Robert Young - Gatecrasher

Horner sighed. ‘God, I’m so sorry Geoffrey. I wish there were something I could do, put myself in the firing line.’

‘What would you do Michael? In my shoes?’ Asquith sounded genuinely interested in the answer.

‘I’m not in your shoes Geoffrey, thank God. This is ludicrous. I’ve never heard anything like it. Is there no way round this? Call their bluff? Have them arrested?’

‘If we gamble and lose we’re both ruined. Completely. Prison for you probably and for me too possibly. Not to mention the political ramifications. We’re looking at a General Election in a little under a year.’

‘So we play their game?’

‘If we do, they say they’ll hand over the data they took from Griffin and disappear. Simple as that.’

‘You believe them?’

‘On the strength of one phone call? No. But they do have us backed into a corner somewhat. I don’t suppose they expect me to play along without some proof but that’s a moot point really. Andrew Griffin told me exactly what data had been accessed and copied and filled in a few blanks. It’s pretty obvious that the data is incriminating Michael, even if you hadn’t confessed it yourself.’

Horner was staring at the ground as they walked, not meeting Asquith’s accusing eyes.

‘Do you have no idea who it might be Michael? For God’s sake, how do they know this? What sort of people do you associate with?’

‘That was in the past Geoffrey, I learned my lesson the hard way. When you move in the circles I do you cross paths with an assorted cast of characters. A few of them not nice. That’s inevitable really. Maybe someone heard about it from the guys I was in with back then. Maybe it’s one of them, I don’t know. Our links were pretty loose and easily terminated, of necessity. We didn’t have a lot of contact really. Lots of middlemen, lots of smoke. Tried to cut those ties long ago. It isn’t like we have diamond smugglers reunions.’

Asquith slowed his pace and stared at the younger man at his side, astonished to find how little he’d known him, at how cheaply cast aside was his trust and hard work when they had been partners. Horner glanced up again and then back at the floor.

‘So that’s it then. We’re fucked.’ The word sounded strange coming from such a refined and well-spoken man, somehow the ruder because of it.

‘I can’t change the past Geoffrey.’

‘So we play ball?’

Michael Horner just kept on staring at the ground.

Monday 6pm

Sarah turned and closed the door behind her and locked it, dropping her bag to the floor and her jacket from her shoulders. Campbell watched her back, not sure what to say and wanting to look her in the eyes before he opened his mouth.

She looked shattered.

‘Hi. How was your day?’ she said.

Campbell shrugged. ‘You first.’

Sarah wandered past him into the living room and flopped onto the sofa, stretching out and kicking off her shoes.

‘I thought I was going to get attacked or kidnapped or sacked or arrested about a hundred times today. Before lunch.’

Campbell stood looking down at her trying to look sympathetic.

‘Don’t give me that look Daniel. You want to help, get me a drink.’

He did, handing her a beer from the fridge and taking one for himself.

Sarah sipped at the beer quietly for a while and then she upended the bottle and drained it quickly.

‘I set it all up. Wednesday.’

‘You spoke to him?’ Campbell asked, with a note of surprise. His eyes were wide and he sat staring at her in amazement.

‘You asked me to didn’t you?’

‘Yeah sure, but…’

‘But nothing. Don’t fuck it up,’ she said and sat up. ‘I need a shower.’

‘George rang.’

She was at the doorway with her back to him. She stopped but did not turn.

‘The guy in Cornwall anything to do with him?’ she asked.

‘No. Like I said, not their type at all. George says it was someone else.’

‘Who else?’ Her back was still turned.

‘Whoever it is wants the memory stick.’ Campbell told her what he had heard from Gresham earlier that afternoon about being paid to break in, told what to steal. ‘Someone else is pulling the strings. Maybe one of Horner’s old shady business associates is after him. Maybe he messed with the wrong shitbag. Point is George is just a lackey. Hired help.’

‘That doesn’t really help us does it?’

‘No,’ Campbell replied. ‘I don’t think there’s anything he can do about this other guy. He takes orders. Kind of a one-way deal.’

Sarah took a deep breath and nodded. Then she was gone.

Campbell sat down in the armchair and picked absently at the label on the beer bottle, staring into space. He listened to the sounds from the bathroom as the water hissed and splashed and wondered what to do next.

As scared as he had been since the whole thing had begun, Campbell still had not lost hope. At first it had just seemed like a strange and unfortunate situation to be in but as everything had snowballed the fear had driven him on, given him strength and determination.

Now though, he was beginning to think that he was out of his depth, that he should never have run or put up a fight or tried to do things himself. What was he thinking calling a man like Gresham those kinds of things? How could he have involved Sarah like this?

He thought about the morning of the burglary, the two policeman that had come to his flat. Professional, sympathetic men. DCI Samuel, wasn’t that the name? And didn’t he have his number somewhere? The man had left a card.

He lay back on the sofa and he thought about what he had asked Sarah to do that day, what, indeed, she told him she had done. Don’t fuck it up. He pondered the chances of his success, of what he would have to do, how persuasive, how convincing, how brave and resolute he would have to be, and how downright lucky too. He thought again of DCI Samuel.

He needed a Plan B.

Tuesday. 12.30am.

He had made her park the car a couple of streets away but he was not able to convince her to stay there and wait for him, just as he had failed to make her stay at home.

Having heard the tone of Gresham’s voice that day, Campbell finally knew that they were on their own and that they were up against something and someone far more powerful and far more sinister than he could contend with any longer. He had tried to figure some way through the mess but at each turn he had become more deeply embroiled in it, more lost and isolated, more scared.

Sarah had suggested that they call the station to ask for Samuel or an off duty number if he wasn’t there but Campbell had refused point-blank. The indications that the people behind this had power and influence were still too strong. Any call to the station might be intercepted or they might arouse suspicion by asking for a personal contact number. No, safer to wait until Samuel was likely to be well out of the station and then call, demand secrecy, some sign that they could trust him before they involved him and then, perhaps, turn themselves in.

Campbell had decided nothing yet. Samuel represented some hope in a bleak scenario but there was no guarantee that hope would become concrete. He might be a useful back-up to have nonetheless and since there seemed to be nobody they could trust at the moment, just the thought of a sympathetic ear made him feel less desperate.

The first step would therefore be to go back, again, to Campbell’s flat where the policeman’s card was clipped to the fridge door by a magnet. Sarah had protested loudly that this was a crazy idea, that if there was anywhere that someone would be looking for them, or him, it would be there. Wasn’t there another way?