The Secret

TWENTY FIVE

Lukas Neubauer, section head at Lundborg Analytical, the contract labs that Sci-Med called in for specialist advice and analysis was waiting outside the premises in Crompton Lane when Steven and the consultants arrived. He and Steven greeted each other warmly, their friendship having been cemented over the course many past investigations in the past. Neubauer was primarily a biologist but was in reality a polymath with a wide knowledge of just about everything. Steven had yet to discover a field that the expatriate Czech did not know a lot about. He had an insatiable thirst for learning.

Steven introduced the two consultants to him and was pleased to see Neubauer’s outgoing personality and charm put them at their ease. Anything they needed, they only had to ask… including lunch.

Steven and Neubauer exchanged pleasantries while the two others moved into their comfort zone through plugging things in and setting things up.

‘How’s business at Lundborg?’ Steven asked.

‘Ticking over,’ replied Neubauer. ‘People are cutting back on everything these days including contract research so we depend on our regular customers like Sci-Med. I have to admit I was hoping for a big juicy DNA sequencing job when Sir John phoned but… baby-sitting’s okay. He and Steven smiled, both knowing what was coming next. Together they intoned, ‘Keeps the wolf from the door.’

Steven returned to the Home Office to do what he least liked doing, waiting. There was no question of his being able to settle to anything. Instead he alternated between pacing in his office and looking out of the window, wondering how the day was going to turn out. The first piece of news came just after eleven o’clock, not from Crompton Lane but in the form of confirmation from Philippe Le Grice in Paris that the bullets which had killed Hausman and Liam had indeed been fired from the same gun used to execute Aline Lagarde.

Steven gave the news to Macmillan who was pleased at hearing something positive for a change. ‘I’ll tell Charlie when he calls,’ he said. ‘It should help his blood pressure and give him a bit of breathing space,’

‘Maybe you should warn him not to use the information unless he really has to,’ said Steven. ‘We’ll need more in the way of direct evidence to nail Khan… like finding the gun on him.’

‘Or getting a DNA match from either the Paris hotel or the North lab, preferably both.’ said Macmillan.

‘He’s a pro; chances are he wore gloves on both occasions and left nothing behind. But one way or the other…’

Macmillan looked at him. ‘Don’t do anything silly, Steven. You and I haven’t exactly made many friends in high places over this business and there are those who will be looking for any excuse. As I’ve said many times before, the only thing that keeps us in business is Her Majesty’s Opposition — regardless of who they are — and the capital they’d make out of any government trying to shut us up.’

‘Understood,’ said Steven.

The conversation ended when Charlie Malloy phoned to convey news of the pressure he was under and to urge Sci-Med to be as quick as possible. Steven remained in the room while Macmillan revealed the news about the ballistics match but it was clear from the one side of the conversation he could hear that Malloy was still very anxious. He heard Macmillan say, ‘Believe me, Charlie, our people are working flat out as we speak. We’ll be out of Crompton Lane in no time. I’ll let you know the minute it happens.’

Macmillan ended the call and looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Think we should phone Lukas?’ he asked.

Steven shook his head. ‘He knows we’re on borrowed time. I told him.’

Steven noted that Macmillan’s behaviour was now mimicking his earlier own as he watched him stop fidgeting with his pen to get up and go over to look out of the window. ‘God, I hope they find something,’ he said without turning round. ‘If they don’t, we really are up that well-known creek without means of propulsion and with half the Royal Navy bearing down on us.’

Steven returned to his own office to fidget and pace on his own.

Lukas Neubauer called at twelve thirty. ‘Your people say they’ve done all they can here. They’ve copied quite a lot for further analysis and they’d like to hang on to one piece of the confiscated equipment with your permission?’

Steven only took a moment to decide. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Good,’ said Neubauer. I’ll bring everyone and everything over to the Home Office and then take your people to lunch — on Sci-Med of course. They’ll continue their analysis in the afternoon.’

‘Well done, Lukas. I’ll tell John he can let the police know we’re finished. I take it there will be no sign left of our activities?’

‘Not a trace.’

Macmillan phoned Charlie Malloy. ‘We’re out of Crompton Lane, Charlie. There’s just one small problem…’

‘What?’ asked a nervous Malloy.

