Adrian Magson - Retribution

It was early evening before Harry arrived back at the Holiday Inn. He was tired and tense, anxious to climb into the shower for an hour or so to wash off the dust of the training ground. By the time he and Carl Pendry had been through a lengthy grilling by the US Army investigators and local FBI special agents, called in on the advice of the base commander, the morning had turned into late afternoon. Harry had finally been allowed off the base, and knew it was so that they could shunt him out of the way. He had been helpful but was an outsider. Before leaving, Pendry had given him a direct number in case he needed to call.

He saw Rik in the doorway to the bar. He was holding a beer and fanning himself with a hotel brochure. Harry walked past him and ordered a beer; the shower could wait.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, as Rik sidled up alongside him and put his glass on the bar. The barman was out of earshot.

‘I’ve been monitoring the news channels. The local networks are going nuts. The most accurate is a soldier killed in a training accident, the worst is an entire platoon mown down by a crazed terrorist gunman. How bad was it?’

Harry gave him the basic facts. ‘If it wasn’t an attempt on Pendry, I’ll eat my feet.’

‘How did the killer find him? I checked the satellite photos — it’s a hell of a big area.’

‘Common knowledge. Most of the population here is either military, ex-military or knows someone employed on the base. And I hear there are army freaks who like to sneak in and watch the training. If our man knows what Pendry’s job is, it wouldn’t be too hard to find someone keen to brag about what was going on where, and pin down the location.’

Rik sipped at his beer. ‘He couldn’t have driven in; he’d have been spotted. He must have walked.’

‘And back out.’

Harry thought about Pendry’s comment about the man wearing camouflage jacket and pants. A place like Fort Benning was buzzing with security patrols and troop movements. But that would have worked to the killer’s advantage: who would question a man in combat clothing in the middle of a military training area? ‘At least we now know something else about him: he’s good at infiltration. Did you find anything else?’

‘Some basic background on the CP team members, but nothing specific to help us. Bikovsky’s the only one who jumps out.’

‘Why?’

‘I picked up a couple of reports from newspaper archives. He was arrested once for drink driving as a kid, then for assault in San Diego, but released without charge. That’s all it said. When I tried to dig deeper, I hit a lot of empty space.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s like the records have been sanitized.’

Harry looked at him. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘Exactly what I thought.’ Rik checked his watch. ‘I’m meeting a guy later who’s got a back door into state court and justice records. He might be able to find out more.’

‘You found someone here? How?’

Rik gave a faint smirk. ‘I put out a call. There’s always someone around if you know who to ask.’ Rik had numerous friends and contacts in the shadowy world of computer hackers, most of them embracing anonymity and wary of coming out of their dark corners into the daylight. Harry had met a couple, pale-skinned and unhealthy specimens who would go through fire and water to breach a firewall or step into forbidden cyber territory just to prove that they could. A bit like Rik himself.

But he didn’t like the idea of an outsider becoming involved. ‘Couldn’t you do it?’

‘Not like this guy. He’s got a rep for digging into Department of Justice files. He knows his way round.’ He tried to look modest and failed. ‘I could do it, but it would take me longer — and I’d probably trip over something.’

‘Can you trust him?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got something he wants.’

‘Money?’

‘A name. A contact in the community.’

Harry said nothing. If Rik was offering a name, it had to be someone the unknown hacker wanted to get to, someone higher up the ladder of IT geekdom.

‘You want me to come?’

Rik rolled his eyes. ‘Get off. He’d shit a streak if he saw you.’

‘How quaint. What’s so scary about me?’

‘You look like you represent The Machine, that’s what.’ Rik did bunny ears with his fingers and drawled, ‘Like, Establishment, dude.’

Rik was pulling his chain. He changed the subject. ‘What about Koslov — anything new?’

‘Other than the details Deane gave you, no. No photos, either. He’s either left the army and gone into private work, or he’s gone off the grid for other reasons.’

Harry knew what that meant: Koslov was either using his military training and skills working for some rich oligarch, or was now employed by the Russian government in a quasi-military capacity. He’d already fed the number into his mobile along with Pendry’s and Bikovsky’s. He’d try him when he got a moment.

‘And anything out of Kosovo?’

‘Bits and pieces. Some repeat chatter about a dead girl from way back, but no specifics. The press are hinting at fresh claims against the UN, but it’s all being played down. I get the feeling they’re waiting for some hard evidence to come out. When it does, it’ll be gloves off.’

‘Let’s hope they’re kept waiting.’

‘There’s something else.’ Rik scratched his head, a sign that he was nervous.

‘What is it?’

‘Did you know that every time you visit Clare, your name is sent to Six?’

Harry didn’t rise to it. He had never told Rik about his visits to the Trauma Centre because he knew he didn’t care for Clare Jardine. But Rik had found out anyway.

‘You checking up on me?’ he muttered.

‘No. No. I just. . wondered how she was doing.’ Rik put his glass down. He looked sheepish.

‘You hacked into the records. Are you nuts? Ballatyne will skin you alive if he finds out.’

‘He won’t. The system’s wide open. Anyone could get in there — even you.’

‘Thanks. What else did you discover?’

Rik cleared his throat. ‘It was scary reading.’

‘Gunshot wounds usually are. She was lucky, though; she should pull through.’ If she wants to, he thought, echoing the nurse’s comment. She’ll still be bloody dangerous.

‘I guess. There was a record of visitors. Well, one: you.’

Harry wasn’t surprised that visits were recorded. Ballatyne would have requested it.

‘How come,’ Rik asked, ‘she’s not in a secure ward?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Where would she go?’ In reality, he knew the answer to that. He’d pressured Ballatyne into dropping any charges against Clare. She’d saved two lives and nearly lost her own in the process, and that, he’d argued, was on the plus side of the balance sheet.

He left Rik in the bar and went to the reception desk for his key. The crowd had gone and the receptionist greeted him cheerfully, handing him his key and a message slip.

‘The earlier duty manager said someone was asking for you,’ she told him, ‘but the caller wouldn’t leave a name. With security here, she made a note.’

The call was timed at 2 p.m. It was probably Ken Deane wanting to know how it was going. He’d called him from the base earlier that morning, to add grease to the wheels and update him on events. He went upstairs to put through a call to New York.

Hovering by the hotel entrance under cover of a group of military family members, Kassim watched Tate take his key and a slip of paper from the receptionist and walk away. He noted the Englishman’s stocky build and the way he carried himself. Not a man to underestimate, he decided, but given the right circumstances, not a problem. Minutes earlier, he’d observed him enter the hotel bar and order a drink, where he’d been engaged in conversation by another man. This one was younger, with untidy hair and wearing the clothing common to so many Americans: jeans and a T-shirt. There had been no exchange of greetings and Tate had looked almost offhand. Tate had eventually walked back to the reception desk to get his key.