Deception (7 page)

‘Thanks. Have you finished?'

Ballatyne tilted his head. ‘Sorry  . . . getting philosophical in my old age. Back to Cullum. You're wondering if he'll get in the way?'

‘I wouldn't want to rely on him in a snow storm.'

‘In that case, you won't have to. I'll handle the control end of things myself.'

Harry was relieved. It confirmed what he'd been thinking. Cullum was just filling in and not to be relied on long term. He hadn't been looking for a holding hand, but someone who wasn't full of old baggage was far preferable as a contact, especially if all hell broke loose and he needed a quick response. Nothing in Cullum's attitude had given him that reassurance.

‘One thing more.' Ballatyne wasn't looking at him now, but staring out over the river towards the London Eye. ‘Your mate Ferris.'

‘What about him?'

‘All the information you need is on that data stick. Any more, you ask me and, within reason, I'll make sure you get it. I know Wonder Boy's reputation for letting his electronic fingers do the walking; it's what got him into the last spot of bother. But you'd better make sure he knows that snooping on the peccadilloes of our illustrious members of parliament will be like nothing if he even considers intruding on my bailiwick. Got me?'

‘I'll tell him.'

Ballatyne turned and looked at him, the light flashing off his glasses and lending his eyes an oddly sinister tone. ‘I'm deadly serious, Harry. If he goes ferreting about anywhere he shouldn't, if I pick up a hint that he's been hacking into SIS files, truly nasty things will happen.'

With that, he stood up and walked away, trailing his security team behind him.

TEN

‘
S
ounds like someone didn't want Pike talking,' said Rik. ‘It was quick work, though, nailing him like that.'

‘Too quick,' Harry agreed. Pike was no anti-surveillance expert; he was a squaddie and would have left a trail a mile wide. Even so, getting someone on to him so quickly would have taken resources and expertise.

They were sitting over takeaway coffees in Rik's flat near Paddington. Harry had brought him up to speed on events so far, and was going over what had happened to Pike, and what it implied.

‘It would have taken some organizing,' Harry surmised, ‘and the timing had to be spot on. Hitting someone on the move takes practice  . . . or experience. And out in the open, it takes nerve.'

‘You saying it was a professional hit?'

‘Had to be. One to drive, another to shoot. It shows the Protectory has got the reach and the talent. But Pike wasn't the first. Ballatyne says at least two others are known to have walked away and died.' He sipped his coffee and wondered if they had seen him at Pike's bolthole. He didn't think so, but he decided to keep his eyes open from now on. ‘Makes you wonder what Pike could have known that made taking the risk to kill him worthwhile.'

‘The names and faces of the people who approached him, presumably.'

Harry couldn't argue with that. It was the single biggest danger for anyone in the intelligence gathering business, on whichever side of the fence they stood: the moment they came out of the shadows of their cover and stood face to face with their target. If they had overplayed their hand and their contact was actually playing them in turn, they were exposed. He took the data stick from his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘This has all the info Ballatyne can give me on the deserters they think are at risk of being poached  . . . if they haven't been already. And there are sections from Paulton's personnel file. Can you run the details and see if you can pick up a trace?'

Rik dragged a laptop across the table with his good arm and plugged in the stick. When a pop-up box asked for a secure code, Harry read out the number from his watch. The file opened to reveal six screen icons, with a name against each one.

Sgt Barrow G.

SSgt McCreath G

Cpl Pike N.

SSgt Pollock M
.

Lt TAN V.

Paulton H. G.

‘I'll check them out,' said Rik. ‘You want me to print the summaries?'

‘Yes. I'll need to read up on them.'

Two minutes later, he was absorbing the basic details of each of the missing personnel and paring them down to even barer essentials.

Sergeant Graham Barrow of the Intelligence Corps was thirty-five years old, divorced and in debt. He was listed as a specialist in counterintelligence and electronic warfare, industry and army trained in electronic countermeasures and penetration systems. He'd spent time in GCHQ in Cheltenham, working with their experts on building protective security and the use and counter-use of satellite technology, and had extensive knowledge of the security measures surrounding some of the country's most sensitive installations, including nuclear sites and strategic arms depots. His FTR – Failed to Report – notification was dated two months ago.

