Stephen Leather - Tango One

"Sorted?"

"I don't know if I'm cut out to be a single parent," said Donovan.

"You're his dad. That's all that matters."

"I guess," said Donovan.

Kris looked at her watch.

"I'd better be getting back to Louise. Check that she's okay. I said I'd stay the night with her."

"She's a nice kid."

"You interested? I could put in a good word for you. She's young, free and single."

Donovan grinned.

"I think my life's probably complicated enough as it is, but thanks for the offer."

"Not your type?"

"Where are we, the playground?"

"Word is you like blondes."

"My wife was a blonde. But I've never let hair colour get in the way of a good shag. She's a stunner, okay. Happy now?"

"I'll tell her," said Kris.

"Seriously, Den. Thanks for tonight."

"Happy to have been a help," said Donovan.

"It's been years since I was in a fistfight. Brought back memories."

"Not sure it was a fight, more of a beating up," said Kris. Donovan climbed out of the sports car laughing and waved as she drove away.

"You got the registration number?" said Shuker as he clicked away with the SLR camera.

"No sweat," saidjenner.

"Bit of all right, wasn't she?"Jenner was sitting at a dressing table and writing in the log. A pair of high-powered binoculars lay on the table next to a Thermos flask and two plastic cups.

"Yeah, he's got a thing about blondes." Shuker continued to take photographs until Donovan closed the front door.

"Wonder why she didn't go inside?"

Shuker and Jenner were Customs officers, and both were experienced surveillance operatives. Shuker was the elder of the two at thirty-six, but Jenner had been with HM Customs longer as he'd joined straight from school. They were in a flat diagonally opposite Donovan's that was owned by an Inland Revenue tax inspector. The bedroom was normally occupied by the inspector's ten-year-old daughter, but she'd been moved in with her sister and the whole family had been sworn to secrecy. The nature of the target hadn't been divulged to the family, just that it was a neighbour who was under surveillance. Shuker and Jenner were in the room for twelve hours a day, from midnight until noon, with two other Customs officers taking the alternate shift. Both men had plans for all the overtime they'd earn keeping an eye on Den Donovan. Shuker was saving for a Honda Gold Wing motorbike and Jenner had promised his wife and kids two weeks in Florida.

Donovan opened the fridge and sighed when he saw that there was no soda water. He opened the freezer section and cursed. No ice cubes, either. He sipped his Jack Daniels neat and went through to the sitting room. He sat down on a sofa and swung his legs up on to the coffee table. It was littered with glossy magazines. Vogue. Elle.

Marie Claire. They were all Vicky's. He kicked them away. He should have put them into the black rubbish bags with the rest of her stuff.

He wanted nothing of hers in the house.

He rested his head on the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.

"What the hell am I going to do?" he asked out loud. Julia Lau had been unequivocal. There was no way he could take Robbie out of the country while Vicky's injunction was in force. And if he left the country without Robbie, he'd have a tough time convincing a judge that he was a fit parent. He had no choice. He had to stay. He had to make a home for Robbie, at least until he could get the injunction overturned. Or find out where Vicky was. He sipped his drink. The remote control was by his side, so he switched on the TV and flicked through the channels until he found Sky Sport. Liverpool against Chelsea. Donovan didn't support either team. He didn't really support any team. At school he'd been a United fan, but then the whole world had started to support the Reds and Donovan had lost interest. He'd hated running with the crowd, even as a kid. He half-watched the game.

What was it they were paid these days? Millions. Millions of pounds for playing a game. The world had gone crazy.

Maybe he'd take Robbie to a soccer match. Might be fun. In fact, taking care of Robbie wouldn't be too difficult, he decided. All he had to do was to take him to and from school, feed him and clothe him.

How tough could that be? Besides, it'd be good to spend some time with him. Quality time. Father and son time.

The cops and Customs would have him under the microscope, but so long as he didn't break the law there was nothing they could do. He took another sip of his Jack Daniels, then remembered the Spaniard and cursed. Rojas would want paying for the Marty Clare job, and soon.

Plus there was the work he was doing tracking down Vicky.

Donovan stood up, muted the television, and went through to his study.

He took a notepad and pen from his desk drawer and started jotting down how much money he had. There was the cash he'd brought with him from Anguilla. The money he'd collected from the safe deposit box in Dublin. And the cash left over from the sale of the paintings. In all, about four hundred grand. Donovan nodded. Enough to pay Rojas and to keep himself going for a few months. Paying his legal fees might be a problem, but Lawrence Patterson would probably give him some breathing space. He put down his pen. So long as nothing untoward happened, everything was going to work out just fine. And as soon as Rojas tracked down Vicky and Sharkey, he'd get his sixty million dollars back. Donovan smiled. He was looking forward to seeing Sharkey again.

Tina Leigh sat down in front of the computer and sipped her cappuccino.

Her hands were trembling and coffee spilled over the lip of her cup, so she moved it away from the keyboard. She was at an internet cafe in Selfridges in Oxford Street. There were places closer to her flat that she could have used, but she liked to vary her schedule and she hadn't been to Selfridges in a long time. She'd walked from her flat: it was almost a mile but she'd wanted the time to get her thoughts in order.

She'd met him. She'd met Den Donovan. Tango One. After three years of waiting, three years of working in seedy lap dancing bars, of being pawed and ogled and propositioned, she'd finally met him. And he liked her, she could tell that. Maybe Gregg Hathaway had been right, maybe she was Donovan's type. Her heart began to race and she fumbled for a cigarette. She lit one and inhaled deeply, then took a sip of her coffee. She smiled to herself. Nicotine and caffeine. Hardly conducive to slowing down her heart rate but just at that moment she needed both.

She wondered how Hathaway would react when he got her e-mail. She'd given him a wealth of intelligence over the years, and at least a dozen criminals were behind bars as a direct result of information she'd picked up in the clubs. She had long ago stopped being surprised at how willing hardened criminals, who could withstand hours of police interrogation without revealing anything other than their name, address and date of birth, would open up like shucked oysters as soon as they'd had a couple of bottles of champagne and a look at her tits.

So far Hathaway had done a good job of protecting her as a source. Any police action came long after she'd filed her reports, and cases were always backed up with official surveillance reports and forensics. She had never been so much as mentioned in a police report. The invisible woman. But Den Donovan was different. Den Donovan was Tango One. Tina wondered if Hathaway would still protect her as a source if it meant putting Donovan away. And if he did blow her cover, would that be the end of her career as an undercover agent? Or worse? Would it be the end of her police career period?

All those years ago, when she'd sat in the high-rise office with Assistant Commissioner Peter Latham, it had been made clear to her that she could never be a regular police officer. Her past precluded that.