‘Women,’ said Palmer, shaking his head, and closed the jaws of the metal cutters again with a sickening snap. ‘Too soft every time.’
Moments later, Michael began talking.
Chapter 39
‘I’ll see you later,’ said Palmer. ‘They won’t want you there. It’s best you stay out of it.’
He and Riley were standing at the bottom of Trafalgar Square, looking east towards the Strand. To their right was a bookseller and a souvenir shop, with the main entrance to Charing Cross station a few yards away, and next to it, the entrance to a hotel. A clutch of chattering tourists were waiting to cross the road on their left, barely stopping themselves from spilling out into the traffic, while a solid line of cars, bikes and buses waiting to head west and north clogged the air with fumes.
After calling Charlie to tell him where Mikhail Rubinov could be found and, from the plane ticket in Rubinov’s jacket pocket, where Arthur Radnor was heading, they had gone home to wait.
‘Go see a film, visit the seaside and collect shells — anything,’ Charlie had advised them heavily. ‘Leave everything alone now. You’ve done enough. I’ll make sure something gets done.’ With that he had rung off to start the process of stirring into motion the sluggish machine that operated the various arms of the law.
That had been four days ago. Since then there had been nothing in the news, no reports of sudden arrests, no passengers detained at air or sea-ports, and no speculation about former spies or arms smuggling.
Riley had got together with Donald Brask in the hopes of working out a possible story which wouldn’t upset Charlie’s superiors, but her agent had advised her against taking it any further. ‘I know it hurts,’ he had said sympathetically. ‘But there are some enemies you don’t need. Let it go. There will be other stories.’
Palmer, back to his usual self, had disappeared on a job somewhere, stopping by to check there had been no signs of Ragga Pearl’s men showing an interest.
Then Charlie had rung back earlier that morning, to advise them that Palmer’s presence was requested at a location near Whitehall. ‘It’s a de-briefing,’ Charlie had added. ‘You’ve done plenty of those before. Don’t worry, Frank, if they were going to arrest you, they’d have done it by now. But don’t play silly buggers. These people aren’t the kind to mess with.’
Now here they were, with Riley alongside to see that nothing untoward happened to Palmer. But she still felt she should be with him when he went in to face his inquisitors.
‘They must know all about me, Palmer. You don’t have to protect me, you know.’
‘I know. But why show up on their radar when you don’t have to?’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘They merely want to impress on me that I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, so I’d better keep my mouth shut. It’s the way the official mind works. If I’m not out in three hours, send in the massed ranks of the Salvation Army.’ He turned and walked away, leaving her among the crush of people on the pavement.
The hotel foyer was shiny and polished, with a desk on one side and an array of soft chairs on the other. A large star-shape was set into the tiled floor, and a variety of pot plants conspired to give an air of freshness, light and calm. There were few people about, and little noise other than the ringing of a phone in the background.
Palmer started towards the desk but was intercepted by a young man in a plain, grey suit. Palmer knew instantly that he was not a hotel employee.
‘Mr Palmer?’ The young man had clear skin and the kind of tan you only get through regular exercise in the great outdoors.
‘The one and only.’
‘You’re late,’ said the other. He wore a subdued tie and shirt, and Palmer doubted he’d be able to remember his face after five minutes. The eyes, however, were steady and cool, a giveaway to his profession.
‘Take it out of my taxes,’ said Palmer mildly. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
The young man looked mildly surprised, but turned and led Palmer along a corridor and up some wide, curving stairs to a room on the first floor. On the way they passed another man, a near-clone of the first, who turned and wandered along in their wake. Palmer had every reason to suspect there were others nearby, just like them. He almost felt flattered.
‘Who are you two?’ he quipped. ‘Fortnum and Mason?’
The first man — Fortnum — stopped outside a set of double doors. He knocked twice and opened them to reveal a large conference room with a high ceiling. Rows of chairs faced a small stage with a lectern and microphone. Two men were seated at the front, talking softly. They stopped as Palmer stepped inside. Fortnum closed the door and stationed himself in front of it, while Mason stayed outside.
