by Alan Veale
He thought she hadn’t heard him at first, watching as she refilled the kettle before holding out a hand for his mug.
‘Why? What did he say?’
‘He said you were his sister. Said you had the same eyes.’
‘Do we?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Thank heavens for that. I don’t want to feel… his father was… mine too.’ Tears on her cheek at the images in her brain. ‘I never knew my mother. She died in the blitz. I was two months old, so he… he had complete control. I didn’t know it was wrong, at first. Ran away after… a party… gave me to his friend Peter as a birthday present. I was nine-years-old, Peter was sixteen. I idolised him, you see. He was nearer my age and… gentle. But later, it got to hurt more. Antony showed him other ways and I didn’t like doing it. I’m sorry. Did you want sugar?’
Billie was taken aback. The mug of hot water she placed in front of him had not been infused with either tea or coffee. ‘Er… no. No thanks, this is fine. Go on. Did you not want to run away?’
‘Oh, yes. I was nearly twelve when I finally did it.’ She spoke about her escape with as much pride as if she had won a gold medal. Then something more hurtful made her voice crack. ‘I left everything behind and got on a bus with another family. Don’t know where it was going, but I ended up in a squat with a couple of older girls in Birmingham… I suppose I was the lucky one!’ She gave Billie an embarrassed look, pouring herself a large gin and topping it up with a dash of lemonade. ‘There was always someone else with a worse story than mine. Took me under their wing, fed me and… kept me out of trouble.’
Billie looked on as she reached up to a shelf in a cupboard and found a small jar of pitted green olives. Her body language gave everything away: a glance at both doorways before scooping out a small handful, then throwing him a conspiratorial grin as she returned the jar to its hiding place.
‘Better than biscuits.’ She popped an olive between her lips before continuing. ‘You won’t tell him, will you? I told Meredith we’d run out.’
He admired the rebel within. Perhaps the hearty meal and the aspirin had helped, coupled with the thought that even a skilled assassin like Meredith could make mistakes. But he sensed Helen had not yet finished her story.
‘And after Birmingham?’
She seemed to ignore the question, holding out one of the olives. ‘Would you like one?’
‘No thanks. You haven’t told me what happened to you after Birmingham.’
‘Social Services. Or whatever they were called in those days… don’t remember. I got put in a home.’ Her eyes drifted towards the garden, searching for happier days. ‘He didn’t want me anymore. My father. So, I was put up for adoption. That was when I met Marion.’
Billie could relate to her story, having lost his own parents at an early age, but he could not understand a father deliberately giving up a child for adoption. Now he saw the light transform Helen’s face. Marion had clearly been someone she felt close to.
‘Who’s Marion?’
‘We were like sisters. Looked alike even though she was what… three years younger? She was an orphan. Don’t remember what happened there, but she just latched on to me. Slept in the same bed. Did everything together. When the Palmers took me on, she had to come too! They adopted both of us, you see? That’s why it was so hard, finding out about Peter…’
She started to sob, burying her face in her hands, leaning against the kitchen island for support as Billie skirted round it to place a concerned arm across her shoulders. Supporting emotional females was not his strong point, but he felt he needed to return a favour. Besides, from that corner of the room he had spotted a linen basket—bulging with clothing that looked familiar.
*
Upstairs in Eric Vinke’s former office space, Jaeger and Meredith were listening to the conversation over an audio speaker wired to a device planted in the kitchen.
‘Switch it off. She’s only spewing up vomit from the past. And he’s come out with nothing useful.’
Meredith did as he was bid. ‘I don’t think he even knows about the other letter. It’s not listed here, so I still say she kept it herself.’
‘You may be right,’ Jaeger agreed. ‘Or you may be wrong. Either way I don’t want to take any chances. We need the girl, but he may not even know where she is. Why go to Bootle? So, if your whatsit message doesn’t flush her out—’
‘WhatsApp.’
‘All right! Stupid name. Whoever came up with that one needs a painful lobotomy… I was going to say, if your… message doesn’t achieve the desired result, then we need another angle. Preferably one that produces both the document and the letter.’
‘If you’d let me have a go—’
‘NO! I want no more violence. Unless it’s a last resort. God gave us each a brain, so bloody well use it. What else have you got that might persuade Mr Vane to cooperate?’
‘His daughter?’
Jaeger’s cold eyes gleamed. ‘How old is she?’
‘Looks like she had her tenth birthday a few months ago. Sounds like an only child, and from his reaction earlier I’d say he feels very protective.’
Jaeger nodded approvingly. ‘And the mother?’
‘I think it’s the American called Chrissie. He’s been in touch with her a lot lately too. I get the impression they’re living apart but still seem friendly. She’s been helping him research stuff, and she knows about the document.’
‘Interesting. I wonder what might happen if our guest thought his daughter might be at risk from a certain quarter? Or… if one of his circle thought the same?’
Meredith sat in thought for a moment before picking up Billie’s new phone and searching his contacts. ‘I’ll do this one myself.’
Slowly and carefully he typed a new message:
Hi, Is Tina okay? I think Gris is after her. Can you put her somewhere safe and let me know where? I’ll explain later. Thanks—Billie.
