Lost causes

THIRTY-ONE

It was after one thirty in the morning when Steven opened the door to Tally’s flat as quietly as he could and let himself in. He smiled when he saw the gin bottle and one crystal glass sitting on the table with a note that said, Tonic in the fridge, sandwiches wrapped in cling-film. It was just what he needed to help him wind down after the meeting with Ricksen and the long drive north. Ricksen hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know about the Schiller Group, but the fact that even MI5 might back-pedal when it came to taking them on was more than a bit unsettling.

Thirty minutes later, Steven tiptoed through to the bedroom and pushed open the door, which wasn’t closed.

‘Who’s there?’ Tally asked sleepily.

‘The Milk Tray man,’ whispered Steven.

‘Just leave them on the dressing table, will you? I’m expecting my boyfriend at any minute.’

Steven manoeuvred himself under the covers and snuggled up to Tally’s back.

‘I told you, my boyfriend is on his way.’

‘We Milk Tray men like living dangerously.’

‘Oh well then,’ murmured Tally, turning to face him. ‘I suppose if you’re quick… so be it.’

‘Breakfast is served, madam,’ Steven announced, coming into the bedroom with a tray supporting boiled eggs, toast, orange juice and coffee. He laid it on the bed beside Tally and smoothed her hair back from her forehead as she sat up, smiling.

‘God, I love you,’ she said. ‘It’s so nice to see you again.’

‘Snap.’

They didn’t do anything specific, just spent the day together, strolling by the river and holding hands and laughing a lot, eating lunch and enjoying the wine they had with it before returning to the flat and going back to bed.

‘Do you have to go back tonight?’ They were lying in dappled sunlight coming through the curtains with the sound of grass being cut somewhere.

‘I’m afraid so. John covered the last COBRA meeting but I don’t want to impose on him too much. His wife’s not happy about him coming back to work so soon. She wants him to go on a cruise.’

‘What does he think about that?’

‘He’d rather have root-canal treatment.’

Tally laughed. ‘Is he fit to take the reins again?’

‘I think so, but I’m not absolutely sure. Sci-Med is his life. He won’t give it up easily, and nor should he while he’s as sharp as he ever was. It was he who saw the significance of the missing person report up in Edinburgh.’

‘But he might give it up if he knew you were going to take over,’ said Tally.

‘That really just came up because he thought he was going to die. That’s no longer true.’

‘Have you though about what you’re going to do?’

‘I’m going to keep on the Milk Tray job,’ said Steven. ‘The perks are fantastic.’

He warded off the rain of blows that descended on him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Tally ran out of energy. ‘I was avoiding the issue.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Tally. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. You can’t go back to kissing corporate arse. That just isn’t you.’

‘We’ll talk again when things get back to normal.’

Steven was preparing to leave for the drive back to London when his phone rang. It was John Ricksen.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Dunbar? If you think that was some kind of joke, I’m not laughing,’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Waheed Malik: Anwar Khan’s controller, you said. Jesus, you’ve made me look a right prat.’

‘I gave you all the information I had. What’s the problem?’

‘His name’s not Waheed Malik; it’s Assad Zaman. He’s one of ours.’

Steven stammered his disbelief. ‘How can he be? What the hell was he doing in Edinburgh with Khan and a water board van?’

‘We don’t know that he was,’ said Ricksen through gritted teeth. ‘Khan was picked up in Glasgow with another guy called Patel. We’ve just been assuming the same two carried out the Edinburgh attack. Neither of them has admitted it or given any information about it.’

‘All right, what was your man doing in Edinburgh with two unknown Asians and a water board van on the day of the attack?’

‘If that’s where the picture was taken,’ said Ricksen sullenly.

Steven was angry now. ‘Look, that picture was taken in Edinburgh. I know because I’ve been there. I stood on the spot where it was taken.’

‘All right,’ said Ricksen. ‘I apologise. But what the hell’s going on?’

‘Why don’t you ask Malik or Zaman or whatever his bloody name is, if he’s one of yours?’

‘We can’t find him at the moment.’

‘He’s one of yours and you can’t find him?’

‘He’s not a staffer. Turns out we’ve used him in the past. I’m told he was one of our insiders in the fundamentalist scene in Leicester a year or so ago.’

‘So maybe he’s been turned.’

‘The fundos don’t turn agents they catch; they cut them into little pieces.’

‘So where does that leave us?’

‘In view of what you’ve said, I’ll put out a major alert for him.’

‘I’ll call you in the morning.’

