“Well, Thomas, here I am.”
He fought the urge to check the space behind her for Peterson and they did the polite hug thing that happened when it was just the two of them — a sip from a vintage bottle of Old Times’ Sake. He topped up his caffeine and breakfasted on a muffin while they sat and chatted for a few minutes about nothing that mattered. She waited it out like a pro, she’d learned from the best, after all.
“I need to go to Whitehall this morning.” He took a great gulp of breath. “I thought you might like to come with me.”
Her brow furrowed. “I wasn’t informed. What time’s your appointment?”
He shook his head. “He’ll see us anyway.”
A smile graced her face. “What aren’t you telling me?”
It seemed only fair. He talked about the pick-up by Heick’s people, adding his conclusion that Heick must have some hold on Sir Peter for the old man to have instructed Christine to send him out for collection. He could tell that rankled, which made their business breakfast all the more pleasurable.
His mobile phone alerted him to a text. Christine drained her cup nonchalantly and stretched.
“Do you want to get that? I can wait over there.” She pointed about twelve feet away.
“No, it’s fine. Let’s go.”
She grabbed his arm playfully as they walked towards the nearest Underground sign.
“There’s something different about you today, Thomas.”
Chapter 15
Main Building at Whitehall looked impregnable, a citadel of the establishment. Thomas had no plan, other than to gain access, make Sir Peter Carroll squirm a little and suss out what he knew about Heick.
Christine held back at the final street crossing. He waited for her on the other side.
“You okay?” Even now he could read her.
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re up to.”
That made two of them. There was more though, he could tell. It didn’t take much persuasion.
“I’ve never been here — to his office.”
That should have made him feel special, given the handful of times he’d been invited, but instead it made him feel more like a pet.
He went straight up to the desk and stared through the security glass. The guard eventually took the hint.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Thomas heard steps behind him and inhaled the comforting scent of Givenchy.
“We’re here to see Sir Peter Carroll.” He flashed his SSU ID needlessly and Christine copied him.
A few taps of the keyboard and the drawbridge raised a little.
“I have nothing booked. Is Sir Peter expecting you?”
Thomas smiled. The old bastard should have expected a visit the moment he left Heick’s first meeting. Normally he’d feel his shoulders hunching in and remember what it felt like to be called to the front of the classroom. Not today though.
“We don’t have an appointment. However, Sir Peter will want to see us. Tell him it relates to ASI.”
The guard’s chest heaved a little, as though he had better things to do with his time. Other people joined the queue, piling on the pressure. The guard glanced towards a seating area.
“We’ll wait then, thanks.”
It didn’t take long to receive a call back to the front desk. Their escort waited while they each completed a hand scan. Thomas recognised her from a previous visit and spotted the addition of a wedding ring. He waited until they reached the lift and motioned to the new jewellery.
“You got him to go through with it then?”
“Aye,” she laughed, and the penny dropped.
“I’ve seen you before . . . Thomas Bladen?”
He took a bow. Christine looked less than impressed as he followed her into the lift. He would have introduced her if there’d been any point.
The temperature dipped a couple of degrees when the lift doors opened, and it had nothing to do with the heating. Thomas found himself counting his steps until, three to go, the escort up ahead of him rapped on the door. She cast him the briefest of smiles as he passed.
“Come in!”
He turned the handle slowly, determined to exert control from the beginning. Christine almost collided with him. Sir Peter’s face betrayed confusion as he laid eyes on Thomas’s boss as well.
“Now, Thomas, what’s so important that it warrants an interruption to my schedule?”
He sat down and Christine wavered for an instant before joining him, folding her hands neatly in contrition. He glanced down without comment. Everyone was guilty of something.
“ASI,” he repeated for Christine’s benefit. He could see a tremor at Sir Peter’s temple — a poker tell. It was one of the few things Diane Wright had taught him, from her time as a croupier.
“Artesian Shield Investments.” And I’ll raise you fifty.
Sir Peter Carroll’s face reddened, but his jaw stayed taut. Thomas felt like applauding the old man’s performance.
“I can give you the address if you like.” Thomas leaned forward and placed his fingers on the edge of the desk, claiming territory. It struck him then that Heick must have gone off-road by taking Thomas there — taking being the operative word. He smiled momentarily. Heick had planned ahead by giving him information to trade, little realising that Thomas and the old man had some history of their own — which had resulted in Sir Peter becoming answerable to Karl’s people. Unless Heick had known that as well.
While he was playing the odds in his head, Christine found her voice.
“Why wasn’t I informed about an arrangement to collect one of my staff by,” she turned to Thomas momentarily, “By an outside agency?”
Staff? Ouch.
Sir Peter stared them down and breathed through his nose, ready to charge.
Thomas changed tack. “We can help get Heick off your back.”
Sir Peter touched his fingertips together. “And what might you want in return?”
He checked his phone, playing for time. The text he’d ignored at Liverpool Street station drained the blood from his face. ‘If you won’t talk to me I can ask Miranda instead.’ He locked eyes with Sir Peter and fought to recover the power of speech.
