Fortress (17 page)

‘No!’ He felt a surge of pleasure at her attention. Helen suddenly seemed like a world away. ‘I’d be happy to help.’

33

Victoria, London

From the edge of St James’s Park, Tom had a clear view of Invicta’s headquarters, and the Bentley parked outside. He hadn’t got back to Rolt yet. He wanted more time and he needed some answers, some that the boss of Invicta couldn’t give.

Once Rolt had left the office with Jackman, Tom approached the door. The police waved him away.

‘Closed for the day, sorry.’

‘I left my glasses here yesterday – just wanted to pick them up.’

‘Okay, ask at the desk.’

Inside, the receptionist made a call to Phoebe. ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’

Tom settled himself in one of the big leather armchairs and picked up the
Evening Standard
. Rolt had made the front page.

Invicta Founder: ‘Send Them Back.’

Before he could read on Phoebe appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a big smile.

‘So how was your visit to the campus?’ She took her time descending, her skirt swaying compellingly as she moved. Her hair looked as if she’d given it a quick brush before she left her post.

‘Nice of you to ask. A learning experience. Your boss has quite a thing going on up there.’

She reached the bottom of the stairs. Tom noticed his gaze was starting to make her feel self-conscious. She gave a small, very attractive laugh. ‘Is there something I can help with?’

Tom pretended to look blank. ‘Oh, yes – I thought I’d left some glasses here but then I remembered I don’t wear any.’

She gave him a mock-scolding look and laughed again, her eyes shining seductively. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied he would have had to admit he was powerfully attracted.

‘I’m staying at my father’s club. I wondered if you’d like to join me for a drink.’

She put on an apologetic face. ‘I’ve got something on.’

‘Vernon’s offered me an assignment. To be honest, I’m in two minds. Thought you might give me the lowdown on working for him.’ The work angle should swing it, he calculated, and as she hesitated, he gave her one of his trademark looks, designed to melt the most obstinate woman at fifty paces.

She lifted a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. ‘I’ll make a call.’

Job done. He watched her go back up, taking in all her movements. A few seconds later she reappeared at the top of the stairs, tapping something into her phone. She dropped it into her bag as she came down.

‘Who did you have to put off?’

‘Oh, a girlfriend. It’s not a problem.’

‘Not a boyfriend, then.’

She frowned slightly. ‘As it happens, no.’

‘Sorry, just being nosy, forgive me.’

‘I’ll let it go this time.’

Formality was slipping away. He needed her nice and relaxed to maximize the element of surprise.

He turned into the street and gently took her elbow as he steered her through the traffic. ‘Your boss is a very persuasive man.’

She nodded eagerly. ‘I’ll say. He really motivates people.’

‘You enjoy the job?’

‘Oh, yes, very much but it pretty much takes over my life.’

‘Judging by the headlines, you’ll be having to work even harder now.’

‘It looks like it.’

The doorman greeted them as they entered the club and climbed the stairs to the foyer. Tom hoped his father wasn’t around: the last thing he needed was parental disapproval of his chatting up another woman behind Delphine’s back. He guided her to what had been called the smoking room, then to a table in the darkest corner. ‘They do a particularly mean mojito here.’

‘I’ll have a lime soda …’ She sighed. ‘Oh, all right.’ She grinned guiltily. She was good, thought Tom, but not
too
good.

He summoned a waiter, who took their order, then leaned forward and gave her all his attention. ‘You must forgive me for seeming so forward but I’ve been away in the most godforsaken place, surrounded by hairy, perspiring males with varying standards of hygiene, on a military base totally devoid of any beauty.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’ve got me here under false pretences. I thought this was strictly business.’

‘I’ve always had difficulty finding the line between where business ends and pleasure begins.’

Tiny movements around her eyes suggested to Tom that she was torn between attraction and wariness. Fair enough, he thought. She has no idea what’s coming.

‘But I really do want to talk about the amazing Mr Rolt. He’s shown his hand with that interview. I expect your life’s about to get a lot more complicated, as a result.’

The waiter arrived with the drinks. Phoebe took a tiny sip and sat back in her chair. ‘It’s been relentless today. He’s going to get a lot of flak but he’s very resilient.’

