’
Her face froze in terror. She stumbled out of the vehicle falling to the concrete in her heels and her haste. Without a backward glance, Sansom gunned the engine and accelerated away towards the coast.
They wouldn’t be far behind him. They’d arrive at the petrol station, find the distraught couple, get the information on the car and have every mobile unit in the area converging on him. Sansom thought too about the technology available to track him through the handset. Perhaps he had ten minutes, fifteen, before he had to ditch the car. No more than that. He had to hope that he could find somewhere built up by then. He didn’t want to be exposed in the countryside like he was now.
The phone began to ring again. He looked at the display. The number was not withheld. He pressed accept.
‘Acer?’ The concerned and comforting tones of DI Tallis came down the line.
‘Stan. Thank God. It’s all gone tits up. They’ve set me up.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m on the A338. I’ve borrowed a car but I’m going to have to ditch it soon. Can you help me?’
Tallis, who had been dozing in his chair when Eda had called, was fully alert to the situation, thinking steadily and rationally, like the seasoned policeman that he was. ‘Where exactly on the three-three-eight are you?’
‘Southbound. About a mile from the M4.’
Tallis racked his brain for the geography.
‘Stan?’
‘I’m thinking,’ replied the policeman, as calmly as Sansom remembered him from their most dangerous shared experiences of Bodrum. He was grateful for it. ‘You should be approaching a village called Eddington. You’ll come to a T-junction. Take the left on to the A4. It’s still an A-road but it’s the least busy of the choices that you have. Keep on that road. Stay on the line while I dig out a map.’
Sansom heard Tallis set the phone down. The signpost marking the boundary of the village flashed past in his headlights. He was soon at the junction Tallis had described. Traffic was light. He eased the vehicle on to the A4 feeling some relief now that Tallis was with him.
‘Acer?’
‘Still here.’
‘Good. Does the person you borrowed the car from know you’ve taken it?
‘Yes. I had no option.’
‘Then I think it would be best if you got rid of it as soon as possible. Get to the town of Newbury. You’ll reach it on the A4 soon enough. Follow the signs to the railway station. It should be easy to find. Leave the car a good way away. I’m going to drive up to meet you. I should be with you within a couple of hours. And Acer?’
‘Yes, Stan.’
‘Lock it up in a nice area with the keys inside and out of view, would you? No point in encouraging further crimes.’
‘Thanks, Stan.’
‘No need. I talked you into this. I’m responsible for you now.’ He hung up.
A sign indicating the distance to Ne
wbury flashed past. Sansom made a quick calculation and slowed his speed. He would be at Newbury well before Tallis, so there was no urgency. No need to attract attention. As he drove, he thought of what his immediate future would consist of now. And the thoughts that came to him disturbed him greatly.
*
Despite having consumed a couple of glasses of single malt, Tallis had no hesitation in climbing into his car and driving to help his friend. He had been sincere when he told Sansom that he felt responsible for him. All evening, he had been worrying at no word regarding the soldier’s return. Eda’s frantic phonecall had given his ominous feelings about being unable to get hold of his MI6 contact throughout the afternoon some sort of justification and Tallis wondered how Martins fitted into the situation. When Tallis had met him, he had seemed to be a genuine and trustable man and Tallis considered himself a good judge of character. Most pressing was to find out exactly what had happened, what Sansom meant by his comment that it had gone ‘tits up’. Those questions would have to wait for an hour or two. First, he had to find Sansom and get him away, somewhere safe.
As Tallis drove, he had the idea to try the number of his MI6 contact once more. What an example he felt, driving under the influence and talking on the phone. It would probably cost him his job if he was pulled over. The phone rang three times and was answered.
‘Hello,’ said a voice that Tallis didn’t recognise. ‘Who is this, please?’
Something in the voice made Tallis wary. ‘Is that Mr Martins?’
‘No sir, this is Sergeant Clark of Berkshire County Constabulary. Now, may I ask your name, please? I notice from this phone that you’ve called several times this afternoon.’ Seconds ticked by as Tallis processed the information. ‘Please, don’t ring off, sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘We won’t have much trouble finding out who you are. It’ll save us the bother of tracking you down if you can answer a few questions now.’
Tallis pulled into a lay-by. ‘Sergeant Clark, this is DI Tallis of Hampshire CID. Before you say anything else that might be overheard, I’d appreciate it if you could quietly tell me what you’re doing with Martins’ phone. I’m assuming that something has happened to him.’
‘Why would you assume that, sir?’ said the Sergeant, seemingly unconvinced of Tallis’s claims.
‘Because, Sergeant, I’ve been in your position myself. Are you the senior officer there?’ The sergeant hesitated. ‘Come on, man,’ said Tallis, his frustration with the delay and the situation getting the better of him.
‘No, sir. Detective Inspector Mummery is the senior officer present.’ A cautious tone had now entered the junior officer’s speech.
‘Jack Mummery?’ said Tallis. ‘Put him on, Sergeant. Now.’
There was a muffled exchange before DI Mummery, an officer that Tallis had shared the odd career development course with, and liked, came on the line.
‘Stan?’
‘Hello, Jack. Long time no see. How’re things?’
