Quintin Jardine: Gallery Whispers

He paused, to let his words sink in. 'Last weekend, the Director General had a call from his opposite number in the Secret Intelligence Service. The Cold War may be long behind us, but as we've seen all too often, that doesn't make the world a less dangerous place, or take away the need to gather knowledge of potential threats to our national interests.

'There are some people out there who are potential threats to everyone. They're for hire, and the skill they sell is violence. The media call them international terrorists, but that's too broad a description. Very few of them are motivated by creed or belief; their driving force is large lumps of cash paid into Swiss bank accounts.

They are not street criminals. You won't find them behind any gang murders, not in the States, not here, not in Russia, not anywhere.

'They are what the boys in the CIA really do call wet workers; assassins for hire to take out political and other targets. There are no COO-U 0–7 formal qualifications required, but in fact most of them are ex-special forces.

'All of the major intelligence services have a list of these people.

They know who they are, where they're based, the identities they use, the type of job they handle. There's a database in Langley which lists them all, and which even shows their operational records. We have partial access to it.' He smiled, softly. 'Partial, because the CIA is understandably shy about even us getting to know which projects they've sponsored themselves.

'As far as possible, these subjects are kept under constant observation by the Western Intelligence services, who in this instance at least pool resources and information. But they're good, these folk; they're aware of that, and whenever they've got something cooking, they simply drop out of sight, to reappear, maybe somewhere else, maybe under another name once the job's done. These patterns of movement actually give a good picture of who was behind what. They also give the intelligence community a clear idea when a project is under way.'

Skinner looked round the table. 'That's what's happened here,' he said. 'The message which Ml 6 passed to Five a few days ago, concerned the disappearance of one Michael Hawkins from surveillance in Cape Town.' He looked around the table once more.

'Michael Hawkins is the current identity of a man formerly known, during his service with the South African army, as Hencke van Roost.

Using a variety of names, other than those, he has completed projects for the intelligence services of five different countries, and for at least six political or fundamentalist organisations.

'His credits include the assassination by bomb, a few years back, of an Asian Head of State, a shooting in Dublin which was thought to be gang-related but which in fact was carried out for political reasons, and the elimination of a very high-profile international public figure … Guess who?… in which the official verdict was accidental death.

'When one of these people goes to ground, then naturally enough the intelligence services want to know why… unless one of them already knows, in which case the word is passed discreetly to the sponsor's friends.

'When Hawkins slipped his surveillance it took everyone by surprise. The first thought was that he had a role in the recent US Embassy bombings in Africa, and was running for his life, or indeed that he might already have lost it. But the US scotched that one. The Osama bin Laden terror group did have a specialist adviser in those incidents, but he was taken out in the initial missile strike on Afghanistan.

'The Americans, however, did volunteer information from one of their people, a woman who they had infiltrated into Hawkins' close circle… that's their description; you work out what it means. This was quite a gesture on their part, since they've had to pull that agent out of South Africa altogether, now that she's been exposed.

'She gave them one clue, that was all. The only thing Hawkins said when she asked him where he was going.

'He told her "I'm flying north for the winter".' Skinner paused.

'For the winter, he said. That could be significant.'

'I appreciate, lady and gentlemen, that it could also mean anything, and as I speak the search for Hawkins is going on all over Europe, and in the US. However there is a strong possibility that he might be coming here. I'll explain that later. For now…' He turned to Mcllhenney. 'Neil, if you would.'

The big sergeant stood and walked to the far end of the table, where a slide projector stood. 'Old-fashioned technology,' Skinner apologised, as his assistant flicked off the conference room lights and switched on the projector. On the portable screen opposite a face appeared; a young man, in his early twenties, with reddish blond hair, staring seriously at the camera.

'This is Hencke van Roost,' said the DCC, 'as he looked when he enlisted in the South African Army at the age of twenty-three. Before he signed on he completed an engineering degree at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He comes from a wealthy family, does our man. His father, who died a few years back, was a rancher and wine producer.'

Mcllhenney pressed the button of the remote changer and the carousel turned, revealing a second photograph. 'He's still van Roost in this one,' Skinner continued, 'four years into his army service. By now he's a captain in Special Forces. This was taken on an operation in Namibia. The CIA agent copied it.' The man was bare chested, wearing only green shorts, socks, and heavy boots. His hair was bleached even more fair than it had been in the earlier image and he was smiling. A sub-machine gun was slung over his shoulder and three black men lay, sprawled awkwardly in death, at his feet.

He nodded to his assistant, who moved on to the next slide. 'She copied this one too,' he said, as the watchers gasped. The South African's grin was even wider. Again he was bare-chested, his muscles standing out impressively in the sunlight as he stood, flanked by his fellow soldiers. There was a machete stuck in his belt, and in each hand he held, by the hair, a glassy-eyed, mouth agape, severed white human head.

'The CIA managed to identify those two, believe it or not. They were Americans, hired by the Namibian insurgents. Every time van Roost's unit captured a mercenary, that was how they dealt with them.

They were known in every southern African battle zone as the Headhunters.'

Skinner paused. 'The platoon didn't only work abroad. The Government used them to foment tribal violence in the townships. It was even suggested that van Roost invented the necklace.' Lorraine Morrison shot him a puzzled look.

'You don't know about that fashion accessory. Inspector? It involves filling a car tyre with petrol, hanging it round some poor bugger's neck and setting it alight. It was common practice in the townships for a while, and some say our man Hencke came up with the idea.'

He nodded to Mcllhenney once more, and a fourth photograph appeared on the screen. It could have been a different person. This time the smile was gentle, perfectly civilised and framed by a thin moustache, while the well-groomed hair was darker, more noticeably red. The man wore an expensively cut blazer, and his gold-rimmed glasses made him look studious.

'During his eventful army career,' continued Skinner, 'van Roost, not unnaturally, made many enemies. So, after five years, when his tour was almost completed, the top brass did him a favour. They reported him killed in action in Namibia, brought back an unrecognisable body, and had a funeral. A few months later, Mr Michael Hawkins, whom you see there, returned from an extensive spell in the US, and set up in practice in Cape Town as a consultant civil engineer.

'His firm has done pretty well in the twelve years since then.