Line of Sight

by DEREK THOMPSON

  Thomas stared at the screen. “When did you last . . . ?”

  “A long time ago.” He sounded younger, trapped in some memory he’d rather not visit again.

  Thomas sighed and returned the phone. Life was a cruel bastard. Karl hadn’t seen his dad in years, by the sound of it; Sheryl wanted to disown hers; and as for him, he hardly ever spoke to his family, let alone saw them. And the last time it’d ended up as a police matter. Something else he’d have to tread around carefully when he spoke to Ajit later.

  * * *

  “Is that Ajit of the Yard?”

  “By ‘eck, is that the famous Mr Bladen, the one who went foreign?” Then, in a change of tone, “no, it’s for me.”

  Thomas smiled. The bickering from Pickering was one of the great constants in his life.

  “Sorry, just the little woman . . . ow, give over! So, we’re still talking then?”

  “Course we are.” It sounded like the first hurdle was a low one.

  “Only, wi’ Geena and Miranda on the blower, I was starting to feel left out.”

  Blimey. “Yeah, it’s er, actually a work-related thing I’m ringing about.” He heard a piece of furniture creak into submission as Ajit made himself comfortable.

  “Should I get me notebook and pen?”

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “Ee, I were only taking the piss. ’ang on.” Then there was hissing and scrabbling about. “Sorry, that were Geena — I’m not allowed to swear int’ house now. It’s practice for when baby comes. Right, I’m ready.”

  “Okay, I’ve got this tip-off — drug related. But I don’t know when yet. And I have intelligence that can help you nab a nasty bastard, if we get the timing right.”

  Ajit took notes and asked pertinent questions, which Thomas did his best to deflect. He wondered whether Ajit was enjoying this as much as he was. The old duo, back on the same side.

  “It’s unusual,” Ajit made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grumble, “I’ll grant you that. But it’s not a problem. We have procedures for this sort of thing. Of course, you could speak to the London coppers yourself.”

  “No,” he snapped. “I can’t be involved — because of my job. Anonymously would be best, but if not, then I know I can trust you.”

  “Righto, mum’s the word. And you’ll let me know when?”

  “Yeah, on the same day, probably.” Which is why the boys in blue need to be ready. Thanks, Ajit, this is really important to me.”

  “Should I ask: is this purely work or personal?”

  Thomas paused. “So, how’s Geena?”

  Ajit coughed politely. “Well enough, let me put her on.”

  She didn’t stay on the phone very long. Long enough to tell him that Miranda was a good sort — as if he didn’t know that already — and that it’d be lovely to see the two of them again. If he could manage it without the fancy dress next time.

  “Anyhow, I’ll leave you two boys to chat. Take care of yourself, Uncle Thomas.”

  Ajit didn’t have a lot else to say. He was fired up though, Thomas could tell. Which was all to the good.

  Chapter 37

  The answering machine was winking when Thomas got out of the shower. He always checked, on the off chance. He pulled a towel off his head and hit the magic button.

  “Are you picking me up at the club tonight or meeting me at Mum and Dad’s? Let me know what your busy schedule will allow. See you later, babe.”

  He turned a yawn into a grin and wandered into the kitchen whistling a Four Tops’ tune. This was already showing every sign of being a great day and it wasn’t even seven o’clock.

  Washed, dressed and crammed with toast, he fired up his laptop to check the major’s phone lines. There was one call from the previous night, a late one — to Michael Schaefer. He was either very sure of himself or hoping for early retirement, threatening to blow the whistle about Amy’s death and go public like that. Schaefer didn’t back down, reminding the major that he knew about his affair with Amy. Then the major made a counter bid for top dog.

  ‘I have the remaining firing mechanism, from the second Scavenger.”

  Thomas clicked the pause and recoiled from the screen. No the major didn’t, but they did. So why hadn’t Karl brought it up again? Something else to discuss with the Celtic Wonder.

