Peter Robinson - All the Colors of Darkness

“But there are still a few things I need to know.”

Burgess sighed. “It’s like talking to a fucking brick wall, isn’t it?” he said. “What will it take to get you off my back?”

“I want to know about Silbert’s background, what he did, what they think he might have been up to.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe Wyman knows. Maybe Silbert let something slip, pillow talk, perhaps, and Hardcastle passed it on to Wyman in one of their intimate boozy get-togethers.”

“But how does that give Wyman a motive to do whatever it is you think he did?”

“I don’t know,” said Banks. “But that brings me to my next request. Wyman had a brother called Rick. SAS. He was killed in Afghanistan on the fifteenth of October, 2002. According to the press, it was a helicopter crash on maneuvers, but according to other sources I’ve spoken to, Rick Wyman was killed on active duty, on a secret mission.”

“So what? It’s standard procedure to downplay your casualties in a war. That’s one way of doing it. That and friendly fire.”

“I’m not interested in the propaganda angle,” said Banks. “What concerns me is that Silbert might have had something to do with the intelligence behind the mission. He was still employed by MI6 in 2002. He and Hardcastle had dinner with the Wymans a couple of times and he mentioned that he’d been to Afghanistan. I’d guess the SAS was after Bin Laden or some important terrorist encampment or cell leader—this wasn’t too long after 9/11—and somehow or other, they’d got information on its whereabouts that turned out to be inaccurate, they got lost, or it was better protected than the agent thought. Maybe Wyman blames Silbert. I need to know when Silbert was in Afghanistan and why. I want to know if Silbert could have been involved in any of this, and if there’s a terrorist connection.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you? Even if Silbert was responsible for Rick Wyman’s death, how on earth could Derek Wyman know about it if it was a secret mission?”

“I don’t know. Pillow talk again? Silbert lets something slip to Hardcastle in bed after one of those dinners, and Hardcastle passes it on.”

“Crap, Banks. Silbert and his kind are better trained than that.”

“But it could have happened somehow.”

“You’re clutching at straws, mate.”

“Will you find out for me? You’re counterterrorism, you should have an in.”

“I don’t know if I can,” said Burgess. “And if I could, I’m not sure that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to break the Official Secrets Act.”

“You probably are, but that’s the least of my worries. What you are asking could possibly bring a whole lot more grief on the intelligence services, including me, who really don’t need that right now, thank you very much, as well as on you and all your friends and family. I’m not sure I want to be the one responsible for all that.”

“You won’t be. It’s my responsibility. Derek Wyman set in motion a chain of events that ended in the violent deaths of two men. It was a cruel trick he played, if that’s all it was, and I want to know why he did it. If it’s something to do with his brother’s death, if there’s a terrorist connection, I want to know.”

“Why does it matter? Why don’t you just beat a confession out of him and leave it at that?”

“Because I want to know what it takes to drive a man to a coldblooded act like that, something that, while he couldn’t be expected to be certain it would end in death, he had to know would at least bring a lot of unnecessary grief and pain into two people’s lives. Can’t you understand that? You of all people. And don’t try to tell me you’ve never suffered from copper’s curiosity. It’s what separates the men from the boys in this job. You can have a perfectly good career in the force without giving a damn about why who did what to whom. But if you want to learn about the world, if you want to know about people and what makes them what they are, you have to see beyond that, you have to dig deeper. You have to know.”

Burgess stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “Well, seeing as you put it like that, Banksy, how can I refuse?”

“You’ll do it?”

“I was joking. Look, it’s easy enough to find out about Silbert’s background—in general terms, without going into any incriminating details, of course—but it might be a bit harder to find any connection with a specific mission. If he was in Afghanistan ages ago, nobody’s likely to care about that now, but if it was more recent, that’s another matter. They don’t talk about things like that, and I don’t have unlimited access to files. They’d skin me alive if they knew I was even contemplating something like this. I’m not going to put myself in a position of risk, not even for you.”

“What can you find out?” Banks said. “What can you reasonably tell me?”

“Reasonably? Nothing. If I was behaving reasonably, I’d walk away from here right now, without even waving bye-bye. But I’ve never been a reasonable man, and perhaps I am as cursed as you are with copper’s curiosity. Perhaps it’s what makes me good at my job. You say you already know Silbert visited Afghanistan. That doesn’t necessarily mean a lot, you know. These people travel a lot, for all kinds of reasons.”

“I know. But it’s a starting place. Can you also tell me what Silbert was up to lately? Who he was meeting in London?”

“You must be joking. I think the best I can do for you is find out if Silbert was working in an area and in a capacity that made it at all likely he could have had a connection with SAS missions in Afghanistan in 2002. That shouldn’t be too highly classified. Will that do you?”

“It’ll have to, won’t it? But how can I trust you? You’re with them, even if you’re not technically with MI5 or MI6. How do I know you’ll be telling me the truth?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Banksy. You don’t.”

“I mean, you could be feeding me whatever you want to, couldn’t you?”

“And they could feed me whatever they want you to know. Welcome to the dizzy world of the secret intelligence services. Is your phone safe?”

“It’s a pay-as-you-go.”

“How long have you had it?”

“Week or so.”

“Get rid of it as soon as you hear from me. I mean it.” Then, muttering “I must be a fucking lunatic” under his breath, he walked back to his car, leaving Banks to sit alone on the bench in the sun.

What's this all about?” Derek Wyman asked Banks after Annie had picked him up and kept him waiting in the interview room for an hour. “It’s Saturday. I have to be at the theater. I’ve got a play to direct.”

“They’ll manage without you,” said Banks. “They have done before. Remember, when you were in London?”

“Yes, but—”

“You agreed to come here, right? I mean, you came voluntarily?”

“Well, yes. I mean, one doesn’t like to be uncooperative. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Then we’ll try not to keep you too long. I appreciate your attitude, Mr. Wyman,” said Banks. “Believe me, our lives would be a lot easier if everyone felt the same way you do. The problem is that most people do have something to hide.”

“Are you charging me? Do I need a solicitor or anything?”

“You’re not under arrest. You’re not being charged with anything. You can leave at any time. You’re here simply to answer a few questions. I should also tell you that you do not have to say anything, but it might harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”