The Mephisto Threat

by E. V. Seymour

  ‘Because you’re already in so now we can change the rules,’ Asim explained smoothly.

  Tallis stared at Asim with incomprehension.

  ‘Let’s just say as of…’ Asim broke off to glance at his watch ‘…an hour ago, Kennedy’s agreed to work with us.’ The us meaning the security service. No more Shaw, no more Napier. Goodbye, SOCA.

  ‘Not much of a stretch,’ Napier muttered. ‘He’d already crossed over months before.’

  Yeah, to your side, Tallis thought, so that you could take the credit. ‘More importantly,’ Tallis said, looking at Asim, ‘has he agreed to work with me?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Tallis wondered who had delivered the news and how Kennedy had taken it. He imagined the conversation had gone something like this. You know that guy you’ve taken a shine to, Johnny? Well, really he’s one of ours. You’re going to let him look after you, make sure you and your family are protected. In return, every scrap of information, any link, however tenuous, between organised crime and terrorism, we want to know about it, and you’re going to use Paul Tallis as your conduit. Got that?

  ‘You’re both on the same side now,’ Asim confirmed.

  To do what exactly, bar the obvious? Tallis thought. It seemed to him that some nugget of information was being withheld. Deciding to bide his time, he thought he’d let the conversation roll, see where it led. He glanced at Shaw, who appeared to be taking an avid interest in a scuffmark on the kitchen floor. Napier, by contrast, couldn’t prise his dead-eyed gaze from Asim. Christ, the sound of conflict in his ears was deafening.

  ‘Our threat level is about to be raised from severe to critical,’ Asim explained. ‘We’ve notified airports so they can step up security.’

  Bet they’ll be thrilled, Tallis thought. For some time now airports had borne the financial brunt of extra protection, the government, apparently, not keen on footing the bill. Tallis wondered what specific intelligence had been received to warrant such a move, or, after the wilder accusations of turning a blind eye levelled after 7/7, was it simply a case of nobody wanting to slip up, nobody wishing to be the person to ignore a potential warning?

  ‘We’ve received a tape,’ Asim continued, ‘ allegedly from al-Qaeda, which is currently being looked at.’

  Meant nothing, Tallis thought. Threats of violence were a-Q’s stock in trade. The publicity it generated kept them in business even when they were too strapped for cash to operate. Conversely, Tallis was aware that while some thought al-Qaeda was a spent force financially, plenty believed the organisation to be well funded. Whatever the truth, there was no such thing as bad PR.

  ‘We have other concerns, partially based on intelligence gathered abroad,’ Asim continued, glancing in Napier’s direction as if to give him the credit, although Tallis suspected the information was more likely to have been sourced by the Secret Intelligence Service. ‘Some of the details cross-match with information supplied by Kennedy.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘As we thought, there’s to be a change of tactics.’

  ‘Bombers coming in from abroad?’ Tallis said, stony.

  Asim nodded. ‘Plenty of young malcontents willing to blow themselves and innocent members of the public into eternity.’

  Yes, but, my God, it takes planning, Tallis thought. Simply smuggling a bomber into the UK via circuitous routes across European capitals, the forged papers, the securing of safe houses, procurement and transportation of explosives, the cultivation and nurturing of a faceless, anonymous network of movers and shakers and all the little people in between, the whole thing was a logistical and, from the enemy’s point of view, security nightmare. At any point the threat could be leaked and busted wide open. Unless, he contemplated, you have Organised Crime on your side to provide a direct, helping hand?

  ‘The bombers, from which countries exactly?’ Tallis said.

  ‘The usual suspects,’ Napier answered.

  Tallis imagined Asim liaising with the SIS who’d then tip off those co-operative foreign security services whose countries might provide a route through which a bomber might travel.

  Napier was still talking. ‘The point is, Kennedy thinks he’s found a link via someone in Turkey.’

  Tallis could hardly believe it. If it was true, the man was suddenly a hero. This was the missing piece of info he’d been waiting for. Then again…‘Thinks or knows?’

  ‘Knows is too strong a word,’ Napier said, surly.

