Adrian Magson - Deception

‘It won’t happen. Last time I signed on the dotted line for Five, they tried to kill me, remember?’

‘Fair point. I can see that would be a problem.’ Ballatyne seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘OK, forget the bloody signature. I’ll sign it for you.’

‘Fine.’

‘So what’s the real problem?’

‘Cullum. He feels. . odd. Could he have known Paulton?’

There was a brief silence while Ballatyne chewed that over. Eventually he said, ‘You asked before why Six is on this rather than Five. The answer is Paulton. Thames House was seen as too close to be objective, even after what he did. They could well screw it up by going after him mob-handed, just to put the books straight. That was enough to give us primacy even though this is not our normal area of operations.’ He gave a quizzical look. ‘You sure you’re not letting Paulton become an obsession, Harry?’

‘Probably. I get that way with people who try to have me terminated.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ He chewed his lip and added, ‘We’ve got professionals you can talk to about that, you know. Just a thought. And remember one thing: we rarely get the resolution we crave.’

‘Thanks. Have you finished?’

Ballatyne tilted his head. ‘Sorry. . getting philosophical in my old age. Back to Cullum. You’re wondering if he’ll get in the way?’

‘I wouldn’t want to rely on him in a snow storm.’

‘In that case, you won’t have to. I’ll handle the control end of things myself.’

Harry was relieved. It confirmed what he’d been thinking. Cullum was just filling in and not to be relied on long term. He hadn’t been looking for a holding hand, but someone who wasn’t full of old baggage was far preferable as a contact, especially if all hell broke loose and he needed a quick response. Nothing in Cullum’s attitude had given him that reassurance.

‘One thing more.’ Ballatyne wasn’t looking at him now, but staring out over the river towards the London Eye. ‘Your mate Ferris.’

‘What about him?’

‘All the information you need is on that data stick. Any more, you ask me and, within reason, I’ll make sure you get it. I know Wonder Boy’s reputation for letting his electronic fingers do the walking; it’s what got him into the last spot of bother. But you’d better make sure he knows that snooping on the peccadilloes of our illustrious members of parliament will be like nothing if he even considers intruding on my bailiwick. Got me?’

‘I’ll tell him.’

Ballatyne turned and looked at him, the light flashing off his glasses and lending his eyes an oddly sinister tone. ‘I’m deadly serious, Harry. If he goes ferreting about anywhere he shouldn’t, if I pick up a hint that he’s been hacking into SIS files, truly nasty things will happen.’

With that, he stood up and walked away, trailing his security team behind him.

‘Sounds like someone didn’t want Pike talking,’ said Rik. ‘It was quick work, though, nailing him like that.’

‘Too quick,’ Harry agreed. Pike was no anti-surveillance expert; he was a squaddie and would have left a trail a mile wide. Even so, getting someone on to him so quickly would have taken resources and expertise.

They were sitting over takeaway coffees in Rik’s flat near Paddington. Harry had brought him up to speed on events so far, and was going over what had happened to Pike, and what it implied.

‘It would have taken some organizing,’ Harry surmised, ‘and the timing had to be spot on. Hitting someone on the move takes practice. . or experience. And out in the open, it takes nerve.’

‘You saying it was a professional hit?’

‘Had to be. One to drive, another to shoot. It shows the Protectory has got the reach and the talent. But Pike wasn’t the first. Ballatyne says at least two others are known to have walked away and died.’ He sipped his coffee and wondered if they had seen him at Pike’s bolthole. He didn’t think so, but he decided to keep his eyes open from now on. ‘Makes you wonder what Pike could have known that made taking the risk to kill him worthwhile.’

‘The names and faces of the people who approached him, presumably.’

Harry couldn’t argue with that. It was the single biggest danger for anyone in the intelligence gathering business, on whichever side of the fence they stood: the moment they came out of the shadows of their cover and stood face to face with their target. If they had overplayed their hand and their contact was actually playing them in turn, they were exposed. He took the data stick from his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘This has all the info Ballatyne can give me on the deserters they think are at risk of being poached. . if they haven’t been already. And there are sections from Paulton’s personnel file. Can you run the details and see if you can pick up a trace?’

Rik dragged a laptop across the table with his good arm and plugged in the stick. When a pop-up box asked for a secure code, Harry read out the number from his watch. The file opened to reveal six screen icons, with a name against each one.

Sgt Barrow G.

SSgt McCreath G

Cpl Pike N.

SSgt Pollock M .

Lt TAN V.

Paulton H. G.

‘I’ll check them out,’ said Rik. ‘You want me to print the summaries?’

‘Yes. I’ll need to read up on them.’

Two minutes later, he was absorbing the basic details of each of the missing personnel and paring them down to even barer essentials.

Sergeant Graham Barrow of the Intelligence Corps was thirty-five years old, divorced and in debt. He was listed as a specialist in counterintelligence and electronic warfare, industry and army trained in electronic countermeasures and penetration systems. He’d spent time in GCHQ in Cheltenham, working with their experts on building protective security and the use and counter-use of satellite technology, and had extensive knowledge of the security measures surrounding some of the country’s most sensitive installations, including nuclear sites and strategic arms depots. His FTR — Failed to Report — notification was dated two months ago.

Staff Sergeant Gerry McCreath, 38, widowed with no family, was from 251 Signals Squadron like Pike, but attached to 16 Air Assault Brigade. Extensively trained in operational networks, he had been testing a new and critically important forward battlefield communications system when he had been wounded by an IED and returned to the UK for treatment and recuperation. Two weeks into his stay, he had walked out of Selly Oak Hospital and disappeared. His FTR was dated six months ago.

Staff Sergeant Martin Pollock, 39, of the Royal Armoured Corps. Divorced, no children. After working in every branch of the corps, from battle tanks to reconnaissance units, and with extensive service in Iraq and Afghanistan, he had transferred to the Joint Chemical, Biological and Nuclear Regiment, where he had been undergoing specialist instruction. The summary did not specify what that instruction was, but the name was enough to make Harry’s blood run cold. Like most orthodox military men, he disliked the very idea of chemical or biological weapons. Pollock’s FTR was dated two months ago while training in Germany.

Lieutenant Vanessa Tan, 30, single, no family. Of all the missing personnel, she probably had the widest exposure to strategic information, including current battlefield plans and thinking. If she had the eidetic memory Ballatyne claimed, then anything that had passed before her eyes, whether plans, proposals, strategy or Force distribution, was firmly lodged in her head. Add to that the untold hours of conversations she would have been privy to in her work as ADC to the Deputy Commander ISAF, and the flow of paperwork it would have produced, taking in UN, American and Joint Task Force personnel, from General David Petraeus on down, and it was a hell of a lot of exposure. But nothing technological. Did that make her any less saleable? He didn’t know.