Slow Horses (32 page)

‘It’s Lamb,’ said River.

‘He has a key?’

‘Well, that would explain why he wanted to meet here.’

A moment later Lamb and Catherine Standish appeared.

This was what it had come to: Curly was in a foreign country, undercover, in time of war. His own country, and he was the stranger.

They were driving past a mosque—a fucking mosque. Here in the capital of England. You couldn’t make it up.

For years, there’d been warning voices raised, but what good had it done? Sweet FA. Anyone who wants can wander in and take the country: we’ve given them the jobs, the houses, the money, and if they don’t want jobs, we give them money anyway. Welfare state? Don’t make us laugh. Whole country’s a charity case.

Plus, they were lost. Had no idea where they were. Follow the signs: North. How hard could it be?

But Larry was flaking. Coward was what it was.
We were only supposed to give him a scare
. Yeah, because that’s how you fight a war, right? The 7/7 killers didn’t open their rucksacks and show their bombs, say
See what we could’ve done if we felt like it?
They just did it. Because give them this much: they knew they were fighting a war. And you couldn’t fight a war without both sides taking part.

He hadn’t realized it was a mosque until they were right next to it, but now he could see it properly, it couldn’t ever have been anything else. It bulbed into foreign shapes. As if they’d driven off the map, and wound up the last place they wanted to be. Panic clutched him: the thought that the kid would know where they were—would pick up on the smells and sounds—and start kicking at the boot. Curly had a vision of a crowd surrounding the car; rocking it side to side. Pulling the kid free, and then what? Setting fire to them. Dragging them on to the street and stoning them. Fucking medieval, the lot of them. The reason he was doing this in the first place: give them a taste of their own medicine.

He swallowed the panic. The Paki was in the boot. No way could he know where they were.

None of them knew where they were.

‘You got any clue where you’re trying to get to?’

‘You said to get some distance, right? I’ve been—’

‘I didn’t mean bring us into bloody India.’

The mosque was behind them. The buildings everywhere were concrete, with barred windows. The only hint of green was a Poundshop’s metal shutter.

‘We need to get out of the city.’

Lamb perched on the rail around Bunyan’s tomb, eating a bacon sandwich. In his other hand he held a second sandwich, wrapped in greaseproof paper. The slow horses were gathered round him.

He said, ‘Black was recruited by Taverner. The kidnapping was a set-up. Only now it’s real, so Taverner’s looking for scapegoats.’ He paused to swallow. ‘That would be us.’

‘Why?’ Min asked.

Catherine said, ‘Well, it’s not like anyone’ll miss us.’

‘And she already had Black signed up,’ Louisa put in. ‘That’s one slow horse in the frame already.’

‘And he won’t be contradicting anyone soon,’ Lamb agreed. ‘For all we know, Taverner has a papertrail in place. Saying Black was working for Slough House, not her. Not the Park.’

‘She’s going to a hell of a lot of trouble,’ River said. ‘Okay, so there’s two dead, and it doesn’t look rosy for the kid, but ops have gone haywire before. Why’s she running scared?’

Lamb said, ‘The name Mahmud Gul mean anything?’

‘He’s a General,’ River said automatically. ‘In the Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence. The Pakistani secret service.’

That earned him a look. ‘I bet you used to play Top Trumps with grandad. With spooks instead of racing cars.’

Ho’s laptop was cradled in front of him like an ice-cream seller’s tray. ‘Gul’s Joint Intelligence Department,’ he read. ‘Equivalent to our Second Desk.’

River was racking his memory for more details. Nothing came to mind that wasn’t painted with a broad brush. ‘He’s a bit of a hardliner.’

‘Aren’t they all?’

Ho said, ‘Back at the turn of the war, it was thought there were elements inside Inter-Services who were alerting Taliban militants to missile strikes. Gul was one of the likely suspects. Nobody was ever charged, but a Park analyst wrote him up as likely to go either way.’

‘On the other hand, he’s always supported the government in public,’ River said. ‘And he’s usually mentioned when the next Director’s being discussed.’ Which used up all he knew about Gul. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’ But before Lamb could answer, he said, ‘No. Wait. Don’t tell me.’

‘Oh great,’ Catherine said. ‘Twenty questions.’

Louisa gave her a glance. That comment didn’t sound like Catherine. But then, she didn’t much look like Catherine. Her nose was red-tipped in the chill, sure, and her cheekbones were tinted the same, but the spark in her eyes was out of the ordinary. Perhaps she was enjoying this adventure. Then Catherine’s eyes met hers, and Louisa quickly looked away.