  Now he understood Napier’s frustration and rage. Napier had hoped to keep this under SOCA’s remit. He’d wanted to be the one to follow the investigation, to establish the evidence, to be the first to crack the news and foil the plot. Think of the accolades. ‘Not that it matters,’ Tallis said. ‘The operation is already compromised.’

  ‘Are you saying Gabriel talked?’ Napier glared accusingly.

  ‘I’d have talked,’ Tallis said, spreading his hands. By now, everyone probably knew that Johnny Kennedy was a grass. ‘You didn’t see what was done to him.’

  ‘I’ll need to come up with a cover story for the family,’ Shaw said, morose.

  What an interesting conversation that should prove to be, Tallis thought grimly.

  Nobody said anything for a moment or two. Tallis looked at Asim for guidance. Would he pull the plug or go ahead? ‘Napier’s right,’ Asim said. ‘We don’t know Gabriel talked.’

  Tallis shrugged. High-risk gamble. ‘So Kennedy’s real reason for being in Turkey was an attempt to establish the evidence?’ Nothing to do with drugs at all.

  ‘He was trying to check out a contact,’ Napier said, deadpan.

  Tallis exchanged glances with Asim. Faraj Tardarti, the Moroccan with a-Q connections Tallis had killed in Turkey. Christ, was it possible Napier had tried to shut Garry up? Then, remembering Asim’s obvious disinterest in Garry’s death, was it possible that MI5 were behind the hit? Or what about Kennedy? Men who he’d had associations with had carried out the killing. He was getting a very bad vibe about all this.

  ‘Right, then,’ Asim said, indicating that it was time for Shaw and Napier to make tracks. ‘Thanks for all your hard work, guys. Really appreciate it. Like I’ve said before, your role in this is now officially over, but we’re still all in this together.’ He smiled with the supreme confidence of a man who knew they weren’t.

  ‘Not happy,’ Tallis said as the front door slammed shut.

  ‘They’ll get over it.’ Asim grinned.

  ‘So I’m supposed to waltz into Kennedy’s pad tomorrow as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘As if nothing has changed,’ Asim corrected him. ‘You won’t be entirely alone.’

  Tallis resisted the temptation to raise an eyebrow. Please, let it be Lavender, not some faceless bod from the security service, counter-terrorism, Special Branch, or any one of the other myriad wings of law enforcement. ‘And what am I to do exactly?’

  ‘Kennedy, as you’ve already discovered, has many important British contacts.’

  ‘Local villains.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate him,’ Asim warned.

  Tallis didn’t. He never had. Something in Asim’s hard expression brought him up short. ‘What is it?’ Tallis asked.

  ‘Valuable though Kennedy is, you are probably wondering why we are focusing all our attention on him.’

  Tallis said nothing. He didn’t need to. He only wondered why he hadn’t been kept in the loop before now.

  ‘We’ve received uncorroborated intelligence suggesting that Kennedy has direct involvement in terrorism.’

  ‘When? Today, or weeks ago?’ Tallis flushed with irritation. ‘While I’ve been boxing in the dark, busting a gut, you’ve been in receipt of this rather important fact.’ He wondered who the source was.

  Asim shook his head. ‘Not fact. That’s my point. It may be an entirely false allegation.’

  Tallis wondered if this was American-led intelligence. Either way, he felt unappeased. ‘What about Napier’s claim that Kennedy’s found
a link in Turkey? You said yourself that information Kennedy supplied cross-references with info from the SIS.’ Jesus, was Kennedy that daring, that cunning? And why was it that a part of him was shrieking yes?

  ‘Look, Paul, Kennedy may well be useful to us in the way you originally suggested.’

  By leading us to the criminal organisation involved in terrorism, Tallis recalled. He felt flat, inert. He wanted to believe it, but…

  ‘And, as such, your role, ostensibly, is to protect him,’ Asim said evenly.

  ‘While trying to uncover any direct evidence that he’s playing a dirty game.’

  ‘That’s right. Ever heard of the old Mafia-style Commission?’ Asim said.

  Tallis shook his head.

