Fortress

10

Woolf sat motionless, mentally checking his body language, trying to look composed, not defensive. Inside he was in turmoil.

‘Either you know something and aren’t saying or you genuinely haven’t a clue.’

Garvey’s eyes bored into his. She could practically see the cogs in his brain frantically spinning. Clearly, he hadn’t bargained for this. The DG had probably only sent him along because he happened to be standing outside his office trying to get his attention. Just be there — say nothing to the room. Those would have been Mandler’s instructions.

‘Come on, man. We’re both on the same side here. Spit it out.’

Halford had been easy: his hubris and defensiveness made him vulnerable. But Woolf looked like a more complex creature, harder to read: junior, dishevelled, very bright, yet seemingly unambitious. She suspected that was just a cover. She had noted the care he had taken not to rile Halford, while subtly distancing himself from the commissioner’s harebrained theories about gangsters. He was an operator, all right.

Woolf passed a hand over his chin; he had forgotten to shave. ‘It’s early days, and a lot of it is conjecture.’

‘Well, it can’t be any worse than Halford’s effort. Keep going.’

He checked his tie again. ‘I’m going out on a limb here.’

‘Do I hear the sound of distant chainsaws?’

‘Even the Service is divided.’

Ah, she thought. Does this mean he’s actually got something worth hearing?

He looked at her properly for the first time since they had been alone. ‘The Muslim extremist cells — those we know of — they’re still our main focus, but — well, they don’t want this.’

She reached over to a jug and poured herself some water. She didn’t offer him any. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Anything that brings the police out in big numbers, any step-up in surveillance, makes their lives harder.’

‘What about Clements’s point — the returnees from Syria? One of them could have the capability.’

‘But it still comes back to motive. Why would they?’ He clamped his hands together in front of him. ‘Since Seven/Seven, MI5 has been all about the Islamist threat. We’ve put so much effort into recruiting from the Muslim community, turning informers, the surveillance of would-be jihadis, there’s not been much left over for anything else. We’ve become obsessed with them. There’s a few of us who think we need to look elsewhere.’

Garvey guessed what was coming and launched a preemptive strike. ‘If this is about resources, forget it. We’re all running on empty, so don’t even think of asking.’

Woolf shook his head. ‘Elsewhere — by which I mean other disgruntled groups who are pissed off with the status quo and have a reason to make trouble and embarrass the government.’

‘Such as who? You’re not making sense.’

He reddened, but had no option other than to continue. ‘Your party’s in danger of losing the next election, but the opposition aren’t exactly electable, given their leadership. There’s a gap in the market, if you will.’

‘The far right’s become a disorganized joke.’

‘Exactly. But I’m not talking about a political party, more a groundswell of collective discontent. Which other groups out on the streets have reason to be disgruntled?’

She couldn’t see where this was going, but he didn’t seem to need prompting. She sat back and let him talk.

‘Former members of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. In the last three years we’ve put another four thousand of them out of a job, one that most of them loved, that they thought was theirs for life. They view the withdrawal from Afghanistan very much as a retreat — they think we’ve thrown in the towel.’

‘Well, the government is committed to spending cuts. There’s no going back on that.’

‘They don’t see it that way. They feel their lives are being cut from under them. And they see we’re not winning the war on terror. And one thing they’ve all got in common — they’re trained to fight. Plus you’ve taken out a layer of police, who also didn’t expect to be looking for work. It’s a smaller number, but one that could be significant.’

She hadn’t heard this one before, though now he mentioned it, her inbox was full of complaints from ex-service constituents with one grievance or another.

Woolf took a breath. ‘The shooting: Halford’s in a hole because he knows it was a professional hit. And what he hasn’t told you is that they’ve confirmed the bullets were from a police firearm. But not one that was being carried by any of his team that night.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Someone with access to specialist police kit. Are you ready to point the finger at anyone?’

‘We think we may have found the shooter.’

‘Do the police know?’

‘Not yet, and we want to keep it that way for now. We don’t think he’s acting alone, so if we bring him in it’ll tip off the group who’s running him.’

‘So if it’s not resources you’re after, what is it?’

Woolf sat back, bit his bottom lip. ‘Time.’

‘It’s virtual civil war out there. And you want time?’

‘To bring in a recruit, someone credible we can put in with them. He’s got to be completely kosher, an ex-serviceman who’s been fucked over.’

‘Ask the MoD. They probably know hundreds.’

He leaned closer and knitted his fingers together. ‘We don’t want them in on this.’

She started to laugh. ‘You really are going out on a limb if you think the MoD are involved.’

He showed no sign of sharing her mirth, which alarmed her.

‘Is your DG across this?’

Once more, she imagined Mandler’s instructions to him. Here’s some rope: try not to hang us with it, there’s a good chap. She could see he was struggling to find the right words. ‘We’ve been looking for the right man.’

‘And have you found him yet?’

‘I think we have.’