‘We’ve hung on to one piece of equipment. The experts weren’t finished with it but I told them how anxious you were to have us out of there.’

Steven smiled at the white lie.

Malloy sighed. ‘Well, it’s not that unusual for bits of confiscated stuff to get mislaid for a while. Thanks, John.’

‘No, thank you, Charlie. I owe you.’

‘I’ll remind you.’

Steven and Macmillan were both suffused with a sense of relief. ‘That’s one hurdle over,’ said Steven.

‘Let’s hope for a productive afternoon,’ said Macmillan.

Steven went out for a sandwich and a walk in the fresh air. This was yet another weekend when he hadn’t managed up to Scotland to see his daughter and thoughts about this had finally worked their way to the top of the queue. He’d phoned Sue on Friday night and spoken to Jenny for a while but this only made him reflect on how often he’d had to do this in the past. But while feeling bad about this he started to wonder whether he was feeling sorry for Jenny or himself.

The truth was that Jenny was perfectly happy — she’d been bubbling with enthusiasm about her part in a new school play — and Sue and Richard were perfectly content with the situation. It was he who had misgivings and, if he were totally honest, it was because he could sense a distinct feeling of fading away into the background, of not really mattering. Was this the price that had to be paid for the sort of life he led? A failure to form secure and lasting relationships?

There was certainly precedent, he thought when he considered the ‘new lives’ of some of his former comrades in Special Forces when they returned to civvy street, the failed attempts to run pubs in the country, the short-lived marriages, problems involving the police. Maybe it was never truly over. Once you’d walked the tightrope between life and death there was no chance of truly settling down on terra firma. He was lucky; he hadn’t had to give up the high wire. Life with Sci-Med had its moments, like knowing that somewhere, not a million miles away from where he was currently standing, someone named Ranjit Khan was coming after him.

Steven returned to the Home Office to be told that the computer people were hard at work upstairs. ‘No results as yet,’ he was told. ‘Are you all right, Steven?’ Jean Roberts asked as an afterthought.

‘Sure, fine,’ he replied.

An hour later, Macmillan looked round his door. ‘I’ve got Scott Jamieson on the phone. He’d like a word with you. I can never transfer these damned calls.’

Steven went through to Macmillan’s office while Macmillan chatted outside to Jean.

‘Hello Scott, how are you? Long time no see.’

‘Yes, it’s been a while. Look, I’ll come straight to the point. You know that I took over the ME investigation from you?’

‘Yes, how’s it going?’

‘That’s the thing… I’ve caught one of the buggers. He was vandalising a car outside the home of a microbiologist who works on ME.’

‘Good for you, old son… but isn’t that the job of the police?’

‘Yes, well, you could say that. Let’s say I was alleviating the boredom.’

Steven laughed. He liked Scott Jamieson a lot; he was a good investigator and there was no one he’d rather have beside him in a tight spot. ‘Fair enough. What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like you to come and see this guy.’

‘Are you kidding?’ Steven exclaimed. ‘I’m up to my neck. I’m on a code red.’

‘I know you are,’ replied Jamieson calmly. ‘I’d still like you to come and see him.’

Steven bit his tongue and read between the lines. There had to be a very good reason for Scott’s request, one that he obviously didn’t want to reveal over the phone. ‘Where are you?’

‘Ayton Hill Farm.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘On the North Yorkshire moors.’

Steven had to work hard at stifling his reaction. No, Scott wasn’t having a laugh and yes, he did know how bloody far that was from London, He must have a good reason. He simply asked, ‘Do you have a grid reference?’

Jamieson read it out and Steven hung up.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Macmillan as Steven rushed past on the way to his own office.

‘Tell you later,’ replied Steven. He closed the door behind him and called the internal number of the duty officer assigned to his code red status. ‘I need a helicopter. City Airport to North Yorkshire. Fast as you like.’

‘Understood. I’ll call you.’

Steven smiled. This was the way things worked under code red. No questions, no form filling, no explanations until the code red was over.

The duty man called back in under five minutes. ‘It’ll be on the tarmac in fifteen minutes.’