Steven attended what was announced to be the last COBRA meeting for the time being. He couldn’t help but feel he was the only one there who wasn’t basking in a glow of self-satisfaction over being ‘on top of things’ as the deputy PM put it. No new cases of cholera had been reported in the past twenty-four hours, security at all reservoirs and water installations was tight, and vaccination of the infant population had already begun at surgeries across the country. Norman Travis took over to say that vaccination of top-risk people would begin in three days, and Merryman were on course to provide new supplies in three weeks’ time for the remaining population.

Steven left the meeting with that now familiar hollow feeling in his stomach. There was something terribly wrong about… everything, but he couldn’t say so. Norman Travis, who had been accepting the congratulations of some of the others over the health department’s handling of the affair, detached himself and came downstairs with Steven.

‘Isn’t it strange how much things can change in such a short time? A week ago I wouldn’t have put money on anyone’s smiling today.’

‘We’ve been very lucky,’ said Steven.

‘I know there can be no guarantee that there won’t be another attack, but with Merryman coming on stream with new vaccines we should be in a much better position to defend ourselves.’

‘You’re right, and I understand your contribution to that has been invaluable,’ said Steven.

‘Some things are more important than party politics — as I think the coalition is demonstrating. If you see something needs doing, you should get your head down and damn well do it.’

‘Indeed,’ said Steven with a smile.

‘It was good to see John Macmillan at the meeting the other day, but we didn’t get a chance to speak afterwards. Is he back full time?’

‘Not quite.’

‘Give him my best.’

Steven felt the need for fresh air and a walk. He needed to experience a sense of normality, see people going about their business, be assured that all was right with the world despite feeling sure that it wasn’t. He was leaning on a rail watching the river traffic chug past when John Ricksen rang.

‘They’ve found Zaman.’

‘What’s he saying?’

‘Not a lot. He was swinging from a tree in the Clyde Valley.’

Steven closed his eyes. ‘What’s the thinking?’

‘The brains think he must have started to feel guilty about working for us — maybe seeing the fuck-up in Afghanistan — and was really converted to fundamentalist philosophy. He was one of those chosen to run the cholera attack, but when he realised how many were going to die after a second hit he got cold feet and blew the whistle. It wouldn’t be hard for the hierarchy to work out he’d been the one who’d done that so they strung him up.’

‘Is that what you think?’ asked Steven.

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘We should talk. Can you come over to the Home Office?’

‘Give me an hour. There are a couple of things I have to do.’

John Macmillan asked Steven how the COBRA meeting had gone.

‘Everyone was happy except me.’

‘Did you tell them what Lukas came up with?’

Steven shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to be a party pooper. If I’d had any idea why they’d disabled the bug I would have, but I haven’t. You?’

‘No,’ said Macmillan. ‘Islamic terrorists don’t do kindness. Doesn’t make sense.’

‘I’ve asked John Ricksen to come over. We need to talk.’

Macmillan raised his eyes.

‘Waseed Malik was an MI5 informer. His real name was Assad Zaman. He was found hanging from a tree in Scotland in the early hours of this morning.

Macmillan slumped back in his chair. ‘I’m beginning to think a cruise might be a better option.’

‘MI5 think he was converted to the opposition. He ran the first attack but chickened out of the second and made the call that stopped it.’

Ricksen arrived and Jean Roberts brought in coffee.

‘No calls please, Jean,’ said Macmillan.

‘Very good, Sir John,’ she replied, winking at Steven on the way out. Normal service had been resumed.

‘I’ve told Sir John what 5 thinks about the man we know as Malik and you know as Zaman, but I got the impression that you might have some other ideas,’ Steven began. Ricksen seemed uneasy, and Steven guessed it was because Macmillan was present. ‘Everything said here stays here,’ he added.

‘Something’s not quite right,’ said Ricksen.

‘That’s exactly the impression we have.’

‘People are desperate to come up with plausible explanations for implausible happenings. We get a warning of a bio-weapon attack but we don’t know where from. None of our sources know anything at all about it. Same goes for Special Branch. We’re told the terrorists are home-grown — and they are — but no one knows anything about their masters. Zaman’s involvement is not only a surprise to us, it’s a surprise to the fundamentalist groups. Then his body is found — unmutilated. He still had his tongue. Very strange.’

Steven told Ricksen about the disabling of the cholera strain. ‘They didn’t want to kill too many people.’

‘And our conclusion must be, gentlemen?’ asked Macmillan.

‘It wasn’t an Islamic terrorist attack at all,’ said Steven slowly.