Deception

FORTY-FIVE

‘The two in the red van were low-level messengers,’ said Ballatyne. He called later that day as Harry was heading home. Rik had made his own way earlier, to continue the hunt for Tan. Jean had agreed reluctantly to stay with friends for a couple of days, and Harry had seen her safely delivered to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

‘Who for?’

‘Not sure. But they led the undercover unit to a C’emal Soran, a shopkeeper in Hackney. He’s clean here, barring missed opportunities by the Serious Organized Crimes Agency or Five. But they’ve got quite a file on him in Sarajevo. He was suspected for years of being a freelance quartermaster for a number of gangs, supplying weapons and cars. Unfortunately, with all the fighting, they didn’t have the resources to get hard evidence. He got out ahead of an investigation and so far, nobody’s been able to come up with reasons enough to bring him up on charges. Call me prejudiced, but I doubt he’s changed his spots. We’re doing a thorough check on him right now.’

‘Who were the two in the van?’

‘Family members, that’s all we’ve got. No papers on file, though. They claimed they knew nothing about nothing, jobbing decorators waiting for a pick-up until you arrived and started waving guns in their faces. They looked terrified, according to the officer who interviewed them, but he thinks that was down to Soran hovering in the background like the angel of death.’

‘Soran? Or Zubac and Ganic?’

‘Good point. All three, probably. The cops didn’t have reason to search so they had to pull back after talking to the two young ones. In the end, they had nothing to hold them on. My guess is they’ll be out of the country by morning.’

‘And no signs of Zubac and Ganic?’

‘No. Nothing obvious at the ports, anyway. They’ve probably gone to ground until the fuss dies down.’ He paused. ‘Any idea what their plan was?’

‘With Jean? No.’ Harry didn’t like to think what would have happened if the two men had taken her. The message would have been simple: back off and stay that way. Whether that would have resulted in getting Jean back in one piece was a moot point.He doubted it somehow; the Protectory seemed to be playing for keeps, and getting him off their tail would have been a high priority.

Ballatyne continued, ‘We’re going to spring a surprise on Soran this evening, just for the hell of it. SO19 are going to raid the shop. If you want in on it, be my guest. You might find something. I’ll let you know where and when.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be there.’ The answer was automatic. This had gone too far already, and Harry wanted to get the men responsible.

‘You didn’t get far with Fort Knox, I hear.’

‘Not yet. Why?’

‘I had a call from the State Department. Seems Major Dundas carries some weight in the corridors of power, courtesy of a brother-in-law who’s a state senator. He complained about interference from the British, namely you, and they’re currently assessing how much to share with us.’

‘Dundas is an idiot. I asked for a check on a name, that’s all.’

‘Right. I think rubbing Bradley Manning in his face was a bit harsh. They’re all a bit sensitive about that young man. Still, I’ll leave it with you to sort out.’

Harry rang off wondering if the real purpose of that exchange had been to get him involved in the police raid on Soran. As for the message from the US State Department, he didn’t hold out much hope of getting any further cooperation from Garcia. The lines would have been instantly shut down. But why the reluctance to help? All he was looking for was a name.

He was surprised, therefore, to find an email waiting for him at home. It was from someone calling himself candlepoint81 at a Gmail account, and the message read:

Master Sgt Gregory C. Turpowicz (‘Turp’) — b. 1968, Ft Worth, Texas — served 101st Airborne Div (Air Assault) Ft Campbell Kentucky — served Kosovo 2000 — Iraq and Afghanistan — wounded 2003 (Iraq) and 2008 (Afghanistan) — listed as deserter January 2010. Believed to be Canada or Europe.

It had to be Garcia, Major Dundas’s assistant at Fort Knox. Harry was wondering why she should have contacted him via an anonymous email account, when he scrolled down and saw another line of text.

This soldier has been de-classified as NFA (No Further Action).

There was no signature. Harry was convinced the message came from Garcia. He debated dialling Fort Knox again, but decided against it. If Garcia was operating as some kind of whistleblower, he didn’t see that compromising her would help. But it still didn’t explain why Dundas and the State Department were being so coy. And what did an NFA classification mean? Had Turpowicz come back in? Or was he dead?

His phone rang. The number was withheld.

‘Mr Tate?’ A woman’s voice, cool and efficient, Home Counties smooth. Faintly familiar.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m calling on behalf of Richard Ballatyne. He wonders if you could meet him in Victoria Embankment Gardens, same as last time. Thirty minutes from now. Can you confirm?’

‘Make it forty,’ Harry said automatically. He cut the connection and rang Ballatyne’s number. A man’s voice picked up.

‘He’s not here. Can I help?’

‘No, thanks.’ Harry couldn’t think why a personal meeting was necessary simply to exchange information about a police raid, but Ballatyne was clearly comfortable at keeping up their contact. If that led through the Bosnians eventually to Paulton, he’d be stupid to throw his dummy from the pram just because he didn’t like being tugged around. Even so, he felt uneasy and rang Rik and told him where he was going.

As he stepped outside the building, he met one of his neighbours. Mrs Fletcher lived on the ground floor and saw herself as the local neighbourhood watch. She was fencepost slim and seemed permanently dressed in an elegant long coat and scarf.

‘Mr Tate,’ she greeted him. ‘Did your visitor get hold of you?’

Harry was forced to stop. The manner in which she blocked his way indicated that it was more than just a passing question, and he wondered if she had ever worked for the Security Service. ‘What visitor was that, Mrs Fletcher?’

‘The young woman I saw coming down the stairs earlier today. I didn’t recognize her, and when I asked if I could help, she more or less brushed me off. I must say, you try to help people and they respond with rudeness.’ Her expression was accusatory, as if Harry was in the habit of consorting with riff-raff.

‘Can you describe her?’

‘Just a young woman. Reasonably well dressed, early thirties, I’d say. A business person, perhaps, maybe an estate agent?’ She fixed him with a stare. ‘You’re not thinking of moving, are you?’ She made it sound like jumping a sinking ship.

‘No, I’m not.’ It must have been one of Ballatyne’s people, he decided, and made a mental note to check. He went to move past Mrs Fletcher, but she touched his arm, a tentative smile hovering around her eyes.

‘A few of us in the block are having a coffee morning later this week. We were wondering if you would like to come. Maybe we could get to know a little more about you. Say Thursday?’

Harry wondered how to refuse without upsetting her. She was only being neighbourly, and telling her to mind her own business was a bit strong. She and her coffee table irregulars had undoubtedly discussed him at length already. Instead he said, ‘Sounds very nice. But Thursday is my day for gun practice.’