The Hostage (38 page)

She and Bill had somehow managed to cultivate their relationship secretly by meeting a few times in Ireland. The credit really went to Graham the bleep. Aggy was permitted to leave the compound to go out in the evenings only if someone from the det accompanied her. It was the same for all the operatives. But she could hardly meet Bill if she was with one of the others. But on one shopping trip in Lisburn with Graham, they had bumped into Bill. It all seemed coincidental but Aggy remained suspicious that Bill had engineered it. By the time all three had finished lunch together it was obvious to Graham there was something between Bill and Aggy. Instead of spilling the beans, Graham actually suggested how he might be of help; he and Aggy would leave the det together for an evening out and while Aggy spent the time with Bill, Graham would happily hang out in a bar and wait for them to be done.

Even though Aggy could not be disloyal to Bill, something deep within her hoped Stratton was finally making his move. She would not be able to accept, not now at least, but she would be pleased. But letting Bill go didn’t seem right either. Her heart was, in a word, confused. It was certainly not something that could be figured out right there and then anyway.

‘I was just about to go out,’ she said, aware that it was essentially deceptive not to admit it was with a boyfriend. She expected Stratton might suspect as much anyway and wondered how that might affect his interest. She would come clean if he asked, although she would not tell him who it was.

‘You’re going to have to cancel,’ he said. ‘You’re working. ’

‘I’ve got to go back?’ she asked, surprised as well as disappointed on several levels.

‘No. You’re on immediate standby to move. Sorry if it’s inconvenient . . . This is big, Aggy.’

Aggy’s heart sank. She had not for a second considered he might be calling about work, since he had left the detachment.

‘You don’t have a mobile, do you?’ he asked.

‘No.’

Stratton expected as much. She was on leave for a couple of days to take a car back to the mainland and therefore would not have been permitted to take any operational equipment with her such as communications or weaponry. It would also be highly unusual for an operative to have a personal cell phone since they were not permitted to carry one on the job for security reasons, and operatives were home little enough to warrant owning one.

‘Then you’re gonna have to stay home and wait for my call. Sorry.’

‘Is this happening in London?’

‘I’ll let you know soon as I do. Later,’ he said, and hung up.

Great, she thought. Not only did he not ask her out, he screwed up her evening to boot. The bastard. She sat back down at her dresser and looked at the phone in her hands. Despite the disappointment it had been nice to hear his voice. She began to wonder what the important job could be, then her thoughts went to Bill. Dear Bill.

Bill Lawton climbed out of the shower, grabbed a towel and walked into his studio flat to dry himself off and pour a glass of whisky. He was feeling in a fine mood. Life was looking pretty good, all things considered.This feeling wasn’t based on anything tangible, although recent events had a lot to do with his optimism. It was more a suspicion that things were heading in the right direction after so many years of being in a kind of limbo. Since Henri had been blown, a vital link between Bill and his handlers had been broken. It was beginning to look as if this might work in his favour and assist his plans to remove himself from the tyranny of his obligations. It had all seemed to fall into place quite nicely. He wondered why he hadn’t seen the advantages earlier. All he had to do, while in this zone of silence and confusion, was quit the military, and as soon as he could. His excuse to his handlers, whenever they eventually made contact again, would be that he thought he was blown after the Paris incident, or at least was about to be, and that he felt he should get out while he still could and avoid incarceration. There was a possibility also that, once he was a civilian, even if MI5 did discover he had been the mole they might do nothing about it. That was not necessarily a pipe dream; they would not want the negative publicity it would bring, and these were not good times to shake the people’s confidence in the country’s intelligence services. As for his own people, once he was a civilian there was little he could do for them any more. He had provided them with some quality information over the years and it was inevitably going to come to an end one day. He was not so naïve to believe it would turn out as smoothly as this simply because things never did, but it was without a doubt the way forward. Anyway, he had already set the wheels in motion by asking for an interview with his boss when he got back to Lisburn. He was going to make an official request to terminate his Queen’s commission as soon as possible.

