Execution

FIVE

‘You haven’t been in touch.’ Richard Ballatyne’s tone was as neutral as his grey two-piece suit, befitting his position as a head of operations in the Secret Intelligence Service, known otherwise as MI6. He eased himself down on the bench alongside Harry with a sigh and took off his glasses, rubbing his face.

‘No need, was there?’ Harry shifted over to give him room and watched as the intelligence officer’s suited minder strolled past a few feet away. The man was new to Harry, albeit a clone of the previous hard-case, with a suitably square chin and watchful eyes. Ballatyne must have worn out the old one. Another man, slightly younger, in jeans and a soft jacket, with the sloppy appearance of a street rat, lounged on a bench twenty yards away. Who’d have thought, Harry pondered; MI6, equal opportunity employers. He knew their presence wasn’t Ballatyne’s choice, but since his predecessor had died at the hand of a rogue former special forces soldier, extra measures had been introduced by his superiors.

‘True enough. That was good work in Kosovo. Messy but. . useful.’ He was referring to an assignment Harry and Rik had undertaken for the UN, weeding out an assassin tracking down personnel suspected of being guilty of rape several years ago in the beleaguered region. They had also succeeded in unmasking the guilty rapist, the shock waves of which were no doubt still rattling the innermost ranks of the UN in New York, but unknown by the world at large.

‘We try to please.’

They were seated in Victoria Embankment Gardens, a stone’s throw from the Thames and the steady roar of morning traffic along the Embankment. It was one of two preferred meeting places for Ballatyne, the other being an Italian restaurant in Wigmore Street that Harry had never seen open for business.

‘They’ve chopped the trees back since our last chat,’ Ballatyne commented, nodding towards the clear view of the London Eye turning lazily across the river. ‘Pity. I liked them in full leaf. It’s like sitting in a goldfish bowl now.’

‘Your choice, coming here,’ Harry pointed out. ‘You could always invite me to your office and show me your certificates.’

Ballatyne grunted. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Ever since being placed on a hit list by his former boss, rogue MI5 Operations Director George Paulton, and narrowly escaping with his life, Harry had been let go by the security agency. It had been more out of embarrassment than any doubts about his character or loyalty. Ballatyne, however, had shown few qualms about using his skills, although it would probably never include being allowed inside the hallowed portals of SIS headquarters.

‘So what’s the big flap?’ Ballatyne asked, brushing a stray hair from his immaculate suit. ‘I was out of the country until yesterday evening, and dropped at least three active files and a second permanent under-secretary from the MOD because of your call.’

‘I hope he was worth it.’

‘She, actually. And yes, it was. The woman’s a professional tick, like most of her kind, but we can’t always choose the people we get to work with, can we? Now, spill.’

Harry took a deep breath and said, ‘Clare Jardine.’

Ballatyne muttered an obscenity. ‘What about her?’

Harry stared at him. He’d rarely heard Ballatyne swear, but this had been uttered with unreserved sincerity. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘We’ll see. What’s she done now?’

‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

Ballatyne looked pained. ‘Please, Harry — I don’t have time for riddles.’

‘She’s gone. Disappeared.’

‘She can’t have.’

‘She has. I went to see her yesterday afternoon. She was there ten days ago, but now she isn’t. There were security guards and suits in the place, and lots of safety tape. Something was going on. Is it anything your lot would know about?’

‘Come off it, Harry. We might not be your favourite people, but we’re not responsible for every bad deed in the world. Anyway, Jardine’s off our hands, you know that.’ Harry must have looked doubtful, because he added heavily, ‘In official Six jargon, she is no longer a person of interest.’

‘So you didn’t discover a secondary beef with her?’

‘You mean other than her having knocked off an MI6 deputy director just down the river? No. In view of what you described, we did as you asked and dropped all charges. I gave you my word, although God help you, I hope that’s not about to come back and bite me on the arse.’

