Shadow State

by DEREK THOMPSON

  “I, er, did speak with her. Last night. When she came round.”

  “You what?”

  He began at the beginning, with the US taxi service, and brought her up to date. She ate while she listened, and when he’d finished the whole story he waited for her to pass judgement.

  She took her time. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I wanted to tell you to your face, so you could see I’ve got nothing to hide. Incidentally, I think we should assume it’s not safe to talk at Caliban’s.”

  Miranda blinked slowly. “And what about here?” She read his smile. “You bugged your own home?”

  “Karl rigged it up.”

  “Sounds a bit pervy if you ask me.” She grinned.

  “All above board. Just sensors at the doors and sound activated audio.”

  She pouted. “Pity. I thought you might have a hidden video camera somewhere.”

  He waited until midway through the banana fritters before he let slip that Sheryl had stopped over. Miranda saved her ire for the instigator.

  “What does this Yank want — Heinz, you said his name was?”

  “Heick.” He rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t exactly told me yet, but it’s all connected with Karl.”

  “Well, you tell Karl from me, we’re only a phone call away.”

  He smiled. By we she meant the family. How times had changed.

  They settled down to watch Amelie on DVD. Miranda insisted he was bound to like it as it was all about someone messing with other people’s lives.

  She nudged him. “Hey! Don’t nod off, it’s not that bad a film.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “It’s not that. It’s been a long day and there’s another one coming up.”

  Miranda hit the stop button. “In that case we’d better have an early night, while you’ve still got some strength left.”

  He grabbed his mobile on the third ring, almost pushing Miranda off the sofa to get to it. It was an anonymous number, so not Karl.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you free to talk now?” Heick’s delivery was measured, as if blackmail was part and parcel of his working day.

  Thomas glanced at Miranda. “Yeah, I can talk.” He mouthed the words ‘the Yank’ and gestured for a pen and some paper.

  “I picked up your message. I’ll remember not to underestimate you in future. But don’t get smart. Let me remind you . . . Sheryl? She can be gone in a heartbeat. And how would Miranda feel about pictures of Sheryl leaving your apartment first thing this morning? Or HMRC looking into her family’s tax affairs. Do we understand one another, Thomas?”

  “Completely. I’m listening.”

  “Good. For the record, I have no interest in your life at all. Like I said, you are a means to an end. Get me what I want and I will leave you in peace. Fail me and there will be consequences.”

  Thomas uncurled his fist and wrote down the details.

  “Tomorrow morning, without fail.”

  The call died, along with his pride.

  “Was that him then?”

  He nodded.

  “And who the bloody hell does he think he is?”

  “Didn’t I say? He’s Karl’s dad.”

  * * *

  It was a huge ask for Miranda to pick up Karl first thing in the morning. Still, she could have said no, and it meant Thomas had time to prepare. He fixed her coffee and toast at crazy o’clock — it was the least he could do.

  He lingered as she sat opposite, crunching her breakfast with a towel wrapped around her head. He leaned across to organise a few blonde strands.

  She slapped him away playfully. “No time for that.”

  If he didn’t know better he’d say Miranda was enjoying herself. Generally, she steered clear of his day job, but lately the off-the-books work with Karl wasn’t having the same effect.

  “You owe me big time for this.” She leaned back and stretched, her chest rising like the dawn.

  He planned to pay his debts at the first opportunity.

  Chapter 8

  Thomas took the tube to Westminster and walked across the bridge, taking in a view of the Houses of Parliament. Possibly he was passing politicians and ministers heading into work. If so, he didn’t recognise any of them. And besides, Karl was adamant that they weren’t the ones pulling the strings. According to the great man himself, policies were nothing but pieces of paper. Chalk that one up to the Book of Karl.

  Heick rang him at eight fifteen and gave him directions to a swanky hotel near the South Bank, the kind where liveried staff hold the door for you and call you sir in a way that makes you feel inferior. A neat trick. When he went to the front desk they sent him on to the restaurant. Violin music played through the speakers, or maybe they had a quartet hidden in a corner.

