The Vengeance Man (42 page)

"Who for?"

"For this firm, for one," Harry Plummer pitched back in.

"Now, steady on, Harry, that's not exactly ... "

"Well, it is .."

"I agree with Harry," added Paddy. "Lucky for you."

"For me?"

"Not you, personally. Why do you keep thinking we're talking about
you
? No, this company."

"Why’s that?" I asked.

Paddy scratched his ear. "Well, if he'd lived, he'd have been an embarrassment, wouldn't he?"

"Who to?"

"This company; SIS Ltd. He'd threatened to get his own back. After all, it was him or you, wasn't it?"

A bell clanged in my mind as the fruit machine of memory whirled into place. I'd said that, somewhere; 'It's him or us.'

Then I remembered
it flooded back, crystal clear. We'd been in Mallalieu's office after it was decorated;  Andy, Mallalieu and me. It was the day I'd offered to top Briggs. After I'd been sick. After the Roberts job. We'd started in Andy's office, but for the last part of the conversation we'd moved into Mallalieu's smart new dove-grey office, still smelling of paint. And I'd said something about Briggs being set on his revenge, and then I'd said those words; 'it's him or us, isn't it?'

Paddy had just repeated it. Word for word. How?  How could he have known that?  Coincidence? No. Because he'd heard a tape, that's bloody how.  Must have done. Because the sodding bug had been put there by the decorators, that's how. Realisation burst upon me. Christ! How much else had they heard? I racked my memory. We hadn't said much in there, I was sure, but Paddy and the Home Office must have heard enough to make them suspicious. Briggs.  Briggs. Always a source of trouble, even from the grave.

"What?" said Paddy.

"I didn't say anything. I was just thinking about Briggs. You're right."

"Oh?"

"If he'd lived, he'd have been a real embarrassment. Wouldn't he, Harry?"

It was Harry's turn to sound flustered. "Oh ... why?"

"Well, two of your blokes questioned him, didn't they?  Mallalieu told me that two of your SB guys turned Briggs over at Cannon Row after he was nicked outside the Sherlock that night. He gave them a hard time. Threate
ne
d to blow the gaff on the whole game, I heard.  Even asked to see their warrant cards and they didn't have them. Funny, really."

"Oh, yes, that ... "

"That's right, Harry. You must remember."

Harry wriggled. "Yes, I do remember, now ... "

I pressed my advantage.
"There you are, then. Good job for SB that he wrapped himself round a tree."

"He
hit an excavator. Went down a
bank."

"Well, whatever. Lucky for you. It saved your bacon in Special Branch. And Whitehall. He was complaining that he had been set up by Special Branch, last I heard. Threatening to blow the gaff on all sorts of things, I heard. Stuff I’d never heard of - little dirty jobs for Five, trips to Iran – stuff like that…  We weren't the only people that Briggs could have embarrassed."

Harry winced and they
paused,  looking at each other
.  I sat back, trying to stay calm, taking stock. I now knew that Harry was looking for a bloke about my height with blue eyes, ex
-
SAS, with access to a Covert Methods of Entry course utility pack five years ago. Now I knew that they were also seeking a good pistol shot, who knew how to doctor bullets. But that was all they had. Or had revealed.

They had just described me. They knew it.   Oh, they knew something: of that I had no doubt.  Or suspected it:
but were they sure?

No.  If they were sure, they wouldn't be going through this charade.

But they couldn't
prove
anything. They'd had as good a go at me as they could do without making outright accusations, and I'd ridden that out.

I hadn't really slipped up, confessed or had a nervous breakdown. Spicer, Varley, the Brixton muggers, and now Briggs; they knew the score - or suspected it, which was nearly as bad.  But they couldn't prove it.  Not yet, anyway. But they were on the scent.