  He let the recording run its course, made some scribbles on that very creased piece of paper he’d been carrying around for days, and powered down the computer. Something had to give, and soon.

  Even with the radio jabbering on, against the backdrop of London traffic, Thomas couldn’t help thinking about Karl — specifically, about his dad. About all those years Karl had lived in exile, hardly able to see one parent and shunned by the other. Life hadn’t dealt Karl a very fair hand. Which naturally made Thomas think of Sheryl.

  Ajit was supposed to be on early shift today. If he was true to his word — and you could bank on that with Ajit — then the call would go through to London today. And then it’d be a waiting game. Sheryl had said there was no set pattern to Jack Langton’s appearances, sometimes twice in a week, or weeks without showing up. Funny that he’d never seen Jack Langton at Caliban’s though.

  * * *

  Maybe Lea Bridge Road wasn’t the smartest move of the day, but he couldn’t face the gridlock of Seven Sisters. And besides, the back roads were always more interesting, once you got there. He switched radio stations and caught the tail end of some political piece; it made his blood run cold.

  “Of course, the modern theatre of war has changed beyond recognition and technological capabilities have had to change in tandem. These days, the challenges are flexibility and speed of response. New materials, new technologies even — that is the way forward.”

  Somehow Thomas managed to stick with it to the bitter end: ‘And I’d like to thank Major Charles Eldridge, DSO.’ The words that came to mind were shit and fan. And the question that came to mind: what was Thomas going to do about it?

  He rang ahead to Karl, on hands-free.

  “I heard it was coming last night, Tommo. I didn’t ring you — thought you had enough going on. It puts our contact in a very difficult position. Get in as soon as you can. And if the major rings you, don’t answer it.”

  * * *

  Three worried faces greeted him as he entered the office. Ann Crossley was on her way out, mustering a smile as she passed. “You’d better reprioritise your workstack.”

  Karl and Christine were in mid disagreement, which was a novelty.

  “All I’m saying here is let me talk with the major. I'll get him to see sense.”

  “For the last time, Karl, we are past that. The radio interview was a warning — to Schaefer and everyone else. You either follow my orders or you find yourself a new section — understand?”

  “Ma’am,” Karl barked fiercely.

  “Right,” Christine looked at them both. “I don’t care what went on in Belfast, I’m not interested. If there are any loose ends, you better tie them up quickly because as soon as Clarity calls, you start running. Thomas,” she pointed at him, “your phone stays on 24/7 from now on. Karl will be available to assist you whenever you need it.”

  As if that was ever in doubt. She froze for a moment, like an old computer, trying to process more information than it could handle.

  “Permission to speak?” Karl managed to stay just the right side of sounding like a twat.

  She flashed a weary look that Thomas knew intimately. “Well?”

  “Look, we’re on the same side, Christine. You have your orders, but I’m already pegged as a stroppy bastard. If I were to speak with Major Eldridge it would be without your approval, if it ever came out.”

  Christine glanced Thomas’s way and he nodded slightly, willing her to make the right decision. She narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m going into my office and I don’t want to be disturbed. Keep the personal calls to a minimum.” She blinked in Karl’s direction and started walking.
“Thank you.”

  Thomas gave Karl a little space to do the necessary. Maybe Christine wasn’t so inflexible after all. He put his mobiles on the desk and unwound a serpents’ nest of chargers — work official, personal and work unofficial. At this rate, he’d need a bigger desk.

  A mobile erupted into life. He snatched at it and checked the screen: number unknown. Not good news. It could be the major or it could be Sheryl — only one way to find out. On the third ring, Christine lifted her office window blind aside, staring out at him. He took a breath: shit-or-bust time — again.

  “Hello?”

  The line crackled. “Hey, Thomas.” Sheryl sounded lost, unable find her way back from somewhere.

  “I’m here,” he emphasised, like a parent to a child waking from a bad dream.

  “Jack rang — he’s coming over later.” She gulped. “You promised . . .”