  Heick saw him but didn’t stir. As Thomas approached he was still attacking a kipper.

  “I’m practically addicted to these things. Sit down. What would you like?”

  You to choke on a fish bone. Thomas pressed his tongue behind his bottom teeth to crush any hint of a smile. He went for the Full English, on the assumption that Heick was paying. A lesser man might have felt underdressed opposite Heick’s perfectly tailored suit and the copy of the Times neatly folded on the table. Luckily Thomas didn’t give a shit. He couldn’t help thinking that had Miranda not trusted him and Sheryl implicitly, the previous evening could have ended very differently.

  “Okay, I’m here. Now what?”

  “Phones, please.”

  Heick checked that both devices were switched off. Thomas hadn’t considered wearing a wire. As far as he was concerned, this was a social gathering. Stilted conversation followed — London, the British obsession with the weather and a smattering of history, so Thomas wouldn’t take him to be a total philistine. After breakfast and coffee, Heick wiped his lips with a napkin, picked up his newspaper and pushed Thomas’s phones back across the table.

  “Let’s take a walk.”

  The light gleamed across the surface of the Thames, shining like burnished silver. Hapless tourists crowded the souvenir stands, eager to part with their money for keepsakes made in China. Thomas watched it all, strolling beside Heick, waiting for the main feature to begin.

  “Are you a political man, Thomas?”

  “You tell me.”

  Heick smiled. “Your father was a coalminer, am I right? So, I’m thinking left of centre. Though you work for the British government.”

  Thomas chose not to be impressed. Sir Peter Carroll had probably passed over his personnel file. “Correct. You could say I’m conflicted.” They shared polite laughter and Thomas thought a little less about pushing Heick in the river to see if he would sink in that expensive suit. “Shall we get on with it?”

  “Certainly. As you know, I work in investments — European futures, you might say. It’s in my interests, and those of my government, to closely monitor any developments that could impact on the stability of Europe.”

  “To make sure you back the winner.”

  Heick unfurled his newspaper and folded it carefully. “I like you, Thomas. You haven’t come out of a box like most of the people I deal with in the community. Honestly? It doesn’t matter who wins — democracy or oligarchy. It’s about who best serves our interests. Your government is no different. It’s the way of the world.”

  He stopped and leaned against the granite, gazing out over the Thames. Thomas followed his line of sight to St Paul’s Cathedral.

  “It’s a beautiful building, controversial in its day but now part of the orthodoxy. That’s what the march of history does, Thomas — it rewrites the rules.”

  Heick paused and Thomas waited it out.

  “I, er,” Heick faltered for the first time, “don’t have a great track record where Karl is concerned.”

  For a moment Thomas felt a pang of sympathy for Heick. It didn’t last.

  Heick continued. “I have some information for Karl, only he won’t want it from me. He trusts you though, whi
ch is why you need to convince him that it’s genuine. I don’t expect you to understand—”

  “The Shadow State?” left Thomas’s mouth before his brain could close it, and the words hit Heick like a punch.

  He straightened, never taking his eyes off St Paul’s, and recovered with a forced laugh as fake as his composure. Thomas turned to look right at him when he cleared his throat.

  “Some also call it a cartel, or a syndicate.” Heick’s chest heaved. He reached into his jacket. “Give this to Karl and tell him I’m willing to meet with him. You’ll have to trust me on this — it’s in his interests.”

  Thomas palmed the card, catching the word Charlemagne as he put it safely in his pocket. “The thing is, Stephen, I don’t trust you. You’re like every other clown in a smart suit with a sense of entitlement. You must think I’m stupid. Let me help you. I saw computers at the ASI building tracking technology companies, as you’d expect, for investments. However, ENGAMEL was near the top of at least half a dozen screens and last I heard Michael Schaefer was still a big noise there.”

  It was a punt, whistling in the wind, but it grabbed Heick’s attention.