  ‘Set up by Lucky Luciano in the 1930s as a means to create links between all the major Mafia families and ensure co-operation for criminal ventures,’ Asim said. ‘With incredible skill, Kennedy has created his own version.’

  ‘And the first meeting is tomorrow afternoon,’ said Tallis, rallying. For the first time in a while he had the drop on Asim. The pleasure of seeing an expression of complete surprise on Asim’s face was marvellous. ‘It’s all right. I’ve already received my invite to the party,’ Tallis said, smiling.

  24

  * * *

  AT SEVEN-THIRTY the following morning, Tallis drove to a link-detached house on an estate in Coventry. Letting himself in, he was delighted to find that he already had company. Lavender was wearing black motorbike leathers.

  ‘Right, then, first things first.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’ By this very simple act he was trying to say he was sorry for doubting her.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘You cool with all this?’ he said, filling the kettle with water and putting it on.

  ‘All what?’

  He flicked her a direct look. ‘This is going to be one hell of a change from Devon and Cornwall.’

  She laughed softly. ‘What are you saying, that I’m a numty?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Devon slang for stupid person.’

  ‘Christ, no. But this could get rough.’

  ‘For you, yes.’

  ‘For both of us.’

  Their eyes met. The air seemed to tingle. ‘I’ll take my chances,’ she said.

  Tallis nodded, first to drop his gaze. ‘So what have you been told?’ he said, rummaging through a cupboard and locating a jar of instant.

  ‘It’s all in there,’ she said enthusiastically, pointing to a thick folder on the coffee-table. ‘Target information. Addresses. List of known associates. Business interests. Kennedy’s history, criminal and personal. Details of time spent in prison. Kennedy’s deal with DCI Napier. Contact sheets with his handler, DI Gavin Shaw. Shall I go on?’

  ‘Mind if I take a look?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Tallis picked it up. The file was marked ‘Top Secret, Johnny Kennedy, code name Michael Shaman.’ Eyes scanning the early text, it all seemed pretty much in order. No unexpected or unpleasant surprises. Then it got interesting. A whole paragraph had been blacked out. Tallis remarked on it to Lavender. She gave a shrug. ‘I guess it’s connected to the evidence linking Kennedy to Carroll’s murder.’

  Tallis sat back and thought about it. Often in such cases it was the individual paid and hired to kill and dispose of a victim who talked, not that it always played well with the courts. He’d known of instances where evidence like that had been ruled inadmissible. How else had Shaw and Napier put the squeeze on Kennedy? he wondered. He went back to the file. Kennedy’s medical notes in prison told the story of a man devastated by his son’s accident. In the immediate aftermath he was moved to the hospital wing of Winson Green Prison, where he was heavily sedated. There followed a regime of anti-depressants, and for a time Kennedy was put on suicide watch. Tallis knew how much Kennedy loved his son, but even he found it hard to believe the depth to which the man had fallen. Perhaps even more amazing was his slow but steady rise from the pit of despair.

  ‘Here,’ Lavender said, putting a mug down in front of him. ‘No milk, sugar’s there,’ she added, pushing a spoon and a bag of granulated towards him.

  ‘Thanks. Sorry, I was supposed to get that.’ He looked up, studied her face. A perfect oval, her features were symmetrical, pupils large. Unlike at the fight club, she’d reverted to no make-up again. Still looked great. She really had the most enchanting smile.

  He returned to the file, turned the pages. Next up, Simon Carroll, the driver responsible for the devastating injuries to Kennedy’s son, Billy. In spite of escaping a custodial sentence, he’d swiftly gone into hiding in the West Country, last known address in the small market town of Kingsbridge supplied. Reported missing by his wife after he failed to return from work at a nearby business park, he was found seven weeks later. Body parts washed up on the beach, just as Shaw said, Kennedy suspected of ordering the killing and police gathering enough evidence to nail him on a conspiracy to murder charge. Tallis read over the interview notes. Kennedy didn’t even deny it.