  “I’m on it, leave it to me.” He let Sheryl ring off, looked over at Christine and shook his head slowly, until she closed the blind. Then he grabbed his own mobile and speed-dialled Yorkshire. “Aj, it’s Thomas. That little problem I told you about last night?”

  “Aye, well . . .” Ajit retreated. “I’ve not spoken to anyone yet.” He was apologetic, with a hint of belligerence. “I were called in early — big police operation — I can’t talk now.”

  He got in quickly. “But what about the Borough Intelligence Unit?”

  Ajit didn’t respond. All Thomas heard was background chatter and the jet-stream swish of traffic. He let it rest there. His fingers tapped the desk, frantically beating out a call to his brain. Jack Langton would be on the move any time now.

  “Karl.” He swivelled round to meet him. “We need to talk — outside.”

  * * *

  He stood back against the brickwork, hyped up by the cacophony of London chaos and his own desperation.

  “I’m waiting, Thomas.” Karl leant back, coiled like a cat.

  “That call was my contact — Jack Langton is picking up drugs today.”

  “Fantastic. Let me know the moment the police have picked him up. I’ve still got something to sort out on my side before I’m ready to make a move.

  Thomas searched the grey London sky for inspiration. Nice try, anyway. “I need a massive favour, Karl.” He paused, to gauge the reaction. “My mate in Yorkshire couldn’t pass the info on in time.”

  “Ah well, it’ll have to be another time. Shame though . . .”

  “No.” Thomas pressed a hand against Karl’s arm, as if afraid he was going to walk away. “You don’t understand — it has to be today.”

  “Steady on there, Tommo. What do you expect me to do about it? I’ve already told you I can’t be involved — as far as Jack’s concerned, I’m still rotting in a cell.”

  “I know you have contacts all over the place,” he watched Karl’s face change, reading him back. “I need someone to relay a message through formal channels — someone who will be listened to at the local Borough Intelligence Unit. All I’m asking for is someone to call.”

  Karl held his gaze. Then he straightened up to his full height and his chest seemed to sag. “They’ll want something in return.”

  Thomas had figured as much, but Sheryl was as close to Miranda as he was and that was good enough reason to proceed. “Can we do it now?”

  “That’s a big ask . . .”

  He stood his ground, imagining Jack Langton leaving his house and Sheryl waiting at hers, trapped.

  “Let’s take a walk.” Karl didn’t wait for an answer, heading off towards Middlesex Street.

  “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way . . .” he let the sentence finish itself.

  “Rules first. You’re on your own with this. All I need to know for our little operation is when — or if — he’s under lock and key. Next, you don’t ever ask me again. And lastly, you’ll have to convince them to take action — tell them it’s a code five priority.”

  Blimey, a magic password. He nodded solemnly. “I really appreciate this, Karl. I know it’s . . .”

  Karl physically stopped him. “Save it for the phone box.” He dug out a handful of change.

  When they got there, he turned his back while Karl dialled.

  “Right, I’ll see you later.” The door shrieked open.

  He grabbed the phone and pressed it close to his ear.

  “Internal Communications.” The voice was male and nonchalant, daring him to play this game through.

  “I have a code five emergency.”

  The voice on the other end didn't respond.

  “Sorry. I’m new to this. I have a code five priority, requiring police assistance.”

  “Please state your name, caller.”

  He huffed down the phone, the sound roaring in his ears like a spring tide. “There isn’t much time. I can give you all the details, but I can’t give you my name.”

  “I think you may have the wrong number.”

  “Wait.” He pre-empted the click. “This is a direct threat to one of your operatives.” Bollocks, should have said ‘our.’ “At least let me pass on the information, for the Borough Intelligence Unit.” The phone was silent. For all he knew he could be on loudspeaker. Almost certainly being recorded.

  He chose to believe they were still interested, threw in another load of coins and went through the salient points — Jack Langton and his drug dealing, his car, the pick-up point and the need to catch him in the act today. Then he had an inspiration and added that Langton might be armed — that was payback for the windscreen.