“Arlo Moretti. Ring me when you know where to find him.” He got up while his legs could still carry him. “You coming?”
Christine didn’t move. “No. You report for duty at Paddington Green. Sir Peter and I aren’t finished.”
He closed the door behind him, stumbling along the corridor. Fear and rage went with him. No one threatened Miranda.
Karl picked up on the third ring.
“Records Department.”
“Funny boy. I’m on my way — about to head into Westminster tube. I’m making plans for Moretti, but I could do with some help.”
“Sure. We’ll talk. We need to find him first though.”
“Already on it, in a manner of speaking.”
* * *
When he arrived on site the desk sergeant wasted no time in picking up the phone. DS Edwards appeared downstairs and practically pulled him through the door.
“Where the bloody hell have you been? My DI is on the warpath. Have you spoken with Karl?”
“Not yet, why?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” She trotted up the stairs and led all the way up to the fourth floor. “Welcome to your new home — the wonderful world of Information Management.”
Maybe the door had been over-oiled because when she pushed, it slammed against the wall. She didn’t seem to notice, or care. Karl sat behind a barricade of files.
“Has Karen given you the bad news?”
Edwards cut to the chase. “The safe house received a parcel — a wreath — delivered by cab, paid cash in hand. The Leibowiczs had to be moved, the shit has hit the fan and now DI Ferguson is searching for a leak.”
“Any ideas?” He bluffed, having only one idea himself: his bloody phone. Bollocks.
“Ferguson wants to see you ASAP. I
managed to stall him but he’s steaming. I’ll give you a few minutes so Karl can explain the set-up here.” She turned on her heels and managed to slam the swing door in the opposite direction.
“This thing here . . .” Karl explained very slowly, “is a com-pu-ter.”
Chapter 16
DS Edwards returned in seven minutes — Thomas noted the clock. She gave them no prep en route to the DI’s office. It was already crowded when they got there.
Thomas recognised one police officer from the safe house, plus a stranger who evidently outranked Ferguson. By the looks of things she ran the show, having made herself comfortable behind his desk. She paused, post sentence, when they entered the room.
“Give me a reason not to turn this over to Professional Standards for investigation.”
It was an open question with no takers.
Karl grabbed a spare chair. Everyone else kept to the edges of the room.
“I understand our surveillance colleagues here have already exceeded their remit?”
Thomas turned to Ferguson, who kept his reddened gaze on his desk. So Ferguson had ratted them out to his DCI.
Thomas tested the water. “With respect, we not only rescued a child, we also acquired useful intelligence about vehicle number plates.”
The DCI glowered. “Most of which we already had. Plus, you trespassed on private property to get the information, which puts using it on very shaky ground.”
“And what about Moretti?” Karl joined the fray.
The DCI seemed to consider the point for about five seconds. “Circumstantial. Just a name you heard.”
“Hang on — what about Mrs Leibowicz?”
The DCI cupped a hand to her ear. “I’m sorry? Did you say you’d taken a statement? What’s that? No, because you’re not police officers, just some have-a-go heroes with a camera?” She waited for her own punchline. “That’s right.”
Thomas momentarily considered telling her about the phone calls he’d received, or the caretaker’s death, or the contact number Mrs Leibowicz gave Karl. It took just a moment to give up on the idea because, despite her gender, she was a prick as well.
The DCI asked about the fiasco at the safe house and Thomas and Karl played dumb, as have-a-go heroes are wont to do. Finally, she kicked them out of her office and made sure DS Edwards knew to return once she’d delivered them back to the information room.
* * *
Thomas and Karl worked for two hours with barely a word between them. Karl had donned reading glasses — always a sign that he was flagging. There were no jokes now as they data-mined for gold. Thomas sifted surveillance reports for key information and then added them to a database, along with a file, page and paragraph reference, for subsequent crosschecking. As he worked through the files he could almost hear his subconscious mind grinding down recent events to separate the wheat from the chaff.
“Alright, let’s say the caretaker is dead.”
“Huh?” Karl looked over, removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I think that’s a given now, Tommo.”
“Then who’s to say he didn’t pass on the number plates to me? Speaking of which, how come they didn’t have all of them already?”
“Who knows? Maybe there was a gap between shifts, or the plates could have been changed. Never mind that.” Karl stood and cricked his neck. “Your proposal has legs, but it still doesn’t explain away the safe house incident.”
“I’ve thought of that. Couldn’t you ring Barbara Leibowicz and convince her to admit some kind of slip-up with the address? It would get DS Edwards out of the shit, even if it does mean helping DI Ferguson in the process.”
“And she’d do this why exactly?”
Thomas blinked slowly. “Because you’ll tell her that Moretti will be dealt with soon.”
“And on that note, I think it’s time for coffee. Why don’t you do the honours? I have a very private phone call to make.”
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Thomas to get another text from Moretti. Thankfully, having Karl only a desk away lessened the blow.
‘Don’t talk to the police.’
He called Karl over. “I need to stall him until we can find him.”
