Birdkill (31 page)

‘Two days, please.’

Where would they stay? Frank’s place was compromised. Mariam started to get a feeling for how unsafe they’d be. Buddy Kovak in a bath full of blood.

‘Excuse me? Hello?’

She jumped. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I said can I have a driver’s license and credit card please?’

Mariam rooted in her bag. She felt like throwing up into it. Maybe Kelly could help with somewhere they could stay until this all blew over.

‘Here.’

The woman looked troubled. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Have you been drinking?’

Mariam shook her head.

She drove along Heathrow’s Perimeter Road, pulling into a layby to watch the little clumps of plane watchers ogling the incoming flights. Funny hobby. When the road had cleared she pulled out again, passing the ugly greyness of Hatton Cross Station. Driving up Fagg’s Road, she pulled into the Green Man car park. No sign of any followers. She had definitely seen Jake in the Ibis’ reception and had a healthy respect for her followers’ capabilities. This was too easy.

She turned the engine off and called Robyn. The phone rang out so she tried again. It answered after five rings. ‘Yes?’

‘Robyn. It’s me. How are you?’

‘Fine.’ Flat, wooden. She wondered how many times Robyn had told people she was fine when the truth had to be that, no, actually, she wasn’t.

‘Listen, I’m coming to get you. We need to get you away from that place. Can you hold out until this evening?’

‘Sure.’ There was no change in Robyn’s intonation, no hint of enthusiasm or reaction.

‘Robyn, you know we’re friends, right? Real friends?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then tell me what’s wrong. You sound like death.’ The picture came back to Mariam, Robyn on that desk.

‘One of my kids hanged herself. They can’t find the body.’

‘Shit. The police there?’

‘No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In my apartment.’

‘Can you stay there?’

‘I guess.’

‘Robyn, listen to me. I’m coming for you. We can go somewhere safe, get away from all the madness. There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re brilliant and lovely and deserve much more than that place. Hamilton’s
wrong
, Robyn. Take care of yourself and I’ll get there as soon as I can. Do you hear me?’

‘Sure.’

‘Right. Call me before you do anything, right?’

‘Like what, kill myself?’

‘If that’s how you’re feeling, yes.’

‘Fine.’

Mariam regarded the mobile screen for a long time after the line cut. She slid it into her bag and turned the engine on. A white Mercedes was coming down Fagg’s Road. Mariam bowed her head as it approached. She had glimpsed Jake in the passenger seat and had an idea they were backtracking because she hadn’t appeared at the top of the road. They passed and she pulled out of the car park and headed in the opposite direction. Maybe it was that easy after all.

Mariam walked into Arthur’s Bistro. Kelly was already there looking small and furtive, an espresso cup on the table in front of him. He was wearing a battered greatcoat.

‘You look like a dirty old man.’

‘Nice to see you too, darling. How are you?’

‘Hung over. Don’t ask.’ She turned to the waitress. ‘Hi, can I get a straight water, an Americano and just a plain chicken sandwich by any chance?’

‘I’ll have to check with the kitchen.’

‘Please.’ She turned to Kelly. ‘I got tailed from the hotel I was in last night. I shook them, I think. You were right about Clive Warren.’

‘Alan Potts is dead. Nasty accident. Thought he could stop a bus with his face.’

Mariam stared at him. She noticed the darkness around his eyes, the pale skin underneath the gingery half-beard. Kelly laughed, an unhappy little sound. ‘There’s more, darling. We got a call to the news desk from a former teacher at the Hamilton Institute. Sounded pretty wild. Name of Emily Gray. Ring any bells?’

‘Yes, she left last week. She was the one put me onto the Mayview.’

‘She’s not answering calls, either. I’ve got the funny feeling we might be finding out she suffered from the same issue with stopping buses. What I am saying,’ Kelly leaned forward. ‘Is that you can drop this and walk away in one piece.’

Mariam shook her head. ‘But I can’t. It’s too late. Robyn’s at the very core of all this and I can’t let her down. You said you’d made some sales.’

‘The Washington Post, the Sydney Morning Herald and Die Welt. I got Figaro conditionally. They want to see the stuff before confirming.’