  “It will be looked into. What’s your number?”

  “Hold on a moment.” He pulled out a slip of paper from his jacket and read out Karl’s throwaway mobile. The voice didn’t say anything more; maybe he was expecting some other code word. The line went dead.

  Thomas put the receiver back and pressed the sweat between his palms. Then he picked it up again and dialled a random series of numbers before replacing it, just in case the next person got curious. As he turned to leave, the dampness across his back pressed cold against his skin. And his world had shifted a little closer to Karl’s.

  * * *

  Coffee was the only sure-fire cure for the adrenaline tremor in his hands. Thank God for railway stations. He’d just sat down with his Americano and a healthy chunk of carrot cake when the magic mobile went off.

  “Hello?” He could barely squeeze the word out.

  “The BIU has been advised; the matter will be looked into.”

  “Thank you — will someone . . .?”

  “You’ll be informed if there is any development.”

  He took a large gulp of coffee and let the heat permeate his mouth, circling in waves through his abdomen as he swallowed. It took a moment to realise that the call had finished. His imagination was still in overdrive. What if he joined Karl in that secret army of his?

  The lure of hidden knowledge had always been there, even back at school when he discovered that two of his teachers were meeting after hours. He’d memorised several of their car number plates, so when two were parked up in a side street, it didn’t take much to check out all the nearby pub and restaurant windows. He smiled now, thinking about it — that delicious feeling of power at school the next day. Telling no one, not even Ajit. Maybe that was the appeal of the Surveillance Support Unit: knowing other people’s secrets without them knowing.

  Time to juggle mobiles again. “Hi, Miranda.”

  “About bloody time; I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

  “Not a chance! So, what’s your pleasure tonight — picked up at Caliban’s or star crossed lovers at Mum and Dad’s?”

  “Blimey, you are in a good mood — did you get a gold star for spying today?” She sounded like a primary school teacher talking to a five-year-old. He let it pass.

  “Something like that. Any pref then?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll make my own way over. I’m a big girl now.”

  He laughed down the pho
ne, aware that people around him were probably peering over their lattes by now — sod ’em. “You certainly are, if memory serves me right.” Her laughter cascaded into his, filling him with a heat no coffee could ever match.

  * * *

  He was whistling as he re-entered the building, a mobile in each pocket and one inside his jacket, like some hi-tech gunslinger. Still imagining Karl’s handshake of congratulation when everything went down as planned.

  Ann Crossley was by the vending machine; no one else was around.

  “Where’s Karl?” He noted Karl’s approach to the clear desk policy — laptop away but plastic cups and chocolate wrappers still there.

  She looked at him and squinted. “I thought he was with you, working?”

  He played the odds in his head and settled for a safe bet. “Yeah, I thought he might have finished ahead of me.”

  “Why don’t you ring him?” Her eyes shimmered.

  “It can wait.” He aimed for casual and left her to it, plugging his mobiles back in at the desk and arranging them for easy reach. If Christine was still in her lair, she gave no sign. That was fine. Being under Crossley’s eager gaze was enough.

  Ten thirty came and went, with no calls and no Karl. He busied himself, checking the major’s call log with headphones on. There was nothing remarkable, other than a distinct lack of calls with those nice people at Engamel. Mrs Eldridge had seemed jittery though; perhaps she knew more than was good for her.

  The report template stared back at him from the screen. He made a couple of stabs at it, then pulled out a writing pad to organise his thoughts. Christine would need to see something for his days since the base accident. On the plus side, there were some unsocial hours to claim for, plus the lockdown and a night on the base: hurrah for paperwork.

  Eleven fifteen. Jack Langton could be on his way to a police reception. Unless he’d changed his plans or they cocked it up somehow. He caught himself drumming on the desk again.

  “Is there something on your mind?” Ann Crossley swivelled towards him.

  He smacked his lips and swung round to face her. “How do you . . .” he searched for the right words, “. . . keep your working priorities separate?”