‘Sorry to spoil your beauty sleep.’ It was Weller, sounding not the least bit apologetic. He crunched a mint and continued, ‘Can you come to the US Embassy? Ask for Portius. I’ll meet you inside.’
Riley snapped awake. ‘What, now?’
‘My, you’re quick. We’re having a meeting with a State Department suit named Henry Portius. He’s got some information he wants to share about Henzigger.’
Riley didn’t bother hiding her surprise. ‘Why me? I’d have thought you’d want to keep the press as far away as possible. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m-’
‘Because you’re a material witness,’ Weller interrupted her. ‘At least, that’s what I’m calling you. As such, you might be able to help. And right now, I need all the help I can get.’ He rang off and Riley slumped back onto the pillow for a moment before hauling herself out of bed.
***********
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Riley was met in the security lodge at the side of the embassy by a square-jawed US marine in a uniform with mathematically-precise creases. He kept calling her ‘Ma’am’ and looked as if he ate nails for breakfast. Other than a couple of armed policemen patrolling the pavement, and the glow of lights from inside the embassy building, there was little sign of activity.
The marine turned and marched over to a phone and stabbed out a number, and spoke softly with someone on the other end. He managed to move without crimping his shirt or spoiling the mirror-gloss shine of his shoes in the process.
By comparison, Riley felt a mess, having thrown on jeans and a blue cotton shirt, and donning a sports jacket which she figured gave her at least an element of respectability for this time of night and the place she was going.
The marine ended his call and returned smartly to the counter.
‘Ma’am? Could I have your cellphone, please?’ Riley handed it over, and he placed it in a box. ‘It will be here to collect when you leave, Ma’am. This way, please, Ma’am.’ He snapped into a 180º turn and set off at a brisk pace, looking back to make sure Riley hadn’t got waylaid in his slipstream.
They entered the main building and negotiated the security screens, climbing to the first floor and passing several closed doors at speed. There were no overt signs of staff other than her square-jawed escort, and she wondered what would happen if she broke into a run.
The marine gave her no time to find out. He skidded to a stop by a plain door, knocked once and showed her inside, then departed at a gallop. Maybe, thought Riley, he was on a time-trial.
She was in a plain meeting room, with a long table, a twin line of chairs and a large US flag mounted on the wall at one end. The air smelled vaguely of mints. Then Riley saw why: Weller was seated at one end of the table, nursing a cup of coffee.
The man across from him had his back to the window. He was stocky, with carefully trimmed brown hair and eyes the same colour. He looked neat and contained, in a conservative grey suit, and looked to be in his early forties. He didn’t seem pleased to see Riley, but stepped round the end of the table and shook hands cordially enough.
‘Miss Gavin. Henry L. Portius. Nice to meet you.’ At least, Riley noted, when he took his hand back he didn’t wipe it on his jacket.
She nodded at Weller, who indicated a chair next to him and sat forward in a businesslike manner.
‘Henry agreed to this late meeting,’ Weller announced, as if he was in his own office, ‘after I lodged a request for the DEA’s input.’ He flashed a smile at Portius and received a cool look in return. Riley took it to mean that the ‘request’ had been a forceful one. It was an indication of Weller’s clout and how high this matter must have gone to get their agreement.
‘I’m still not sure we have an interest, here,’ Portius said carefully. He jerked his chin up from his shirt collar and looked hard at Weller. Riley wondered if the meeting was being recorded.
‘Don’t be an arse, Henry,’ Weller said genially. ‘One of yours is off the rails and causing mayhem. Of course you’ve got an interest.’ He paused a heartbeat. ‘At least, I take it Henzigger is no longer an agent?’
‘Of course not. I hope you understand that.’ His eyes swivelled Riley’s way and blinked once, the following stare cold and unfriendly. Riley took it to mean that he knew what she did for a living and was trying to intimidate her to silence. It probably worked a treat in the States and sent their journalists scurrying for cover. Right here and now it came across as the cheap bullying trick that it was.