Harry sat back, confused. Ballatyne sounded sincere. Clare Jardine, like Harry and several other security service personnel, had been on a hit list when their presence in a shared outstation code-named Red Station in Georgia had been threatened with being overrun by Russian forces. Without official sanction or knowledge, Harry’s boss, Paulton, and Sir Anthony Bellingham, Deputy Director (Operations) of MI6, had issued a termination order on them. Only Harry, Clare and an MI5 IT wizard named Rik Ferris had returned unscathed. Since then, Harry and Rik had worked together in the private sector as security consultants and tracers, tracking down missing persons of significance, often for Ballatyne.

Clare Jardine, in disgrace after being caught on the wrong end of an MI6 honey-trap, had dropped out of sight, resentful and full of anger, but only after disposing of Bellingham with a knife blade concealed inside a powder compact. Since then, Harry hadn’t seen her until shortly before she was shot.

‘You know why I asked you to arrange the treatment.’

‘I know — she saved your life and Ferris’s.’

‘And Jean’s.’

‘Of course. How is Jean?’

‘She’s fine.’ Jean Fleming, a tall, willowy redhead, widow of an army officer and owner of an upmarket flower shop in Fulham. Very nearly a victim of a Bosnian kidnap attempt, she had been saved by Clare’s intervention.

‘And the Boy Wonder — Ferris? Not hacking into our networks, I hope.’

‘He’s not. Is there anyone else you’d like to ask after?’

Ballatyne grinned. ‘No, that’s my lot. Just showing corporate concern, that’s all. We’ve had training in staff relations. It brings out our feminine side, apparently.’

‘Poor sod. So you really know nothing about Clare?’

‘No. But I’ll ask around. Why are you still bothered? I didn’t think you two were buddies.’

‘We’re not. But I owe her.’

Ballatyne grunted. ‘You thought we’d wait for the dust to settle, then lift her and bang her up in a maximum security cell, is that it?’

‘It had crossed my mind. It’s what you wanted to do originally.’

‘True enough, at first. But believe it or not, I do like to keep my word, once I’ve given it.’ He smiled without humour. ‘Although I can’t speak for others in this business.’ He got to his feet, shaking out his cuffs. ‘Leave it with me, Harry. I’ll call you.’

Harry watched him walk away, shadowed by his two minders. He turned as Rik Ferris ambled up and stood beside him drinking a smoothie through a straw. Dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, his noticeably spiky hair covered with a beanie hat, he looked like an escapee from an all-night rave.

‘What did he have to say for himself?’ Rik asked around a hollow sucking noise.

‘He had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.’

‘Serious?’

‘Serious. Either that or he’s taken acting lessons since we last met.’ Harry shook his head and stood up.

‘You think something spooked her?’

‘Or somebody. Maybe she thought they were still coming for her, in spite of Ballatyne’s promise. She’s pretty messed up. She took the compact, by the way.’

‘Really? Christ, she must be in a bad way.’ He sounded dismissive, but had a wry grin on his face.

They walked in silence for a while, Harry chewing over what Ballatyne had said. Or not said. Something serious had been going on at the hospital yesterday. He’d been involved in enough security operations himself to recognise the atmosphere of tension. But if Ballatyne knew anything, he was playing his cards close to his chest. He sighed. It was probably nothing to do with Clare, but he felt concerned. The least he could do was find out where she’d gone.

‘I never thought I’d say this, but I want you to do something totally illegal,’ he told Rik, and started walking towards the underground station.

‘Would this have anything to do with getting into official prison records and seeing if one Jardine C. has been transferred to a secure medical unit somewhere? Only I’m not sure in all conscience that I could do that.’

‘You’d better. If you don’t, I’ll ring your mother and tell her what a bad boy you’ve been.’

‘Gotcha.’ Rik slam-dunked the empty bottle into a rubbish bin. His mother, with whom he was close, believed he was an ordinary office worker, the most dangerous aspect of his work being the occasional paper cut. He didn’t like to give her cause for concern by telling her what he really did for a living.