Stephen Leather - Tango One

The one question she'd never asked was what would become of her when she was no longer useful undercover. A pension? Would they find her another job where her employer wouldn't be quite so concerned about the time she spent on the streets, trawling for punters and giving blow jobs in cars? Or would she be discarded once they had no more use for her?

Tina put her cigarette down on to an ashtray and sat with her fingers poised over the keyboard. She knew exactly what she was going to write. She'd had plenty of time to get her thoughts in order during the walk to the department store. What she didn't know was how Hathaway would react. Or what he'd ask her to do next. She'd met Den Donovan. She'd spoken to him. Spent time with him. She knew that that wasn't enough, however: Hathaway would want more. He'd want her to get up close and personal. The question was how close and how personal? She began to type.

Donovan woke up at eight with a raging thirst and a hangover. He drank from the bathroom tap, then shaved and showered. He padded downstairs in his to welling robe and went into the kitchen. He desperately wanted a glass of milk or orange juice but the fridge was empty. There was a corner shop a couple of hundred yards down the road but Donovan couldn't face the walk. He made himself a black coffee and carried it through to the sitting room.

He unplugged the four mobiles that had been on charge overnight and connected another four. He sat down on the sofa, sipped his coffee, then called up Robbie's mobile, using the same phone he'd used last time he'd called his son. Robbie answered almost immediately.

"Dad!"

"Hiya, kid. You okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home," said Donovan.

"Which home?"

"Our home. What are you doing?"

"Nothing much."

"Change of plan. As of today, it's school. Okay?"

"Dad…" moaned Robbie.

"Don't "Dad" me. School. Has your mum called?"

"No. I don't want to speak to her anyway."

"Okay. If she does call, give her this number. Tell her to call me.

If she asks to see you, say no, okay?"

"I don't want to see her. Ever."

"I know, kid. Don't talk to her, don't let her near you. And be careful of strangers, yeah?"

"Dad, I'm nine years old. I'm not a kid."

"She might want to take you with her."

"Sod that!"

Donovan smiled at his son's vehement reply.

"I'm just saying, she might send someone to the school, to take you away. Don't go with anyone other than me or Aunty Laura. Okay?"

"Wouldn't it be better if I just stayed at home?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? School. I have to act like a proper father and that means sending you to school every day."

"So we're staying? In London?"

"For a bit, yeah."

"Yes!" cheered Robbie.

"Happy now?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"So school. Today. Let me talk to Aunty Laura, will you?"

Robbie called out his aunt's name and a few seconds later she was on the line.

"What have you said to him? He's grinning like the cat that got the cream."

"I'm staying for a while. We're going to move back into the house."

"Good decision, brother-of-mine."

"Yeah, well, we'll see," said Donovan.

"I don't have much choice at the moment. My lawyer says I can't take him out of the country, and if I'm going to get custody I'm going to have to play at happy families for a while."

"Den!"

Donovan grinned.

"You know what I mean. I want to be with him, of course I do, but not here. Not in London. He's to go to school from now on. I've had a word with the headmistress. I'll pick him up tonight and we'll be at the house from now on. Thanks for everything. For letting him stay."

"Not a problem, Den. You know that."

Donovan thanked her again and cut the connection. The keys to Vicky's Range Rover were hanging on a hook in the kitchen. Donovan's first thought had been to sell the car right away as it was yet another reminder of his soon-to-be ex-wife, but common sense prevailed. He needed wheels, and if he didn't use the Range Rover he'd have to rent a car.

He took the keys and went out to the vehicle. He emptied the glove compartment of all her personal stuff gloves, sunglasses, a half-empty pack of Tic-tacs, cigarettes, suntan lotion and threw it into the rubbish bin, then went back to the car and sat in the driving seat. He could still smell her perfume.

"You bitch!" he shouted, slapping the steering wheel hard.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!"

He stormed back into the kitchen and pulled open cupboard doors until he found an aerosol of air freshener. He sprayed it liberally around the interior of the car. Lavender. He coughed in the sickeningly sweet perfumed mist, but at least it masked the annoying smell of her perfume.

Donovan edged the Range Rover out into the street. He didn't bother checking for surveillance. This was one trip he was quite happy for any watchers to know about. He drove to the King's Road in Chelsea and prowled around the back streets until he found a parking space, then he walked to the offices of Alex Knight Security. Knight's entrance was a simple black door between an antiques shop and a hairdresser's. Donovan pressed the bell button and a woman's voice asked who he was over the intercom.

"Den Donovan for Alex," said Donovan. The door buzzed and Donovan pushed it open. He went up a narrow flight of stairs, at the top of which a striking brunette had a second black door already open for him.

"Mr. Donovan, good to see you again," she said.

"Sarah, you're looking good," said Donovan.

"How's the boy looking after you?"

"Boy? I'm twenty-bloody-eight," said Alex Knight, striding out of his office. He was tall and gangly with black square-framed spectacles perched high up on his nose. He was wearing a dark blue blazer and when he stuck his hand out to shake he showed several inches of bony wrist.

The two men shook hands.

"Yeah, well, you don't look a day over sixteen," said Donovan.

"Whatever you're taking, I want some of it."

"Clean living and early to bed," said Knight.

"You should try it some time. Come on through."

Knight's office was about twenty feet square but looked much smaller because every inch of wall space had been lined with metal shelving filled with electrical equipment and technical manuals. His desk was a huge metal table that was also piled high with technical gear.

"Coffee?" asked Knight.

Donovan declined and Sarah closed the door on them. On the back of the door was a blueprint of an electronic device that Donovan could make no sense of.

"So, you old reprobate, what can I do for you?" Knight pushed back his chair and put his feet up on the table. There was a hole in one of his suede loafers.

"I'm going to be back in the UK for a while, and I'm going to be under the microscope," said Donovan.

"Cops, Customs, spooks. I need to be able to sweep my house and car, and to check if anyone who comes near me is wired."

"Do you want me to do the sweeping?"

Donovan shook his head.

"No offence, Alex, but I want to do it myself "No sweat," said Knight, reaching for a notebook and pen, 'but I'd advise you to let me go over the house once. Show you the ropes, yeah?"

Donovan nodded.

Knight rested the notebook on his lap as he scribbled.

"What about your landline? I've got a gizmo that'll tell you if it's tapped."

"Waste of time. I can pretty much guarantee that it will be," said Donovan.

"I won't be using it for anything other than ordering pizzas. I'm more concerned about the house."

Knight tapped his pen against his cheek.

"Yeah, but you're gonna need a hook switch bypass detector, especially if the spooks are on your case. They can turn any landline into a room monitor and pick up anything that's said. Even when the phone's on the hook. I can fix one to each phone. Five hundred each. Worth the money, Den. No point in sweeping for bugs if your phone is a direct line to Mi5."