The officer gave a little laugh down the phone as he recognised Tallis’s voice. ‘Blimey, thought my DS was pulling my chain when he mentioned your name. I’m well, thanks, Stan.’ A tone of sincerity came into Mummery’s voice. ‘Look, I was very sorry to hear about your daughter. Terrible business. Our thoughts were with you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Tallis. ‘I appreciate your saying so.’
‘What on earth are you doing ringing this number?’ said Mummery.
Tallis accepted that the other officer would have his questions that protocol dictated Tallis would have to reply to openly and honestly before he could ask any of his own.
‘I’m liaising with him over a case. Have been for some weeks.’
‘You know who he is, then?’ said Mummery.
‘Yes, of course. Don’t you?’
‘No identification on the body at all.’
Tallis’s spirits nose-dived at the expression.
‘Stan?’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Afraid so. Shot in the head at close range. Hope he wasn’t someone close to you personally.’
‘No, he wasn’t. I only met him a couple of times, but I’m sure that he has a family. Christ.’
‘Stan, who is he?’
‘Can we be overheard?’
‘No, what is it?’
‘If he’s the same man who I know, about six feet, thinning brown hair, large mole on his right cheek, his name is Paul Martins. He’s with MI6. We’ve been cooperating on a case on my patch.’
Mummery whistled down the line. ‘That’s him. Bloody hell, Stan. That’s some serious shit. What the hell is it?’
‘Trust me, it’s best if you don’t know. Can you tell me what’s happened?’
‘His body was found in the boot of a car at Membury Services this evening.’
‘That’s on the M4?’
‘Correct.’
Tallis was mentally trying to locate Membury but couldn’t trawl up the memory. ‘Where is it, exactly?’
‘Midway between Swindon and Reading. Not far from Hungerford. Why?’
‘I know what he was doing today, or supposed to be doing, but he never showed up. Listen, Jack, I’m going to ask you a favour. You’re going to want to talk to me face to face about this. I’m involved. I know that. But let me come over and see you tomorrow. I’m in the middle of something and it’s very important. With any luck I’ll be able to find out something that’ll help your investigation.’ Tallis knew that his colleague could insist that he made himself available immediately if he felt it necessary.
‘OK, Stan,’ said Mummery, after a moment’s delay. ‘Tomorrow about lunch time all right with you?’
‘That’s grand,’ said Tallis. ‘Thanks.’
‘And Stan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take care. If this has anything to do with what you’re involved in you could be in danger. Bloke we’re looking for in connection with it is a nasty piece of work.’
‘Go on,’ said Tallis, both surprised and intrigued. At least that explained why Mummery didn’t want to speak to him immediately – they had a suspect.
‘Bloke name of Sansom. Ex-Army. Special forces connections. Wanted for the murder of that journalist in London a few weeks ago.’
Tallis’s insides began to play up. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Placed at the scene by several witnesses. Got him on CCTV leaving the area just after the uniforms arrived and made a bloody farce of sealing the place off. Cracked open the head of an armed-response unit man. Found his bag in the vehicle.’ Tallis became aware of voices in the background, vying for Mummery’s attention. ‘Got to go, Stan. See you tomorrow, about twelve – and watch your back.’
The line went dead.
Tallis felt suddenly exhausted. Nervous tension flooded out of him. He rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath. Several strands of thought fought for his attention, but his mind was too tired and still suffering the fogginess of a couple of tots of spirits to make any sense of them. He just had questions. Was Sansom involved in the murder of Martins? If not, who was, and was he himself then, by association, in harm’s way? How much would he be able to tell Mummery when he met him the following day? And by aiding and abetting Sansom, as he was about to, was he crossing a professional line?
He drove. He knew that Sansom would have had nothing to do with this murder. Martins was there to help him. But someone didn’t want Sansom helped and they were going to extreme lengths – the murder of an MI6 officer – to make sure that Sansom was on his own and discredited, a shoot-to-kill target. Perhaps they had intended to silence Sansom at the scene. Didn’t Mummery mention armed-response officers? The reality occurred to Tallis that there were only a few people who would be prepared to exact such a price in the pursuit of silence and have the authority to do so, and they would be the ones with most to lose by Sansom’s reappearance to testify in the UK.
Tallis wasn’t much one for conspiracy theories but with what he knew of Bishop’s past an
d his influences and what he had to lose, he had the growing anxiety that they had known about Sansom’s return; had bided their time and now that he was back, set in motion their plans to have him removed. They had created an excuse for a shoot-to-kill order and in doing so they had removed one of the few men who would have known about the reasons for Sansom being back in the UK. If they wanted Sansom truly on his own they didn’t have many people left to eliminate. And he was one of them. If they knew about Sansom’s return, then they would know about his involvement. Mummery was right: he was in danger; he did need to watch his back, but it wasn’t Sansom who he would need to protect himself against, it was Bishop’s agents.
***
5
The closer Tallis got to Sansom the more convinced he became that his initial theory, despite it being arrived at hastily in a slightly inebriated state, made the most sense for the way events were unfolding. But he would have to hear Sansom’s version of what had happened to be sure.
As he drove he had little other than his automated responses to the driving situations that cropped up to distract him from where this train of thought led. If his detective’s intuition was correct then he had to assume the worst – that the lengths these people were obviously prepared to go to would mean that they would certainly have no hesitation in tying up all loose ends, including him.