Staff Sergeant Gerry McCreath, 38, widowed with no family, was from 251 Signals Squadron like Pike, but attached to 16 Air Assault Brigade. Extensively trained in operational networks, he had been testing a new and critically important forward battlefield communications system when he had been wounded by an IED and returned to the UK for treatment and recuperation. Two weeks into his stay, he had walked out of Selly Oak Hospital and disappeared. His FTR was dated six months ago.

Staff Sergeant Martin Pollock, 39, of the Royal Armoured Corps. Divorced, no children. After working in every branch of the corps, from battle tanks to reconnaissance units, and with extensive service in Iraq and Afghanistan, he had transferred to the Joint Chemical, Biological and Nuclear Regiment, where he had been undergoing specialist instruction. The summary did not specify what that instruction was, but the name was enough to make Harry's blood run cold. Like most orthodox military men, he disliked the very idea of chemical or biological weapons. Pollock's FTR was dated two months ago while training in Germany.

Lieutenant Vanessa Tan, 30, single, no family. Of all the missing personnel, she probably had the widest exposure to strategic information, including current battlefield plans and thinking. If she had the eidetic memory Ballatyne claimed, then anything that had passed before her eyes, whether plans, proposals, strategy or Force distribution, was firmly lodged in her head. Add to that the untold hours of conversations she would have been privy to in her work as ADC to the Deputy Commander ISAF, and the flow of paperwork it would have produced, taking in UN, American and Joint Task Force personnel, from General David Petraeus on down, and it was a hell of a lot of exposure. But nothing technological. Did that make her any less saleable? He didn't know.

He flicked through the notes and saw that the absentees' homes were being monitored along with known family members, a reminder of how much the MOD and government valued their retrieval. A margin note stressed the difficulty involved due to the spread of the families, with a question mark regarding extra funds to be made available to cover the inevitable shortfall if the hunt continued for too long. Phone and email logs were being trawled for clues, and mobiles were being tracked for possible signals. These were proving difficult to follow due to the variety of networks involved in the UK and overseas.

Harry wondered aloud how long any of them had got.

‘How do you mean?'

‘If what Ballatyne says is true, Deakin and his crew don't beat about the bush. If they think someone knows too much about them, but isn't keen on joining, they take them out. If these four have been approached already and haven't jumped on board, they'll be living on borrowed time.'

‘How real do you reckon Paulton's involvement is? Doesn't sound very likely to me; getting his hands dirty with deserters, trauma victims and misfits.'

Harry didn't have an answer to that one. He'd been thinking about Paulton more or less constantly. He'd have been happier being able to give Rik some specific clues to follow, rather than the supposition he was working on. He'd shown him all the names the MI5 man had used, but was almost certain they would lead nowhere. Paulton was too canny; he'd work on the old adage of never revisiting old territory. That included using old aliases and code names. The risk of bumping into figures from his past was too real. And wherever Paulton was right now, he wouldn't be living in a straw hut with a donkey for transport, the ageing white man standing out like a tart at a tea party. He'd feel trapped and ultimately vulnerable, something a man with his background of intrigue and double dealing would find intolerable. Wherever he was, it would have to be close to good lines of communication, multiple routes in and out and surrounded by a community where he could blend in and become part of the backdrop. The invisible man.

Rik was reading his mind. ‘Spain would be good. All those creaky old expats to hide among. Modern, sophisticated, good transport, fleshpots. Everything.'

Harry shook his head. ‘It's a retirement community; probably crawling with ex-cops, former spooks and civil servants, all bored out of their skulls and looking for excitement. Paulton may have been secretive and with a mania for different names, but he wasn't faceless. Someone would recognize him sooner or later. They'd want to grill him, chill him or turn him in for the reward.'

