Deception

FORTY-TWO

Harry felt his gut go cold. Vetting of families and friends when working for the security and intelligence services was an occupational hazard you lived with. Having strangers delving into every aspect of your life and background wasn’t pleasant, but it was part of the job and something you learned to live with. But why would Five or Six choose to take an interest in Jean now, of all times?

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I couldn’t sleep last night, and got up for a drink. When I glanced out of the window I saw two men sitting in a van just along the street. They were still there this morning, although they’d changed position slightly.’

‘They’re probably watching someone else.’ Even as he said it, instinct told him it wasn’t likely. London was a huge city, and no doubt there were plenty of individuals currently under a twenty-four-hour watch by the authorities and private security companies all over the metropolitan area. Yet why should Jean be one of them? And any official surveillance would be a lot more discreet.

It could only mean one thing: the Protectory.

‘It feels a lot more personal to me,’ said Jean. ‘After Michael was killed and journalists hung around hoping for a story, I got into the habit of checking the street. I still do it.’

‘What do they look like?’ He had to remain calm, to avoid feeding any sense of concern through to Jean. She had been through the mill after her husband, Michael, had died in Iraq, with a small media buzz surrounding her for what seemed like weeks. This would certainly have reminded her of those times.

‘Young, mid-twenties. Short haircuts but not military. Mediterranean types, wearing blouson jackets and jeans. They’re sitting in a red VW van — I’m not sure of the model. Are they from Thames House?’ Jean knew enough about Harry’s work to venture a reasonable guess at where any security related interest might originate.

‘I’ll get it checked.’ He knew it would be waste of time, even though the descriptions didn’t match Zubac or Ganic. These two were too young. He guessed the two Bosnians were keeping a low profile at the moment after the attack on the police station. But how difficult would it be to get two men — probably fellow countrymen — to do some basic legwork for them? They wouldn’t need specific skills apart from patience, the ability to keep their eyes open and a healthy fear of failing.

Unless they had been given specific orders to do something else.

‘Can you stay where you are for a while?’ He hoped he sounded casual. ‘I’ll come round.’

‘OK. I’ll ring Felicity and tell her I’ll be in later. Is this dangerous?’ She came across as amazingly calm, and Harry wished he was with her right now.

‘I doubt it. They’re probably looking for someone else.’

He rang off and went to a locked drawer inside a cupboard, and took out the VP70 semi-automatic and inserted the magazine. Then he rang Rik.

‘You need some fresh air,’ he said. ‘And I need your help. Bring the Heckler. I’ll pick you up.’

Rik knew by his tone not to question it. ‘I’m ready.’

As Harry drove fast towards Rik’s flat in Paddington, he realized that he had got precisely what he’d wanted: the undiluted attention of the Protectory. Except that instead of watching him, they had latched on to Jean. The one weak link in his background. And there was only one person he could think of who could have told them about that.

Paulton.