Chris Ryan - Who Dares Wins

Sam absorbed that stare, refusing to be intimidated by it. The two men remained locked in a kind of silent conflict until Mac approached.

‘Sam,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘They want to debrief us. The troop, all seven of us that were there.’

Sam didn’t even blink.

‘ Now , Sam. Kremlin.’

He nodded vaguely, dragged his eyes from the old man who seemed in no way uncomfortable about what had just passed between them, and followed his friend.

Sam walked as if in a dream. Behind him, the sound of the others talking. ‘Wouldn’t have cuffed him if they didn’t think he was going to try to leg it,’ Tyler was saying.

Davenport didn’t agree. ‘That, or they wanted to make an example of him. Why pack him into the police van in front of us when it could have been done on the QT?’ His voice was full of disdain. ‘Chickenshit cuntlickers. Porteus is all right. Have a right scene on their hands if they do the dirty on him.’

A couple of others grunted their agreement.

The two men in suits were waiting for them in the briefing room, as was Jack Whitely. The Ops Officer looked harassed – Sam couldn’t tell if their arrival made him more or less nervous. It didn’t matter either way. A quiet word from the younger of the two suited men and he left the room, a little red-faced perhaps, but slightly relieved to be away from the tension.

The suits sat in silence. Once they were all in, the old man cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘My name is Gabriel Bland.’ He nodded towards the younger man. ‘This is Toby Brookes.’

Brookes sniffed.

‘You’ll be debriefed later in the usual way,’ Bland announced. ‘I just have one question for you.’ He looked at each of them in term. ‘You will have noticed,’ he added, almost apologetically, ‘your commanding officer being, ah, escorted from the premises.’ His tone might have been apologetic, but the implication wasn’t: mess around with me and you’ll get the same treatment. There was silence in the room as Brookes handed each of them an A4 photograph.

Sam didn’t need to look at it. He knew it would be Jacob. Bland appeared to notice his lack of regard for the document and raised an eyebrow. And so Sam glanced at the picture.

It was different to the one he had seen before in this very briefing room. Older, taken when Jacob was still in the Regiment. Sam avoided looking at Mac; no one else in the room said anything.

Bland cleared his throat theatrically. ‘I should like to know,’ he said, ‘if this individual was one of your targets during your recent expedition.’

Silence.

‘Did you kill him?’

Still nothing.

Bland continued to look from one man to the next, a suspicious schoolmaster weeding out the naughty child. But the response remained the same. Nothing but silence.

And then Mac spoke. ‘I know this person,’ he said. His voice was filled with mock suspicion. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘I’m asking the questions,’ Bland replied peevishly.

‘Then you’d better ask me,’ Sam announced. ‘I photographed the dead. And I’m sure you’ve done your homework and know who this is.’

Sam’s challenge hung in the air. Bland surveyed him calmly. ‘Very well,’ he purred finally. ‘The rest of you may leave. Return the pictures to Toby, please. Sergeant Redman – it is Sergeant Redman, isn’t it? – I wonder if I might ask you to stay here.’

Sam shrugged. The rest of them stood up and quietly left, though there wasn’t one of them that didn’t look over their shoulders as they did so, obviously wondering what the hell this was all about. They didn’t hang around to find out, though, and within a minute Sam was alone with the two spooks.

For a while none of them spoke. Sam remained seated. Bland and Toby were standing; Bland turned and faced the front wall, looking at nothing in particular, while Toby went and stood by the door, out of Sam’s sight.

‘I am just a humble civil servant,’ Bland stated finally, still not looking at Sam, ‘but I suppose I don’t need to tell you that it is the matter of a moment’s work for me to have you court-martialled. A short testimony from Detective Inspector Nicola Ledbury and…’ He turned round and smiled humourlessly. ‘And the fragrant Clare Corbett, and I rather think your illustrious career will be brought short by a stint at Her Majesty’s pleasure. A longish sting, if you get my meaning.’

All of a sudden, Sam’s mind was a rush. Nicola, Clare – how the hell had this guy caught up with them? Sam hadn’t told anyone. He’d been careful.

‘Surprised, Sam?’ Bland asked. ‘Surely not.’ He paused for thought. ‘I don’t want you to think that you’re in any way unappreciated, you and your, ah, friends. You have a, ah…’ He smiled again. ‘A good right fist . But you didn’t honestly imagine…’ Now he allowed a bit of sharpness in his voice. ‘You didn’t honestly imagine that you were going to out think the Secret Intelligence Service?’

A pause.

‘You didn’t imagine,’ Bland persisted, ‘that you would outmanoeuvre MI6, did you, Sam?’

Sam felt the blood rising to his face as Bland sat down next to him. The MI6 man carried with him the faint whiff of aftershave; Sam was immediately aware that he must stink.

‘If you’re such a bunch of fucking geniuses,’ Sam retorted, ‘then you don’t need to speak to me.’

‘Oh, please, Sam. Let’s, ah, let’s not be unpleasant with each other.’ He stood up again. You’re nervous , Sam thought to himself. You’re trying not to show it, but you are . ‘Miss Corbett told us everything, Sam: that she had foolishly told you the contents of her ill-informed article; about your brother being in the training camp. She was really quite, ah, talkative. So please do me the courtesy of not pretending that you travelled to Kazakhstan without the express intention of compromising the mission. Do me that courtesy, Sam.’

Sam jutted his chin out.

‘Was he there, Sam? Did you see him?’

Sam refused to answer and a shadow of frustration passed over Bland’s face. ‘I would find it quite unpalatable,’ he said ominously quietly, ‘to have to force this out of you, Sam. But your file tells me that your field investigation techniques are quite specialised. So you know the sort of things we might do to, ah, loosen your tongue.’

The threat hung in the air. Sam took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘All right. I recognised Jacob at the briefing. I went out to stop the guys putting a bullet in him.’ He looked directly at Bland. Fiercely. ‘Maybe you’d do the same for your brother. But Jacob wasn’t there. No sign of him. We eliminated the targets and came home. End of fucking story.’

Bland nodded and for a moment he appeared satisfied. He came and sat down again.

‘I’m afraid, Sam, I’m not entirely sure that I believe you.’

‘Well that’s your problem.’

‘It is indeed,’ Bland murmured. ‘It is indeed my problem.’ He stared straight ahead. ‘You do realise, Sam, that Miss Corbett got quite the wrong end of the stick, don’t you?’ As he spoke he looked directly at Sam, who couldn’t help a flicker of interest registering on his face. Bland feigned surprise. ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘Oh, dear. Well, she is a most appealing young lady. I can, ah, I can quite understand how you might have fallen for her charms.’

‘She was fucking terrified of you,’ Sam replied hotly. ‘If it was you that put the frighteners on her and bumped off that contact of hers.’

‘Did I frighten her?’ Bland asked. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I might have done. It seems to be an occupational hazard. I would prefer not to. But then I don’t have the advantages of your youth and vigour, Sam. I’m afraid I have to be a little more robust to get what I want.’