‘Good point, Holmes.' Rik glanced at the screen and did a double take. ‘Well, that's another one accounted for. Staff Sergeant Pollock's turned up alive and well.'

Harry looked. It was an email from Ballatyne. Pollock had walked into a police station in Ripon, Yorkshire, accompanied by his former wife, and handed himself in. He'd been hiding near Bournemouth for the past seven weeks after skipping from Germany and had run out of money. And he was homesick.

It proved one thing: the Protectory didn't get to everyone. Or maybe they were being extra choosy about the talent they went after. He noticed one common factor: all the people listed were single, widowed or divorced. Pollock, although divorced, was the only one with a significant other who still seemed to care about him.

He went back to the records. Home addresses and telephone numbers were listed and were being monitored around the clock. Harry assumed that meant in person by the Royal Military Police and electronically by GCHQ. There was always a chance they might call without thinking, but he wasn't about to hold his breath. Interestingly, there was a note that Sgt Barrow's was the only mobile still active, although no fix had been made on it so far.

He thought about it for a few seconds, trying to decide who to focus on first. If Rik came up with anything, that was a bonus. In the meantime, he hated inaction and needed to get on with something concrete. He decided to get on Lt Tan's case. Whatever Ballatyne thought about the other men and their equipment and technical knowledge, the Protectory might well have other views. Signals, Intelligence Corps and other personnel were relatively plentiful, and they would be counting on more coming along sooner or later. But someone from a central command position was a rarity, and that alone would command a good price to the right taker. If he could get a line on Tan's movements, then the Protectory – and Paulton – wouldn't be far away.

It was a few minutes before he noticed that Rik was unusually quiet, and scratching absent-mindedly at his shoulder beneath the bandage. He had said little on the long return journey from Iraq, and Harry wondered when he would reach the tipping point; when it would become too urgent for him to hold in any longer what was surely bothering him. Shooting someone for the first time was bad enough, no doubt about it. Not that the second time was any better. And Rik had done it just a few days ago. Worse, he thought he'd killed a woman.

‘Would you have shot him if things had gone bad?'

Harry guessed Rik was referring to Rafa'i. There had never been anything explicit said about dealing with the former cleric once they arrived at the delivery point in west Baghdad; and he had taken it as read that being seen to shoot the Iraqi, no matter that his own people probably wanted him dead before long, would be the worst possible action to take. It had been a simple drop-and-leave mission, and what Rafa'i's former friends wanted to do with him once they'd heard of his deception and betrayal was up to them. But Harry wasn't naïve; if it had all kicked off the moment they touched down and they'd found themselves under fire from supporters still loyal to Rafa'i, he knew he would have been expected to ensure that there was no comeback.

‘We'll never know. Probably.'

‘So it does get easier.'

Harry kept his head down, eyes on the papers. It was a question with no easy answer and one he didn't think he could tackle right now. But he knew this was the tipping point he'd been waiting for.

‘You didn't kill her.'

A short silence. ‘What?' Rik's voice was hoarse. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. On the surface, he appeared ready for anything, but Harry knew it wasn't that simple. He was human. ‘You don't know that.'

‘Your shot didn't kill her. It went high and to your left. Hit her in the right shoulder.' Rik had been sitting on the ground, hands already shaking with the adrenalin rush of being in a firefight and the trauma of a gunshot wound from Joanne Archer's pistol. He'd been calm enough, aiming, then shouting a warning, but it would have been amazing if he'd been able to pull off an accurate kill under those conditions. It had been Harry who'd fired the fatal shots.

‘But I saw her. She fell.'

Harry nodded and looked at him, saw his confusion  . . . and the beginnings of what might have been relief. ‘Ballistics confirmed it,' he continued, keeping it casual. ‘I can show you a copy if you like.'

‘Why didn't you say?'

Harry shrugged. ‘There was no point. You wouldn't have believed me anyway. That kind of thing, after what you'd been through  . . . you have to be ready to hear it.' He grinned deliberately. ‘Don't worry, when your shoulder's better I'll take you down the range and teach you how to shoot properly.'