‘Ah, Palmer. Good of you to make it.’ The speaker was tall and willowy, dressed in an impeccable suit and shiny shoes. His tie knot was small and hard, like a walnut, and sat with careful precision between the twin horns of his starched, white shirt collar. He had military stamped all the way through him. He gestured at the room. ‘Apologies for the unusual surroundings, but we thought somewhere…neutral might be more appropriate.’
His companion stared at Palmer without getting up. He was holding a cup of coffee and looked as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of grouts. He was older, heavier, with the pasty skin and soft jaw-line of the serial bureaucrat, and Palmer guessed he was there as a political counterweight, to ensure this didn’t become too matey between former serving men.
‘So, do you two have names?’ Palmer queried. He wasn’t expecting anything like the truth, but it was worth a try.
The first man smiled. ‘Of course. I’m Shelley and this,’ he indicated his companion, ‘is Knowles.’
Palmer nodded, not believing either name, but aware it was all he was going to get.
‘This…Azimtec business,’ Shelley continued smoothly, ‘has gone far enough, I think. I appreciate how you got into it, but you’ll let us handle it from here on, agreed?’ The query at the end was not a courtesy, but a statement of fact.
‘Handle it how?’ Palmer wasn’t stupid. He knew he was outgunned and these people would simply jump all over his bones if he became an obstruction. But some innate sense of rebellion wasn’t going to let him roll over without a show of resistance. Besides, he was genuinely interested in where this was going. Rogue elements had to be seen to be dealt with, if only internally.
‘That’s really none of your business.’ Knowles spoke for the first time, not even bothering to look at Palmer as he did so, but staring down into his coffee cup. His voice had the snap of somebody talking to a minion and expecting to be obeyed. ‘You are still subject to the Official Secrets Act, Palmer.’ He finally turned his head in what he probably thought was a threatening manner. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
Palmer felt himself bristle at the man’s tone, even though he had expected just this approach. Typical bureaucrat, treating everyone else like peasants. He’d met men like Knowles before, and had the soldier’s special brand of contempt for those who did the talking without involving themselves in the messy bits. And Knowles struck him as definitely one who didn’t do anything messy. He wasn’t so sure about Shelley, however.
He did the only thing he could, which was to pointedly ignore the man. Instead, he turned back to Shelley. ‘I’ll just say this, in case I don’t get the opportunity later. I can’t prove it, but I’m certain the man I know as Arthur Radnor, who once worked for the security services as an agent-runner, arranged for an east German national named Claus Wachter, with whom he had an arrangement in the shipping west of stolen artworks, to be caught and shot dead while coming across the wire from the GDR in nineteen eighty-nine. He also arranged the murder of a British Military Police sergeant that same year. Sergeant Reg Paris died on the autobahn near Frankfurt.’ He knew they were already aware of these facts, but he didn’t think it would do any harm to repeat them. ‘I also believe he and his colleague, a man named Mikhail Rubinov, a former member of a Russian security department, caused the death
of a small-time fraudster named Gillivray in Harrow, and murdered a woman named Cecile Wachter in Streatham. She was the sister of the man killed crossing the wire.’
There was a silence in the room, during which nobody moved. A pigeon cooed and flapped its wings on a window ledge, and a muffled cackle of laughter came from somewhere above their heads. It seemed an ill-timed response to what Palmer had just outlined.
‘Yes, we know what he did, and we’re grateful for your assistance. And that of Miss Gavin.’ Shelley fixed Palmer with a glint of warning in his eye. ‘You know as well as I, Palmer, that there comes a point at which you as a private individual have to step back and leave us to deal with things. We’ve studied the details carefully, and come to the conclusion that it serves no purpose in letting this get out into the public domain.’
‘You what?’ Palmer didn’t bother hiding his disgust. He’d been prepared for an official silence, even some stonewalling, but not this.
