No Tears for the Lost

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

‘Can you be sure?’ Palmer felt a degree of certainty begin to drain away. There had been the faintest note of doubt in Jacob’s voice, right at the end. This wasn’t what he or Riley had wanted to hear.

Jacob grew defensive. ‘I couldn’t get that close, could I? But I hung around after one of his meetings, and heard some men talking as they went to their cars. They owned the place, see, so they got careless about security. After all, who was going to threaten them? They had the whole country in their pockets. Pathetic.’

‘Go on.’

‘They were bragging about having a British Ambassador on the hook. Like it was a big achievement. One of them mentioned an I.O.U. — a big one — and said maybe one day they could get a ‘By Appointment’ crest put on their letterhead. It was obvious what that meant, wasn’t it? I didn’t need to know any more. Myburghe was selling out to get himself out of debt.’

Palmer was surprised. ‘You speak Spanish?’

‘Yes. I did a three-month exchange stint with the Spanish Navy. I was a quick learner.’

Palmer nodded. The words ‘on the hook’ could only be interpreted one way: Myburghe was a fish and the cartel wasn’t about to let him go. And the ‘By Appointment’ reference could only have been meant in a supply of goods context. It didn’t take a genius to guess what the goods were, or what they had planned for Myburghe’s future. The simplicity and nerve of it was stunning.

‘Why didn’t you go to your bosses with your suspicions?’

Jacob’s expression tightened and Palmer guessed at a mix of emotions, including guilt, anger and sorrow. His next words confirmed it. ‘I was going to. Had a report ready, with times, places, people, all that. But everything had blown up at Port Stanley by then and we were summoned to HMS Sheffield for an urgent briefing. I didn’t have time to file the report.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

He nodded. ‘I told Tom on the way down. He said I should be careful because if there was no proof Myburghe was dirty, I’d lose my job. But I knew I was right.’ He paused, took a deep breath. ‘We were just starting the briefing when the Exocet struck. It didn’t explode, but the impact blew off one of the bulkhead doors. Tom got hit. I couldn’t help him. Next thing I knew there was smoke, oil and flames everywhere and I was being carried off the ship.’ He rubbed furiously at his face, then bent and slapped his bad leg. ‘Got this for my troubles.’

Palmer allowed the silence to grow, but the former Intelligence man appeared to have run out of things to say. He stood up and stretched his legs while Jacob fiddled with his paper towels. As he went to sit down, he saw a newspaper cutting sticking out from under a pile of magazines on a chair. It was yellowed and creased and dated from several weeks ago.

It mentioned the forthcoming marriage of Victoria Myburghe.

‘You started writing to him,’ Palmer said softly. ‘Why, after all this time?’

Jacob dropped the towel and crossed his arms tightly, like a defensive child. ‘I couldn’t stand it. For years I swallowed it, not thinking about him and what he did. Good lads were dying while he was meeting with those…bastards. Lads like Tom.’ He stared up at Palmer with fierce intensity. ‘Tom had a son, you know. Ben’s his name — he’s a DS in the West Yorkshire Police. A good kid, but he should have had his dad. Then I saw the piece about the wedding and… I had to do something.’

‘You could have told Ben.’

‘No.’ Jacob shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t have done his career any good. Still got my file, but it’s old now, like the names in it. I wanted to unsettle him — Myburghe, that is.’ He smiled that sly smile again. ‘Used a bit of the old psy-ops — psychology — letting him know it hadn’t been forgotten. It hadn’t gone away.’

‘And the fake bomb?’

‘Shouldn’t have done that. It was nonsense. A moment of stupidity.’

‘And the rest?’ Palmer found he was holding his breath, waiting for the final answer.

‘Rest?’ Jacob looked puzzled. ‘What rest? There wasn’t anything else. I lost my bottle after that.’ He stared down at the table. ‘I started emailing that Gavin reporter instead, hoping he might be interested. She, as it turned out.’

‘You were right,’ said Palmer. ‘She was interested.’ He wondered if he’d been told everything, or whether there was still something secreted away in the darker recesses of this man’s damaged mind. If there was, he wasn’t sure if it would change the way things looked. Even now, after listening to what Jacob had said, he couldn’t shift the man’s own words from his mind.

‘I’d been trained… in surveillance… undercover work. And a few other bits and bobs.’

He questioned whether, deep down, those ‘other bits and bobs’ had prepared the man to kidnap and maim or kill another man’s son. Somehow he doubted it.

A thought occurred to him. It was a loose connection, and probably meant nothing, but he knew he had to ask. ‘Have you ever heard of a Toby Henzigger?’

Riley was fast losing patience. She’d agreed to wait outside only because she knew Jacob Worth wouldn’t talk otherwise. But she didn’t like being left out of the loop, especially when the initial contact had been with her. Now she was having to do what she hated most: kick her heels and wait for someone else to get the details.

Her feelings were approaching boiling point by the time Palmer emerged from the toilets and walked up the steps into sunlight. He had a tight look on his face. He paused to light a cigarette, then led the way back to the car.

‘Palmer!’ Riley felt like punching him on the shoulder. ‘Come on — give. What did he tell you?’

‘He sent the letters and the fake bomb,’ he told her. ‘But that was all.’

‘That’s it? You were in there nearly an hour. What were you doing — playing Scrabble?’

Palmer eased out of the car park and headed for the motorway. On the way, he related everything Jacob had told him. By the time they hit the M1 southbound, they were reduced to silence while trying to figure out where to go next.

‘This Henzigger,’ said Palmer, as they drove down the slip road. ‘He’s been in there right from the beginning. Now he pops up again. I wonder why.’

Riley nodded. ‘What made you think of him?’

‘Jacob spotted him on two separate occasions, both of them at meetings with Myburghe and cartel members. He’s either DEA working undercover, or he’s something else.’

‘If he was DEA,’ said Riley, ‘surely they’d have moved in on Myburghe ages ago? This has been going on long enough.’

Palmer squeezed between two trucks trying to make a sandwich of the Saab. ‘Is there any chance you could speak to him?’

‘Henzigger?’ It wasn’t something Riley was keen to do, especially with the latest developments. But she agreed with Palmer; Henzigger was involved. All they had to do was find out to what degree. ‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously, and remembered the number the American had given her. She dialled and heard it ring a dozen times before it was picked up.

‘Yeah, can I help?’ The voice was American, with a faint southern twang. It wasn’t Henzigger.

‘Is Toby there?’ Riley asked.

‘Uh… this is his cellphone, but he’s in a meeting right now, ma’am.’ In the background somebody was pounding on a keyboard and a computer bleeped, followed by the slamming of a drawer and a burst of laughter. Office sounds. ‘May I take a message?’

‘No, thanks, I’ll call back.’ Riley risked a question. ‘Can you tell me where you’re speaking from?’

‘Sure, ma’am,’ the voice replied unhesitatingly. ‘This is the United States Embassy, London.’

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