  “Go on.” There was that condescending look again, the one that made Thomas want to rearrange his face. “You know Michael Schaefer?”

  Thomas felt the world grow colder. “I know of him.”

  Heick leered. “That’s where you come into the picture, Thomas. In case you’re wondering how you ended up on my radar? One of my associates saw you at the Scavenger weapon presentation.”

  Thomas dug a thumbnail into his finger to stave off a reaction. He’d read somewhere that the brain could only handle one signal at a time. The Scavenger. It seemed to hang around him like a bad smell. A faulty weapon and an unexplained death, and an insight into how far the Shadow State’s commercial interests extended.

  On the back foot, Thomas pushed forward. “ASI is some kind of front for funding your projects — I get that. Your chauffeur’s runner has spent time in the US and you’re from, I dunno, Boston? Are we going to do this all day?”

  “It’s Portsmouth, New Hampshire, actually. What I’m about to tell you is privileged information.” He paused, and Thomas could see he was struggling. “Karl and I haven’t spoken in a long time, but I have followed his career from a distance.”

  Thomas leaned back against the granite and let the man tell his story. His mother always said confession cleansed the soul. Heick’s soul probably needed dry-cleaning. Listen and learn, that’s all Heick required of him. If it was bullshit, it was well rehearsed.

  “Stephen Heick is my real name. McNeill matched my second passport. I invented his life and then chose it over my own. I joined an exchange programme within ‘the community,’ was posted as an observer, alongside the British Army in Northern Ireland.” He squeezed his hands together until they whitened. “I met Kathleen, we married and I stayed on.”

  “Anti-terrorism?”

  “Urban warfare,” he said flatly. “I spent a lot of time away on business even before Karl was born. Eventually my superiors reassigned me back to the US.”

  Thomas read the story like headline news. “Kathleen didn’t want to go.”

  Heick shook his head. “No. She made her choice and I made mine.”

  “And what about Karl?”

  “We agreed, no contact. But Kathleen knew how to get in touch with me and when she wrote that Karl was moving to the mainland, I kept a watchful eye. When I saw he was going nowhere I smoothed his path into the British Army.”

  Thomas got up. “I believe you. I think.” That combination of guilt and arrogance was hard to fake. He didn’t bother asking why Heick had chosen to unburden himself to a stranger, it was obvious. He wanted Thomas to pass it all on to Karl. He turned back to the Thames and stared into the water. If Karl thought his mother had stayed in touch with his father, he’d see that as a betrayal, even after she’d died. He already thought his father was a bastard. No contest.

  “So I give Karl this card. Then what?”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll want to see me.”

  * * *

  It was close, but Thomas called Miranda first.

  “Secret service — Miranda speaking.”

  “Funny girl. How did everything go this morning?”

  “Fine. Karl was surprised to see the new driver, but you know Karl. He takes everything in his stride.”

  Thomas cringed at the thought of that being put to the test.

  “I owe you, Miranda — big time.”

  “If you want to pay me back, tell me if I ought to be concerned about you.”

  “No, I’m fine. But I think I’ll have a little chat with your mum and dad next time I’m there.”

  He judged this would be enough for Miranda to prepare the ground. Next up was Karl, whose main concern was a delivery of fresh coffee and sandwiches.

  “I’ll keep a seat warm for you, Tommo. I told the station you’d be making your own way in later. Edwards wasn’t happy but she didn’t want any more grief from DI Ferguson.”

  An hour later, Thomas felt as though he’d never been away. He looked back from his camera. “I saw your dad again.”

  Karl nodded slowly, as if it didn’t matter. “What does he want from you?”

  “I’m to convince you of his honest intent.”

  Karl laughed so hard he almost choked on his breakfast. “Well, good luck with that.”

  Thomas put the card down on the table.

  “He wanted you to have this.” He studied Karl’s face. “Is it some sort of code?”

  “More like a warning, Tommo.”

  * * *

  Thomas worked solidly for an hour before he spoke again, to the back of Karl’s head. “So, what is Charlemagne?”