‘I’m sorry. It won’t bring back Sergeant Paris, Herr Wachter or the others. Nor will it help for the public to learn so long after the event that a member of the security services was a profiteer and a murderer.’ A fleeting sign of distaste crossed the man’s face. ‘Even if I would personally prefer we strung Radnor up by his thumbs in Whitehall and let him rot.’
Knowles looked appalled by this comment, but said nothing. It demonstrated to Palmer who was the senior ranker here, and he smiled openly, making Knowles flush with anger.
‘That’s not good enough,’ Palmer replied, with a coolness he didn’t feel. ‘I’m not sure I could stomach seeing him go free, not after what he did.’
The threat hung heavily between them, and Shelley looked slightly saddened and shook his head.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, this has gone far enough!’ Knowles lurched from his seat, spraying droplets of coffee from his lips in the process. He glared at Palmer with hot eyes and stabbed a finger in the air. ‘This is not a discussion, Palmer. You’re no longer in the Military Police, in case you’ve forgotten. You’re a simple member of the public. We brought you here as a courtesy, not for a debate, although I opposed it from the start.’ He glanced at Shelley as if to apportion blame, then continued, ‘The matter is over, whether you like it or not. If you involve yourself any further, I will make sure the full weight of the law comes down on you. And that includes your little girlfriend, Gavin, who I’m sure would not relish a term of imprisonment. Do you understand me?’
Shelley began to turn his head, mouth open at this outburst. But before he could speak, Palmer stepped forward, placing himself within a few inches of his companion’s face. Knowles stepped sharply backwards, and in trying to move out of range, up-ended his cup, spilling the last of his coffee down the front of his suit.
Over by the door, Fortnum started forward, but stopped at a brief signal from Shelley.
‘Don’t start something,’ said Palmer with chilling softness, so that only the man in front of him could hear, ‘that you can’t finish.’ Knowles flinched and went even paler, his mouth opening and closing in shock. He glanced sideways for support from his colleague, as if aware he had gone too far.
Shelley, however, appeared unconcerned by whatever Palmer may have said. He merely cleared his throat and placed a hand on Knowles’ shoulder. ‘Leave us, will you, Stephen? I’d like to speak to Mr Palmer alone.’ His tone was less than gracious, the chill in his voice unmistakable.
Knowles looked as if he might argue, then decided against it and walked over to the door as fast as he could. Fortnum opened it and closed it firmly after him, and turned back with a hint of a smile on his face.
‘Dangerous little bugger, that,’ commented Shelley mildly. ‘Fights all his battles from behind. Political appointee, unfortunately. Place is crawling with them.’ He rocked on his heels and gave Palmer a benign look. ‘I can’t give you any assurances, you know that. It’s not the way we work. But neither can any of this come to court.’
‘It should. Radnor deserves it.’
‘I agree, he does — and more. But it would serve no purpose, mostly because people such as our friend,’ he nodded toward the door, ‘have created an atmosphere where the law is everything, and justice is…well, not what it used to be.’ His lips gave a twitch and he studied his highly polished shoes.
Palmer waited, still not sure where this was ultimately leading. He was being warned off, he knew that; but he wanted to feel there was some point in this. Some quid pro quo. Something told him he wouldn’t have been brought here otherwise. Eventually, he said, ‘So that means?’
‘Leave Arthur Radnor to us. That’s all we’re saying.’ Shelley’s voice was calm and controlled, almost conversational in tone. Yet there was a hard edge to it. ‘Don’t ask questions, don’t push for answers — they won’t be forthcoming. We will deal with this.’ He paused before continuing carefully, ‘I really wouldn’t want to see Knowles take the kind of action he would like to.’
As Palmer stared him in the eye, he realised the man was telling him something. He felt a sudden chill in his gut. It was a message and warning in one. ‘So you have got Radnor.’ He studied the other’s face, but it was now carefully blank. It was answer enough; they already had Michael, he knew that from Charlie. Shelley meant what he said: it ended here.
Shelley smiled suddenly and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your help,’ he said genially. ‘Please give my regards to Miss Gavin. And you might impress on her the inadvisability of writing a story on any of this.’