My shirt clung
stockily
to my chest and I swear I could smell the fear on me as I'd battled for survival. But they hadn't got anything. Without absolute confirmation of my whereabouts for each of their accusations, I was in the clear. And that would be hard to prove. The trails were very muddy there.  Otherwise,  it was all speculation, half confirmed facts and circumstantial evidence. Without an admission or hard evidence against me, I was safe.    For the moment. But they'd be back. I had to buy time. "Well, what about this list, then?"

They looked up at me, startled.

"I've got another appointment at noon," I explained. I made a big thing with the watch. "Shall I get you that staff list?"

Silence. "I know, I'll ask Jan to give you a copy. Then you can ask any questions about dates you like. And fingerprint anyone you like.  Me even. OK, Harry?" He looked taken aback, but stood up as I swept them towards the door.  Keep moving, keep talking. Paddy followed, words forming on his lips. I forestalled them. "I'll tell you what, Paddy. Why don't we go and have a beer at lunchtime? I'll be clear by half past twelve. Well, what about it? We can talk about things then."

They looked at each other. Paddy swallowed and shook his head. "No, thanks. I've got to see the Victoria Street people before one o'clock."

"Victoria Street? Off to put the questions to the competition, eh, Paddy?  Mixing with the respectable end of the Security Industry now? Don't think you'll find many deranged castration artists and freelance murderers with
them
. Very respectable lot, Victoria Street. Very image conscious. Well, good luck. Let me know if you find anything. Shame about the drink.   Some other time, perhaps?"

I swept them along, my shirt cooling as I walked down the corridor. Jan gave them the list and I saw them off.  I was expansive, Harry was silent in his dour copper's way and Paddy was thoughtful. At the top of the stairs Paddy paused, a glint in his eye;  "When can we come back?"

"Any time, Paddy, any time. Looks as if you've got a lot of work to do to sort this one out. But you're always welcome, you know that. I'm always available for my friends."

He grunted. "Sure." He couldn't disguise the sarcasm in his voice. "Next week sometime."

“Of course, of course. When you've checked the list out, come on back. I'll help you all I can. Fingerprints, everything. You know me."

"Oh, yes." Paddy breathed deeply. "I know you." He looked at Harry, who shrugged. With a baffled nod, Paddy turned on his heel and went down the stairs.

"See you next week," I called down. "We'll go for that drink then - OK?"  He looked up and missed a step, nearly falling. "Careful, Paddy," I shouted after him. "Those stairs can be dangerous; we don't want Harry having to add  you to his list, do we?"

I thought for a moment Paddy swore.

I think I'd just lost a mate.

TROUBLE

I was in trouble.

Back in my office I leaned against the door, breathing deeply. Part of my brain was yammering with panic but calm at the same time. It's a feeling we all know: it only seems to happen when things go really wrong but there's still time to observe normal life going on around you. Through the open window, the sky was blue and birds flitted across my line of vision.   I envied them their freedom. At least they were outside in the fresh air, instead of being cooped up in a smoky little office with doors closing and hunters lurking in dark bureaucratic corridors, armed with files and statements as their  talons and claws.

I shook it off. Hell, they weren't stalking some fat, dozy town pigeon. I was supposed to be a bit of a hawk myself. That's why they were being so careful. After all, hadn't I done a lot of their dirty work for them? No, they were going to have a hard fight to pin me. At least I knew that the game was on now, which was something.   I had to start thinking.

Like, was
my
office bugged?  Was there some little fibreoptic camera?  I'd better start some kind of defensive campaign.

The first move was clearly to find out just how much Mallalieu knew. He'd have to know, anyway, sooner or later, because he was up to his neck in it over the Briggs business. His secretary wasn't a lot of help. "Colonel Mallalieu's not in, I'm afraid."

I raised an eyebrow and looked at my watch. It was only 1215.

She laughed, "Yes, it's going to be one of those lunches. And I don't think he'll be back before half past three. He's gone to the City. To the Bank of England."

I grunted and turned away. The ‘Bank of England’ sounded interesting. Lamaison, the Special Projects (Economics) bloke that Mallalieu had told me about worked from the Bank, he'd said.  Maybe, even now, Mallalieu was being briefed that his most trusted employee had gone private.

