Adrian Magson - Red Station

‘I know.’ Harry smiled. ‘That’s why I said it. You in or not?’

Rik relaxed, mollified. ‘OK. I suppose.’ He chewed his lip for a few seconds, then said, ‘I’ll need a laptop — a good netbook would be better — and a list of places where we can hook into the wireless network and move on. When we hit the directory and then Clarion, it’ll have to be in short bursts in case they’ve got a watch on them — and I bet they do.’

Harry took an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Rik. If the woman hadn’t suspected they were conducting a drugs deal before, she certainly would now. ‘There’s five hundred in there. Do what you have to and we’ll meet up again tomorrow. Can you do it?’

‘Easy. I’ll pick up a machine and check out some places where we can work.’

‘Even better.’ Harry was impressed. Rik evidently worked best when he was challenged on his own turf. ‘Call me when you’re set.’

After Rik had gone, Harry took out a new Pay As You Go mobile and dialled a number from memory. When it was answered, he asked for George Paulton. Time to set the ball rolling.

‘Which department is that?’ said the operator smoothly.

‘Operations.’ Harry quoted a six-digit code, part of which was Paulton’s extension. He doubted it would still work because the codes were changed on a regular basis. But it might get him past the watchdog on reception.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t recognize that number. Could I ask who’s calling, please?’

‘Tell him it’s Harry Tate. I’d like to meet.’

‘Mr Tate? Just a moment, sir.’

Harry counted to ten, then twenty. Paulton was playing hard to get. Nobody should be faster at answering his phone when a ‘hot’ name was mentioned. And right now, the name Harry Tate should be melting the wires around the building.

He switched off the mobile and walked outside. An entire system committed to tracing and analysing calls would now be trying to find where the call had originated, triggered by his use of an out-of-date code. He dumped the mobile in a rubbish skip. He had others and would try again.

Next he called Maloney.

‘I can’t get to Paulton. You heard anything?’

‘I was about to call you.’ Maloney sounded worried. In the background Harry could hear voices and the shrill ring of telephones.

‘What’s up?’

‘First the good news. I got the aerials. You were right: they show a Land Rover parked all afternoon next to an old boat. It was left in such a way it looked like a write-off… doors open and a damaged roof. But in a sweep the following morning, it was gone.’

‘Surprise, surprise. It was down by the landing stage. Good vehicle for driving through mud and picking up a load of drugs.’

‘Right. Anyway, I spoke to Doyle; he’s making noises and they’re turning over the area right now, especially the old boat. That’s probably where they were hiding.’

‘Anything on the boyfriend?’

‘Nothing yet. They’re still processing his prints. They think he might be foreign — maybe Romanian.’

Harry waited, then said, ‘OK. So what’s the bad news?’

‘Paulton’s gone missing.’

Harry disconnected with Maloney and called Rik Ferris. Whatever he did now, he had to act fast. Without Paulton to lean on, they were at a disadvantage.

‘I need Rudmann’s direct number,’ he said when Rik answered.

‘What, now?’ Rik sounded unimpressed. ‘Christ, what’s the rush?’

In the background, Harry heard a woman’s voice asking if Rik wanted the printer bundle. Rik’s voice faded and said no.

‘Our main player in Five has done a runner. I need to shake the tree.’ He gave Rik a quick rundown of what Maloney had said.

‘You think he’s ducked out?’

‘I don’t know. He either jumped or Bellingham got to him. It means we’ve lost one of our chances to prove what Red Station was all about. If Paulton chose to go missing, he’s gone for good.’

‘Give me a few minutes. I’ll find a network and call you back.’

Harry waited fifteen minutes. He took the opportunity to find a quiet stretch of pavement where he could walk and talk undisturbed. Any conversations he was about to have would be best conducted privately.

His phone rang. It was Rik.

He read out a number followed by an address. ‘The number’s her direct line. After you call her, dump the phone; they’ll probably have an automatic trace on it.’

‘Right. How long will it take to access the server?’ He didn’t want to use the name Clarion over the phone.

‘That’ll take a bit longer, and I’ll need your help.’

‘Me? What do I know about computers?’

‘I need you to act as a spotter. Once we start, we might trip over a Guardian — that’s an automatic alarm-and-trace system, set up to monitor unauthorized access. If Bellingham’s being really clever, he’ll have a team on standby ready to jump all over us.’

Harry was in a quandary. He had to speak to Rudmann. According to Mace, she was the only person with the clout who could help him. Anyone else would merely pass the ball. If it reached Bellingham, it was likely to be fatal. But without proof of Bellingham’s use of Clarion, and any messages it contained, he would have nothing to convince her that he was telling the truth.

‘Where are you now?’ He decided to go for Clarion before Bellingham shut it down. ‘You ready to do this?’

‘Yes. I’m near Piccadilly. Can you head for Maddox Street?’

‘Maddox- Jesus, why there?’ Maddox Street was a stone’s throw from Grosvenor Square, home of the fortress known as the US Embassy. After Thames House, Vauxhall Cross and the headquarters of the Met, it probably housed more police and security officials than anywhere in London.

Rik’s voice held a chuckle. ‘Traffic. Electronic and people. We can get lost if anyone gets on our tracks. There’s a place called Cafe Risoux. See you there.’

Thirty minutes later, Harry entered the Cafe Risoux. It was long and narrow, given the illusion of space by large wall mirrors at strategic points. It wasn’t yet lunchtime, and held a mixed clientele of young women shoppers, elderly tourists and a few suits, and two men with American accents who were collecting bagged snacks to go. Rik was hunched over a table at the rear, close by the fire exit and staring at the screen of a tiny laptop.

‘All set.’ Rik waved him to sit. ‘I’ve done some tracking already; he’s not as clever as he thinks. I’ll be two ticks. Can you get coffee? Americano — four sugars.’

‘You’ll get nervous and fat.’ Harry went to the counter. While his order was being prepared, he checked the street outside. He’d been careful on his way here. The likelihood of being spotted by someone from MI5 was remote, but fate had a habit of turning and biting you when you least expected it.

When he got back to the table, Rik was looking pleased with himself.

‘I’m in,’ he breathed, and checked the nearest customer, a student type using a laptop two tables away. He pulled a chair round and nodded for Harry to sit, blocking the man’s view. Then he bent back to his keyboard.

‘What I’m doing,’ he explained softly, ‘is accessing Clarion, then checking all the outgoing lines to see if I can spot a pattern or a name which looks good. It might take some time.’

‘Time we have,’ said Harry, and hoped he was right. ‘But is it safe?’

‘Sure. Unless I trip any of the numbers.’

‘How will you know when you’ve got the right one?’

‘By a process of elimination. I reckon he’ll have been using the same number all along. It’s his set-up, and I bet he didn’t share it with anyone else or change his settings.’