Karl’s eyes narrowed. “We know Mrs Leibowicz is safe now, right?”
Thomas nodded. They’d moved her within an hour of receiving the wreath. “Moretti knows everywhere I’ve been since he killed the caretaker. The bastard must be following me around on a map.” His next thought was Yorkshire — take off to the Moors, away from Miranda and everyone else, and wait for Moretti to come find him. He stared off, haunted by Yorgi the hitman’s face when he’d shot at him out on the North York Moors.
Karl coughed. “Tommo, you need to say something to him.”
He went with the truth and changed the sequence of events.
‘Mrs Leibowicz paid me to get the child back. She doesn’t want me to talk to the police.’
The reply came quickly and in capitals.
‘WHY ARE YOU AT THE POLICE STATION?’
Karl opened his hands, empty of ideas. Thomas fell back on the truth again.
‘I temp there.’
And then there was silence.
Karl sat shoulder to shoulder with him, fixed on the phone. “You realise that he doesn’t have a plan. Not for you.”
“Beyond killing me, you mean?”
“That all depends on the risk you pose. If you work for Mrs L that makes you a known quantity, an employee — low risk. Not safe exactly, but containable, since Mrs L hasn’t said anything herself yet.”
Thomas followed Karl’s logic. “Or an armed response team would be breaking down his door by now.”
“Well, wherever that door happens to be . . .”
Confession time. “I’ve asked the old man to find Moretti for me.”
“And why would the Director General of the Surveillance Support Unit,” Karl mock-saluted, “Get out of his chair for you?”
“I’ve promised him some leverage on Heick. It’s win-win.”
Karl smiled. “You’re thinking like a pro, Tommo. Any more of this and we’ll have to think about signing you up officially.”
“Let’s hope it never comes to that.”
Chapter 17
It all made some kind of sense in Thomas’s head. Wrap the thread around Heick, Sir Peter and Jack Langton, manoeuvre them near Moretti and then pull tight. That way, he figured, one of them would sort Moretti out once and for all. But he couldn’t help wondering how dark a shade of grey he’d have to go in the process.
Karl tried making conversation again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Thomas didn’t bother responding. Jack Langton was a means to an end. All he had to do was convince Jack that Sheryl had been the real target at Caliban’s, and Jack would complete the picture for himself. Newly out of prison and with a power vacuum — thanks to the untimely death of his rival, Charlie Stokes — a narcissistic prick like Jack couldn’t help but see everything centred around himself.
From the little Karl had revealed, someone on his side of the house had already made contact with Jack and offered him some sort of deal. That was all off limits to Thomas and he was happy to be kept in the dark. If you didn’t know then you didn’t have to lie.
Jack would think himself lucky at first, and then he’d think himself clever, and by the time he’d cottoned on that he had the shitty end of the deal Karl’s people would own him. All the more reason for Thomas to get in now and use Jack’s paranoia to their advantage. If politics was a dirty game, counter-intelligence was positively toxic.
“I’ll be around the corner, Tommo. I’ll call you after fifteen minutes, as per. Stick to what we agreed.”
Natalie Langton answered the door, and spoke from the heart.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I need a private word with Jack.”
She held the door, thinking it over. “You better come in then.” She turned around and
left him standing there.
“It’s for you — it’s Thomas.”
He followed the sound of a chair screeching back, through the kitchen and out to a conservatory. Jack had a property newspaper spread over a glass table, red pen marks around several ads. Jack waited until Thomas was at arm’s length before he stood up, forcing Thomas to back off a little. Jack proffered a hand.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you again — I don’t need a driver. Scotch?”
Thomas declined, drawn to the properties Jack had ringed on two pages — not one of them under £400k.
“I can’t make you out, Thomas. One minute you’re visiting me in prison and laying down the law,” he seemed to growl the last few words, “And then you show up as my chauffeur when I get out of the clink. I dunno what your game is.”
He gave Jack about a minute’s silence, in a pretence of respect, before he aimed for the bullseye.
“Something happened at Caliban’s recently.” He could see Jack shift slightly. “Someone took a shot at the windows — several of them. Sheryl was there.” He watched Jack’s arms drop limply by his side and followed his gaze to the closed door.
“You got a name?” Even that sounded like a threat.
“Not yet. I’m working on it.”
“When you find out who’s responsible, you come to me. Understand?”
“Yes, Jack.” He judged it safe to sit down, although he perched on the edge of the seat.
Jack took a breath that sucked most of the oxygen out of the room. “I owe you for sorting out Charlie Stokes while I was in prison. It’s helped me grow my business.” He prodded the glass table, which rocked on its uneven legs. “I’ve you to thank for this. I’m moving up the ladder so it’s time to get something more fitting. But if you ever cross me . . .”
Thomas felt his mouth turn to sand. He swallowed, remembering how he’d had to clench his guts to play Will Scarlett in a school drama.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
Jack looked at the door, audience over. Thomas closed it after him and saw himself out. As he opened the front door to leave, Natalie Langton called behind him.
Shadow State Page 8
