Passenger 13

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ben had finished his cigarette. He stubbed the butt out on the rim of Sinclair’s empty plate and said nothing. He could see where this was leading, and every muscle in his body was tense. His ribs hurt.

‘The Cayman Islands offered Moss the perfect environment to tuck himself away and construct the bomb,’ Sinclair said. ‘A device concealable enough to fit in a case, yet powerful enough to rip a sizeable aircraft in two. If he’d managed to pull it off, Moss would have been the first white suicide bomber in history. However, his willingness to die for his cause might have had less to do with religious fanaticism, and more to do with the fact that he was a sick man. He’d been treated for cancer eighteen months earlier. We can surmise that, given his raging alcoholism, it may have come back with a vengeance. But whatever his motivation, we can’t escape the fact that if he hadn’t slipped up at almost the last minute, we’d never have even known it was him, or seen this coming.’

‘The credit card payment to Cayman Islands Charter,’ Ben said through clenched teeth.

‘Exactly. Moss had likely been operating on cash given to him by his associates. When the money ran out at just the wrong moment, he used his own credit card to book his flight off Little Cayman.’

‘So Moss couldn’t be allowed to reach Owen Roberts Airport. Is that what you’re going to tell me next?’

Sinclair looked shocked. ‘Good Lord, if you’re suggesting that we had something to do with—’

‘It had crossed my mind.’

Sinclair’s face darkened. ‘Absolutely never, on any account, would we have sanctioned such a thing,’ he said emphatically. ‘We were in position to arrest Moss immediately on landing at Owen Roberts. But he must have been drinking, or he must have made some terrible mistake. We only know that, somehow, the bomb detonated on board the CIC Trislander.’

Ben swallowed the last of the whisky in his glass and poured some more. His heart was beating hard and he could feel that the colour had drained from his face. He made an effort to control the tremor of rage in his voice. ‘One of your dogs slips its leash. You’re scared he’s going to do something terrible. After all, you should know what he’s capable of. I can understand that.’ He paused. ‘What I can’t understand is how you people could justify pinning the blame on a former British soldier who risked his neck and almost lost his mind defending his country.’

Sinclair sighed. ‘Of course. And believe me, I feel terrible about it.’

‘You look as if you do,’ Ben said. ‘Sitting there with sauce on your chin and a bellyful of nice Cabernet Sauvignon.’

‘What choice did we have?’ Sinclair protested. ‘The public couldn’t be allowed to find out that one of our own agents had gone rogue, and that it was only sheer luck that he didn’t succeed in bringing down an airliner over London. Imagine the bloody riot there’d have been. We had a matter of hours, minutes, to come up with a plausible, watertight cover story. It was tragically unfortunate that Chapman happened to be the pilot on that flight, but his past record and history of severe depression provided us with an opportunity we simply couldn’t afford to miss. The man was already dead. There was no bringing him back.’

‘So you decided to destroy his reputation forever,’ Ben said. ‘You had antidepressants planted in his home. You faked the air traffic control radio recording and paid off Bob Drummond’s gambling debts to make him keep his mouth shut and disappear, and then you concocted a phoney shrink to verify the suicide theory.’

‘Disinformation is a key part of the department’s work.’

‘I can think of another word to describe it.’

‘In this business, we’re sometimes forced to make unpleasant decisions,’ Sinclair said.

‘I’ve heard that line before.’

‘It doesn’t mean we don’t bitterly regret the collateral damage those decisions sometimes cause. The harm to a man’s good name. The appalling psychological effect on his family. We were extremely distressed when we heard that Chapman’s daughter had walked out in front of a car. Believe me, we do not take these matters lightly.’

Ben didn’t say anything for a long time. ‘So what now?’ he asked eventually.

Sinclair spread his hands. ‘Well, naturally, if you were a normal everyday member of the public, we would never have taken you into our confidence like this.’

‘No, you’d probably have left me for the sharks,’ Ben said.

Sinclair ignored the comment. ‘Given who you are, and the fact that as one of Her Majesty’s armed forces you’re bound by a raft of non-disclosure agreements …’

‘I keep my mouth shut about this.’

Sinclair nodded. ‘We’ll make it worth your while, I can assure you. You’ll be well looked after.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ Ben said.

‘We know we can trust you, Major.’ Sinclair looked at his watch. ‘My, how the time has flown. We’ll be arriving in London in a few more hours. I’d suggest you get some rest.’