Adrian Magson - Retribution

‘If it was me,’ Deane continued, ‘and one of my men was hit like that, on the back of the rumours going around, I’d be keeping one eye over my shoulder.’ He looked keenly at Harry. ‘I looked up your ShootReps and IncReps while you were there. You had a couple of wild incidents.’

‘Nothing most other units didn’t come across.’ He wondered at the change of direction. Shooting Reports and Incident Reports were made by UN or KFOR ground troops. Harry’s unit had reported on several ‘hot’ incidents, some serious, others less so. ‘How is that relevant?’

‘It’s not. I’m just thinking of other angles. Did any of your “hot” contacts involve any collateral damage? Women killed by accident? Kids killed or badly hurt by stray fire? Anything Orti was involved in, maybe on the side?’

Harry considered the question dispassionately. Not all UN or KFOR troops behaved impeccably, although they were generally picked for their attitude and inter-personnel skills. But occasionally the stresses and dangers of a peacekeeping posting could get to an individual and spiral out of control. Boredom was a problem, made worse by being isolated in a compound with not enough to do and men you had already spent too many hours with. That could lead to many things, not least of which was gambling.

By its nature, it inevitably spilled over into the local community, always on the lookout for ways of making money in a desperate situation. Money, or any other form of currency such as pilfered stores and equipment, was always the target. It was part of the desperation economy wherever foreign troops were called in to keep the peace.

‘Orti seemed a good soldier, but I can’t say I knew him.’

‘Pity.’ Deane looked glum. ‘Looks like we’re no further forward, then.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ve got to get to the embassy. There’s a press conference in New York today. A couple of reporters have tabled questions about the rumours.’ He pulled a face. ‘They’re not going to let this go. And when they hear about Orti, it’s going to gather weight and speed.’

Harry nodded. ‘I agree. And the answer’s yes.’

‘What?’

‘I’m in.’

Harry left a relieved Deane to make his way to the US Embassy to do whatever damage limitation he was able to, and walked round to Rik’s place in Paddington.

‘He doesn’t give much away, does he, your mate?’ Rik greeted him at the door dressed in a lurid purple T-shirt and jeans, his hair spiky and unruly, as if he’d just rolled out of a hedge.

‘He’s not supposed to. What have you got?’ Harry gestured at a laptop blinking quietly on the table where Rik usually worked, and guessed he’d been up for some time.

Rik spun the laptop round to face him. He’d cut and pasted a variety of documents culled from several sources, but it didn’t take long to read. From early enlistment in the US Marine Corps, Ken Deane had applied for a job with the United Nations as a field security officer. He had served in a number of UN operational areas, including Kosovo, rising through the ranks to become a leading figure in the Department of Safety and Security, dealing with everything from security clearance procedures through protection of humanitarian volunteers and UN personnel, and linking to investigations into the behaviour of personnel and claims against the organization. Much of it appeared to be desk driven, but Harry guessed that Deane’s major role was as a troubleshooter, ready to up and go at a moment’s notice when trouble flared. As it had now.

He pushed the laptop back towards Rik. Deane was looking to nip this thing in the bud before it got out of hand. Speaking to Harry was the logical step in the investigation, trying to ferret out quick answers at first hand and protect the UN’s back. He couldn’t hold that against the man; he’d have done the same. But the implications for Harry were clear: if the rumours and the intelligence were true and a member of the CP team had been involved in rape and murder, it meant they were all at risk.

He rang Richard Ballatyne on his mobile number. Since the MI6 officer had pointed Deane his way in the first place, he must have a point of view on the matter.

Ballatyne sounded cautious. ‘To be honest, Harry, this is not something we want to get involved in.’

‘That didn’t stop you putting my name forward.’

‘Sorry. I should have warned you.’ He didn’t sound sorry. But then, he never did. ‘If you want the general feeling around here,’ he continued, ‘it would be in all our interests if this thing could be laid to rest. The UN’s too vital to all our interests to become embroiled in a long-running scandal with no resolution. And if that means finding and hanging out the guilty party to dry before this escalates, then so be it.’

‘Thanks.’ Harry felt cornered. He was already mentally committed to helping Deane; Ballatyne had just placed the full stop at the end of the sentence.

‘There’s just one thing, Harry. If you start on this, there’s no dropping the baton halfway. This isn’t like our normal work: there are no shadows, no smoke and mirrors. It’s in the full glare of the sun and there’s already been too much focus on it. If you find anything, it’s likely that you’ll only be a step ahead of the press and whoever’s driving this.’

‘So?’

‘So make sure you get it right. Close it down.’

Harry put down the phone with an uneasy feeling. He’d just been given official approval, such as it was, to help the UN with their problem. But it was a nod at arm’s length and free of any recorded official sanction.

He told Rik everything Deane had said, and gave him the names of the personnel he could remember from the close protection team. ‘If the group behind this identified Orti, then they’ve got all our names and it won’t be long before they’re in the public domain. See if you can find out what’s out there. I’ll get full details of the team as soon as I can.’

Rik nodded and made some notes. ‘Will do. I’ll put out feelers with some people I know.’ He looked at Harry. ‘Are we getting on board with this?’

‘I don’t have much choice. If I can identify the guilty party, I might be able to put a stop to it.’

‘Not just you.’ Rik looked determined. ‘So forget the “I” bit.’

Harry smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks. I could do with someone watching my back.’

‘Are we carrying?’

‘We will be.’ Harry and Rik were ‘carded’ — authorized to carry a weapon. It was a rare permission for civilians, and only ever granted to former military or government security personnel. But it came with a proviso: the holder could be called on at a moment’s notice to jump into the breach and be ready to use the weapon on government business. Those occasions had been rare, and in Harry’s case, often disguised as semi-commercial arrangements. The last one had been through Richard Ballatyne, in the search for a rogue organization using and killing deserters from the military. Since then, Harry and Rik had been working in the private sector, searching for missing persons of dubious repute and providing security-related services to quasi-government individuals.

Now it looked as if they were going to be working for more personal reasons.

He took a cab down to an upmarket flower shop near Fulham, and walked into the usual heady aroma of fresh greenery and blossom and the taste of something metallic. The co-owner, Jean Fleming, was snipping stems and arranging a display for the window. She was tall and slim and smiled when she saw him, and he felt his day brighten as always.

They exchanged kisses and she leaned against him. ‘This is a surprise. Do you want me to arrange some flowers for you, sir? We have a special offer on today, for hunky men only.’