by Henry Porter
‘At this time,’ said the reporter to camera, ‘the FBI has confirmed that Mr Hisami and Mr Steen were poisoned, but there is no information as yet about the substance used. Samples have been taken from Room 2172 where the hearing was taking place and freshman congresswoman Shera Ricard’s office, where a meeting was held before the hearing, attended by Hisami and Steen. The Agency has confirmed that tests are being conducted on the others at that meeting. These include Congresswoman Ricard and Denis Hisami’s wife, Anastasia. No trace of the substance has yet been found in the Cannon Building. It will likely be compared with those collected when a nerve agent called Novichok was used in the case of a Russian father and daughter in Salisbury, England, in 2018. In the past, the FBI has been unwilling to reveal such details. They are examining footage from the media taken immediately before the hearing and the Bureau is appealing to any members of the public who may have useful footage on their phones. At the time of the hearing, a group protesting against climate change were demonstrating in the network of tunnels under the Capitol. An FBI spokesperson stressed that the Agency does not believe the protestors had anything to do with the incident, but they may have recorded valuable evidence in filming the protest. We will bring you updates on Mr Hisami’s condition and any further developments as we have them.’
A search of the Web produced no fresh information. Samson sent a text to Jim Tulliver, asking for news, and then one to Naji Touma: ‘Naji, we need to talk, soonest. Where are you? Samson.’
By the time they reached Macy’s offices at Hendricks Harp two blocks away, Tulliver had replied. Samson read the text out to Macy. ‘Anastasia and I are okay. Denis is in a coma – he may not get through the night. Doctors won’t say how they are treating him. We are being kept here for “observation”. They’re worried we’ll infect others with the agent. Our clothes have been taken away. You sent a message about Robert Harland. You know that Denis and he had recent business dealings??? How did he die? Why did you warn me?’
‘Don’t reply to those questions now,’ said Macy. ‘Tulliver is reliable, but we don’t want him telling the FBI and them linking what happened to Bobby with Denis.’
‘Nyman will make the connection – he’ll tell them. I guess this means his bloody theory is right.’ He stopped and sat down in one of the chairs facing Macy. ‘What business dealings did Denis have with Harland? They surely never met. He was in New York and confined to his apartment with an ankle monitor during the business at Narva.’
‘They did meet. When the Homeland Security investigation was over, Denis flew over to thank Harland for his part in freeing Anastasia. He behaved impeccably, by the way, and didn’t ask about you and his wife. Harland was impressed with him, said he was a grown-up. They got on very well indeed.’
Samson absorbed this. ‘So, what was their business?’
‘I don’t know. I simply arranged for you to protect the young woman at GreenState on Denis Hisami’s behalf. I have no idea what they were cooking up and didn’t ask. You have to remember Bobby was very sick. I doubt he was up to much, apart from painting.’
Samson thought for a moment. ‘Nyman said he knew Harland was working on something.’
‘Did he now?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he said there was evidence he was working on something, and that he and Ulrike were hiding out in a cabin on a “lonely stretch of land” because he knew he was in danger.’
‘The only problem Bobby faced was not getting enough work done,’ said Macy quickly. ‘He had an exhibition in Tallinn in a couple of weeks. I said I’d go. We were going to have dinner after the opening. Like old times.’ He pointed to a very small seascape of deep slate greys beyond his desk. ‘That’s Bobby’s from five years ago. You can see his natural talent – it has the freshness of a much younger artist.’ He shook his head as the loss struck him with renewed force.
‘So where does Zoe Freemantle come in?’
‘I told you I’ve no bloody idea,’ Macy snapped.
That didn’t seem right to Samson, but he didn’t make an issue of it and got up. ‘Sorry.’
The older man shook his head sympathetically. ‘It’s not you. It’s the fuckers who took him.’
‘You won’t mind if I talk to Tulliver? He must know why Denis was paying for Zoe’s protection. I’ll tell him that Denis was going to speak to us about it this evening. I’ll make it plain that he needs to tell us.’
‘This can wait until tomorrow.’
Samson nodded and went over and squeezed Macy’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, old friend. It’s grim for you. I’ll call tomorrow.’
‘Righty-ho!’ said Macy, stiff upper lip asserting itself. ‘Ring me first thing and we’ll put our heads together. You know your way out. And, for fuck’s sake, take care of yourself!’
Chapter 6
The Balsam Tree
He walked from Hendricks Harp to Park Lane and crossed into the park, a good way to lose a tail at night, and one he’d used a couple of times after dining with certain characters from the Middle East in the Edgware Road during his years with SIS. The park also held a romantic memory for him. Four years ago, in the spring, he had come there late one night with Anastasia with a bottle and cigarettes. They had stood under the balsam poplar near the Serpentine, marvelling at the scent of its buds, drained and exhilarated after spending the evening fucking like wildcats, as she had indelicately put it.