Chapter 40
Riley tensed as Frank Palmer appeared in the hotel entrance. Another figure hovered momentarily in the doorway behind him, then stepped back into the shadows and was gone.
Palmer stood for a moment on the outside, breathing in the warm air like a man who has been cooped up inside for far too long. He had his hands in his pockets, but Riley could tell he was not as relaxed as he appeared. He saw her waiting and walked across the forecourt to join her, dodging a taxi turning in off the Strand.
‘What did they say?’ she asked, as they walked together towards Trafalgar Square, where the usual crush of tourists was clustered around the fountains, eyeing the pigeons and taking photos in front of Nelson’s Column.
Palmer didn’t answer immediately, but led her across the road to the square and stopped at an ice cream cart. He bought two cones and asked the man to add two sticks of chocolate. He handed one to Riley.
‘Not much,’ he said eventually, when they were out of earshot of the vendor. He lounged against a stretch of guardrail, watching the stream of traffic heading south towards Whitehall. ‘One blustered and bullied, one didn’t. In the end, they did what civil servants always do: they gave nothing away.’
Riley turned to him, her ice cream forgotten. ‘So Radnor gets away with it? That sucks.’ She took an angry bite of the cone, scattering flakes of chocolate and startling an elderly Japanese tourist standing nearby.
‘What did you expect — a happy ending?’ Palmer turned his head and looked at her with a level gaze. ‘Actually, he won’t get away with anything. They weren’t just civil servants.’
‘So who, then?’
‘At a guess, they come from under a stone on the other side of the river — the one with tacky bits of green on the front.’
‘Oh.’ Riley finally understood. ‘Radnor’s old firm.’
‘Yup.’ He studied his cone and licked around the middle. ‘Not the kind to mess with.’
Something in the tone of his voice drew Riley’s attention. When he talked like this, it usually came from the darker side of Palmer’s experiences, the same part which recognised that pragmatism sometimes overruled what normal society might judge to be right and just. Still, for Palmer to find a suit scary was saying something. She let it ride.
Palmer finished all but the nub of his cone, dumping the rest on the pavement, where it was quickly pounced on by a watchful pigeon.
‘You’re not allowed to feed them,’ advised Riley sternly. ‘
They’re vermin, didn’t you know?’
Palmer took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers. ‘Give me them any day,’ he said softly, ‘compared with some.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Well, there won’t be a trial.’ He studied his fingers. ‘What could they charge him with? Treason? I doubt it. Fraud? Who did he defraud — they’re all gone. Theft? Proving it would be a nightmare. He’d die of old age first.’
‘What about murders? The man on the border, and Gillivray and Cecile Wachter?’
‘Says who? The border guards pulled the trigger, not Radnor. And he’ll have already taken care of the men who were with him that night. As for the others, I think Rubinov will cop for them.’ He shook his head. ‘There won’t be a trial, but it doesn’t mean Radnor will get away with it.’ He gave an almost undetectable nod back towards the hotel. ‘They’ll see to that.’
He strolled away and Riley hurried to catch up with him, scattering a handful of pigeons in her wake. As they flapped away, she had visions of a dark night and blurred figures in a bleak landscape, and justice being done. Justice of a sort, anyway. Damn it, this wasn’t right.
‘And you’re happy with that, are you?’ She knew she was being unfair. It wasn’t Palmer’s fault that politics intruded where justice should have its say.
‘Happy, no. But there are some battles you can’t win. Best let it go. Get on with something else.’
He was right, of course, she knew that. She shivered and wondered why it was so chilly in spite of the warm sun. She needed something else to think about. Something lighter and easier and totally mundane, to repel the shadows. Thankfully, John Mitcheson would be back soon and she could stop thinking about work for a while. That would certainly help.
‘So where are we going?’
Palmer gave her a sideways look. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m going for a massage and some kip. This has all been too bloody tiring. I’m not as young as I used to be.’
No Sleep for the Dead rgafp-3 Page 24
