Dead And Buried

Sixty-eight

‘Where are we going, sir?’ asked Dottie Shannon, as she and Skinner walked along Millbank, past the Tate Gallery.

‘We’re going to set a trap. Sorry if you’re finding it a bit cold, but when you pick up a taxi from Thames House, you never know who might be listening.’ He pointed to a big, modern building on the other side of the river, almost nestling against Vauxhall Bridge. ‘That’s where we’re headed,’ he said.

‘But isn’t that. .’

‘. . the Secret Intelligence Service building? Spot on. Not very secret I’ll grant you, but a fine piece of work by a very fine architect.’

They walked on, turning on to the bridge and crossing it, until they reached their objective. The DCC led the way inside and walked straight up to the reception desk. ‘Bob Skinner and colleague to see Piers Frame,’ he said, showing his warrant card and motioning to Shannon to do the same.

‘Yes, sir,’ the receptionist replied, picking up a phone. ‘I’ve been advised of your visit. Mr Frame will meet you here and take you through Security.’

They waited for a few minutes, glancing around the big hallway, noting the position of the security cameras, wondering where the others were, those that could not be seen. ‘Bob, DI Shannon.’ Skinner turned to see the immaculately suited deputy director approaching. ‘Let’s go round the gate, rather than through it,’ he said, as they shook hands, nodding to the security officers, using his seniority to bypass the process. ‘I’ve been advised of your needs,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it all here, but I can get it under way. The first step is to take your photographs; so if you’ll follow me. .’

When they were shown into the deputy director’s office ten minutes later they had posed solemnly for identification photographs, and had provided right index-finger prints and retinal images. ‘Those will go to FCO,’ said Frame. ‘The documents will be delivered to your hotel this evening.’

Shannon could contain herself no longer. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she exclaimed, ‘but what documents?’

‘Diplomatic passports,’ Skinner told her. ‘We’re flying to Washington tomorrow.’ He turned back to the deputy director and handed him a bulky package that he had brought from Thames House. ‘I’d like that to go across in the secure bag to the embassy, to be collected by me when we get there.’

‘That will be done, but may I ask why? I could make similar arrangements for you in the US.’

‘Let’s just say I’m sentimental.’

Frame raised an eyebrow. ‘Strange sentiments. Do you want an escort in DC?’

‘A pick-up from the airport would be good; from then on, definitely no.’

‘I see.’ For the first time since they had met, Shannon thought that the MI6 executive looked a little apprehensive. ‘You’re not going to do anything that we’re going to have to disown, are you?’ he asked.

‘Of course not.’ Skinner laughed. ‘I’m a police officer, remember?’

‘Not like any I’ve ever met. Is there any other help I can give you?’

Skinner nodded. ‘Two things. I’d like you to let slip our destination, very casually, to someone. But before that, I want you to tell me who it was that ordered you to spring Miles Hassett.’