‘We’ll see, shall we?’
‘Ahem,’ Weller coughed quietly and tapped on the desk. ‘Riley, I’ve already given Henry a summary of the situation as far as I know it, and he’s agreed to help.’ He fixed her with a look that said don’t wind Portius up because he’s come a long way, and technically speaking, we’re both on foreign soil. ‘He assures me that Henzigger is no longer an active agent with any branch of the US government. I believe him.’
‘If you say so. But why was he here?’
‘He was required to check in,’ Portius said, ‘as a requirement following his little problem with your Immigration department.’
Riley stared at him. Little problem? The man had come into the country on false plates! She wondered if ‘checking in’ was the reason Henzigger had been in the embassy just hours ago when she rang him, and whether Portius was aware of that fact. ‘Where is he now?’
‘I don’t have that information.’
‘But you have been keeping a watch on him?’
‘Correct.’ Portius’s confirmation was supported by Weller’s nod.
‘May I ask why?’
‘It was routine procedure. He caused a problem. We like to make sure he won’t cause more before leaving.’ He smiled thinly.
Riley looked at both men. This was going nowhere. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘How about filling her in on the background stuff first,’ said Weller, looking at Portius.
Portius sighed, clearly reluctant but no doubt under orders. ‘Just over a year ago there was a drugs operation involving a shipment of cocaine and heroin from somewhere south of the Caribbean. It was tracked to the UK, and the operation was co-ordinated through a senior DEA officer named Quinn, who followed the shipment all the way to London.’ He stared past Riley with a wooden face. ‘Unfortunately, the operation was compromised as the boat was docking.’
‘The general consensus is that Agent Quinn was recognised by a member of the gang,’ Weller supplied casually. ‘He’s something of a media figure, apparently… for a law enforcement official.’ He avoided looking at Portius, who looked as if he wanted to explode at the obvious taunt.
‘Quinn wasn’t that high-profile,’ he muttered coldly.
Riley tapped her fingernail on the table before they came to blows. ‘How does this have anything to do with Henzigger?’
Portius nodded, throwing a final resentful glare at Weller before continuing. ‘The control centre was set up in the harbour master’s office, where they could observe the ship right to the berth. We were also watching the water, making sure no other vessels approached the ship offshore. Once it was in close, Mr Quinn decided he wanted to join the men down in the Customs shed, for a closer look.’
‘Just for the record,’ said Weller, ‘Henry here advised against it. Didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Portius puffed his cheeks out. ‘I did.’
Riley sensed a subtle bit of blame-shifting going on and asked, ‘But he didn’t listen?’
‘That’s right. He insisted on going. Maybe he’d been behind a desk too long and needed the action. We gave him the harbour master’s yellow coat and a hard-hat, and made him carry a box of files, for cover. That was all.’
‘And?’
‘He got part way across the yard and the men on the boat spotted him.’
‘They must have had damned good eyesight, from that distance,’ Weller muttered sourly, turning the screw. ‘A hard-hat, a yellow coat and carrying a box — yet he was still recognised? Wh
o were the men on the boat — janitors from the Washington office?’
Portius opened his mouth but said nothing. Riley realised he wasn’t entirely convinced about what had happened, either. Take any group of men on a construction site, all wearing coats and hard-hats, and you’d have to get close before distinguishing one from another unless the one you wanted possessed strong physical characteristics.
‘So what are you saying?’ she asked finally.
‘I’m saying Quinn was made by somebody who knew him. Somebody who’d worked with him and would recognise him at a distance.’ The admission was grudging, and she realised that Portius must be under some powerful pressure to admit such information to a British policeman and a member of the British press. What she didn’t know was why.
‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ said Weller. His smile dared Portius to contradict.
‘Did you find out who the person was?’ asked Riley. She knew what he was going to say; he just didn’t like admitting to foreigners that they had a bad apple in the barrel, a concept that was anathema to their whole way of thinking.