The other reason for his happiness was Aggy. He had never expected to feel the way he did about her. His initial attraction had been purely sexual and he honestly never expected it to be anything more. It was a pleasant surprise when she turned out to be so much more fun than he imagined. She was more mature and complex than she appeared; she kept a lot inside and he found it rewarding each time she revealed a little more of herself to him. He could tell she was learning to trust him and, strangely, he was enjoying being trusted - and being trustworthy.

And by God her body was every bit as beautiful and exciting as he had imagined.Those fools back in the detachment had no idea what a woman they had in their midst. He could not get enough of her. They had slept together only once, on their second date, the night after their first evening together. The memory itself was almost as exciting as the actual event. Even looking at her naked body afterwards was pure joy. When she got out of bed to leave him that night he could not take his eyes off her, revelling in every second of her flesh until she pulled her clothes on. He swore that if the only pleasure he were to be allowed for the rest of his life was to run his finger from her neck, down her back and along the parting of her buttocks, he would be more sated than most.

A loud knock startled him out of his daydream and his eyes flashed to the front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone. In fact no one but a handful of his workmates in NI knew he was home. He’d sneaked back from over the water just to see Aggy, having lied to his boss that it was a family emergency. She was of course the one person in London who knew he was home and the thought brought a smile to his face; she obviously couldn’t wait until their date later in the day.

He went to the door and paused as a mischievous thought crossed his mind. He discarded the towel. The knock came again. He stood naked at the door, his hand on the latch. If it was someone who had the wrong apartment they were going to get a shock.

He flung open the door, arms spread, in all his glory, and couldn’t have been more horrified if it was the grim reaper himself standing there. In Bill Lawton’s estimation the visitor was a fine candidate for the job. Father Kinsella stood in the hallway in a well-tailored tweed suit and hat, a small briefcase in his hand, his eyes fixed on Bill’s, and he wasn’t smiling.

‘You,’ Bill said, plainly shocked. He kept his composure and retrieved his towel, wrapping it around his waist. Father Kinsella walked in and closed the door.

‘Just a wild guess, but by any chance were you expecting someone else?’ the priest said.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Bill said angrily as he took his shirt off the bed and pulled it on.

‘It makes me sad that you’re not happy to see me, Bill me lad.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I didn’t think you’d be home.’

‘You’re not supposed to come here. No one is.’

‘Things don’t always stay the same way, do they, Bill?’

Bill pulled on a pair of trousers and discarded the towel, already fearing dark reasons for Kinsella’s arrival at his home.

‘I was worried about you,’ Father Kinsella said. ‘There’s been no secure way to get hold of you since the Paris thing. You never made any effort to contact me, so I had to come and make sure everything was okay.’

‘You were the one who said I would always be kept isolated.’

‘I’m just a harmless priest from Boston, remember? And we’re old friends.’

Bill was finding it hard to suppress his hostility, but warned himself to push it to one side and remain calm. This was not the time to lose his composure, nor the person to lose it with. He could be shooting himself in the foot. Dealing with Father Kinsella was going to be the most difficult part of seeing his plan through and ultimately setting himself free. Bill had to remain cool if he was going to be the manipulator, a role he usually played well. But this was Father Kinsella, he reminded himself, the master of manipulation.

Bill mellowed.‘I’m sorry . . . It was a bit of a shock seeing you, especially since I was wearing nothing but a smile.’

‘I can understand that, son. She’s not on her way up, is she - I take it you were expecting a lady?’

‘She was the only person who knew I was home but I’m not expecting her for a few hours . . . Well, now that you’re here, would you like a drink, Father?’

‘I don’t normally mix alcohol with daylight, but to be sure it’s dark enough where I live right now, so I will.’

Bill poured some whisky into a glass, handed it to Father Kinsella, and picked up his own. They raised their glasses and took a sip, both glancing at the other over the rim.

