Deception

SIXTY-ONE

Two days passed during which Clare Jardine hovered between life and death, her every heartbeat monitored in an intensive care centre. The bullet from Zubac’s gun had done a lot of damage, causing serious blood loss. But she was tough in body and spirit, and the consultants finally emerged to pronounce her past the worst. It was expected that she would survive as long as no infections set in.

There was also the revelation that Osama bin Laden had finally been run to ground in Pakistan and killed by US Special Forces. There had been no let up ever since the news broke, and every broadcast brought fresh details about the capture and the ramifications for the West.

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or satisfied about either event. Bin Laden himself was a distant figure, more news-feed image than a real person. The danger facing the West came from radicalized followers who were unknown and therefore highly dangerous, and likely to want to make a statement of support.

As for Clare, he still wouldn’t trust her as far as he could jump, but she had saved Jean and himself when she didn’t need to, and he was grateful for that. She had also unwittingly saved Rik Ferris, who had grudgingly given her a thank you in acknowledgement by sending her a new powder compact made of bright-pink, girly plastic. No blade attached.

‘She can recover in a prison ward,’ Ballatyne announced tersely. He had called a meeting at Georgio’s. Ballatyne’s male minder was in tow as usual, and gave Harry a familiar nod.

Harry was dismayed by the comment. ‘Isn’t it a little late in the day for that?’

‘Jesus, hardly. She killed her boss, a serving MI6 officer, remember? That’s a long prison term right there.’

‘Oh, you mean her boss the corrupt, murdering MI6 officer who wanted us both dead,’ Harry pointed out evenly. ‘She did us a favour and you know it. Bellingham would have walked, otherwise.’

Ballatyne looked mildly shocked. ‘Surely you’re not defending her, Harry. Did she get under your skin that much?’

‘No. She saved my life and she saved Jean. Call me old-fashioned like that, but I can’t help it. You’d do the same.’

‘Maybe so. But the law’s the law.’

‘Bollocks.’ Harry leaned threateningly towards him. Ballatyne’s minder got to his feet, although it was to pour himself a glass of water. He raised the glass in the background in a mock salute and grinned, then turned away. ‘What’s the point of locking her up? It won’t accomplish anything.’

Ballatyne shrugged. He appeared to have no ready argument, which made Harry question how serious he had been in the first place. ‘Maybe not. I’ll see. No promises, though.’

Harry sat back. It was something at least.

‘Nicholls has come in, by the way,’ Ballatyne told him. ‘Bumped into a group of Intelligence Corps officers at Frankfurt airport and suffered some kind of a mental trauma. Luckily one of them took it seriously and they hustled him away to a medical unit where he was treated and shipped back here. No idea when he’ll be able to talk coherently, if ever, but at least it’s another one down.’ He chewed his lip. ‘No sign of Deakin or Paulton, though. And if Nicholls knows, he isn’t saying.’

‘And the American?’ There had been no mention of Turpowicz.

‘Ah, well there we have some news. He’s been taken off the American AWOL list. He walked into Grosvenor Square the day before yesterday and asked to speak to the US Embassy’s Army Intelligence liaison. He’s probably out of the country by now and on his way to the brig. . or whatever they call it over there. Good riddance.’

‘Do we know why he came in?’

‘No, and right now they’re not telling. He’ll go through a period of questioning, so we might find out later. But I’m not holding my breath.’

‘No problem. We’ll keep looking.’

Ballatyne shook his head and looked suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Actually, that’s why I called you here.’

Harry waited. He sensed something wrong in the atmosphere.

‘There’s no point continuing, I’m afraid. You’re being stood down. This operation is now terminated. We’ve been given other priorities.’

‘Like what?’ Harry didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. He could guess what it was, in which case he didn’t expect Ballatyne to answer. But he was surprised when he did.

‘Blame Osama. Ever since he got himself caught and killed, all agencies have been ordered to focus on watching for a backlash from his supporters. Sorry, but it can’t be helped. Our remit just got broader and our budgets still got slashed. We’ll have to leave Paulton and Deakin for another time.’

‘Why can’t we do both? They’re out there preying on deserters and selling secrets, and we have to stand back and let them do it? It doesn’t make sense.’

Ballatyne shrugged, his face hardening. ‘It rarely does, Harry, you know that. There’s nothing else I can say.’

‘But they’ll be vulnerable now. With Nicholls gone and Turpowicz off the board, they’ll have to reorganize. And Turpowicz must have jumped for a reason. He was either disillusioned or felt threatened by something — maybe the direction Deakin was taking them in. If we can put the squeeze on him, we stand a good chance of finding out where they are.’

It was like fighting smoke. Ballatyne merely shook his head and repeated what he had said.

‘Fine,’ Harry said at last. ‘I’ll look for them myself.’

Ballatyne shrugged. ‘I can’t stop you doing that, of course. But you’ll have to do it without my help. Sorry. Orders.’

‘What about Cullum?’

‘He was threatened with being dropped from a very great height, but he doesn’t know anything. They made sure of that.’

Harry gave up. It wasn’t Ballatyne’s fault. He decided to walk home, hoping to shed his anger by pounding the pavements. It wouldn’t do his shoe leather much good, but the exercise might make him feel a little less like wrecking something.

As he rounded a corner on to Euston Road, his phone rang.

‘Harry Tate?’ The voice was American. ‘My name’s Greg Turpowicz. Is there any chance we could meet? I’d like to talk.’