‘There’s evidence to suggest,’ Portius’s voice sounded strangled, as if he was trying to expel a nasty object lodged in his throat, ‘that it was Toby Henzigger.’
**********
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘More than a bloody suggestion,’ Weller put in dryly. ‘Our information puts Henzigger in London when the bust was blown, whereas he’d left notes with friends to say was travelling in Europe.’
‘So what?’ Portius looked close to bursting, his face growing red with a mixture of emotions. Clearly embarrassment was high on the list. ‘Last time I heard, England was in Europe, too. And there’s no rule to say he couldn’t come here if he wanted.’
‘Okay.’ Riley broke in on the threatening feud. ‘But how does Henzigger know Quinn?’
Portius seemed relieved by the interruption. ‘They both went through the DEA training programme together. They were even roomies for a while. In those circumstances, you get to know people like your own family.’ He scowled as if reluctantly acknowledging that every family has a black sheep.
Riley couldn’t blame him. Nobody liked the idea that a former colleague was batting for the opposition. ‘So he was working with the drug shippers,’ she said. ‘What made him do it?’
Portius shrugged and looked depressed. ‘We don’t know. Maybe he was exposed for too long. If so, we should have spotted it sooner. Maybe he was compromised and got in too deep. The fact is, he’s been under suspicion for unauthorised activities in Latin America, but all our investigations so far have revealed nothing. Nothing we can use, anyway.’
‘Did he have the ability to mount the shipment? It’s hardly like shopping at B amp; Q, is it?’
Portius looked puzzled by the reference but shrugged it off. ‘Sure. He had the contacts, the sources and the experience. He certainly knew where to get supplies. He knew the people who’d already set up supply chains, so setting up another — if that’s what he did — was just a question of logistics.’
‘But those chains originally led to the American mainland through the Caribbean,’ Weller pointed out reasonably. ‘Why switch to Europe?’
‘The States is already awash with product. Prices have dropped and the inter-gang wars are getting out of control. Everyone wants whatever action is going. We think Henzigger identified a growing market in Europe and saw distractions in the system which he thought could be exploited. ‘
‘Distractions?’
‘Asylum seekers.’ Weller looked at Riley. ‘You know what it’s like. From Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Bosnia, Albania — you name it. With anti-terrorist measures being prioritised at airports and away from coastal ports, you get holes. Big ones. Henzigger would have seen it without too much difficulty. It’s what he was trained for.’
Riley waited, but there didn’t seem to be anything else forthcoming. She decided to inject some excitement into the room to see what the reaction was.
‘What about Walter Asner?’ she asked.
The effect on Portius was electric. He almost jumped out of his seat. ‘Asner? Christ, how do you know about him?’
‘Who the hell is Walter Asner?’ Weller demanded, rounding on Riley.
‘He was a deep-cover DEA agent working within the embassy circuit,’ Riley told him. ‘His job was to ferret out information at the top of the tree — people who thought they were beyond reach. He committed suicide in his garage after retiring from the agency. Allegedly.’
Portius looked shocked. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Henzigger. He told me all about Asner’s role with the DEA.’
Portius looked stunned.
‘Why did he do that?’ Weller demanded. The look on his face told Riley he wasn’t ignoring the fact that she’d got more information from Henzigger than she’d let on earlier.
‘I still haven’t worked that out. It was all part of the story he told me about being under suspicion.’
Portius shifted in his chair, prompting Riley and Weller to look at him. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Asner spent several years in Colombia. He moved among the embassy people, socialising, advising, helping smooth paths on trade deals. He was a faceless, harmless civil servant and nobody gave him a second thought, least of all staffers from friendly embassies. As far as they were concerned, he was merely another admin suit in line to have his hand shaken. We think,’ he looked up at Riley momentarily, ‘we think he stumbled on something that really bothered him. Something big enough that he couldn’t carry on. So he resigned. That was all.’
