by Seb Kirby
Bedford knew he had to be careful not to reveal information that would lead Maynard to suspect he had the recording of the conversation between Weston and Blake at the Pimlico apartment. There was a way round that. “There is one thing, sir. When I questioned Weston, he told me Blake needed to have a passport made. That’s going to be by someone here in London. If we knew who it was, we’d have a second fix on Blake if anything was to go wrong.”
“What do you propose?”
“Put the word out to our contacts that there’s money for anyone who tells us who the passport maker is.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand would do it.”
Money was not one of the Bureau’s problems and Maynard obliged. “OK. Have ten. Make sure you get the intel.”
The second request was more difficult. They were undermanned. If that wasn’t the case Bedford wouldn’t be out in the field himself. Yet he made the request anyway. “I need another man. With one more and the right back up when the time comes, I’m sure we can get a result.”
“You can call in backup. But only when you have Blake ready for capture. Another man on the case isn’t going to be possible, Bedford. Give me one good reason.”
“It would be for just two days, maybe three. It could make the difference.”
Maynard’s snarl made it clear this was against his better judgment, but he agreed. “OK. I’ll assign McGraw. But he’ll work with you for three days max, you got that?”
When the meeting finished and Bedford walked back to his office, he could not help thinking that the third part of the plan to get his life back had been another success.
Chapter 14
Alessa Lando waited for the message from her son, Matteo. She knew it was difficult to get calls out of Sollicciano even if you were as powerful amongst the inmates as her son. There were bribes to be paid. There were officials who wanted more. It was the routine of life within the Florence prison. Yet it didn’t stop such delays from being an annoyance.
She rued the day she’d let the Blakes into her life, the chain of events that had left her husband Alfieri dead and her dearest Matteo imprisoned for life for his murder. She should have stopped the tragedy from unfolding. All along she’d tried to shield Matteo from that corrupting hand. All along she’d tried to prevent Alfieri from perverting the good she knew Matteo must have in him.
Just what had Alfieri wanted of their son? It was something that remained a mystery to her to this day.
How could something that Alfieri had been so involved with have been kept secret from her? What had he been doing with those women? She was shocked on his death to realize the secret life her husband had been leading. When they were together in the early years, when it had appeared to all the world they belonged together, she realized now, he must have been all the time living a secret life and that it had continued and intensified after their split and the tussle over the future of their son, Matteo.
These realizations had cast a shadow on the past and caused Alessa to reflect on all that had gone before. How the whole of their life together had been a sham. And with this had come the concern over just what Alfieri had in mind for Matteo. How he kept insisting their son achieved his real potential while all the time seeming to drive the boy down, to destroy his confidence. How he had hardened the boy and made him into a merciless man. Just what had Alfieri been preparing their son for? It was more than the expectation that one day Matteo would head the family. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was connected with the secret life Alfieri had kept from her.
Perhaps the Blakes had been no more than a symptom of the disease that had been their lives. Perhaps Matteo was destined all along to kill his father. But this did not change the hatred she felt towards James and Julia Blake and the brother, Miles.
Somehow, she knew nothing had been changed by Alfieri’s death. The secret life, the way he used the women, spoke of something else. Something more enveloping. Something more confining. Something that might yet threaten to engulf Matteo.
It was her sincerest wish to understand this and make sure Matteo did not become like his father. In life, she had not been strong enough in curbing her husband’s excesses. In death, Alfieri must not get his wish.
The phone rang. It was Matteo. “You want to talk, Mother?”
“I need to know you are well.”
“As well as anyone could be confined in a place like this. But it’s not the reason for your call.”
“It is, Matteo. A mother’s wish to see her son released from the pain these people have placed him in.”
“So you have the Blakes?”
“No, Matteo. We don’t yet have them. And we have problems. You know we have to talk about Wolfgang Heller.”
“Wolfgang does what he sees fit, you know that. And he gets results.”
“At what cost? What he did at Town Lake threatens to bring the whole of the American security service down on our heads.”
“It’s not like that, Mother. Heller made a calculation.”
“That more would have to die.”
“You have lost your stomach for the fight?”
“But we have never strayed so far from the path that has served us so well. We have never taken such risks with our future.”
Matteo paused before continuing. “Mother, you want to remove the loose ends threatening us?”
“Of course.”
“Then, step aside. Leave it to those who have the stomach to do what is needed to keep the family safe.”
“Not at any cost. Not if that risks everything as at Town Lake.”
“Mother, you need to understand. We knew Agent Craven was involved in protecting the Ravitz family. Our FBI insider told us. We knew he would be forced to compromise himself. That’s how it has worked out. So as far as the world is concerned, Heller was never at Town Lake. African terrorists did it.”
“You knew about such a calculation?”
“Yes.”
“Then you were taking too great a risk, indulging Heller in such a plan. You must understand why I am concerned. You had no certainty that Craven would be able to deliver and that placed us all at risk. Still places us all in danger.”
