Close Quarters

FIFTY-FIVE

‘It’s done.’

Benson heard the words on his cell phone as he drove through the Washington DC suburbs, and experienced a mixture of relief and apprehension. Relief because he’d had no other choice but to take care of Conkley for good. The little man was a cancer that had to be excised. As for Cready, that was different; that was payback and worth every cent of the fee demanded.

The apprehension was something else. Drastic action always carried risk, no matter how cautious you tried to be. He had no reason to distrust the man he knew as Two-One, the one he’d ordered to arrange the hit on Conkley and Cready. He knew enough about him — not everything, but enough — to ensure his silence on the matter. But as he’d learned in over forty years in politics, nothing was ever one-hundred-per-cent certain. And people had a way of surprising you all the time.

He shook off the doubts and dismissed the subject as closed. ‘Good. Thank you.’

‘I’ll look forward to payment as usual.’

‘You’ll get it, don’t worry.’

Benson disconnected the call. But the apprehension stayed with him. Even after he’d arranged another meeting of the Dupont Group, there was a niggle that simply wouldn’t go away.

He wondered if it was the way Two-One had asked for his payment that had got to him. The man usually did the jobs he was asked to do, no questions asked. And Benson arranged payment within twenty-four hours of completion. It was the way they worked, each dependant on the other, a disconnected but satisfactory arrangement.

He wondered if it was time to review his arrangement with Two-One. Perhaps the man was getting greedy. Greed, as he knew well, had a way of cutting ties and breaching any feelings of loyalty. If that were the case, so be it — in this city there was always somebody else who could handle the same kind of work.

He rang Jason Sewell for an update on the Watchman situation. Having kept a close eye on it thus far, it might seem odd if he were to suddenly lose interest.

‘I’m sorry, Senator, but I’m not able to discuss the matter.’ The unmistakeable tone of finality to Sewell’s response came as a surprise. He was accustomed to having his questions answered instantly and saw this as a personal affront.

‘What do you mean, you can’t discuss it? Do I need to remind you that bringing down the shutters on this operation might be perceived in some quarters as a form of stonewalling? You of all people should be aware that there has already been quite enough of that in Langley.’

‘I’m aware of the views expressed about us, Senator. But we have our procedures. Part of our mandate is to ensure that live operations are not compromised in any way. There are times when circumstances mean we have to raise our security level, and this is one of them. The section of our facility dealing with the Watchman operation is now closed to non-essential personnel.’

‘What the hell are you saying, Sewell?’ Benson snarled, momentarily forgetting himself. ‘I’m not some two-bit politician in town on a social junket, and I shouldn’t have to remind you of my position in the Intelligence Community in relation to the approval of special activities, especially of your organization.’

‘I’m mindful of that, Senator.’ For a man who had always shown appropriate deference, Sewell sounded surprisingly unperturbed by Benson’s bluster. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to brief the White House.’

There was a click and he was gone.