Deception

THIRTY-SEVEN

As Paulton followed the other two men downstairs, he was reflecting on how quickly and dramatically the past could come back and haunt you. Even with a quick glance at the laptop, he’d had no trouble recognizing his former MI5 subordinate, Harry Tate. The realization made satisfying his appetite the last thing on his mind, but he wasn’t about to let these men know the size of the problem they were facing. Not that Tate was unstoppable — no man was. Paulton had once described him as solid and resolute, outwardly a plodder, the kind of man who crept up on the fence; the kind you never saw coming until it was too late. It had been meant as a criticism, a dismissal of a man he had seriously underestimated. How ironically prophetic that had turned out to be. His gut tightened unpleasantly at the memory, and what it had led to. He’d made a mistake with Tate. It had brought serious consequences, especially for Paulton’s fellow conspirator and opposite number in MI6, Sir Anthony Bellingham. He had suffered a particularly nasty fate on London’s Embankment, a spit away from the SIS headquarters, courtesy of one of his own disgraced officers, Clare Jardine.

Paulton was damned if he would make that mistake again.

He caught up with Deakin and Turpowicz just as they reached the restaurant, and drew them out of earshot of the maitre d’.

‘Those men you use — the Bosnians?’

‘What about them?’ Deakin looked defensive, expecting more criticism.

‘Tell them not to leave the country.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we need them to cover your tracks. This man Tate isn’t going to stop.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Take my word for it — we must take him out of the picture.’

‘That’s what I was going to do,’ Deakin looked pointedly at Turpowicz, ‘but others disagreed.’

‘It’s too risky, that’s why,’ the American insisted. ‘Go after Tate and it’ll bring down the big battalions on our heads. There’ll be nowhere to hide.’ He stared hard at Paulton. ‘Or is there something you’re not telling us?’

‘No.’ Paulton kept calm, his face blank. ‘But I know the type of man Tate is and I know how this will end if we don’t stop him now.’ He knew he was too experienced to betray any misgivings he might have; he had, over the years, kept greater secrets from better and far keener intellects than these. But he was realistic enough to know that if he didn’t handle this very carefully, it could all go very badly indeed. The fact that he knew Harry Tate was going to come out; these things always did. And being the men they were, even with his long-time acquaintance of Deakin, if they suspected there were personal reasons for a man hunter to be on his trail, they’d dump him in a heartbeat. He’d be too much of a liability to keep around for their continued survival, as small and self-contained as the organization was. He had joined them, promising to bring specialized contacts and resources, because he had seen an unrivalled opportunity to profit by the kind of assets they had passing through their fingers. It was something he did not want to lose. He was looking forward to many years of productive life yet, and for that he would need a regular supply of operating capital and the means to keep himself out of trouble.

‘We’re all ears, George,’ Deakin prompted him impatiently. ‘How do we get to Tate and how do we stop him for good?’

Paulton gave a knowing smile. ‘We distract him. Everyone’s got a weak point, and Tate’s no different. We hit him where it will hurt and draw him out. Then we take him out of the picture. And I think I know just the way to do it.’