‘Are you a big fan of his views?’

She seemed taken aback by the question.

‘It doesn’t take much to see what he’s saying adds up to a pretty extreme position.’

‘He’s never said he has any personal political ambitions.’

She hadn’t answered the question but he let it go for now. He picked up his glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’

She grinned at him, waiting for him to choose.

‘To Invicta? And all who sail in her!’

‘To Invicta.’

They each took a sip.

‘That’s better.’ He resumed his probing. ‘Rolt does seem to have taken control of the political agenda. The government must be reeling. He’s just come out and said what half of them think but are too scared to admit in public for fear of being labelled racist. How long have you worked for him?’

The question tacked on to the end of his speech seemed to take her by surprise. ‘Oh, not long. Only a few months.’

‘And before that?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘A stint for the MoD press office, then an attempt to be a freelance journalist, God help me.’

Her answer had slipped out too easily, Tom thought. He took another sip of his mojito while she made an attempt to deflect the conversation from her. ‘So what’s he offered you?’

‘Oh, a sort of envoy role.’

‘Gosh, wow.’

Her excitement seemed out of proportion.

‘I thought you would have known that.’

She shrugged. ‘He keeps his cards very close to his chest.’

‘He’s been very open with me.’

‘He makes up his mind about people very quickly. Everyone’s either friend or foe. Nothing in between. I’m sure you made the right impression. Besides, he’s been looking for someone like you for a while.’

‘What does “someone like me” mean exactly?’ Tom watched her closely; on the surface she appeared to be quite relaxed, in her stride.

‘You might have noticed on the campus that the men, they’re … well, a lot of them have had a bad time and they’re mostly … how do I put this? From less advantaged backgrounds. He doesn’t get many of your sort. That’s why he was so keen to meet you. Or meet you again, I should say.’

‘Clever of you to track me down. Was it hard?’

‘Part of my job is to be a talent scout for him. He needs what he calls a better class of ex-servicemen, not just victims but victors. People who can act for him on the ground. It’s my job to know everything about his background and who he knows or has known. When I discovered you were on your way back from Afghanistan, I thought he’d like to know. He’s always looking to recruit new blood.’

A very well-crafted answer, thought Tom.

‘And how did you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Track me down.’

She held his gaze. Tom decided she must have been well trained. ‘An old contact at the MoD, who’s also an Invicta supporter. He helps where he can with lists of returning soldiers.’

‘And you happened to recognize my name because you knew Rolt and I were contemporaries at school.’

She smiled a bit too eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And you managed to get hold of my phone numbers.’

She gave a coquettish smile and took a sip of her drink. ‘Well, I was a journalist.’

‘He must have been very pleased with you.’

She looked temporarily lost. ‘He expects a hundred and ten per cent.’

‘And total loyalty.’

She smiled emphatically. ‘Mm.’

‘So he’d be pretty pissed off with you if he found out you were working for someone else.’

She closed her eyes and gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘God, yes.’

‘But you’d tough it out, wouldn’t you – if he accused you?’

She stared at him with an amused smile, as if she was pretending to enjoy not knowing where this banter was going.

‘And you’d be very plausible. You’d challenge him on it – insist he backed up the claim.’

She took a much bigger sip of her mojito.

‘Well?’

His whole demeanour had changed. Not overtly threatening, just a cold, penetrating stare.

She put her glass down and positioned it on the coaster. ‘Yes, I would.’

‘And if I went to him and told him that you couldn’t have seen my name on any list because the MoD never lists the movements of the SAS, and that my phone number is privileged, is never on anyone’s file …’

Her calm and seductive serenity was starting to fray. Tom suspected that inside she felt as though she was clinging to a very slippery windowsill.

‘… and that therefore I’ve been set up …’

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I really don’t understand what you’re saying.’

A last-ditch attempt. She was off the windowsill, falling to her doom. A bit of him felt sorry for her – she was only doing her job. But mostly he was angry. He’d been played in Afghanistan, humiliated in front of senior officers, made to carry the can for a brutal murder. And now someone else was manipulating him.