  Karl took a long draw of vending machine coffee. “Not what, who. He was emperor of Western Europe.”

  “Sorry, still not getting it.”

  Karl sighed and turned to face him. “Remember Engamel — part of the consortium behind the Scavenger weapon?”

  Thomas felt his lip curling. That bloody weapon, ghost of assignments past. “Funny you should mention that. Your dad,” he paused to take in Karl rolling his eyes, “said that’s when I came to his attention. One of his contacts was at the presentation.”

  Karl rubbed his face. Come on, Tommo — Engamel. The last seven letters of Charlemagne — in reverse.”

  Thomas raised his empty cup. “Clever! Hidden in plain sight. So something’s going on at Engamel?”

  “You need to think bigger.” Karl sat up in his chair and swayed it from side to side “There is a rumour — unsubstantiated, naturally . . .”

  “Or it wouldn’t be a rumour,” Thomas cut in.

  Karl pushed a blank sheet of paper out along the desk. “Reports suggest there’s going to be a change in the Shadow State’s senior staff.”

  “Should you be telling me this?”

  Karl smiled. “I think we’re long past that moral hurdle, don’t you? Let me pander to your love of diagrams.” He drew a clock face, only instead of numbers there were twelve smaller circles and a single circle in the middle.

  Thomas shrugged. “And?”

  “That’s the trouble with civilians — no imagination. Right, this is the basic power structure of the Shadow State: twelve executives, as far as we can tell — each one with their speciality. Finance, or the military, or what have you.”

  “Like ministers in a government.”

  “Now you're getting it.” Karl’s face grew stony serious. “Even unelected bodies need structure, a hierarchy and a sense of legitimacy.” Karl’s pen spiralled above the paper then stabbed the heart of the circle. “Our agents within the Shadow State believe someone is about to progress through the ranks, maybe even to the top table.”

  Karl milked the silence, while Thomas imagined a drum roll.

  “Charlemagne is the code word for that scenario. And I think that’s why Stephen Heick has crawled out of the woodwork. Any
more questions?”

  “How long have you got?”

  * * *

  The stolen car business seemed to be booming. A Mercedes sports model and a Toyota Lexus arrived in rapid succession, each disappearing under the roller gate. Interestingly, the drivers never re-emerged.

  “I wonder who’s watching the back entrance.”

  “Not our problem, Tommo. We have other matters to concern us.”

  Thomas figured he might as well dish out the rest of the bad news. “Miranda told me that Jack Langton comes out of prison soon.”

  “Then we’d better get busy to prepare for his homecoming.”

  * * *

  DS Edwards brought them back to Paddington Green after work. She saved the best till last, when they were getting out of the car. “It’s a double shift tomorrow. Same time start, a five hour break and then back on the case.” Her face suggested this was perfectly normal.

  Thomas handed over the data cards from the cameras. Compliments of the staff. As he set off for the tube, Karl called after him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He jangled some keys in the air. “Miranda left you her car. That’s quite some lady you have there.”

  Karl asked to be dropped near home and Thomas didn’t ask why. Instead, he drove on solo to Caliban’s, trying to make sense of all the balls he had in the air.

  Sir Peter Carroll had tipped off Heick, which inferred a connection between them. Sir Peter still had links to the Shadow State, even though he was now beholden to Karl’s people, so that suggested he had acted on Heick’s instructions.

  “But wait a minute!” Thomas spoke aloud to the radio. “How did Heick know about me at all?” He checked the rear mirror and tried to swallow a bitter conclusion: the Shadow State must have taken an interest in him. He thought back to all the times when he’d been on the periphery, little more than a bagman to Karl.

  The Mini Cooper pulled up in the car park just as his phone started ringing.

  “Did you do as I asked?” Heick’s voice had all the charm of a rat.

  “I understand now, about Charlemagne.”

  Heick sneered down the phone. “No, I don’t think you do. Set up a meeting with Karl in the next couple of days.” The line went dead.