Adrian Magson - Deception

‘It’s over,’ he said quietly. ‘Leave it.’

Clare closed her hand with a faint click and the compact disappeared. ‘OK, boys. I get the message. You can’t blame a girl for trying, though, can you?’ She stood up and looked at Rik with a tiger’s smile. ‘You’d better watch it, Ferris. You’ve been mixing with him too long.’ She glanced at Harry. ‘And you, big feller; call me, won’t you?’ She turned and walked away, back straight and heels clicking on the pathway.

‘Reduced charge?’ Harry muttered, watching her until she disappeared out of the gardens. He didn’t entirely trust her not to suddenly turn and start blazing away. ‘Where did that bullshit come from?’

Rik looked pale. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. His hand was shaking slightly. ‘I was kidding, wasn’t I? Christ, I wasn’t about to start blasting away out here — and she knew it.’

Harry’s mobile buzzed. ‘That’s the thing: I don’t think she did.’ He checked the screen. Ballatyne. ‘What’s worse, neither did I.’

‘You trying to be coy by any chance?’ Ballatyne sounded tired. ‘You call and don’t leave a message, my boys see that as a bad sign. Says an asset’s feeling nervy and leaving a trail for others to follow.’

It was the second reference to an asset in quick succession; the first had been by Clare Jardine. ‘Nervy’s right; I got a message to meet you on the Embankment.’

‘Couldn’t have. I was busy.’

‘I know that now.’ Harry told him about the phone call and finding Clare Jardine waiting for him with her trusty little knife.

‘That could have been nasty. She did Bellingham like that, didn’t she?’

‘Thanks for reminding me.’ She had also cut the man’s throat, Harry remembered. Artistry with a blade in the blink of an eye. He felt an echo of a twitch in his leg at the lack of expression on Clare’s face and the thought of what she might have done had Rik not been there. He had no compunction about confirming her part in her former boss’s death because she had been caught on CCTV in the act. It had earned her a place on MI6’s Most Wanted list.

‘What did she want?’

‘Paulton’s head on a plate and me to step aside. But not in that order.’

‘She’ll have to join the queue, won’t she? How did she seem?’

‘Tense. Angry. I’d say she’s got issues — and an accurate inside track on what you and I are working on. She found Jean, she got my home address and phone, and she knows pretty much up to the minute what I’m doing. She even knew you were out of the office.’

‘Christ, what a bloody nerve. We’ve got a chatterbox in the woodpile. I’ll put out an alert and set off a security trawl through her old section.’

‘Good idea. But it was Clare who spotted the Bosnians and warned Jean to get out. I’ve moved her to a safe place just in case.’

Ballatyne grunted. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me is Jardine’s not all bad.’

Harry wasn’t that naive. ‘She helped Jean because she wanted to get to me. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t roast me if the situation came up.’ He realized he was still holding the newspaper which Clare had left behind. She must have thrust it at him as she stood up. Or maybe he’d grasped it subconsciously — he couldn’t remember.

Ballatyne had switched topics. He gave Harry the address of a shop in Dalston Lane, and the name and contact number of an officer in SO19, the Metropolitan Police firearms unit. Harry dug out a pen and wrote it down in the margin of the newspaper. It was that day’s copy of The Times . ‘Be there at eleven thirty tonight. They’re going to turn Soran’s place upside down. They’ll probably find nothing but it might be a good idea if you were in attendance.’

‘What do you expect to find?’ He flipped the newspaper round. Something had been written across the lower half of the page, just above the political and military engagements for the week. It was a mobile phone number.

‘Anything or nothing. Soran’s clever enough to stay below the radar, but even clever people get careless. If he thinks nobody’s going to touch him, it’s time to show him otherwise. Keep Ferris out of it, though. SO19 don’t need any walking wounded as bystanders.’

Harry switched off and found Rik watching him over the rim of his coffee mug. He handed him the newspaper and tapped the number written down. ‘Any chance you could find a subscriber name for that? It’s probably a disposable but try anyway.’

‘Sure. You off somewhere?’

‘I’ve been invited to a party.’ Before Rik could ask, he stood up. ‘Sorry — grown-ups only. And you’ve still got Tan to hunt for.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Rik didn’t look too upset at being left out, though. ‘I’ve got a couple of ideas about her. . something a mate suggested. I’ll shout if anything comes up.’

Other than a few early drunks and late workers, none of whom were paying any attention, Dalston Lane was reasonably quiet when Harry walked along the pavement and tapped on the passenger window of a transit van with a cleaner’s logo on the side. A scattering of other unmarked vehicles indicated that SO19 were here in numbers, with a perimeter tight enough to stop anyone from leaving the area if they needed to. As the window went down, he caught the mixed aromas of coffee and body odour and heard the clink of metal from inside the van.

‘Harry Tate,’ he said softly.

‘Good to have you along.’ The man in the passenger seat was heavily built and wearing a helmet and dark boiler suit. He was holding a large metal battering ram, known as a ‘universal key’ between his knees. He nodded towards the front. ‘The boss is along the street in the control car. He asked if you could stay back until we go in and the way’s clear. A unit will block the front of the shop and we’ll hit the rear. Less likely to get cut by flying glass that way when I use this.’ He jiggled the ram up and down and gave Harry a brief once-over. ‘You ever done this before?’

Harry thought back to the last time he’d kicked a door in. He’d been holding a weapon then, and ready to shoot anything that moved. Although he was armed now, this wasn’t quite the same. ‘A few times. But I’ll stay out of your way until you’re in.’

‘Fair enough.’ The man half turned his head. ‘Col? Refreshments for our guest, if you please.’

A hand came out from the back of the van clutching a small plastic cup. It was steaming and smelled of coffee.

‘We’ve got ten minutes, Harry,’ said the voice behind the cup. The side door slid back. ‘Climb in and get that down you.’

Harry thanked him and climbed aboard, nodding to half a dozen helmeted and suited men sitting patiently in the dark. The tension in the air was palpable and someone was humming quietly. He sat and drank his coffee in silence; they didn’t need conversation, and probably had him tagged as a Whitehall watcher sent to monitor proceedings.

His phone buzzed. It was Rik. ‘No joy on the mobile number. You want me to try it to see who answers?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll try it later.’ He switched off at a burst of static on the vehicle’s radio, followed by the order to approach the premises and for cars on the outer perimeter to close in. Harry was surprised by the numbers involved. Ballatyne must have called in some big favours to get this level of help, and was taking no chances. Even if it came up empty, it would send a powerful message to Soran and his associates that they were under the spotlight.

He let the men out and climbed in alongside the driver, who sensed his impatience and glanced at his watch. ‘Give it a minute or so and they’ll be in.’