Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘Would I be right in saying you joined MI5 from university?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fast-track?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Khan. ‘I was fast-tracked. The force wanted more ethnic minorities among its officers. I suppose MI5 needed more women.’

Button raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer to think I was selected on merit,’ she said.

‘Of course, of course,’ said Khan, quickly, ‘but you know what I mean. Fast-tracking allows an organisation to be realigned where necessary.’

‘Actually, there are more women on the staff of MI5 than men, and the last two Director Generals have been women. The glass ceiling was broken in the intelligence services a long time ago.’

‘Well, we’ve still some way to go,’ said Khan. ‘So, tell me, what else did you do when you were with Five?’

‘I was in the National Security Advice Centre, working on serious crime investigations. After Nine Eleven I was moved to the International Counter-terrorism Branch, and when SOCA was formed, I was approached to head up the undercover unit.’

‘And you’re juggling a family as well as a career?’

Button frowned. ‘This is starting to feel like a job interview.’

Khan’s belly jiggled as he chuckled but his eyes were still hard. ‘I’m sorry if I appear to be prying, Charlotte. It’s just that I like to know who I’m dealing with, especially when the matter is somewhat sensitive.’ He waved at the photograph of his family on the desk. ‘Family means everything to me,’ he said, ‘but I’ve had to sacrifice a lot to get to where I am today.’

‘You have to make time,’ agreed Button. ‘I’m lucky, my husband is very supportive, and our daughter loves boarding-school. It’s not quite Hogwarts, but that whole Harry Potter thing has made it so much easier to send them away.’

‘Your husband also works for the intelligence services?’

Button shook her head. ‘He’s an estate agent. That’s how I met him. He sold me my first apartment. I don’t want to be rude, Chief Superintendent, but I have to be in Belfast this afternoon.’

‘A case?’

‘I’m running an operation there, yes. What is it you need doing?’

Khan opened his mouth to speak, but there was a knock at the door and Anita appeared with a tray. Khan waited until she had put it in front of him and left the room. ‘I have a problem, Charlotte. A very sensitive problem that will need a very sensitive touch.’ Khan leant forward. ‘Racism has always been a problem within the police, both in the way they deal with the public but also in the way they deal with each other. I believe, Charlotte, that several officers at the very top of this force are racist. And I need you to expose them.’

‘Racist in what way?’

‘In the worst possible way,’ said Khan. ‘Racist comments, blocking the promotion of officers from ethnic minorities, backpedalling on cases in which minorities are the victims.’

Button looked pained. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Superintendent, but that’s really not within my remit,’ she said. ‘We’re tasked with investigating major crimes, drugs, people-trafficking.’

‘Racism is a major crime,’ said Khan, sternly. ‘It’s something I take very seriously indeed.’

‘As do I, Chief Superintendent, but in order for me to commit resources, the case has to be within our remit.’

‘I need an officer to be under cover in our headquarters here. I can’t use anyone from our force, obviously, which is why I thought SOCA would be the ideal solution.’

‘Have you considered approaching the Met and asking them to second an officer?’

Khan sighed and sat back. ‘I had, but the nature of the investigation is such that there might be . . . ramifications. It might result in the dismissal of officers at a very senior level, and men like that have friendships that reach across geographical boundaries.’

‘I think what you’re suggesting is highly unlikely,’ said Button. ‘Police investigate their own all the time.’

‘But generally not at such a high level,’ said Khan. ‘Look, I understand your reservations about initiating such an investigation, but is there anything I can do to persuade you to help me?’

‘I don’t see how I can, Chief Superintendent. I’m sorry.’

Khan nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me give it some more thought.’ He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Thank you for coming to see me, anyway. I’m sure you’ve a lot on your plate at the moment.’ He showed her to the door. As he held it open he raised a finger. ‘Oh, do you have a card with a direct line, just in case I need to pick your brains?’

‘I don’t work from an office,’ said Button. She reached into her bag and pulled out a purse. ‘But I have a mobile.’ She fished out a business card and handed it to him.

‘Good luck in Belfast,’ said Khan, and closed the door behind her.

Khan sat at his desk for the best part of an hour, staring blankly at a file in front of him. Eventually he sighed and stood up. He took his overcoat off the hook on the back of his door. ‘I’m heading out for a while, Anita,’ he said to his secretary.

‘Do you need your car?’ she asked.

‘I’ll walk,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back before three.’

Khan took the lift to the ground floor, went through the metal detector and out into the street. Half a dozen civilian workers were clustered around the entrance, smoking and chatting. He lit a cigarette and strode away from the building. He hated himself for what he was doing but he had no choice. Hassan knew where he lived and Khan had no doubt that he would wreak terrible vengeance on his family if he didn’t do what he wanted. He had thought long and hard after Hassan had approached him, considering his options late into the night as he drank endless cups of coffee and smoked his way through two packets of cigarettes. If he went to his bosses and told them what had happened they could put him under police protection. But what would that mean? For the rest of his life he and his family would be virtual prisoners. His children’s education would be ruined, his family would lose their friends, his career would stall. Everything he had worked for, all the sacrifices he had made, would have been for nothing.

There were two phone boxes a short walk from his office but he passed them, deep in thought. He cursed under his breath. He should have listened to his parents and become a doctor. They had always wanted him to study medicine, but even as a teenager he had known he wasn’t cut out to be a medic. He didn’t want to be around sick people, he wanted to catch criminals. He wanted the uniform, the squad cars and the comradeship. He’d studied law at university, but only because he knew that a law degree would get him on to the police fast-track promotion scheme. He’d made inspector within five years, superintendent five years later, and eventually even his parents had accepted that he’d made the right choice. He was doing well in a job he loved, and all the signs were that he was destined for even greater things. He knew he was already spoken of as the first Asian police commissioner, and all he had to do was keep climbing the slippery pole, seizing opportunities as they presented themselves and ensuring he didn’t make any stupid mistakes. He chose his public appearances carefully and had two tame journalists, both Asian, one on a redtop tabloid, the other on a worthy broadsheet, who could be relied on to write puff pieces as needed.

He had planned his career perfectly, he had forged useful friendships and distanced himself from anyone who might have held him back, and now it was all to be wrecked because of a man called Hassan. A man who would kill an innocent girl to gain power over another human being. Hassan was pure evil, and Khan knew that even a high-ranking police officer was powerless in the face of such a man. He had dealt with hundreds of criminals over the years – thieves, drug-dealers, conmen, thugs and murderers – but he had never been confronted before by a man like Hassan. Khan knew that if he didn’t do what Hassan wanted, he would kill Khan’s family. He was as sure of that as he was that there was nothing the police could do to protect them. There was no way to hide from a man like Hassan.