“Success is about risk, Mother. Heller is safe for now in the monastery in Lhasa. He can’t lead them to us. But you must know we need Heller. He’s the difference for us. Isn’t he delivering?”
“Yes. But at what cost?”
“Everything is under control. You need to trust me to lead the family now.”
“I do trust you, my dearest. But I cannot face the thought of losing all we have worked for down the years.”
“Then leave to me the remaining loose ends.”
Alessa Lando was beginning to feel relieved that her son was in control but she had a confession to make. “Bandini and Asputi are failing.”
“I know. I can have them dealt with.”
“No. Not yet. We need them to take care of the body of the policeman they killed in London. Before it comes to light. You understand?”
She paused. “I agree you now lead the family. How can it be otherwise? Close off the loose ends. That includes the Blakes.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Prosper in all you do, Matteo. It is a long race we run.”
She closed the line. She cursed Alfieri all the way to his grave for making their son as heartless as he himself had been.
Alessa Lando was aware of the fatal flaws in Matteo’s logic and the plain facts he would not face up to. The calculation he had been party to led to the atrocity at Town Lake and was heartless. Too many had died. Too many of those had been on the side of the authorities. The Landos had never carried out their business in this way. It could mean the ruination of the family.
Chapter 15
The euphoria of the award of the Intelligence Star didn’t last long for Agent Debbie Miller. The growing feeling of unease was not helped by an unexpected call from Bill Maynard.
Before his
dispatch to London, the two had worked together for three years in the Chicago office. During this time Debbie had learned to value their relationship despite Maynard’s irascibility, putting this down to his dedication to success in the work.
“I wanted to catch up with you, Debbie.”
This was unlike Maynard. He didn’t often have time for small talk. He must have something on his mind.
“You heard I got the Star?”
“Yes. Made me feel proud. Your time with me wasn’t wasted, then?”
“Chicago was great. I learned a lot. You heard that Nate got the Star along with me?”
He paused. “I heard that too. It’s part of the reason for my call. I know I can trust you with this. I’m hearing doubts about Craven. I need to let you know since you’re in his team.”
Debbie’s feeling of unease went up a notch. “What kind of doubts, Bill?”
“I don’t think it’s right to say just now. Not since he’s just been given the Star. But there’s intelligence coming my way that might paint the man in a different light.”
“But you’re not about to tell me what it is?”
“No, Debbie. It may not be reliable. Then I’d have wronged a decorated hero. I’m not about to do that until I’m sure the information we have here in London is sound. I’ll check it and check it again until I’m sure. All I can say is the intelligence concerns Town Lake.”
“I can’t convince you.”
“Take care around Craven. Watch your back. That’s why I called. And to let you know I’ve emailed you a report about the Blake target.”
Maynard said his farewells and was gone.
Debbie Miller had been given no time to discuss the report on Blake with Maynard. She checked it now. Something unexpected. Something she would have to report to the team meeting scheduled in ten minutes time. And she’d been given no time to let Maynard know she had her own doubts about Nate Craven.
As she thought more about it again now, for some time she’d been on the edge of admitting to herself something was wrong. It had begun with the feeling that Craven was watching her, using others to report on her. Why would he do that?
Then she couldn’t stop her thoughts returning to the events of Town Lake and Craven’s role that day. There was something not right about the way he’d appeared out of the smoke and rubble as she’d been leading the Ravitz girl to safety. Something too casual about the way he’d spoken, something that told her he hadn’t been through the trauma of witnessing the mutilated and twisted bodies, as he claimed.
As she visualized the scene that day, it was a single perception that weighed most on her mind. Something about the way the grime on Craven’s clothes, face and hands made it look as if he’d applied the dust and dirt himself to make it look as if he’d been toiling in the rubble amongst the dead and injured. If this were true it sickened her that he was now considered a hero. It cheapened any recognition she had received herself. It made the muscles in her abdomen clench tight with hard-to-conceal rage.
And these feelings led to further unease. She had not been able to follow through on what had happened to James Blake in the Warren Richardson hotel bar. Craven had been right that the Englishman would draw out the assassin sent to attack Elmore Ravitz. She’d seen the tall German draw the pistol and aim at Blake and herself as they sat at the bar. But that had come at the same time as the whole team had been scrambled to the Ravitz compound at Town Lake to deal with the destruction created there. Blake had escaped after a life-and-death chase. There were bodies found in the abandoned railway station in East Austin to prove it.
She’d developed a soft spot for the quiet-spoken Englishman, she knew, but that didn’t affect her judgment. There were questions that wouldn’t go away.
Could she believe it was a coincidence that the bombing at Town Lake took place at the same time as the stakeout at the Warren Richardson? It was possible. The evidence linking the atrocity to threats made against Ravitz by East Africa jihadists looked genuine and compelling. So, why did the fact of the coincidence stick in her throat?