Once Jaeger had checked it over, he pressed “Send”. ‘If that doesn’t get a reaction, I’ll shave my head.’
Forty-Six
Chrissie had made herself comfortable in a Glasgow bar while she waited for her brother’s response. It didn’t take long.
‘Chrissie, it’s Ed. Are you okay to talk?’
‘You bet. I could use some brotherly love after getting a message like that. Why is Billie asking me about Tina? Do you know something I don’t?’
‘You’ve not replied, have you?’
‘No, I didn’t know what to say. It’s obvious the poor lamb’s a bit screwed up.’ She nodded to the bartender as he presented her with a receipt, then listened wide-eyed for several minutes as her brother told her about Emily’s appearance and the events of the last few hours. ‘No shit, Sherlock! You know, I think I’ll pass on a second vodka and go pack. We gotta get Billie out of this.’
‘That’s the plan, but you’re going to have to fit in a response to these guys before you do anything else. Hang on.’
Chrissie could hear a hasty yet muffled conversation in her earpiece. Ed speaking to a woman, presumably Emily. She swallowed a third of her drink in one draught, shaking her head at the bartender as he reached for the half-empty tonic bottle. Then she poured the rest of the mixer into her glass and gave him an OK sign. Better dilute the alcohol. Long drive ahead.
‘Chrissie? We’ve drafted a response we want you to send back. You got pen and paper?’
‘Of course I have. Give me a minute.’ She caught the attention of the ever-helpful bartender. ‘Babe? You got pen and paper? Thanks. Here we go. Okay, Eddie, what do you want me to say?’ A few moments careful dictation and she read the message back:
Understood but she’s safer with me, and we’d both be happier if we could join you. Where are you? We can get on a train tomorrow and meet at a station near you? What do you want me to do with the document?
‘Okay. So I’m supposed to have the T Doc?’
‘Yeah. We think that’s what Gris
really wants through this, so if he thinks you’ve got it…’
‘Okay. But Eddie, just one thing. Are we absolutely sure this is not Billie?’
‘I am, but we’ll know by his reply. He knows you don’t have that document. And Chrissie, it can’t be Billie anyway. There’s no reason I can think of why he’d ask you to put Tina somewhere safe. I’m guessing Gris has read the stuff on Billie’s phone and got you confused with Tina’s mum.’
‘Got it. So how secure are we right now?’
‘Robin says we should be okay if we stick to WhatsApp. Just don’t use the group we set up with Billie.’
‘Great. Guess this girl’s going to have get her warpaint on. I’ll send the message now.’
*
Ed cut the connection and found O’Brien had returned to the room. Emily was updating him on the second WhatsApp message, and the response they had agreed to send. The commander listened, but Ed got the impression he was a little distracted.
‘Good… good. You’ve done well. There’s—’
Emily had a lot more to say. ‘And I think we have a strong lead where we can find Peter Gris.’
‘Excellent news. But I have a problem.’ He sat down and idly scanned the contents of the Titanic document folder as he spoke. ‘The operation has been pulled. As of now. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Orders from the highest level.’
‘Orders? Who from? The chief?’
‘Higher. Look, Emily, I’m as disappointed as you are, but my official position—’
‘Official, my arse! This was an unofficial operation to begin with! You can’t just—’
‘YES, I CAN!’ O’Brien’s flushed face said it all. The tension of the morning spilt over. ‘I can hire you. I can sack you. I can recruit anyone I wish to on my team, and I can sack the lot, including me. I am standing down from this team because that is exactly what I have been ordered to do.’ He took a deep breath before emphasising his next three words. ‘Do you understand?’
A look passed between them. Four people in the room. Two sparring for a fight and two onlookers. Then Emily spoke again. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I do. Thanks for that.’
O’Brien gave her another long stare, then glanced around at Ed and Robin as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Gentlemen, I’m sorry our acquaintance has been so brief. Difficult times. Good luck.’ He shook hands with them both before pausing in the doorway. ‘You can keep the room as long as you like. And Emily…’
‘Yes?’
‘That document. I presume it’s complete?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘No other copies?’
She shook her head.
‘Then take every precaution. You know how to find me.’
The door closed behind him.
*
Ten minutes later, O’Brien walked into a wine bar on Deansgate and found a familiar face in the crowd. He set his briefcase down on the floor, took a seat and sighed heavily.
‘You look how I feel,’ said the grim-faced man opposite.
‘Difficult times.’
‘You can say that again. Bloody politicians! I got you a large merlot. That okay?’
‘Thanks, Tanner. Your very good health.’ He took a small sip and replaced his glass on the table. ‘Now, what couldn’t you say on the phone?’
‘The PM’s coming to town. Tomorrow.’
O’Brien blinked. ‘I’m guessing this is connected?’
‘Not necessarily. It’s the usual media exercise, focusing on the so-called Northern Powerhouse, with emphasis on transport. He needs some good PR as quickly as possible while Parliament’s still in recess. But it’s extra pressure on us.’
‘It always is. And how certain are you that Jaeger’s telling the truth this time?’
