Adrian Magson - Deception

Harry stared at the wall with a mild sense of frustration. There was only one thing for it: if he couldn’t get to Tan and ultimately to Paulton, he would have to wait for Paulton to come to him.

Seconds later, his phone rang.

‘Harry?’ It was Jean.

Her voice brought an instant feeling of disquiet. ‘Hi, you. What is it?’

‘Umm. . I don’t want to ask silly questions,’ she said carefully, ‘but. . are you having me followed?’

Harry felt his gut go cold. Vetting of families and friends when working for the security and intelligence services was an occupational hazard you lived with. Having strangers delving into every aspect of your life and background wasn’t pleasant, but it was part of the job and something you learned to live with. But why would Five or Six choose to take an interest in Jean now, of all times?

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I couldn’t sleep last night, and got up for a drink. When I glanced out of the window I saw two men sitting in a van just along the street. They were still there this morning, although they’d changed position slightly.’

‘They’re probably watching someone else.’ Even as he said it, instinct told him it wasn’t likely. London was a huge city, and no doubt there were plenty of individuals currently under a twenty-four-hour watch by the authorities and private security companies all over the metropolitan area. Yet why should Jean be one of them? And any official surveillance would be a lot more discreet.

It could only mean one thing: the Protectory.

‘It feels a lot more personal to me,’ said Jean. ‘After Michael was killed and journalists hung around hoping for a story, I got into the habit of checking the street. I still do it.’

‘What do they look like?’ He had to remain calm, to avoid feeding any sense of concern through to Jean. She had been through the mill after her husband, Michael, had died in Iraq, with a small media buzz surrounding her for what seemed like weeks. This would certainly have reminded her of those times.

‘Young, mid-twenties. Short haircuts but not military. Mediterranean types, wearing blouson jackets and jeans. They’re sitting in a red VW van — I’m not sure of the model. Are they from Thames House?’ Jean knew enough about Harry’s work to venture a reasonable guess at where any security related interest might originate.

‘I’ll get it checked.’ He knew it would be waste of time, even though the descriptions didn’t match Zubac or Ganic. These two were too young. He guessed the two Bosnians were keeping a low profile at the moment after the attack on the police station. But how difficult would it be to get two men — probably fellow countrymen — to do some basic legwork for them? They wouldn’t need specific skills apart from patience, the ability to keep their eyes open and a healthy fear of failing.

Unless they had been given specific orders to do something else.

‘Can you stay where you are for a while?’ He hoped he sounded casual. ‘I’ll come round.’

‘OK. I’ll ring Felicity and tell her I’ll be in later. Is this dangerous?’ She came across as amazingly calm, and Harry wished he was with her right now.

‘I doubt it. They’re probably looking for someone else.’

He rang off and went to a locked drawer inside a cupboard, and took out the VP70 semi-automatic and inserted the magazine. Then he rang Rik.

‘You need some fresh air,’ he said. ‘And I need your help. Bring the Heckler. I’ll pick you up.’

Rik knew by his tone not to question it. ‘I’m ready.’

As Harry drove fast towards Rik’s flat in Paddington, he realized that he had got precisely what he’d wanted: the undiluted attention of the Protectory. Except that instead of watching him, they had latched on to Jean. The one weak link in his background. And there was only one person he could think of who could have told them about that.

Paulton .

The door of Jean’s flat swung open with a faint puff of sound on the carpet.

Harry breathed in the familiar smells of her perfume and felt his stomach turn to ice.

This door shouldn’t be open.

He’d come in through the back entrance to the block, avoiding the street where the two watchers were sitting in a red VW Kombi. Rik had stayed in a side street nearby, keeping an eye on them while Harry came in to check on Jean.

He stepped across the threshold, nerves humming with anticipation. If anyone was waiting for him, they would not be able to conceal their presence completely. A scrape of fabric, an unguarded intake of breath, something would always give them away.

There was nothing.

He moved along the hallway. No furniture out of place, no signs of a struggle, no debris. . or worse.

He checked each room, leading with the gun. Each space was empty save for a lingering trace of Jean’s presence, tantalizing and almost painful. Where the hell had she got to?

He made his way back to the front door of the flat, beginning to feel a desperate sense of panic. Surely they couldn’t have-?

‘Harry?’ Rik’s voice was a soft murmur coming from the mobile in Harry’s top pocket. He tapped the mobile twice in response. Go ahead.

‘The two guys are still in the VW van. You OK?’

Harry breathed out and lowered the gun. ‘She’s not here,’ he said. ‘Her door was open. Can you see inside the van?’

‘Shit. Give me two. . I’ll do a walk by.’

He heard the sound of breathing and the rub of cloth as Rik moved out into the main street, then an increase in traffic noise. Ten seconds, twenty seconds; he was beginning to get impatient and on the point of going down when Rik spoke.

‘Two young guys trying to look hard. They look half asleep to me. Definitely a surveillance job. Can’t see inside the back, though. What do you want me to do?’

‘Stay on them. I’ll join you.’

Harry pocketed the gun and walked back downstairs, gut churning with fear at what might have happened to Jean. Had the watchers called in help and had her lifted? Had she panicked and fled? No and no. If they had taken her, they wouldn’t need to hang around. And Jean didn’t do panic. She must still be around here somewhere. So, there must be another explanation. She had to have slipped out for some reason.

That still left the watchers to deal with.

Harry left the block of flats by the rear entrance and made his way round to the street where the two men were stationed. Instead of heading straight towards them, he took a narrow street at right angles to the one where they were parked, passing Rik on the way. Rik was wearing his sling and clutching a clipboard, playing street canvasser and stopping the occasional pedestrian, able to act out in full view of the watchers while keeping an eye on them.

Harry reached an intersection and turned left then left again, eventually completing the circumference of the block until he came back to the main street. On the way, he picked up a black garbage bag bulging with old telephone directories, a throw-out from a renovation job in a nearby house.

Nobody expects a tail to carry a garbage bag.

He was now in front of the Kombi, which was parked thirty yards away. A crushed Coke can lay in the gutter by the driver’s door. The two men inside watched him appear, then saw the rubbish bag in his hand and lost interest.

Sloppy tradecraft, thought Harry. They had parked facing against the traffic, which was a big no-no and made them stand out. It meant they weren’t professionals, but that was a good thing. Professionals would already have detected something not quite kosher about him and would be driving away fast. Or shooting.