Adrian Magson - Deception

He flicked through the notes and saw that the absentees’ homes were being monitored along with known family members, a reminder of how much the MOD and government valued their retrieval. A margin note stressed the difficulty involved due to the spread of the families, with a question mark regarding extra funds to be made available to cover the inevitable shortfall if the hunt continued for too long. Phone and email logs were being trawled for clues, and mobiles were being tracked for possible signals. These were proving difficult to follow due to the variety of networks involved in the UK and overseas.

Harry wondered aloud how long any of them had got.

‘How do you mean?’

‘If what Ballatyne says is true, Deakin and his crew don’t beat about the bush. If they think someone knows too much about them, but isn’t keen on joining, they take them out. If these four have been approached already and haven’t jumped on board, they’ll be living on borrowed time.’

‘How real do you reckon Paulton’s involvement is? Doesn’t sound very likely to me; getting his hands dirty with deserters, trauma victims and misfits.’

Harry didn’t have an answer to that one. He’d been thinking about Paulton more or less constantly. He’d have been happier being able to give Rik some specific clues to follow, rather than the supposition he was working on. He’d shown him all the names the MI5 man had used, but was almost certain they would lead nowhere. Paulton was too canny; he’d work on the old adage of never revisiting old territory. That included using old aliases and code names. The risk of bumping into figures from his past was too real. And wherever Paulton was right now, he wouldn’t be living in a straw hut with a donkey for transport, the ageing white man standing out like a tart at a tea party. He’d feel trapped and ultimately vulnerable, something a man with his background of intrigue and double dealing would find intolerable. Wherever he was, it would have to be close to good lines of communication, multiple routes in and out and surrounded by a community where he could blend in and become part of the backdrop. The invisible man.

Rik was reading his mind. ‘Spain would be good. All those creaky old expats to hide among. Modern, sophisticated, good transport, fleshpots. Everything.’

Harry shook his head. ‘It’s a retirement community; probably crawling with ex-cops, former spooks and civil servants, all bored out of their skulls and looking for excitement. Paulton may have been secretive and with a mania for different names, but he wasn’t faceless. Someone would recognize him sooner or later. They’d want to grill him, chill him or turn him in for the reward.’

‘Good point, Holmes.’ Rik glanced at the screen and did a double take. ‘Well, that’s another one accounted for. Staff Sergeant Pollock’s turned up alive and well.’

Harry looked. It was an email from Ballatyne. Pollock had walked into a police station in Ripon, Yorkshire, accompanied by his former wife, and handed himself in. He’d been hiding near Bournemouth for the past seven weeks after skipping from Germany and had run out of money. And he was homesick.

It proved one thing: the Protectory didn’t get to everyone. Or maybe they were being extra choosy about the talent they went after. He noticed one common factor: all the people listed were single, widowed or divorced. Pollock, although divorced, was the only one with a significant other who still seemed to care about him.

He went back to the records. Home addresses and telephone numbers were listed and were being monitored around the clock. Harry assumed that meant in person by the Royal Military Police and electronically by GCHQ. There was always a chance they might call without thinking, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath. Interestingly, there was a note that Sgt Barrow’s was the only mobile still active, although no fix had been made on it so far.

He thought about it for a few seconds, trying to decide who to focus on first. If Rik came up with anything, that was a bonus. In the meantime, he hated inaction and needed to get on with something concrete. He decided to get on Lt Tan’s case. Whatever Ballatyne thought about the other men and their equipment and technical knowledge, the Protectory might well have other views. Signals, Intelligence Corps and other personnel were relatively plentiful, and they would be counting on more coming along sooner or later. But someone from a central command position was a rarity, and that alone would command a good price to the right taker. If he could get a line on Tan’s movements, then the Protectory — and Paulton — wouldn’t be far away.

It was a few minutes before he noticed that Rik was unusually quiet, and scratching absent-mindedly at his shoulder beneath the bandage. He had said little on the long return journey from Iraq, and Harry wondered when he would reach the tipping point; when it would become too urgent for him to hold in any longer what was surely bothering him. Shooting someone for the first time was bad enough, no doubt about it. Not that the second time was any better. And Rik had done it just a few days ago. Worse, he thought he’d killed a woman.

‘Would you have shot him if things had gone bad?’

Harry guessed Rik was referring to Rafa’i. There had never been anything explicit said about dealing with the former cleric once they arrived at the delivery point in west Baghdad; and he had taken it as read that being seen to shoot the Iraqi, no matter that his own people probably wanted him dead before long, would be the worst possible action to take. It had been a simple drop-and-leave mission, and what Rafa’i’s former friends wanted to do with him once they’d heard of his deception and betrayal was up to them. But Harry wasn’t naive; if it had all kicked off the moment they touched down and they’d found themselves under fire from supporters still loyal to Rafa’i, he knew he would have been expected to ensure that there was no comeback.

‘We’ll never know. Probably.’

‘So it does get easier.’

Harry kept his head down, eyes on the papers. It was a question with no easy answer and one he didn’t think he could tackle right now. But he knew this was the tipping point he’d been waiting for.

‘You didn’t kill her.’

A short silence. ‘What?’ Rik’s voice was hoarse. It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. On the surface, he appeared ready for anything, but Harry knew it wasn’t that simple. He was human. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Your shot didn’t kill her. It went high and to your left. Hit her in the right shoulder.’ Rik had been sitting on the ground, hands already shaking with the adrenalin rush of being in a firefight and the trauma of a gunshot wound from Joanne Archer’s pistol. He’d been calm enough, aiming, then shouting a warning, but it would have been amazing if he’d been able to pull off an accurate kill under those conditions. It had been Harry who’d fired the fatal shots.

‘But I saw her. She fell.’

Harry nodded and looked at him, saw his confusion. . and the beginnings of what might have been relief. ‘Ballistics confirmed it,’ he continued, keeping it casual. ‘I can show you a copy if you like.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

Harry shrugged. ‘There was no point. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway. That kind of thing, after what you’d been through. . you have to be ready to hear it.’ He grinned deliberately. ‘Don’t worry, when your shoulder’s better I’ll take you down the range and teach you how to shoot properly.’

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

‘What else do you want me to tell you?’ Harry reached for the summaries again, then stopped and turned back to face Rik. ‘Actually, there is one other thing: no, it doesn’t get any easier.’