Mariam nodded. ‘My only hope is we’ll be safe after this breaks. Here.’ She handed over her memory stick. ‘Buddy’s archive is on that, as well as six pieces that detail the whole story. There’s a transcript of an interview with Foster in which he admits the Mayview’s role. And there are photographs of what American troops did to the International School in Zahlé, Lebanon under the influence of Odin. Including beating a British teacher half to death and gang raping her.’

Kelly looked at the key as if it was a live cockroach and slipped it into his greatcoat pocket. ‘Lovely. All backed up with good documentation is it?’

‘Could use an edit, Kelly. It’s all good.’

‘This the only copy?’

‘I have a backup.’

‘Good girl. You got somewhere to stay?’

‘No. I was going to ask you if you knew somewhere that would be safe until this is all over. I’m going to get Robyn out of there.’

‘You sure about that? Seriously?’

‘She’s in danger. They’re keeping her alive because she can’t remember. But this,’ she gestured at Kelly’s pocket, ‘Has pictures of what her mind’s forgotten.’

‘There’s a place we’ve used before. I’ll ask. I’ll call you later. Don’t call me from your mobile, right?’

‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘You were, darling. It’s why you’ve got such lovely skin.’

Kelly rose to leave, fumbling for his inside pocket. Mariam waved him down. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’ The waitress was walking towards them with a chicken sandwich and bottle of water. Kelly patted Mariam’s shoulder as he left. She lunged at the food.

Lawrence Hamilton lunched sparingly at the club, but allowed himself a glass of port with his Stilton and biscuits. Bill Foster was late and his meeting with the Minister had been put back. He resented the additional time in town. He had hoped to get back by teatime at the latest and that was looking increasingly unlikely.

‘I’ll take coffee in the library, Clarke, thank you. If Dr Foster arrives, will you have him brought in?’

‘Certainly, Dr Hamilton. Your meeting room is ready upstairs. I understand you might require it later than originally anticipated.’

‘Yes. Is there a problem?’

‘Not at all sir. I have changed the booking.’

Hamilton rose and let his napkin drop to the plate. ‘Good chap.’ He bestowed a smile on Clarke. ‘Well done.’

He wandered through to the library, where the fire was merry and warm. Clarke brought his coffee and he sat back and waited for Bill to arrive. He was not really looking forward to his meeting with the Minister, if he were honest. Things hadn’t been going smoothly recently and the incident with the Wilson girl was sure to play badly in the corridors of power, especially coming on the heels of the unfortunate incident in Lebanon.

He sipped his coffee, which was excellent.

Bill Foster came in. Hamilton put down his cup and pushed himself up to meet his old colleague. He held out his hand and then let it drop when he saw Foster’s face. ‘Good God, Bill. What on earth’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘As good as. I’ve seen a journalist. And she knows all about the programme. Everything.’

Hamilton tried to rein in his natural asperity when faced with idiocy. Bill was normally a good, solid man. Now he was trembling, his hair in disarray and dark patches under his armpits.

Hamilton folded himself back into his armchair. ‘Why don’t we try and start from the beginning. Who was this journalist and where did she come from?’

‘She was young, an Arab. Mariam Shadid was her name. She made an appointment as a patient and then ambushed me.’

‘Shadid, you say?’

‘You know her?’

‘No,’ Hamilton’s mind raced. ‘What did you tell her?’

‘I didn’t need to. She knew everything, the names of the carriers, that their children are at the Institute. She knew about Odin, Lebanon—’

‘Did you confirm any of this to her?’

‘Confirm? Hardly, I was in shock.’ Foster averted his eyes. ‘I tried to throw her out, but she just kept coming out with details.’

‘Did she tape you?’

‘No, of course not. I would never have permitted a tape recorder.’

She likely had, of course. Hamilton tried to gauge the threat she posed. Raynesford had said the media issue had been sorted out and Hamilton had taken his assurance as water-tight, but it would appear things were not, indeed, resolved. He checked his watch. Half an hour before the Minister was due to arrive. He decided to make the call.

‘Bill, go home. Take a couple of days off. Speak to nobody. Do you hear me?’

‘What’s going to happen?’

‘I really don’t know. Nothing, in all likelihood. But speak to nobody.’

His gratitude was pathetic. Hamilton shuddered to think how much Foster had given away to the aggressive young journalist he had thrown out of his study when Robyn Shaw had blithely invited her into his sanctum sanctorum.