I wondered how they'd do it. Was there already a big, fat file on me? Was I 'a case', with a special codeword and a big red diagonal cross on the file cover?

I could hear them now. "How do you like the salmon mousse, Mallalieu?  Good? Oh, by the way, did you know that your Director of  Operations is a bit of a freelance murderer? He kills people in his  spare time. Extraordinary, eh? More Sancerre?" I shivered.

"Are you all right?" asked Jan . "You look as if you've seen a ghost." Her motherly face was creased with concern.

I laughed. "Probably. No, I'm just feeling a bit... under the weather, I suppose."

She tut-tutted like s broody hen. "Well, we don't want you getting sick again, do we?"  She nodded decisively, one of those middle-aged earth-mothers passing a jud
gement on life.  I envied her
conviction. I expect, like all her tribe, she was as confident as a Woman’s Own agony aunt.   "I mean, it took you ages to get over your business in the Middle East,  didn't it?  What you need is to find some nice girl and settle down, you know."

"You should run an agony column, Jan."   Her lips pursed.   "Anyway, I'm not settling down to let some bimbo get her hands on my money.  I’m too young to die, yet."  Her look of disapproval deepened further. "Just give me a buzz when he gets back, will you?"    I stalked away, conscious that I'd made an unnecessary enemy.    Stupid.

Mallalieu didn't get back until nearly four o'clock. He smelled of drink and seemed cheerfully relaxed to see me. "Come in, come in. Well, have you sorted out that Briggs business?"

"Briggs?"

"Yes, you know. Those Home Office people. This morning."

So he hadn't been told about my private escapades over lunch. I temporised. "Not quite. I thought we ought to talk about it first."

"Of course." Mallalieu rummaged through the messages and files on his desk, only half an ear on me. And the files?  How are you getting on there?"

"Files?"

"Yes, that Operation Abacus stuff. The tender for the oil rig security job. Any progress?"

"No, not yet, Colonel."

He grunted, his mind on a 'while you were out' list of telephone messages and swinging towards his e mails.  "Well, stay with it. We'll need to get it right ... " He trailed off.

I took a deep breath.   This was going to be more difficult than I'd thought.   I hesitated. "Colonel, about that visit from the Home Office this morning ... the CIT."

He didn't look up. "Uh-huh."

"Well, it's not as simple as it looks."

"Oh, yes. Why's that?"

Well ... "

He still wasn't paying attention. "Come on - get on with it."

"Well, I think that they may have had a reason for picking on us."

If  I'd expected a reaction, it didn't appear. He grunted irritably. "Of course they did: Briggs.    They were after that Briggs business."

"No, not Briggs."

He still didn't look up, but went on rummaging away at some papers, nearly knocking over the coffee cup on to his keyboard.  He swore softly.

"I think they had another reason for coming to see us and I know why they bugged us."

His eyebrows went up and he stood upright. Then he looked pointedly at the window sill.

"It's all right," I went on. "It's been taken out. I've crunched it. While Jan was out. They can't hear us any more."

The eyebrows climbe
d higher. He still didn't say anything.  For the first time I had his full attention.   I walked over to the window and pulled out a dull silver capsule, the size of a watch battery, attached to two wires. It hung loose, the marks of the needle-point pliers that had crushed it flat glittering bright. A sprinkle of white plaster dusted the deep blue carpet.

"I see." He walked over and pulled it hard. The wires snapped and he stared down at the crumpled disc, flat in his hand.   "May I ask why?"

I took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. "I think it was put in to get at  me: not Briggs."

His reaction startled me. "A pity. It's a pity they're not after Briggs. It would make things a lot easier." He walked to his desk and slung the bug onto the pile of papers. "Why would they be interested in you?"

"Because I'm the guy they're looking for. I’m their phantom bloody Vengeance Man."

“I know.”