  Why not? Tallis thought, sitting back, trying to work it out and failing. He returned to the file. Shaw’s contact sheets revealed an amazing tale of revelation and betrayal. In the six months following Kennedy’s decision to turn informer, he offered hard information on the identity of a contract killer, the names of two violent armed robbers who’d carried out a series of thefts in London, the whereabouts of a man suspected of killing a schoolgirl in West Lothian. The text was liberally sprinkled with names and addresses of dealers, times and locations of drugs deliveries by boat, lorry and courier. It was only when he’d flicked through to the end that Tallis realised a chapter was missing. No mention of Tardarti or Garry, or even Kennedy’s trip to Turkey. Had Kennedy taken off of his own accord? Surely that was impossible. Somewhere along the line, he suspected Napier’s involvement.

  ‘Interesting, huh?’ Lavender smiled.

  ‘This is fine,’ he said, tapping the file and putting it back down on the table then, leaning forward, meeting her luscious green-eyed gaze, he said, ‘But this is what you really need to know. Kennedy is suspected of being directly involved in terrorism.’

  Two hours later, after Tallis had described his own personal observations of Kennedy, they’d made a full risk assessment, discussed logistics, codes, radio communications, target addresses, vehicles used by the main players, and covered every eventuality. Between them there were no secrets. Trust nobody, Asim had told him. Sometimes, especially if your life depended on it, you had to.

  ‘How do you think Kennedy will react?’ Charlie said.

  He almost found her more engaging when she was serious. Part of his brain wondered exactly how old she was, whether she was married, had a boyfriend, husband and kids maybe. ‘To my change of allegiance? He’ll be nice as pie to my face, scheming behind my back.’

  ‘As long as it stays at scheming, we’ll be all right.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, standing up, indicating the meeting was over. ‘You clear, then?’

  ‘As crystal.’

  ‘See you later.’

  ‘I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he blurted out as she reached the door.

  She grinned. ‘I’m heading back to my digs in Halesowen where I’m going to phone my mum and dad and tell them I’m all right.’

  ‘Sure, of course,’ he said, trying to sound a bit more businesslike. After wishing her good luck, he waited and watched her leave. Cute rear, he thought admiringly as she hammered up the road riding a top-of-the-range Yamaha. The sight of the motorbike spiked a chain reaction. Picking up his phone, he decided to give Gayle Morello a call. It rang three times. A bloke answered. He had a northern accent, wasn’t in-your-face northern, softer like the Dales, Yorkshire. Tallis asked to speak to Gayle.

  ‘She’s not up yet. Who’s calling?’

  Tallis told him.

  ‘Paul,’ the man said, seeming to make the connection. ‘
Friend of Garry’s.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallis said.

  ‘I’m her brother.’

  ‘Glad she’s taken my advice.’

  ‘Yeah?’ The man sounded baffled.

  ‘I told her she shouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘Oh, right. Look, can I give her a message or something?’

  ‘Just wondered how she was. Gather the police have identified Garry’s killers.’

  ‘Yeah. Looks like Garry poked about where it wasn’t appreciated.’

  ‘Poked about?’ An unfortunate choice of words, Tallis thought, bridling. Suddenly, he heard a woman’s voice in the background. ‘Is that Gayle?’ he said, straining to make it out.

  ‘No, I told you she’s—’

  ‘Hello, Paul.’ It was Gayle Morello.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. Your brother made a valiant effort to put me off.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he’s rather undiscriminating.’ There was freshness in her voice, amusement even. Good, she was starting to move to a different plane, where the days weren’t all entirely bad and filled with despair. From experience, Tallis knew it might be only a temporary respite.

  ‘I was saying to your brother—’

  ‘Stephen,’ Gayle helpfully interposed.

  ‘Yeah, Stephen, that I heard the police identified the blokes responsible. Did anyone ever mention the name Johnny Kennedy to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Garry didn’t mention him either?’

  There was a brief pause. ‘No. Is it important?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m not honestly sure.’

  ‘He mentioned some Moroccan. Damned if I can remember his name.’

  Tallis felt his stomach lurch. ‘Tardarti.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s right.’

  If Garry had been so careful, why the hell would he have let Tardarti’s name slip? ‘You told the police this?’