‘Hardly all,’ Weller murmured. ‘It made him take his own life.’
Portius gave another jut of his jaw and shot one of his cuffs in indignation. It was clearly an uncomfortable topic, but equally clear that he was under orders. ‘The belief in the agency is that Asner had done something nobody counted on: he’d uncovered a conspiracy involving our own people. It’s the only explanation.’
Riley watched his face, trying to work out what was behind the official mask. ‘You don’t think it was suicide, do you?’
‘No. But we can’t prove it was murder.’
Weller growled, leaping ahead. ‘Christ, to think we let Henzigger go on your say-so.’
‘Henzigger killed him?’ Riley looked between them for confirmation. ‘He told me they were friends.’
Portius blinked rapidly. ‘Colleagues in the same pool would be more accurate. Asner was a professional; he must have made records, some notes we haven’t yet found. Asking for retirement right out of the blue like he did, it must have struck Henzigger as odd. We think he went to see Asner at his home and Asner either told him what he’d discovered or let it slip. It’s possible Asner had discovered what Henzigger was up to.’
‘Was this part of the trouble Henzigger got into?’ said Riley.
‘It was part of an ongoing investigation, yes. But we couldn’t marry the two.’ He coughed. ‘Possibly Asner did.’
‘How?’
‘By joining two ends of the same piece of string. If he found out what contacts Henzigger had with the cartels and FARC, then studied which people on our side Henzigger was seeing regularly, the rest was a matter of deduction. We’re still trying to follow the same path.’
‘How does this affect us?’ Weller sounded bullish, but Riley had a feeling he was already there, and was merely nudging the conversation along.
‘If Henzigger was arranging shipments, he needed someone to facilitate things down the line: documents, shipping papers, permits, letters of recommendation — it had to be someone with access to papers and people.’
‘Why couldn’t he do it himself?’ Riley asked.
‘Henzigger didn’t have local knowledge of the area where the shipments were going, or the contacts. He’d have had to recruit someone to convince his suppliers he could pull it off, otherwise they wouldn’t have touched him.’
‘So this contact would need knowledge of where he was
shipping his drugs to, then?’
‘Yes. But this has been going on for a long time. We think he developed contacts in the trade sections of various embassies, spread across Europe to begin with. But the UK was the jackpot. Whoever the UK contact was, would have been expensive, but the end result would have been worth it. The returns are huge and the markets insatiable. All he had to do was stay clear of the opposition at this end, but I doubt he’d planned on being around too long to care, anyway.’
‘Do you know the name of this contact?’ Weller looked as tense as a gun dog and even Portius picked up on it. But now the tables were turned, and Riley felt the American’s relief at being able to point a finger of blame at someone on the other side.
‘We’re not sure,’ he replied cautiously. ‘The evidence points towards Sir Kenneth Myburghe.’
Weller looked ready to go ballistic. ‘Can I suggest, then, Henry,’ he grated, barely restraining himself, ‘that you get your team working on it? In the meantime, we’ll see if we can’t come up with the answer from this end.’ He threw Portius a look heated enough to have welded the American to his seat, then stood up and headed for the door, signalling for Riley to follow.
As she did so, a phone rang on a small table behind Portius. He reached over and snatched it up as if grabbing a lifeline to save him from further humiliation.
‘You knew all this, didn’t you?’ Riley hissed, as they neared the door. ‘All that claptrap about Palmer and Myburghe and what Henzigger was doing. You’ve known all the time. How long have you been working on this?’
‘Too bloody long,’ he replied sourly. ‘I’ll be glad to see the back of it.’
‘Wait.’ It was Portius, springing up as if jet-propelled.
They stopped and looked at him.
‘Something else I was going to tell you,’ he said quietly, the words coming out reluctantly.’ There’s another shipment.’ He replaced the phone gently on its cradle. ‘A big one. We think Henzigger’s behind it.’
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