She found herself asking the same question over and over. If Craven had implicated the jihadists in the Town Lake atrocity for some reason of his own, what was he trying to hide?
These doubts had been building. The call from Bill Maynard had shifted these doubts up a gear.
It was time for the meeting with Craven. It was time to face the man again.
As soon as the team assembled around the meeting room table Craven began. “OK, let’s bring the latest intelligence together. Miller. You want to start?”
Debbie Miller could have done with more time to compose her thoughts but that didn’t matter now. She had to get this right if she wasn’t to compromise her position within the group. They were a new team, hand-picked by Craven. Early impressions counted. “I’ve been following intelligence on the London connection. We have an anomaly. The flight records and 1-91 show that Miles Blake left the US on 23rd August. There is no record of his brother James leaving the US, but maybe it’s not too surprising given the way we brought him here.”
Craven interrupted. “Debbie, we agreed not to question the means by which we brought the Englishman here. That’s water under the bridge. We don’t have time to go there again, I thought you understood.”
“Nate. This is relevant.” She smiled. “Just bear with me. I have a report from Agent Maynard from the London office. James Blake, not Miles Blake, is in London. They have him under surveillance.”
“James Blake. How did he get there?”
Debbie could not help thinking Craven was being careful to act surprised but she let it pass. “Maynard believes he swapped passports with his brother. They look enough alike to pass as one another.”
“Then Miles Blake is still on the loose in the US and it’s even more urgent that we find him. The charge that he’s obtaining secret information out of the State Department still stands. I want him located and brought in.”
Debbie Miller did not air her doubts about Craven. He was a cool customer. The way he handled the meeting was efficient in assigning tasks to the ten-man team. Find Miles Blake. Check for financial transactions. Check for seat reservations. Check for police reports. Check hotel registrations. Check on what was known on James Blake’s activities in London.
Craven addressed them all but his gaze remained on Miller. “We lost them. It’s an embarrassment. Find them and bring them in.”
As she left the room at the end of the meeting, Craven called her to one side. “You are comfortable with the investigation, aren’t you Debbie?”
She nodded. “Of course, Nate. You know I’d be the first to let you know.”
Craven appeared to be assuring her everything was fine. “What we went through at Town Lake has had effects on us all. Don’t let it get to you. I’ve always got time for you if you need to talk.”
She was beginning to know why she was finding it so hard to believe him.
Day 2
September 3rd
Chapter 16
The meeting with Adam Weston couldn’t come soon enough. I needed to pay Bishop for the passport and time was running out before my next meeting with the man.
I found an Internet cafe in one of the back streets across the road from the British Museum. It was run by a surly Egyptian whose every word and gesture told me he would rather have been anywhere else but here.
Every hour, I checked for a message on the email address that Weston had given me. Each time the Egyptian made a great show of explaining that he was not allowed to give access without checking a passport and logging the name of the user. Each time I had to offer a bribe and each time he demanded double the amount of the previous bribe. I was soon getting close to giving him the last of my money. If Weston’s message didn’t arrive soon, I wouldn’t be able to buy a coffee let alone pay him again.
On the fifth visit, he asked for more than I had in my wallet.
I lied and told him the reason I needed to check f
or a message was that my wife was in hospital expecting a baby.
He wasn’t convinced. “Then why are you here? Why are you not with her?”
“She’s in Scotland. I have to be here to earn money to pay the bills.”
He looked long and hard at me. “How much do you have?”
I told him.
“So, give me half.”
I didn’t know if he’d believed me or if he’d worked out that this was the most he was going to get out of me but he took what I offered and logged me on to one of the battered machines.
Here was Weston’s message.
HiTec Store. Covent Garden. Today. 3.30.
I deleted the message and prepared to leave. The Egyptian was standing behind me and had been looking at the screen. I had no way of knowing if he’d been able to read the message.
Chapter 17
Madeleine Jamieson, visiting London from Seattle, jumped at the chance to become a mudlarker. She’d always been interested in history and when she heard about the London walk that took in the chance to beach comb on the banks of the Thames it was too good to miss.
At low tide, the Thames retreated along the river bank between Somerset House and St Paul’s to reveal a distinct beach made up of shingle and the detritus of earlier centuries. Back in the 1600s, clay pipes filled with tobacco had been smoked and discarded into the river. These were abundant and formed the main treasure to be found at low tide now, though in the mind’s eye of any self-respecting mudlarker there was always the chance of real treasure in the shape of a Roman coin or something more valuable such as mediaeval jewelry. In Victorian times, to be a mudlarker was a recognized profession, given the wealth discarded into the Thames each day when the Port of London was the gateway to the world. These days, mudlarking was, at best, archaeology for everyman.
When the tour guide in the bright yellow T-shirt finished telling the small group these things she wished them well and sent them out on their search for the remains of London’s past. “Good hunting to you all. Come back with plenty of treasure.”