Lamb finished his sandwich, and belched appreciatively. ‘That was bloody excellent,’ he said. ‘Five stars.’

‘Where’s open this time of morning?’ Louisa asked.

He waved vaguely in the direction of Old Street. ‘Twenty-four-hour place. It wasn’t far out of the way. Didn’t think you’d mind waiting.’

‘I hate to interrupt,’ River said. ‘Hassan Ahmed. He’s one of Gul’s?’

‘He’s not an agent.’

‘Sure?’

Lamb let his breath out slowly.

‘Okay, so—oh, Christ.’ The truth hit River with a thrill. ‘He’s
family
?’

‘His sister’s son.’

‘We’ve—
Taverner
’s had Mahmud Gul’s nephew kidnapped by fascist thugs? What the hell does she think she’s doing?’

‘She thinks she’s boxing clever. “Think of it as bringing communities together”,’ Lamb quoted. ‘Her words. “When we rescue Hassan, we make a friend.”’

Min Harper asked, ‘Are they close?’

Ho was still scrolling through Regent’s Park’s file on Gul. ‘Hassan’s mother and father met in Karachi, but he was already living here. She came back to England as his bride. She’s not been back since, and there’s no record of Gul visiting.’

Min said, ‘But he’s a spook. You can’t rule it out.’

Lamb said, ‘Either way, we can assume he’d object to the kid having his head chopped off on camera.’ He unwrapped his second sandwich. A smell of warm sausage wafted round.

Trying to ignore it, River said, ‘So that was the plan? To romance Mahmud Gul by rescuing his nephew from a bunch of fanatics?’

‘
Our
fanatics,’ Lamb said. ‘That was the important part.’

Louisa said, ‘So he’s in our debt. And so, when he gets to be the next Director of Inter-Services Intelligence, more likely to fall our way.’

‘Brilliant,’ River said. ‘But what happens when we don’t rescue Hassan? Did that factor into her thinking at all?’

‘Apparently not,’ Lamb said. ‘And the way it’s looking now, in twenty-four hours or so, the British secret service assassinates the nephew of a more-or-less friendly power’s secret service Second Desk.’

‘Only if they stick to their timetable,’ Catherine said. ‘And why should they? As far as they know, they’re blown.’

‘So they kill the kid,’ Min said. ‘Jesus. Wars have been started for less.’

Lamb said, ‘Which is why Lady Di’s going to any lengths necessary to screw the blame on us. If Hassan dies, that’s one thing. If Hassan dies, and it gets public that Five was responsible, it goes beyond being a black mark on her CV.’ A small piece of meat fell, leaving a mayonnaise smear on his trouser leg. ‘Damn. I hate it when that happens.’ He stared angrily at the yellow streak for a moment, which wasn’t noticeably larger than any other stain on that leg, then looked back up. ‘Taverner won’t be joining us at Slough House. She’ll be looking at the inside of a cell. Unless she’s black-bagged first.’

‘Black-bag a Second Desk? How likely is that?’

Jackson Lamb said, ‘There’s probably a precedent. Why not ask grandad? Meanwhile, nobody’s looking for Hassan. Taverner’s known from the start where he is, and it’s not been in her interests that anyone else does, so the cops have been working without Service input. And until Black infiltrated them, the Voice of Albion weren’t making waves on anyone’s radar.’

Ho said, ‘You don’t make wa—’

‘Shut up.’

‘If they’re such amateurs, what are their chances?’ Catherine asked. ‘Maybe they’ll trip over their own …’

‘Dicks?’

Louisa said, ‘She has a point.’

‘Not really. Being a bunch of bottom feeders has played to their advantage. Nobody noticed them before, so nobody knows where they came from now.’

‘But Alan Black found them.’

‘Yeah,’ Lamb said. ‘He did, didn’t he?’

River was listening and not listening; his brain churning through newly learned facts, adding them to what he already knew, or thought he already knew, or had forgotten he knew. And also, he was starving. Lamb, the bastard, could have brought sandwiches for everyone: any boss, anywhere, would have done that when heading for a pre-breakfast meeting. Always supposing any boss, anywhere, would have called a pre-breakfast meeting in a graveyard … River could barely remember when he’d last eaten, last drunk. It had probably been outside Hobden’s with Sid, back when she was still upright, instead of laid out on a hospital bed or operating table, or with a sheet drawn over her head. He still didn’t know how she was. Hadn’t come to terms with what had happened to her, let alone the information that she’d been put in Slough House to keep an eye on him. By Taverner, presumably. So what was that all about?

