Tim Stevens - Jokerman

Kasabian probed his face with her eyes. Vale, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. Purkiss wondered if he knew what Purkiss had in mind.

Purkiss said, ‘Rossiter’s a patriot. A twisted, misguided, delusional patriot, but a patriot nonetheless. He has his own view of what’s best for the country, and he’ll follow that path no matter what. Even at the cost of his own skin. On that boat, in the baltic, he actually asked — begged — me to kill him, rather than bring him in and cast the Service into disrepute.’

Kasabian glanced at Vale, then back at Purkiss. She made a rolling movement with her hand: keep going .

‘If I put it to Rossiter that his cooperation is important to national security, and if I can convince him of it, he’ll play ball. He might try to manipulate me, to play games, but he’ll do it. The hard part will be convincing him of it. Because we don’t know that this does involve national security at all. I’ll have to lie persuasively.’

‘How will you know he’s telling you the truth, rather than feeding you misinformation?’ asked Kasabian. ‘He hoodwinked you before.’

‘I won’t know. I’ll just have to be on my guard.’ Purkiss looked at each of them in turn. ‘Come on. It makes sense. The sooner we do this, the better. In the mean time you can look for connections within the respective services.’

Kasabian was silent for a beat. Then she said: ‘All right. I’ll arrange it.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’ll be tough,’ she said. ‘Doing it without tipping off Strang… it’ll take some doing.’

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way.’

Kasabian left. Purkiss thought she had a spring in her step.

‘It was risky, telling her,’ said Purkiss.

‘She had to know, John.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Purkiss began to pace again. ‘If she’s not careful, she’ll play straight into Strang’s hands. Make a blunder of some kind.’

Vale said, ‘There’s something else that’s risky. It concerns your meeting Rossiter.’

‘What’s that? If you’re worried I’m going to attack him, finish what I started in Tallinn, forget it. I wouldn’t have the opportunity, anyway. The security around him will be airtight.’

‘It’s not him I’m concerned about,’ Vale murmured. ‘It’s you.’

‘Why?’

‘Coming face to face with him for the first time since… well, since then. You don’t know what it’ll trigger in you.’

Purkiss stopped pacing, faced Vale. ‘I’ve come to terms,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Very well.’ Vale looked at his watch. ‘I’d better set to work.’

After Vale had left, Purkiss phoned the hospital and spoke to the registrar on duty in the Intensive Care Unit. Kendrick was still comatose and being ventilated. Brain oedema was still there, but under control. There was otherwise no change in his condition.

Purkiss rang Hannah.

‘Where are you?’

‘Home,’ she said. ‘Marble Arch.’

‘Come round here,’ he said. ‘I’ll update you, and we can go through Morrow’s paperwork together again.’

He gave her directions, not insulting her by advising her to employ countersurveillance methods en route . While he was waiting for her he ordered Chinese takeaway food.

Hannah arrived half an hour later, just after the food. She’d changed into casual trousers and a lightweight sweater which accentuated her slimness.

Over their meal, Purkiss brought her up to speed.

‘You’re going to speak to this Rossiter yourself?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Kasabian’s going to try and arrange it for tomorrow morning.’

‘So what do we do till then?’

‘We wait,’ said Purkiss. ‘As I said, it would be useful if you went through Morrow’s files with me. You might spot something I didn’t.’

They spent a couple of hours sprawled on the uncomfortably new sofas around a low table in the small living room, going over the paperwork again, looking to see if Arkwright’s name came up the way it had in the notebook Hannah had found. There was no mention of the man. Nor was there any hint of a connection with Rossiter.

‘Maybe the notebook was more up to date than any of this stuff,’ Hannah suggested. ‘Charlie might have only discovered the Arkwright link recently.’

‘Possibly. But the most recent memos and email transcripts here are from a couple of days before his death.’

‘Still doesn’t mean much. He wouldn’t necessarily mention Arkwright in every single piece of correspondence.’

Purkiss filled and refilled the coffee. At last he glanced up at the clock, his head swimming, and saw it was almost midnight.

‘We’re not going to find anything here,’ he said. ‘At least not tonight.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Damn it.’

‘You drive here?’

‘Caught the tube.’

‘They’ll still be running, but I can call a cab — ’

She watched Purkiss, her gaze frank.

He felt a slow warmth spread from his chest, upwards through his throat and face, and downwards as well.

Wordlessly he shifted over on the sofa. She rose from hers and sat beside him, leaning in towards him.

For a moment she rested her head in the crook of his arm. He laid his hand along her side, feeling the dip of her ribcage towards her narrow waist. Her hair smelled warm and freshly washed, a spicy scent he couldn’t easily identify.

Purkiss pressed his lips against her hair, let them linger.

Hannah slipped a hand up his chest, stroking lightly. She tilted her head and his lips found her forehead. The fingers of his own hand ran down the smooth softness of her cheek.

Purkiss moved, turning towards her, and she slid her arms around his neck. Their mouths met, probed, her tongue slick against his. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him.

Quickly, awkwardly they grappled with their clothes, fumbling and kicking. Hannah frowned as his left arm was exposed, swathed in its bandage. Purkiss’s hands roved over her bottom, her thighs, their smoothness marred only by the dressing on her own wound.

She straddled him and he entered her, groaning. Her feet were on the floor in front of the sofa and provided leverage as she rocked up and down. She flung her head back, her glossy hair writhing, her breasts thrust out. As they approached their peak, Hannah swung forwards, her hair shrouding Purkiss’s face, her mouth seeking his again.

Afterwards she lay slumped across him on the sofa, her breathing synching with his. Purkiss touched the sweat-slick groove of her spine with his fingertips, inhaled her hair once more.

She seemed to sense he was about to say something because she half-lifted her head and said, ‘No talk. Is that all right? No murmurings. Just… it .’

He nodded. Grasping her waist with both hands, he lifted her off him and sat up.

She peered into his eyes. ‘You’re not offended, are you? I didn’t mean to — ’

‘Shh.’ Rising, he took her hand, led her to the bedroom.

Lying to Brian over the phone on Friday, when she’d called him to say she had to attend Sir Guy and wouldn’t be home till later that evening, had been relatively easy because Emma hadn’t had to see his face. This time it was more difficult.

It was Sunday morning, and the breakfast dishes were piled up ready for scraping and then the dishwasher. Brian had made one of his epic breakfasts for the two of them and the children, and they’d lingered over it, making it last nearly two hours. Niamh and Jack were in the garden, yelling in carefree delight. Their shrieks intensified when Ulyana the nanny arrived.

Emma bustled about the kitchen, stealing glances at her husband’s profile. His face was always utterly relaxed, even when he was concentrating on a task, in this case getting dried egg yolk off a plate. His hair was tousled still, even his moustache a little ungroomed. As usual he was in cargo trousers and a rugby sweatshirt.