He used the telephone in the meeting room, having made sure Clarke would not permit any disturbance. Raynesford answered on the second ring.

‘Lawrence. I had been expecting your call.’

‘You assured me the media issue had been taken care of. I am informed that is now no longer the case.’

‘But it is very much the case. What appears to be the issue at hand?’ The rich voice was almost unctuous, the measured tones instilling confidence and establishing superiority. That hint of a drawl that Raynesford used to let the world know it was considered mildly inferior.

‘Bill Foster has had a journalist visit the Clinic. She appears to have a deep understanding of the Programme. Name of Mariam Shadid.’

‘We are aware of this issue and I have taken steps to address it. There’s nothing to concern yourself over, Lawrence.’

‘What do I tell the Minister? We meet in twenty minutes.’

For once, the drawl was absent, Raynesford’s retort was sharp. ‘Tell him nothing. There is nothing to tell. A girl, barely an intern, has decided to go rogue and fling some silly accusations around. She has no platform and we are aware of her. Put it out of mind, Lawrence. What did Foster tell her?’

It was that question wiped away all the assurance which had preceded it and made Hamilton a worried man. ‘He says nothing, but I would hazard he at least confirmed her accusations with his reaction. I suspect he will have been taped and in all probability was indiscreet.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I sent him home to lie low.’

‘Just as well. As I say, we are managing the situation and I see no reason for concern, although Foster’s indiscretion is regrettable.’

‘You are sure there is no reason to inform the Minister?’

‘None. Let us do our work, Lawrence.’

It was left unsaid: ‘And you focus on yours.’

His Majesty’s Minister of Defence, Michael Carter, wore a pinstriped charcoal suit with a buttonhole and a pink handkerchief. His chief scientific advisor, Nicholas Paige, was with him, a fussy man in his sixties who combined a dangerous jollity with a mind of breath-taking brilliance.

Lawrence Hamilton shook hands with them both, trying to mask his perplexity that they should be joined on this occasion by General Tom Parker, whom Hamilton had not seen since they had fled Lebanon after the Zahlé affair. Parker had blamed Hamilton for the whole fracas and had been highly indignant to be accused of fostering indiscipline among his men. Paige had been the diplomat who had saved the programme from the consequent fallout and brought them out of the dark ages that had followed. The price had been greater American involvement in the decision making although up until now Hamilton had been largely left alone to focus on the science.

Hamilton managed to stop his jaw dropping as the bulk of Jolyon Raynesford followed Parker through the door. His hand engulfed in the soft, sweaty embrace of Raynesford’s clutch, the pudgy lips drawn up in a smile while the eyes enjoyed Hamilton’s attempts to mask his shock.

Had Raynesford decided to tag along after their call? How had he even known about this meeting? And if he had, why not mention he was to be present when Hamilton had called him barely twenty minutes ago? Had they been en route? The questions hurled around in his mind. He was nervous, stuttering his greetings, bidding Clarke take an order for drinks, clearly ill at ease as he invited everyone to sit. He took his place opposite the Minister, noting belatedly they had all arrayed themselves facing him.

He tried, and knew he had failed, not to look nervous.

Carter’s voice was assured, his demeanour stern as he consulted the tablet containing his briefing notes. Hamilton had last heard those measured tones the day Robyn Shaw had arrived at the Institute, the last piece in the operation to busy the appalling incident in Lebanon. ‘Dr Hamilton, thank you for hosting this session. We were to meet to hear an interim report regarding the development of the Odin Programme but I can see no reason to invest in such a process at this stage.’

He had his notes and report ready. ‘Well, I can—’

‘The programme is to be terminated with immediate effect. We have decided, in consultation with our partners,’ He nodded to Parker, whose dead eyes were steady on Hamilton. ‘That the programme findings and any ongoing scientific resources will be assigned to them. They will continue the research work in a secure location in America, sharing their findings with us on a full briefing basis.’

Hamilton felt his heart lurch in his chest, tinnitus in his ears. They couldn’t… How could… His lips worked but he couldn’t find words to force out. How dare they?

Paige filled the science. ‘Your dedication to your work, your brilliance in opening this field thus far is recognised and appreciated, Lawrence. But it’s time to put the programme onto a more professional military footing. We clearly have not been able to maintain the confidentiality and security of environment the programme itself demands.’