The Traitor's Story (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

He stopped before he got home and used a phone booth to book a seat on the next day’s flight. He was either being too careful or not careful enough, though he doubted Gibson and his superiors were searching for Hailey Portman, not least because they knew nothing about the memory stick.

When he knocked on the Portmans’ door, there was a short delay before it opened to reveal them both standing there, the same mixture of expectation and dread followed by disappointment.

Ethan said, “Oh, we thought because of the hour, it might be the police.”

Or Hailey
were the unspoken words at the end of that sentence.

“I’ve found her—I know where she is.”

Debbie’s mouth opened, but whatever she’d thought of saying remained unformed. Her legs buckled and Ethan, his arm already around her, caught her and helped her away. Finn followed them through to the living room as Ethan helped her into a chair.

“I’ll get some water.”

“I’m fine, really.”

She didn’t look it. The color had drained from her face. Finn and Ethan sat down, too.

“She’s in Uppsala, in Sweden. Jonas helped me find her.”

Ethan said, “But he was adamant—”

“He didn’t know where she was, but with the right prompting he knew where to look.”

Debbie looked more confused than he’d ever seen her as she said, “Why would she go to Sweden? It’s such a long way.”

“There are two separate issues here. I do believe that Hailey thought she was in danger. They hacked into Gibson’s network and they were convinced that they were being watched, and even followed, as a result.”

“I said it all along,” said Debbie. “The note. She said it wasn’t a good idea to stay here.”

Finn took a deep breath. “True, but it also has to be said that the perceived threat did play into Hailey’s hands, and gave her the excuse to do something she’d been thinking about anyway. You see, at some point in the past weeks or months, Hailey struck up a friendship online with a boy in Uppsala.”

Finn had already lied to them a couple of times, but now Ethan picked up the danger signals and said, “When you say a boy, do you know how old he is?”

Finn shook his head. “He’s a university student, but I’m afraid Hailey, in her online profile, also claims to be a university student. It explains the change of image, and whilst I know it won’t make you any less uncomfortable, it looks like the young man in question has no idea that Hailey is only fifteen.”

Ethan jumped up. “We have to call the police. Or the Stockholm police.” He looked at his watch, his thought processes painfully visible.

“Ethan, please.” He gestured with his hand for Ethan to sit again, which he did. “Hailey has been there for at least a couple of days, so calling the police now isn’t . . . it isn’t going to prevent anything happening. I’m not sure what the law is in Sweden, but you could also get this young guy into a whole load of trouble.”

“Good. The bastard deserves everything he gets.”

“The bastard has a name—Anders Tilberg—and chances are he’s been duped by your daughter.” Ethan looked ready to object, but Finn took on a different tone. “Which is something else to consider. Again, I don’t know the law in Sweden, so I don’t know if getting the police involved would lead to them taking action against Hailey.”

“She’d never forgive us, anyway,” said Debbie, suddenly coming back to herself, composed. “I think it best that this be done discreetly and with dignity. We have to bring her back, but that will be fraught enough without turning it into a public spectacle.”

“I’ve booked myself on a lunchtime flight tomorrow.”

Debbie accepted the fact without question, saying only, “We’ll reimburse all your expenses, naturally.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

As if the husband and wife had swapped roles, it was Ethan who was struggling now, saying, “Just a minute, Finn, we really appreciate your help but I don’t get this. Why would you fly to Sweden? She’s our daughter—we’ll go get her.”

Finn nodded, accepting his point. Debbie looked between the two men, and Finn sensed she preferred his own plan, but he would still play safe, still tell them the truth.

“You could. I don’t know where Anders lives but I know where they’re all going for dinner tomorrow night. I could argue that it would be less of an ordeal for her if an intermediary turned up, but I’ll be straight with you—I have an ulterior motive. Apparently, Hailey has a memory stick with her, containing all the information they copied from Gibson’s network.” They both looked at him intently now. “Jonas didn’t have a copy but he made a few notes, which he showed me. It seems Gibson was running a surveillance operation and the subject was me.”

They stared in silence for so long that he wondered if either of them would speak, but then Ethan said, “I don’t . . . Gibson . . . He lived here for a year.”

“I know, and possibly the woman who was here before him, too.”

Debbie said, “So Adrienne was right—you were a spy.”