‘As certain as I can be. Andrew Leonard has been put on unofficial house arrest by his dad, and we’ve got instructions to look the other way. So, it all fits. Peter Gris RIP.’
O’Brien sat in silence for a long moment. Another disappointment, but they didn’t get any easier to swallow. ‘Meredith?’
‘Strutting around like a peacock on heat, dishing out orders and loving it. Why not? He’s working directly under Jaeger now, so he’s protected “by association”. God, I’d give anything to wipe the smile off his fucking face, though.’
O’Brien nodded, deep in thought. ‘That’s the issue, isn’t it? It all comes back to one thing: power to the people… or perhaps the reverse.’ He looked up to see the question in Tanner’s eyes. ‘Sorry! Just thinking aloud. As you said before—bloody politicians. On the subject of Meredith, I believe he may have clocked up another unlawful death in Bootle yesterday. Any news on that? Have you had any further contact?’
Tanner shook his head. ‘I spoke to him yesterday. He was driving. I’ve not seen him personally, and Jaeger plays his cards very close. I gave him the phone and was dismissed with a polite Thank you, dear boy. A ninety-mile round trip, and that’s all I get. Treated like a bloody postman.’
O’Brien walked back towards the Hilton, digesting all the information disclosed by Tanner. It angered him to be taken off the board in this way. At his rank in the force he had been privy to the politics necessary for governing: integration between the lawmakers and those expected to uphold it. Men like him did their best to serve two masters: The People and The Power. The question was to whose tune he should ultimately dance. On the surface the answer lay with the decision-makers who held themselves above the law, because that was what they claimed they had been elected to do. An elite and exclusive band demanding loyalty from those in their circle. They even had a name: known historically as The Association, they used it sparingly themselves. Their methods of operation always in the name of the sovereign—to protect National Security—a banner of convenience under which a range of acts were committed that might otherwise be considered crimes. But only by a select few, and always on behalf of HMG. Like his predecessors and peers, he toed the line, playing his part in a charade of enforcement that indulged his manipulators. Until now—walking away from the foot soldiers like Emily, where his input might have been valued at a personal level.
O’Brien’s thoughts drifted back to his parting words with Emily Blake: I presume it’s complete? The look in her eyes… Vinke in Lancashire. The family connection: a man who wrote about conspiracy stories, whose own home was now occupied by Sir Antony-Bloody-Jaeger. Yes, there were links in the chain here that made ironic sense. A chain that ended with the Prime Minister, who just happened to be heading north tomorrow.
Forty-Seven
Chrissie received a reply on the drive to Manchester that evening. She pulled over at the next services to check the message, then read it out to her brother.
Thanks, Chrissie. If you and Tina want to come down thats fine with me. I’d feel happier with you both here. Too much to tell you now but please bring the document. We need to find a more secure place. Theres a train just after 10am from Glasgow Central gets in to Preston at 12.20. I’ll be there to meet you. Okay?
‘You want to know how I know this isn’t Billie?’
‘How?’
‘Because he didn’t put an apostrophe in that’s or there’s. He’s such a pedant on those things. Never misses. So who do you think is doing this?’
‘My money’s on a guy called Meredith, who works for Gris. Emily will tell you all about him when you get here. You’ll have to hunker down with her, just so you know. Rooms are in short supply, and Robin and I already booked the honeymoon suite.’
‘Fine with me, honey. I just hope she has her own earplugs. I’ll need my beauty sleep if I’ve got a hot date with Meredith.’
*
Chrissie’s confirmation of their 'date' arrived as Meredith returned from another rendezvous outside the house. He entered the kitchen after reading her response and found Helen chopping onions.
‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘Our guest with the headache.’
‘Upst
airs. He said he wanted to lie down. He only went up about ten minutes ago.’
‘Good. Get him down here again. I want a word with both of you.’ He didn’t wait for a reply, and went in search of his boss. He found him in Vinke’s office on the next level.
‘We’re good to go tomorrow. The other half just confirmed.’
Sir Antony Jaeger did not turn around. He had positioned Vinke’s wheelchair for a view out over the countryside to the north-west, yet his eyes failed to see any beauty. His restless brain perceived the shades of green and brown as an abstract of mucus and excrement. ‘What did you say?’
‘Arrangements are in hand for Preston. She just sent a reply.’
‘And who do you think will be there?’
‘Not the daughter. They’ll know Vane wouldn’t have agreed to that. They’ll be desperate to get him back, and they’re curious. The girl still thinks her target is alive, so she’s not going to resist an opportunity to get closer, is she?’
‘You think Emily Whatsername will make an appearance?’
‘Almost certainly. If we can isolate her tomorrow, that’ll give us two bites at the cherry. I can play one off against the other if I wish.’
Jaeger smiled. ‘I’d say you were already doing that, after a fashion. What have you got there?’
While they had been speaking, Meredith pulled out several files from a cupboard. Now he held up a slim cardboard folder with “North Manchester Divisional HQ” printed at the top, and “NQA” marked in red felt tip pen in one corner. ‘A little memento our unexpected guest should appreciate, and it might just encourage a little more cooperation.’
