Charles Cumming - The hidden man

‘About three years.’ Dulong was fighting for a way out. ‘A long time before you started to have your suspicions about Libra, in any event. Roth has been doing some very important work for us on the Russian government. His government contacts in London are also first-rate. It’s important that you both realize he brings in pedigree CX on a vast range of subjects.’

Quinn stirred. ‘And you’re — what — here to tell us how determined you are to keep him on board, to keep that sort of information rolling into the Cross?’

He could see it happening, even if Taploe could not, could already sense what they had come for. The fix. The deal. All the hard work on Kukushkin lost for the sake of a few careers.

‘That is certainly one of my aims,’ Dulong conceded.

A long silence ensued. The trepidation of a game of cards. Then Taploe moved forward, emerging from the corner of the room as if from within his own shadow.

‘So what are SIS saying?’ he asked. His manner was oddly deferential for one who held the FCO in such high contempt. ‘What is the exact purpose of this meeting?’

McCreery answered on Dulong’s behalf.

‘We’re saying that it won’t have escaped your attention that Sebastian Roth is an immensely well-connected young man.’ As he spoke he tapped a Biro on the surface of the table, as if to reinforce his point. ‘He has friends in high places. His father, for example, is a Tory peer who sits in the Lords…’

‘Who Roth never speaks to,’ Quinn said quickly.

McCreery dropped the pen.

‘Do you think that I might be able to finish?’ There was a military sting to the question. ‘I was nevertheless going to say that there are a number of people, Elizabeth included, who would prefer it if Roth were not exposed, which would inevitably happen if your enquiries into Libra and Kukushkin ever entered into the public realm.’

Taploe breathed very deeply.

‘I don’t understand how Roth can be so invaluable to you,’ he said. ‘After all, he’s not even aware of what’s going on in his own backyard.’ The observation was almost apologetic. ‘How can Elizabeth trust an agent who alerts a suspect against her own specific instructions?’

‘Sebastian’s a strong character, a hothead,’ Dulong replied.

Quinn laughed undisguisedly.

‘What’s funny?’

‘A hothead? A strong character?’

‘Yes — a strong character who makes split-second decisions and acts on instinct.’ Dulong had to raise her voice. ‘Usually that quality is a great asset to us. It is illustrative of how hard Sebastian has been working for SIS that he has allowed Thomas to assume a greater responsibility over the running of Libra. He trusted him, of course, with unfortunate consequences.’

Briefly Dulong looked flustered. Quinn was getting under her skin. ‘

That’s what you’d call it, would you? Unfortunate consequences?’

McCreery stood up and appeared to wince at a stab of pain in his legs.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘we’re all here today to try to sort this thing out. We’re all of us here today attempting to resolve this little dilemma.’

But Quinn did not back down.

‘That’s what we’re here for, is it, Jock? Is that the line you’re peddling?’ Quinn was the youngest person in the room, yet he would not allow his relative lack of experience to count against him: on the contrary, he felt professionally and intellectually obliged to question MI6 every step of the way. ‘I’ll tell you what I think you’re here for. I think you’re here for cover-up. I think you’re here to make sure we take the heat for what’s happened. I think you’re here to make sure that nobody steals your pension.’

‘I am merely stating,’ McCreery said, coming down hard on the consonants, ‘our desire to go about this in a civilized fashion.’ He was leaning on the table. ‘Stephen, I’m sure you would concur.’

‘Of course,’ Taploe replied, ‘of course,’ and flashed Quinn a look of disquiet. ‘Let’s just hear them out, Paul, eh? Let’s just at least do that.’

Dulong seized on this.

‘I may as well tell you that Jockand I came here directly from a meeting at the Cross. Seeing as you’ve brought it up, the consensus is that Libra should remain untouched. Thomas Macklin cannot be prosecuted.’

‘Here we go,’ Quinn muttered under his breath. ‘Here we go.’

‘In these unfortunate circumstances, Macklin must be allowed to remain in Grand Cayman.’ Dulong continued as if he had not spoken. ‘We wouldn’t ask the authorities there to make an arrest. Equally, if and when he returns to the UK, the Crown cannot prosecute for money laundering. Sebastian’s role would inevitably emerge.’

‘Fucking bullshit,’ Quinn shouted, flinging a fist out into the room. Everyone turned to face him. ‘That is an absolute load of fucking bullshit and you…’

‘It is not…’

But he could shout louder than Dulong.

‘… you know as well as I do that the only reason you’re prepared to protect Macklin is to conceal the fact that a former KGB agent slipped out of Moscow and murdered two Western intelligence officers before anybody knew what was going on.’

McCreery stood in a bid for control. Quinn’s idealism needed to be snuffed out quickly or the plan would unravel.

‘We cannot deny that we are anxious to keep Kostov’s movements under wraps,’ he conceded. ‘That much is true.’ Slowly he limped towards the door. ‘But this has an impact on the Security Service just as much as it affects our side. Imagine how difficult it will become to recruit agents if potential targets think British Intelligence cannot protect them. Would you fancy going back to Ireland, to Paris, to Frankfurt, with the Kostov scandal hanging in the air? Would you?’

‘I’ve never been to Frankfurt,’ Quinn said flatly, because he could not resist the joke. ‘I’m a lawyer, mate. I’m paid to work in London. I’m employed by the Home Office to help track down and prosecute the kind of people you’re talking about setting free.’

‘So we’re just going to let Macklin go?’ Taploe asked, as if the revelation were still dawning on him and did not yet seem scandalous. ‘What about Tamarov?’

‘I’m afraid we would also condone Tamarov’s release.’ Dulong did not dare look at Quinn. ‘He would not be permitted to return to the United Kingdom, although any established organized crime networks would of course be dismantled. But prosecution is out of the question. Ditto Juris Duchev. Now nobody’s saying that’s the ideal solution but…’

‘Too fucking right it’s not the ideal solution.’ Quinn pressed himself up from the table and walked towards McCreery. He knew that his appearance worked against him — his weight, his sweat — but he still held out the faint hope that his arguments would carry the day. ‘Tamarov has a UK right of residency. How are you going to take that away from him?’

‘Look,’ Dulong countered, ‘this has come from very high up…’

‘What, God doesn’t want Tamarov arrested? Did He tell you that in person, or just send a courier?’

Nobody laughed.

‘It’s not all bad news,’ Dulong said stiffly. ‘Macklin won’t be coming home. He’ll think the Russians know about the double dip and assume he’s a marked man in London. At our earlier meeting my colleagues also discussed the possibility of asking the Cayman authorities to implement a Mareva injunction on Macklin’s accounts.’

‘What’s a Mareva injunction?’ Taploe asked, as a phone rang in an office across the hall.

‘It means they’re going to try and freeze Macklin’s assets,’ Quinn explained quietly.

‘That is correct.’ Dulong straightened her skirt. ‘So you can see that it’s not as if he’s got away scot free.’