Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

‘Of course. I’ll get straight on to Reilly. Just give me the number plate. He’ll know if the car’s there and if it belongs to Patricov.’

‘If it is there, could he let us know who drove it in last night? That would be a big help.’

As soon as Liz had put the receiver down, the phone rang. It was Wally Woods. There had been no sightings of the Mercedes and he wanted to pull the teams off as they had a counter-terrorist job up there that needed all available resources. The police were still on the alert for the Mercedes but he didn’t think there was much more the A4 teams could usefully do on Liz’s job unless anything new came up. With a sinking feeling Liz agreed they could stand down. If nothing came from the Patricov lead, they were back to square one and would have to start again from scratch in London.

Liz found it difficult to settle to anything else while she waited for Pearson to come back. She noticed too that Peggy was not her usual bright self. In fact, she looked rather depressed. ‘You all right?’ she asked.

Peggy nodded unconvincingly and Liz said, ‘Sit down. Is it Tim?’

After a moment Peggy replied, ‘Somehow it seemed to be easier to cope when he was being aggressive and hostile than now when he’s being all contrite and miserable.’

Liz smiled. ‘Yes, but you must feel relieved. At least Tim hasn’t done anything illegal. He’s just been a bit naïve.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Peggy crossly. ‘Of course I’m pleased he’s not in trouble. But he doesn’t come out of this very well. It’s not as if he rebuffed this Marina creature; she just seems to have realised he didn’t know anything of value and dropped him. He’s been a complete ass.’

Just then the phone rang. It was Pearson, calling back. Liz put him on loudspeaker so Peggy could hear. He sounded puzzled. ‘Hello, Liz, I’ve talked to Reilly; he was on duty yesterday. He says the Mercedes did arrive, late in the evening, and it’s still there. It belongs to the estate. But your Hansen wasn’t the driver. No one new has entered the compound.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Reilly is. The only people who’ve come in are the guards, changing shifts – the same ones as usual; the housekeeper; and Patricov’s sidekick, the Russian called Karpis. If you remember, you and I didn’t meet him when we visited. He was out.’

Liz tried to make sense of this. Could A4 have goofed about the car? It didn’t seem likely; they were always extremely careful. Perhaps after it had last been spotted, near Sale, there had been another switch, and for some reason Karpis had taken the car back to Patricov’s compound.

She looked at Peggy, who shrugged, equally mystified. Liz didn’t believe this could be a simple mistake. ‘Is there CCTV coverage of the entrance to the estate?’

‘Absolutely. Reilly’s looked at it, just to make sure somebody hadn’t somehow slipped in. Nobody has.’

‘Could you send me a photograph of anybody who’s driven the Mercedes in the last twenty-four hours?’

‘I’m sure that’s possible, though Reilly’s already said he only has film of Karpis with the Mercedes. But I’ll ring him again and see what he can do. Oh, and by the way, that company you mentioned is the holding company for the Patricov business.’ He rang off and Peggy and Liz looked at each other, completely bemused.

For fifteen minutes they discussed possible solutions to the mystery. Then Liz’s desktop pinged with the arrival of a new email. Liz glanced at the screen and sat up. ‘It’s from Pearson.’

She clicked on the email then opened its attachment – a video clip, labelled ‘Karpis’ at the bottom, showing a tall man dressed in a blazer and slacks, standing up as he got out of the Mercedes’s driving seat. His back was to the camera. Liz swung the screen towards Peggy and they both watched as the man approached the mansion’s front door. As he began to climb the stone steps he was picked up by a camera looking down from above the front door. It showed his face clearly. Liz and Peggy spoke together.

‘But…’ said Liz.

‘Isn’t that Laurenz?’ said Peggy.

‘Yes, that’s Hansen,’ said Liz.

‘But why are they calling him Karpis?’ said Peggy.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Liz, her voice shaking with excitement as she pointed at the screen. ‘Laurenz Hansen is Karpis.’

‘Good afternoon, everyone .’It was four o’clock and in the corner meeting room in Thames House the sun was just glancing in between two buildings. Peggy, looking harassed, was fiddling with the blinds to try to keep the glare out of Liz’s eyes.

‘Thank you all for coming at such short notice,’ Liz continued. ‘ I thought it was time to take a view of where this case has got to and reach agreement on what we should do next.’ She looked around the table. Geoffrey Fane was there, lounging back in his chair in his usual detached manner, one long, elegantly clad leg crossed over the other, a slight sneer on his face. But Liz knew him well enough by now to be sure that he would be listening closely to everything that was said, ready to intervene forcefully if he didn’t agree. In spite of his air of ineffable superiority, she found it a comfort to have him here. He had long experience and she had benefitted from his advice in the past.

Beside Fane sat Bruno McKay. It was twelve years or so since Liz had first worked with him and it had taken him that long to show a more thoughtful, less patronising, and even helpful side to his character. When she thought about it, Liz reflected that she too had probably grown up; she was less chippy, less quick to take offence than she had been twelve years ago. Life, grief in her case and perhaps his too, had changed them both.

Sitting next to Bruno was Miles Brookhaven, looking unmistakably transatlantic with his black polished tasselled slip-on shoes and yet another button-down shirt. Liz was relieved that he no longer seemed to fancy her; his gaze now strayed more often in Peggy’s direction. Liz rather hoped any affection on his part might be reciprocated by her assistant, since it seemed clear that Tim was far too weak and feeble for her now.

The final member of the group, apart from Peggy, was Charlie Simmons from GCHQ. Even he was looking somewhat more grown-up than usual. His hair was still standing on end as though he had just got out of bed but he had swapped his pullover for a jacket and his usual tee-shirt for a white shirt with an open neck. And, unusually for him, he wasn’t late. He had come down by car with a colleague for an earlier meeting so had not been reliant on the notoriously unreliable trains from Cheltenham.

Liz began, ‘I think it will be helpful if I just summarise where we have got to in this case. All of you know some of it but I want to be sure we are all au fait with the latest developments because we need to decide whether we should take action now or wait to see what happens next.’

There was a general shuffling in the room as people sat up in their chairs ready to join in. ‘You will all remember,’ she went on, ‘that the first lead in this investigation came from Miles. His colleagues had a Russian military source in Ukraine who asked to meet a British expert as he had important information to pass on. Miles, you went to Ukraine to meet him and he said, correct me if I get this wrong, that the Russians were planting Illegals in Europe and the US with the aim of weakening or destabilising those countries. That in the UK the operation was proving very promising and the Illegal was getting close to a target.’ She paused and looked at Miles.

‘That’s correct,’ he said. ‘The source, Mischa, claimed to be disaffected after the Malaysian aircraft was shot down over Ukraine. The other important point is that Mischa’s source for this is his brother, an FSB officer, who talks more than he should, when he’s drunk. So in other words, our source has direct access to the information. I should just add that he is being paid quite generously by my colleagues in Ukraine.’