‘Good stuff,’ Father Kinsella said. ‘Good stuff . . . How long is it since we’ve seen each other, Bill? It’s been a few years, hasn’t it? Time does indeed fly.’

‘It does,’ Bill agreed.

‘So tell me, how are things going with you?’

‘What things?’

‘You know what I mean. Since Paris.’

Bill had to be careful how he handled this conversation. He couldn’t give anything away about his plan to quit, but at the same time he wanted Kinsella to see, if he hadn’t already, that it might be time for him to move on. At least Bill could try and get a sense of how Kinsella felt about the possibility.

‘That was a close shave,’ Bill said. ‘At first I thought they were coming for me. They had an entire surveillance team on the ground, surrounding my hotel.’

Father Kinsella didn’t say anything and took another sip of his drink.

‘I don’t mind admitting it scared the hell out of me,’ Bill went on. ‘Still does. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since . . . I’m worried they might be on to me.’

Bill couldn’t read any reaction in Kinsella.

‘The French have Henri, you know,’ Bill said.

‘Henri won’t tell them about you. He’ll tell them a lot of things, but not about you. He’s a canny French fox and was well chosen.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m warm. That’s a fact.’

Kinsella didn’t give any indication he agreed. ‘So what are you thinking?’ he asked after a moment of silence.

Bill decided to go for it, but one careful step at a time. ‘I’d like to back off, for a bit. Go cold. If they’ve got me, they’ve got me. But if they haven’t, they’ll be laying traps for me.’

Father Kinsella walked across the room and looked out of the window and down on to to the street. ‘This is a well-chosen apartment,’ he said. ‘You’ve a good view of the street. Can you get on to the roof?’

‘Yes. And from there you can get into the apartment block next door and down the stairs.’

‘Were you thinking about escape routes when you got this place?’

‘At first maybe. But I’ve learned enough over the years to know that if they were to send anyone for me, running out of the building isn’t going to do me any good.’

‘That’s true,’ the priest said as he continued watching the street.‘You’d need your friends for sure if they came after you.’

Bill wondered why Kinsella had made that comment. Perhaps he did see that Bill’s future as a spy was no longer tenable after all, unless it was a set-up for something else or a cleverly disguised warning.

‘I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to quit for good,’ Father Kinsella said.

Bill looked at the priest’s back, wishing he could read his mind the way the man seemed to be able to read his. The truth was the priest was the only person he needed a blessing from if he wanted to get out. If Kinsella gave him the okay, then the godfathers would no doubt agree. Bill was, after all, Kinsella’s protégé. He sometimes wondered just how far up the ladder the priest went; he might even be a godfather. That would explain a few things.

‘And what if I did?’ Bill ventured, trying to make it sound as if he wasn’t all that serious.

Father Kinsella turned to look at him. ‘I was right then. You want to quit.’

Bill cautioned himself. He had to be most careful now. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that.’

‘Were you not?’

‘Obviously I’ve thought about it. Especially after what happened . . . What do you think about me going cold for a time?’ Bill said, immediately regretting it. It gave the priest room to manoeuvre in that direction. Bill didn’t want to go cold. He wanted out for good. ‘You’re a man of many experiences, ’ he went on, since Father Kinsella had kept quiet, ‘but I don’t think you know what it’s like to live in constant fear of being found out. First I might ever know about it is a bullet to the back of my head.’

‘Would you like to get out, Bill? Is that what you’re asking me?’

Bill studied him, deciding whether or not to just go for it. The danger was telegraphing any actual intentions. He was aware Kinsella could just be fishing. ‘I wish I knew if MI5 had any suspicions about me,’ Bill said, weaving around the question. ‘Of course it’s possible they’re not even close to me.’

‘Make your mind up, Bill. A moment ago you sounded as if they did know.’

The attack made Bill strike back. ‘I don’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life. Or end up getting executed by one of their assassins . . . I’ve been useful, haven’t I? I’ve given the cause some valuable information over the years.’