He leaned across the table and put his lips very close to her ear. ‘Take out your phone and call your case officer. Say you’d like him to join us for a drink.’

34

‘This is all rather awkward.’

Tom said nothing.

Woolf’s eyes had a slightly desperate look, like that of a man who had had a stroke and was thinking far more than his features would allow him to express. He and Tom had met before, on the Eurostar hijacking: Woolf had been MI5’s man on the ground when the SAS had gone into the tunnel. Unlike the suits and mandarins, who had rushed in after it was over to claim their slice of the credit, he had taken a back seat. And for that Tom had reserved a molecule of respect for him – until now.

They were seated in a private room in his father’s club that Tom had commandeered for the meeting.

Phoebe, looking fragile, stared hard at her nails as she waited for her boss to explain himself.

‘Sorry to hear about the business in Bastion.’

Tom glared at him, feeling nothing but cold anger. It came as no surprise to him that the spook knew about his exit from Afghanistan – but how much? ‘Let’s just get this done, okay?’

Woolf sighed, with an air of defeat uncharacteristic for someone in his line of work. These people were used to calling the shots. ‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath. ‘From the top?’

‘From the top.’

‘The shooting in Walthamstow. We think it connects to Invicta.’

‘How?’

Woolf looked at Phoebe but she was still studying her nails. ‘Our suspect is on their payroll.’

‘Who is he?’

Woolf hesitated. Tom laid his hands flat on the table. ‘Come on! You’ve fucked me around enough.’

Woolf swallowed. ‘His name’s Vestey.’

Tom laughed. ‘No way.’

Woolf’s eyes widened. ‘You know him?’

‘I saw him in action today. He’s not your man. His sniper days are over.’

Woolf reddened. ‘His brother’s a commander in SCO19. He was on duty that night.’

‘Take it from me. Vestey could not have been your shooter. He’s past it.’ Tom gazed at Woolf as he digested this news. ‘Is that it?’

Woolf blew out a long breath. ‘All right. We don’t have much to go on, even less now you’ve … enlightened us about Vestey. And I’m grateful you did. There are plenty in the Service who would happily see me fall flat on my face on this one.’ He leaned back and gripped the edge of the table.

‘This shooting of a blameless respected Muslim – set up to look like it was done by the police – has, in my opinion, all the hallmarks of a deliberate act of provocation. Remember what happened after Stockwell and Duggan? The outrage. Only this time the cops did
not
do it. So who was it? Our focus has been on Muslim extremists and returnees from Syria. But why would they? They may have the motivation to do harm, but do they genuinely have the capability to carry out an attack with this kind of precision? You and I both know that’s highly unlikely. My colleagues in the security services are looking in the wrong direction.’

He blinked as he waited for Tom to respond.

Tom knew what he thought. A returnee might have the motivation and have done a bit of time in a training camp, but you didn’t learn to be a sniper pissing about in a war zone shooting off an AK at anything that moved. However, he wasn’t in any mood to give Woolf the benefit of his wisdom. ‘You’re the spook: you tell me.’

‘Well, the key question is motivation. The killing has brought Muslims out onto the streets and, in turn, all those who hate them. Someone is deliberately trying to polarize the two sides. To push us beyond the limits – perhaps even to the edge of civil war.’

Tom folded his arms. ‘And the hostel bomb? Genuine reprisal, or …?’

‘Or an attempt to raise the temperature further. Exactly. We’ve had Seven/Seven. We’ve had Woolwich. Each time we’ve stepped closer to the edge of popular outrage. Now the government’s tearing itself apart trying to be all things to all communities, but it’s losing the battle. The whole – ecosystem we’re living in has changed.’

Tom glanced at Phoebe. ‘And you suspect Rolt because he’s gone out of his way to articulate it?’

‘A year ago Vernon Rolt would have been ostracized for talking about removing the extremist element,’ he began, ‘whereas today …’

Tom looked at Phoebe again.

She nodded slowly. ‘He’s extremely secretive, and extremely well connected. He’s worked long and hard to build and maintain his position as a pillar of society. An entrepreneur who’s not only ploughed millions into a good cause but befriended, and championed, a very particular kind of underdog.’