“That’s a rather emotive word, and Adrienne was guessing, as it happens. But yes, I worked in intelligence.”

“Doing what? Why would they have you under surveillance all these years later?”

“I’m hoping the memory stick will give me the answer to that question. But you have to understand that I can’t tell you any more than that. I’ve already told you more than I should have done.”

Once again, he was reminded how pointlessly he’d played the hollow man these last six years. Adrienne, to her credit, had seen through his backstory from the start, and yet he’d continued to lie even to her, perhaps in part so that he could avoid having to tell her bigger lies about his reasons for leaving.

Ethan looked emotionally washed up but said, “Will you come back tomorrow?”

“No, I think Friday’s the earliest I’m likely to be back. As soon as I’ve got her, I’ll make sure she calls you.” He checked his watch. “It might help if you put together a quick letter saying that you’re authorizing me to escort her back here. And while we’re at it, could I use your computer to book a hotel for myself?”

“Of course,” said Debbie. “I guess yours is still being monitored.”

“Honestly, I have no idea, but it’s always better to err on the side of caution.” As he said it, he wondered if the same principle was behind this entire surveillance operation, but he doubted it—they were after something specific.

“You don’t think Hailey’s in danger?” It was Ethan who asked the question and Finn looked at him now. “If you’re worried about them finding out where you’re going—why? You think if they find out they’ll go after Hailey?”

Finn shook his head. “No, I’m just being cautious, for my own sake. Until I know what’s behind this surveillance operation, I’d rather have them know as little as possible about my movements.”

They seemed to accept that, and over the next ten minutes they
produced and signed a letter and Finn booked his hotel. Then they
showed him to the door and he said goodnight.

Debbie said, “Will we see you before you go in the morning?”

“Possibly not.”

She hugged him. To his surprise, so did Ethan. Finn didn’t do hugs, and that was nothing to do with the life he’d been play-acting, but he was bemused just as much by his transformation in their eyes.

Until a few days ago, the Portmans had probably considered him a distant figure, or an opaque one. Perhaps they’d thought Adrienne w
ould be better off without him, perhaps they’d even looked upon him with contempt. And now, even before he’d brought their daughter back to them, they were hugging him with gratitude.

Once they’d shut the door, he looked again at the door of Gibson’s silent apartment, and walked along the corridor to the stairs. If only it were that simple—bringing the Portmans’ daughter back—for everything to return to normal. If only.

Chapter Fourteen

He ran for longer the next morning, going out early, getting such a rush off it that he couldn’t remember why or how he’d stopped. And every time he thought of Adrienne, he ran faster. He guessed that complacency had played its part in the demise of both his fitness and his relationship. One of them, at least, could still be restored easily enough.

When he got back to the apartment, there was a note pushed under the door, a piece of paper folded in half. He opened it and knew instantly from the block capitals that it was from Jonas. Finn checked his watch—he’d probably called in on his way to school.

BGS = BRAC GLOBAL SYSTEMS, BASED IN THE CAYMAN ISLANDS. NOTHING ELSE YET BUT MORE SOON. JONAS.

Finn smiled, at the way it resembled a telegram, at the fact that Jonas had gone after BGS like a terrier, digging up information that Finn doubted he’d have found himself so easily. In his experience, though, knowing that Gibson’s apartment had been rented by Brac Global Systems would lead to a handful of cul-de-sacs and not much else.

Even so, when he got back he’d tell Jonas to forget about BGS, that it wasn’t smart for him to keep hacking in that particular direction. Finn wasn’t even certain he wanted to find out any more himself. It would depend on what was on the memory stick, but sometimes he knew it was better just to let things stand, and he had a fragile hope that this would be one of those cases.

He took the train to Geneva Airport. A couple of girls were sitting a few seats away from him with backpacks and suitcases, both American, probably on a study year at the University of Lausanne. No one paid them any attention, and he wondered if Hailey had aroused as little interest as she’d traveled across the continent.

These girls looked noticeably older than he remembered Hailey looking, but then, she’d changed her hair since, and his view of her was informed by the knowledge of her age, by having
known her first as a child proper. The two girls on the train
were much more conservatively dressed than the threadbare, bohe
mian look she’d developed for herself, but that would have probably worked in her favor, too.

He wondered if she’d been scared at all. She’d had to have taken at least one night train, and he doubted she would have spent her limited funds on a compartment. He imagined her sitting all night in a regular seat, afraid to fall asleep.