He stopped at the memorial to the Reformers’ Tree, the oak that was burned to a stump by protestors wanting the vote for all men in the 1860s, and crouched down on the mosaic, looking for pursuing silhouettes against the lights of Park Lane. He saw none but maintained the position and took out his phone to dial Tulliver, who picked up on the second ring.
‘Jim, sorry to call – didn’t want to bother Anastasia.’
‘Good decision, Samson – she’s got enough to deal with. We don’t know what’s happening with Denis, and she’s very upset. We may lose him. I know things are complicated, but you have to respect that she’s had really serious problems and Denis looked after her.’ That speech delivered, he exhaled and his tone softened. ‘What happened to Harland?’
‘I need you to keep this to yourself. He was shot dead this morning – about ten hours ahead of the attack in Congress. There’s been nothing in the news so far and, obviously, we don’t want people to make that connection.’
‘Why not, if it helps catch the perpetrators?’
Satisfied that no one had followed him, Samson stood up and began to wander round the circular memorial. ‘Because they had business together, Jim. Do you want the FBI crawling through that? Denis was going to talk to Macy tonight and he wanted me on the call. He was going to explain what they were doing. It was going to be a long session.’
‘I doubt that. He didn’t usually speak about such things on the phone.’
‘Well, that’s what he told Macy. You can say now what they were doing. I mean, why was he paying for me to watch Zoe Freemantle at GreenState? What the hell is this about, Jim?’
‘I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. If Denis was paying you, he didn’t tell me – probably didn’t tell anyone. That’s the way he works.’
‘Why Zoe Freemantle?’
‘The name means absolutely nothing to me. I’ve never heard of her.’
‘But you knew Denis went to see Harland in Tallinn to thank him personally for his part in rescuing Anastasia. And they got on well and saw each other and were working on something together. People here think it’s all about revenge for what happened at the bridge – the two dead Russians.’
‘I knew that Denis went to Estonia, but Anastasia doesn’t, and I’m sure that Denis would prefer you keep it that way. And to your point about theories – I’m hearing a lot of them right now, and we need to concentrate on what happened, which is that someone walked into Congress with a bunch of papers drenched in nerve agent and han
ded them to Denis. It’s profoundly shocking to the country and, frankly, no one is thinking in straight lines at the moment.’
‘Did they ID the man who gave them to Denis?’
‘They’ve got a clear shot of him, but no name as yet. The FBI will track him through the CCTV around the Capitol and they’ll get a pretty good idea of his route into the Rayburn and where he came from. But none of that has been made public. Denis had only momentary contact with the agent, but that poor guy Stewart Steen had it all over him.’
‘Seems odd, doesn’t it? If you’re going to attempt to kill someone, the Capitol is the very last place you’d try, unless . . .’
‘. . . You were making a point,’ said Tulliver.
‘Who would want to make that point?’ He considered telling Tulliver about his own narrow escape but saw no point. ‘Will you let me know what happens, Jim, and if it’s appropriate, pass on my concern to Anastasia for both her and Denis.’
‘I will. She read your text over my shoulder . . .’
‘That’s like her . . .’
‘Wish I had acted on it, Samson,’ Tulliver said quickly. ‘Wish I’d shown it to Denis. But she told me not to. She’s asked me to find out about Harland. I’ll tell her we’ve talked.’
‘Stay in touch, Jim.’
‘I’ll do that.’
He walked on, crossed the Serpentine and vaulted over the low fence into Kensington Gardens, now locked for the night. He found the balsam poplar, which was at its fragrant best, and after listening to the sounds of the birds out on the water and thinking about that night and all that had passed since, moved to exit the gardens through the turnstile at Lancaster Gate. It took him a further twenty minutes to reach the avenue of tall, mid-nineteenth-century white townhouses in Maida Vale where he owned two flats, the top one now occupied by a composer of distracted nature named David Jericho and his husband, Derek, a set designer, whom Samson met with his dog as he thumbed through his post in the lobby.
‘I thought you were in – we heard the TV,’ said Derek.
‘My friend, I suspect, but thanks for keeping an eye out,’ said Samson, heading for the stairs. He had already checked the street thoroughly and seen no sign of any surveillance.
Jo Hayes was waiting for him on his bed with a bottle of white wine. ‘I saw what happened in Washington,’ she said, after he kissed her right and left. ‘That was her?’
He nodded.
‘I’d never seen her before. Is she okay?’
‘Looks like it, but her husband is in a coma. I spoke to his right-hand man. It’s touch and go.’
She eyed him. ‘So is this connected – the cross-dressing knifeman and what happened to them?’
He lifted his shoulders and sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Different kinds of attacks: one involved weapons-grade nerve agent, the other a kitchen knife. They don’t tally.’
‘But there’s something going on, Samson.’
He thought for a few moments then told her about Harland. ‘You are now one of three people who know that there were three separate attacks within 10 hours of each other on individuals who were, in one way or another, associated with the events surrounding Anastasia’s kidnap and her subsequent rescue at Narva. The obvious conclusion, which is supported by my former colleagues at SIS, is that Harland’s murder was revenge by the Russians.’ He took her hand. ‘There’s a lot to say for the theory, but it doesn’t feel right to me.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine, but I’m worried about Denis and I liked Robert Harland a lot.’
