Adrian Magson - Deception

‘Bastards!’ Deakin looked ready to spit. ‘They missed McCreath! God Almighty, how hard can it be to walk over a bunch of noddies? All they had to do was get inside and finish him off.’ He paced up and down, then jumped as his mobile rang again. He listened for a second, then said, ‘Yeah, come on up.’ He disconnected and said, ‘Paulton’s here.’

‘Are we going to tell him about Tate?’

Deakin shrugged. ‘Why bother? What difference does it make?’

‘You said Paulton knows his way around. He might give us a line on getting this guy stopped. We could do without this right now — especially as we still haven’t located Tan. Every time he interferes, he’s eating away at our deadline.’

‘You worry too much.’

‘Yeah, well, worrying has kept me out of trouble so far. But this is moving on to a whole new level.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Deakin scowled.

‘This.’ Turpowicz waved a vague hand in the air. ‘Pike, Barrow, those guys in Australia, now going after McCreath in a police precinct building. We’ve changed the rules of engagement, Deak — don’t you see? We’ve come out and given the establishment the finger, saying “take this, suckers, we do what the hell we like!”’ His face twisted. ‘They’ll only stand so much of that shit before they come after us with all guns blazing.’

Deakin squared up to him. ‘What’s the matter, Turp? Not losing your nerve, are you?’

‘No, I’m just saying we should back off a little. We’re-’

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Paulton.

‘Hello, boys,’ he said smoothly. ‘Am I interrupting something? Much louder and the whole hotel will know our business.’ He dropped his coat on a chair and headed for the mini-bar. ‘Come on, what’s the problem? Mr Wien Lu Chi putting the pressure on, is he?’ He opened a miniature of whisky and poured it into a glass. ‘I told you getting into bed with the Chinese was a risky business. They don’t play like the rest of us, believe me.’

‘It’s not him,’ Deakin growled. ‘I sent Zubac and Ganic after McCreath. They missed him.’

‘Never mind. It wasn’t necessary, anyway. What happened?’

Deakin told him in a few brief sentences, ending with a description of Harry Tate.

Paulton paused mid-sip. ‘Did you say Tate?’

‘Yeah,’ said Turpowicz. ‘He’s a warrant officer with the army. One of the recovery officers they send after deserters.’

‘I know what recovery officers do.’ Paulton stared reflectively into his glass. ‘How long?’

‘Huh?’

‘How long has this Tate been in the picture?’

‘He first turned up in The Hague,’ said Deakin, ‘chasing Pike’s trail. Then he found Barrow not long after the Bosnians had dealt with him. The man’s like a bloody sniffer dog.’

‘I thought you said Pike was dead.’

‘He is. They were checking his back trail. Don’t worry, it’s a dead end. Like Barrow.’

‘That’s two of two,’ said Paulton enigmatically.

‘What does that mean?’

‘The odds. Two of two is what an old boss of mine called lousy odds — unless they were on your side. Two good contacts meant we were in business. Two bad ones and we were in trouble. This feels like trouble.’

‘And what exactly was your business?’ asked Turpowicz. ‘You never really said.’

Paulton smiled. ‘No, I didn’t, did I? Let’s say I was in a similar line of work to this man, Tate.’

‘A man hunter? Spy catcher?’ Turpowicz was quick off the mark. ‘Don’t tell me. . MI5? Special Branch?’

‘Something like that. Do you know what Tate looks like?’

‘Sure.’ Turpowicz turned to the laptop and switched it on. The machine booted up and he found the shot of Harry Tate. Paulton bent and studied it carefully, then walked over to the window and peered out while the other two men waited. He seemed to have gone very still, as if frozen in mid-thought, but neither of the other two seemed to notice.

‘So how do we stop him?’ said Deakin. ‘Can he be called off?’

Paulton shook his head. ‘Not by me, he can’t. I don’t have the reach. People like Tate are independent. They follow their own lines of enquiry. Stopping them is not that simple.’

There was a lengthy silence. Turpowicz was the first to speak. He said with a nervous laugh, ‘Hell, you sound almost like you know the guy.’

‘Me?’ Paulton turned and shook his head, glancing briefly at the laptop screen, then checked his watch. ‘Shall we have lunch? I’m famished.’

As Paulton followed the other two men downstairs, he was reflecting on how quickly and dramatically the past could come back and haunt you. Even with a quick glance at the laptop, he’d had no trouble recognizing his former MI5 subordinate, Harry Tate. The realization made satisfying his appetite the last thing on his mind, but he wasn’t about to let these men know the size of the problem they were facing. Not that Tate was unstoppable — no man was. Paulton had once described him as solid and resolute, outwardly a plodder, the kind of man who crept up on the fence; the kind you never saw coming until it was too late. It had been meant as a criticism, a dismissal of a man he had seriously underestimated. How ironically prophetic that had turned out to be. His gut tightened unpleasantly at the memory, and what it had led to. He’d made a mistake with Tate. It had brought serious consequences, especially for Paulton’s fellow conspirator and opposite number in MI6, Sir Anthony Bellingham. He had suffered a particularly nasty fate on London’s Embankment, a spit away from the SIS headquarters, courtesy of one of his own disgraced officers, Clare Jardine.

Paulton was damned if he would make that mistake again.

He caught up with Deakin and Turpowicz just as they reached the restaurant, and drew them out of earshot of the maitre d’.

‘Those men you use — the Bosnians?’

‘What about them?’ Deakin looked defensive, expecting more criticism.

‘Tell them not to leave the country.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we need them to cover your tracks. This man Tate isn’t going to stop.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Take my word for it — we must take him out of the picture.’

‘That’s what I was going to do,’ Deakin looked pointedly at Turpowicz, ‘but others disagreed.’

‘It’s too risky, that’s why,’ the American insisted. ‘Go after Tate and it’ll bring down the big battalions on our heads. There’ll be nowhere to hide.’ He stared hard at Paulton. ‘Or is there something you’re not telling us?’

‘No.’ Paulton kept calm, his face blank. ‘But I know the type of man Tate is and I know how this will end if we don’t stop him now.’ He knew he was too experienced to betray any misgivings he might have; he had, over the years, kept greater secrets from better and far keener intellects than these. But he was realistic enough to know that if he didn’t handle this very carefully, it could all go very badly indeed. The fact that he knew Harry Tate was going to come out; these things always did. And being the men they were, even with his long-time acquaintance of Deakin, if they suspected there were personal reasons for a man hunter to be on his trail, they’d dump him in a heartbeat. He’d be too much of a liability to keep around for their continued survival, as small and self-contained as the organization was. He had joined them, promising to bring specialized contacts and resources, because he had seen an unrivalled opportunity to profit by the kind of assets they had passing through their fingers. It was something he did not want to lose. He was looking forward to many years of productive life yet, and for that he would need a regular supply of operating capital and the means to keep himself out of trouble.