For some reason, he wanted to think that this girl, who’d so coldly planned her escape, so badly used Jonas and hurt her parents, had been beset with fears and doubts once she’d set off, her emotions in turmoil even now. Sadly for all concerned, he suspected instead that she was breezily happy with her new boyfriend in Uppsala, giving little thought to the people she’d left behind.

Not that he felt in any position to judge Hailey Portman for her human failings. She would at least stand a chance of growing out of hers, this whole episode put down to a moment of youthful madness. His own youthful madness had been rather more prolonged, and had left its marks on him to this day.

He checked in at the airport and made for the business lounge. There were a dozen or so other people there, and Finn studied them casually as he grabbed a coffee and a paper and sat down—a classic selection of business travelers, none of them standing out.

Once he’d started reading, though, he sensed that he was drawing someone’s attention. There was a guy across the lounge from him, overweight in a robust foodie kind of way, checked shirt, yellow tie, red cheeks, and fair curly hair. He looked like a wealthy farmer, and was more likely a hedge fund manager.

Or rather, Finn would have labeled him like that, except for the fact that he kept glancing over. It wasn’t blatant or even obvious to most eyes. He was eating a sandwich and casually looking around the room, but every time he reached Finn the progress of his gaze would stutter for a fraction of a second, as if in response to some gravitational pull.

Finn didn’t think the guy was professional enough somehow, not least because of the very fact that Finn had picked him out. Still, he thought through the ways and means by which he might have been followed to the airport, his movements tracked.

That in turn set him wondering why they might think any of this was worth their time. He’d been completely dormant for six years, so what on earth could make them think it made sense to keep him under constant surveillance for at least two of those years? What were they expecting him to do?

The guy finished his sandwich and put the plate down on the table in front of him. He wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin and threw it on the plate. Finally, he stood and walked toward Finn, and only in the last few feet did Finn notice the book in his hand.

“Excuse me.” He was English. Finn looked up from his paper. “I’m sorry to bother you, and I know you must get this all the time, but are you Charles Harrington?”

“Yes, I am,” said Finn.

The guy smiled. “I’m such a fan of your books. I don’t suppose you’d mind?”

He held out the book,
The Hand of Death
in hardback. Finn noticed a bookmark about halfway through.

He took the book and said, “I’d be more than happy. Do you have a pen?”

“Of course, sorry. Just a second.” He hurried back to where he’d been sitting and then said from there, “Of course, I haven’t—they always leak, don’t they?” He pointed toward the business lounge’s front desk and set off to ask for a pen.

He seemed genuine, but Finn looked through the book anyway, the marker at the beginning of chapter nine, the pages before that smudged here and there with fingerprints.

The guy came back, saying as he approached, “Sorry about that. I have to be honest, I didn’t think the Black Death would be my thing, but I’m riveted, absolutely riveted.”

“Thank you,” said Finn, taking the pen and opening the cover. “Who’s it to?”

“David. Actually, no, could you sign it for my wife, Georgina—she’s a fan, too. Actually, it was George got me on to you in the first place.”

Finn signed, noting the date and location—people seemed to like that, he’d found—and handed the book back.

“Well, thanks again, and I hope you enjoy the rest of it.”

“I’m sure I will.” He hesitated, as if fearing, correctly, that he was outstaying his welcome. “Do you mind me asking what the next one’s about, or is it top secret?”

“Not at all. There’s a book on the Hundred Years’ War coming out in September. I’m working on something else now, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you what that’s about.”

“Of course.” The guy looked a little embarrassed now as he said, “Thanks ever so much.”

He walked back to his seat. He was genuine, and Finn hoped they weren’t on the same flight. At the same time, now that he’d been put on alert, he took in the other people in the lounge, searching for anyone who might be a less obvious observer.

No one else set alarm bells ringing. But his mind was locked stubbornly back into that mode. He thought of the words from Jonas’s note:
BGS = BRAC GLOBAL SYSTEMS
. He would still tell Jonas to forget about it when he got back, but he realized now, and had perhaps known all along, that it was fanciful to think that he could do the same.

BGS represented real people, presumably from his own past, perhaps people he’d crossed in some way, and if they’d pursued him this doggedly for two years or more, they were unlikely to give up now.