‘And Anastasia?’
‘She’s going to be okay. But thanks for asking.’
‘They know who tried to kill you. I don’t have a name, but he’s a Serb – hit man, people smuggler and enforcer with a lot of aliases. Brought in for the job, apparently.’
‘Yet he’s not very good at it.’
‘He would have killed you! You were saved by one of our officers.’
‘True.’
‘They still don’t know who you are. I’m breaking every rule in the book by not telling them. I could lose my job.’
‘You recognised a jacket – that’s all.’
‘Which I notice you’ve changed.’
‘Yes, for reasons of identification,’ he said without skipping a beat. ‘Look, if you tell them it was me, my life becomes a lot more difficult. I can’t spend the next few days being interviewed by the police.’
‘You are, however, going to have to tell me what you were doing at the Junction.’ She reached for the glass of wine on the bedside table and gave him a look that was halfway between investigating copper and sexy lover. He waited to see where it would settle, which it did, to the former.
‘I was waiting for someone, a young woman I was hired to keep an eye on, make sure she was safe. I thought she might turn up there – that’s all.’
‘Name?’
He shook his head. ‘Client confidentiality.’
‘And did she turn up?’
‘Maybe. It was a pretty confused situation.’
She looked doubtful. ‘If she was there, and I am assuming she was, I hope she had nothing to do with the building opposite where you were attacked.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s an official secret,’ she said. ‘Let’s just say that I heard that particular building holds a lot of interest for the police and security services.’
‘What kind of interest?’
‘I don’t know. But beware, Samson – this is a really serious matter.’ She put down the glass. ‘Now, I’m going to have a shower. Then you can decide whether you want to make love, or not. I’m easy either way.’
He caught her as she passed him, hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back on the bed. He looked into her eyes with near-sighted amusement. ‘What’s the word for this thing we have? We make no demands and we’re easy with each other; close yet ignorant about huge areas of each other’s lives. We’ve saved each other in bad times, we cheer each other up and we trust each other.’
She stiffened. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? I don’t trust you, Samson. Never! You’re too devious.’
‘But I trust you.’
‘You delude yourself.’
He grinned. ‘So what is this?’
‘Well, we have these things in common – we’ve both had our hearts broken yet we don’t see why we should be denied sex and companionship. We find the same things funny. We like each other, but we give each other a lot of space. I love my place in the country, and I don’t want you there.’ Jo had bought a cottage outside a Berkshire village and kept a horse in local stables with the legacy from a relative, sang in the choir and had started gardening. ‘For a while,’ she continued, ‘I thought it was like a brother-and-sister thing.’
Samson grimaced.
‘But lately it seems more like a gay relationship between opposite sexes.’
‘That makes no sense.’
‘It does, because we know exactly the way the other works, i.e., like two members of the same sex, or, indeed, a brother and sister. There’s a lot less mystery than when you’re in love and, of course, there’s no rapture, but it’s pretty good, and you’ll do.’ She squeezed his thigh, rose and stood above him with a look of high-spirited, erotic challenge. ‘I’m going to wash the Met right out of my hair,’ she said, and took off her shoes and untucked her shirt.
‘You’re magnificent,’ he said. ‘However, I need to think through things in the next room.’
‘You’re going to make one of your little diagrams – how exciting!’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Okay,’ she said, and moved closer so that her breasts were at eye level, waited for a few seconds then kissed him with a passionate commitment that made Samson reconsider the urgency of going next door.
Cha
pter 7
Cock and Bull
The meeting at Carlton House Terrace to discuss the Harland assassination and the official reaction started at 10 a.m. in the building where Samson was first interviewed before joining SIS several years before. Chaired by Lewis Ott, the deputy head of SIS, the gathering included Peter Nyman and Sonia Fell and two from the security services who gave only their first names – Shriti and Caroline – and appeared to be on good terms with Sonia. Macy Harp and Samson were shown in at ten fifteen after the intelligence services had, as Ott put it, rolled the pitch.
‘We’re going to be got at,’ said Macy in the waiting area, as he lowered the pot of poorly filtered coffee with a look of dismay. ‘The only reason we’re here is because they want information. You know better than to tell them anything, of course, Samson.’
Ott, tall, with the limitless self-esteem and quiet menace of the mandarin spy, said he was sure he didn’t have to remind them that they had all signed the Official Secrets Act, then moved to Harland’s murder, describing in detail the events on Bear Island Peninsula. He had been shot four times, three bullets to the chest and one to the leg. His wife was on the scene in minutes, but he was already dead. She saw a man fleeing – the same figure that had aroused her suspicion fifteen minutes before. The gunman seemed in some difficulty and it subsequently became clear that Harland had fought back and managed to set the man alight with a burner and turpentine. At the news that his friend hadn’t gone into that good night gently, Macy looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