Lamb was saying something about headless chickens, and River felt a sudden drop in energy; a need for sugar. For something hot.

God, he’d commit murder for a cup of coffee …

In the back of his mind, tumblers clicked.

Lamb took a healthy bite from his sausage sandwich. Chewing, he said, ‘Thing is, Black was a highly trained secret agent the same way you lot are, which means he was a fuck-up. So he’ll have made mistakes.’

‘Thanks,’ Louisa said.

Min Harper said, ‘What difference does it make? He’s dead. The others’ll off Hassan first chance they get, then crawl back wherever they came from.’

‘If they were going to …
off
Hassan first chance they get,’ Catherine said, ‘you’d have found his body next to Black’s.’

Min looked thoughtful, then nodded.

Ho said, ‘Fuck-up or not, Black got them out of Leeds the night they took him. The traffic CCTV was down for hours.’

Lamb said, ‘Probably Lady Di. But nobody’s pulling strings for them now, and they haven’t got Black making their decisions. They’ll be headless chickens, clinging to whatever’s left of the original plan. Which, we can assume, will have been to his blueprint. So.’ He stared at each of them in turn. All but River Cartwright looked back: River was gazing skyward, as if expecting a helicopter. ‘You’re Alan Black. What would you have done?’

Min said, ‘Well, for a start …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wouldn’t have got involved in such a godawful mess.’

‘Any other useful input?’

‘I never liked him,’ Ho said.

‘Who?’

‘Black.’

‘He had his head cut off a few hours ago,’ Lamb said.

‘And left on a table.’

‘I was only saying.’

‘Jesus. This the best you can manage?’

River said, ‘I’ve just remembered where I saw him.’

In every horror film, sooner or later, the corridor scene occurs. The long corridor, with overhead lighting which shuts down section by section—
boom boom boom
. And then you’re in the dark.

Which was where Hassan was now. In the dark.

The last colour he’d known had been the bright red hell of the kitchen, in the centre of which, on the table, Moe’s head had sat like a Hallowe’en pumpkin. One in which no light would ever shine. Take more than a candle to put a gleam in those eyes.
Boom boom.
The floor had been a crimson lake; the walls spattered with gore.
We’re going to cut your head off and show it on the web.
It had happened before. It would happen to him next.

The lights in his mind were shutting down.

Even without the handkerchief in his mouth, Hassan wouldn’t have been able to shout. He had no words left. His body was bones and liquid.

Boom
.

Different things made different noises. He’d been underneath the kitchen when they were doing what they did to Moe, but all he’d heard was a confusion of sound, which might have been anything. It was not the noise Hassan would have expected from such an action. The expected noise would have been a thump, followed by a slow rolling.

But these dark thoughts were escaping him now, as the lights in his mind shut down,
boom boom boom.
And then he was Hassan only in the sense that everyone has to be someone, and that was who he was stuck with until the last of his lights went out,
boom boom
.

And then he was luggage.

Boom.

When River had finished, they stood silent for a while. Not far off, a bird chirped. It must have had inside information of the dawn. There was a vari-coloured glow from City Road, and a more subdued glimmer from the other side, all of it strained through branches.

Lamb said, ‘You’re sure?’

River nodded.

‘Okay.’ He looked thoughtful.

Min Harper said, ‘Doesn’t help us with finding Hassan.’

‘Well, you’re the ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’

‘I’m only saying.’

Ho said, ‘Is anywhere open round here yet? With wi-fi?’

‘And breakfast?’ Louisa added.

‘God,’ Lamb said. ‘Can you not think of anything but your stomach?’ He swallowed his last chunk of sandwich, and tossed a scrunched-up greaseproof ball at the nearby bin. ‘There’s a kid out there’ll die today. A little focus?’ He pulled his cigarettes out.

River said, ‘Taverner can’t get away with this.’

‘Nice to know where your priorities lie,’ Lamb said.

‘I’m not talking about what she did to me. She’s behind all this. If we’re to save Hassan, we need to squeeze her.’

‘We?’

‘Nobody else is going to do it.’

‘Kid’s dead meat then.’

Catherine Standish said, ‘You could have let the Dogs round us up. You didn’t. What was that about?’