James Deegan - John Carr

He was a nondescript Welshman in his early thirties, who went by the name of ‘Liam’, and who worked – officially – in a back office notarial role in the Málaga consulate.

In reality, his job was to mooch around the place finding out what he could about serious organised crime that might lead back to the UK and assessing and updating the regional terrorism picture.

Thomas Carter answered his knock.

He looked shell-shocked.

‘My name’s Liam Smith, sir,’ said the MI6 officer. ‘From the consulate. May I come in?’

‘It’s not a good time,’ said Carter. ‘We…’

‘I’m afraid I do just need to come in,’ said Liam, firmly.

He stepped in, past Tom Carter’s weak protests.

It was cool inside. Jemima Craig was lying on the blue-and-gold brocade counterpane, her eyes puffy and red, a tissue in her left hand.

‘She’s in no fit state to talk,’ said Carter.

The MI6 man turned to face him.

‘I’m here on the instructions of the Prime Minister herself, sir,’ he said, very firmly. ‘I need to talk to you about your missing friends.’

‘Let him speak, Tom,’ said Jemima, from the bed.

Tom Carter’s shoulders relaxed. He sat down next to his girlfriend and looked up at Liam, his eyes strained and unbelieving.

‘What do you want to know?’ he said.

‘I need as much information about what happened today as possible.’

The couple both said nothing.

‘I know it’s tough,’ said Liam. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He pulled out a notebook. ‘You’ve been here for four days, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did anyone know where you were staying?’

‘My mum,’ said Jemima Craig. ‘But that was it.’

‘Could the others have told people?’

‘Yes. But I have no idea if they did. Why?’

‘Did you tell anyone that Charlotte Morgan was going to be coming with you?’

They looked at each other, blankly.

‘No,’ said Jemima. ‘Why would we?’

‘Prime Minister’s daughter,’ said Liam. ‘People might have been interested.’

‘It’s not a big deal to us. She’s just our friend.’

Liam nodded. ‘Did you go to the beach at Puerto Banús every day?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Tom Carter. ‘Today was the first time. We went to Bounty Beach on the first day. Elvira the next. Yesterday we did the Old Town.’

The MI6 man made a note. ‘Who took the decision to go down there today?’ he said.

Tom Carter looked at his girlfriend. ‘Charlotte, wasn’t it?’

‘No, it was Emily,’ said Jemima.

‘That’s right, Emily.’

Liam nodded. ‘Did you notice anyone watching you? Following you?’

‘Today?’

‘Any day. But today especially.’

‘No.’

‘I did,’ said Jemima. ‘I told you I had.’

Liam sat up straighter and looked over at the young brunette, who had raised herself onto her elbows.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘There was a guy at the airport in Málaga,’ she said. ‘He was sort of loitering at arrivals. We’d ordered a minibus to bring us here, and it was ten or fifteen minutes late. The whole time, this guy was watching us. He tried to make out that he wasn’t, but he was. Charlotte saw it too, but… Anyway, at the time, I thought… well, Charlotte’s really pretty, and her friend Emily, she could be a model, so you kind of expect it. It was a bit creepy, but I didn’t think much of it. But then I saw him today, when Tom and I walked off the beach.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Just kind of loitering by the palm trees up there.’

‘Can you describe him, Jemima?’

‘About my height, maybe a bit taller. Indian-looking. Mid-twenties. At the airport he was wearing jeans and a red football shirt. Manchester United, I think. Today he was wearing the same T-shirt, but a pair of shorts.’

‘If we could get some CCTV images, would you be happy to have a look at them for us?’

‘Of course.’

Liam took a moment. Then he said, ‘We’re working on the assumption that the three women have been taken somewhere, probably for ransom. What can you tell me about them? Starting with Charlotte.’

Jemima had been friends with Charlotte Morgan since their schooldays, so she was able to talk in great detail about her.

‘Tell me about Martha Percival?’ said Liam.

‘Lovely girl,’ said Tom Carter. ‘Her husband is… He was a good friend of mine. I’ve known her for six or seven years. Gregarious, funny, very bright. Lovely.’

Liam made a note. ‘And Emily Souster?’ he said.

‘She and Charlotte know each other from work,’ said Jemima. ‘She’s a solicitor, I think. Mostly human rights-type stuff. They’re kind of friends, but work friends, if you know what I mean?’

‘What’s she like?’

Jemima and Thomas looked at each other.

‘We don’t really know her,’ said Jemima. ‘First time we met her was at Stansted.’

‘I’m sensing something,’ said Liam.

‘To be brutally honest,’ said Tom, ‘she’s a bit of a pain in the arse. She’s a very attractive girl, but massively high maintenance. No sense of humour. Started bad and got worse, to the point where she hardly said a word to anyone today. She was just in a foul mood, I guess. I thought time of the month, maybe.’

‘Tom!’ hissed Jemima.

‘I’m trying to be fair to her,’ he said, defensively. ‘If she had PMT, fair enough. If not… Anyway, we tried to ignore it. All week she’d been giving her boyfriend a hard time.’

‘How do you mean, a hard time?’

‘I don’t know. She was just very cold to him, I thought. What did you think, Jem?’

Jemima nodded. ‘Yes, cold’s the right word. They hadn’t been going out very long, and it was like she had to bring someone, so she brought Nick? He was pretty fed up with her, I think. I don’t think they were going to continue seeing each other after… after…’

She started crying again, apologising through her sobs.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Liam. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Boyfriend seemed a decent bloke,’ said Tom Carter. ‘She’s a teetotaller, so she’d go to bed early every night, and he’d stay up boozing with us.’

‘You said she was high maintenance?’ said Liam.

‘Yeah,’ said Carter. ‘Like, we had a massive drama yesterday because she suddenly realised she hadn’t packed her favourite bikini. Sunday and Monday, a green bikini’s fine. Then suddenly it has to be her shocking pink one. So we spent half the morning yesterday trawling round the shops in the Old Town trying to get a shocking pink bikini in her size. In the end, the rest of us left her to it. She eventually turned up with the damned thing at about three o’clock. Don’t get me wrong, it looked pretty good on her, but…’

He tailed off.

‘I don’t know what more we can tell you,’ he said, eventually. ‘It’s just a terrible, terrible thing.’

32.

AT ABOUT THAT time, Justin Nicholls’ car arrived at the gate to No. 10 Downing Street.

He walked to the front door, nodded and smiled to the uniformed copper on duty outside, and stepped in.

As he did so, his mobile rang, with an MI6 identifier.

‘Nicholls,’ he said.

It was Alec Palmer.

‘The Spanish say the boat was empty when it blew up,’ said Palmer.

‘ Empty ?’

‘Yes. There was a guy driving it, but he jumped off and started shooting people, and it exploded a few seconds after that. The human debris field starts a few metres from the vessel itself – there were some Spanish marines nearby who copped the whole thing. But there’s no sign of any human remains from the inside.’

‘Could they be mistaken?’

‘No.’