The Lost Relic

Chapter Thirty-Two

London

Inside a sealed operations room, on the top floor of a tall, modern, closely guarded building whose real identity and purpose was kept strictly secret from the public, nine people were gathered around a table. If the room had had any windows, the view would have been a spectacular panorama that took in the Thames, Westminster Bridge, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. The things that were seen and discussed inside were kept carefully away from prying eyes and ears, but through the giant LCD screen that dominated the far end of the room, those granted access had a window on the world whose reach was virtually limitless. From the comfort of their chairs they could monitor events in any location of the world as they unfolded. Zoom in on individual players close enough to count the hairs on their heads and track them anywhere they wished. All beamed to them from space in crisp hi-definition colour, controlled by the small team of technicians in uniforms and headsets who were seated on the other side of a wall of soundproof plate glass.

The most senior member of the group, presiding from the head of the table, was a slender, grey-haired man called Mason Ferris. Even to his closest aides, seasoned veterans like Brewster Blackmore seated to his right and the steely-eyed Patricia Yemm on his left, Ferris was a legend. His present occupation was even less a matter of public record than the details of his past military career. His mere presence in the room commanded absolute deference.

Of all the people around the table, nobody was more in awe of Ferris than Jamie Lister, at twenty-nine by far the youngest and rawest recruit to the team, freshly promoted from the GCHQ spy centre at Cheltenham. He just hoped that he wouldn’t look like these guys when he got to their age. Ferris was a gnarled skeleton of man. By contrast, Blackmore looked like he lived on an exclusive lard diet, with skin that hadn’t seen sunlight for decades. None of the rest looked much better. Lister tried not to stare too much.

This was Lister’s first time in the operations room, and he felt as rigid and awkward as the stiff, prickly new suit he was wearing. From the moment he’d been admitted through security and taken his place in the room, he’d been aware of Brewster Blackmore’s watchful eyes darting his way every so often. From the little office gossip Lister had managed to pick up during his short time with the department, he’d learned that Blackmore lived to serve his lord and master Ferris. The man missed nothing, and reported everything.

The giant screen showed a crisp aerial view of a large villa set in well-manicured gardens in a quiet suburb of Rome. The image was crisscrossed with gridlines, technical readouts and co-ordinates that constantly changed as the satellite panned slowly to follow the lone figure emerging from the rear of the house. They watched as he moved stealthily across the grounds, vaulted the wall at the bottom of the garden and slipped into the trees in the neighbouring property. The satellite’s gaze followed him as he made his way through the quiet streets. The watchers had no interest in the fleet of police cars swarming at the entrance of the villa he’d just left.

All nine at the table had an identical copy of the same classified file open in front of them. Everyone was by now thoroughly familiar with the details of the man whose movements they’d been following for the past twenty-four hours. They’d observed him being taken from the scene of the gallery robbery to hospital. Tracked his route to and from the Carabinieri HQ in Rome, and had been watching him via the CCTV airport security system when he’d strangely missed his flight and apparently decided to remain in Italy.

‘What are you up to, Mr Hope?’ Patricia Yemm said with a half-smile, watching intently as the figure onscreen walked the quiet suburban streets. The satellite image was magnified large. They could see the thoughtful bow of his head as he walked, the glow of his cigarette.

‘You mean, apart from destroying this entire operation?’ Blackmore said.

Ferris made an impatient gesture. ‘The question is, what do we do with him?’

Across the table from Jamie Lister, a large, square-shouldered man called Mack spoke for the first time. ‘I think we’d all agree that Hope’s involvement in this delicate situation represents a potentially disastrous liability for us. I mean, it’s sheer luck that he got out of there before the bloody police arrived. This was a carefully laid plan and he’s blundered into the middle of it – not just once, but twice now. He’s a loose cannon. I can see only one solution.’

‘I concur with that,’ said a woman to Lister’s left. She had dark brown hair cut short like a man’s, and bright red lipstick that glistened under the lights. The name tag on her jacket read Lesley Pollock.

There were nods and murmurs of assent from around the table. Lister looked down at the file in front of him and said nothing. His mouth was dry. There was a carafe of mineral water and nine glasses in the middle of the table, but he was aware of the unwritten rule that nobody would drink until Ferris did, out of deference.

‘Therefore I propose that we act to take him out of the picture,’ Mack said, looking solemnly up and down the table at his colleagues. ‘And try to see a clear way out of this God-awful mess we’re in.’

Patricia Yemm turned away from the screen and swivelled her chair close into the table. She tapped long red fingernails against the open file in front of her. ‘Are we sure we want to initiate terminal action against this man? He’s not the easiest of targets. It could get very ugly.’

‘Naturally, it needs to be quick and quiet,’ Mack said. ‘Difficult, not impossible. Nothing is impossible. That’s been proven time and again, by this department and others.’

Lesley Pollock pursed her lips and nodded. ‘It’s simply a question of selecting the most appropriate asset to allocate the task to. We have people on standby. Just takes a text message. Problem deleted.’

Lister’s mouth felt more parched with every passing minute. He’d known what to expect when he applied to join the department. Even so, the conversation seemed quite surreal to him. Problem deleted. They were discussing a man’s life here.

He thought about his father. He swallowed.

‘Have you read Hope’s file?’ Yemm said doubtfully, turning to look down the table at Mack and Pollock.

Mack flushed with irritation. ‘I’m perfectly aware of his capabilities. But he’s not the only one we’ve trained to that level. He can be taken out. And that’s the course of action I would advocate at this point. I frankly don’t think we’re left with a choice in the matter.’

Ferris had been listening carefully with his chin lowered to his chest. He clicked his tongue, and all eight heads turned, instantly attentive. ‘It’s my feeling,’ Ferris began, then interrupted himself to reach a long, bony hand across the table and pick up the carafe of water. He took his time pouring himself a glass, and sipped slowly. Lister seized the opportunity to fill a glass for himself, too. He drained it in a gulp. Blackmore watched him.

Ferris resumed, measuring his words carefully. ‘It’s my feeling that, while our friend here has most certainly been a liability for us up until now – and in principle I might agree with my esteemed colleague’s assessment – there’s an alternative course of action none of you appears to have considered.’

All eyes were fixed on Ferris, except for Mack, who seemed to have taken a sudden profound interest in the strap of his watch.

‘As I see it, Major Hope’s sudden and unexpected intrusion into the Urbano Tassoni situation works rather neatly in our favour,’ Ferris continued. ‘Under the circumstances, deletion is not the appropriate course of action. And I don’t want this dealt with privately. I want this man brought in alive, as noisily and publicly as possible.’

‘Sir, I’m not sure I follow,’ Lesley Pollock said, frowning.

Ferris smiled a dry smile. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. ‘Let me tell you about my grandfather,’ he said. ‘He was a colonel in the British army. During the twenties he spent some time in India, where, as a professional tracker and rifleman, he was commissioned by the rulers of several provinces to hunt down and destroy rogue tigers that were attacking and eating rural workers. Which he did, very successfully, thanks to certain methods.’

‘Sir?’

‘It’s really quite simple,’ Ferris said. ‘Bear with me. If I explain a little about how my grandfather worked, you’ll understand my thinking on this.’

Ferris went on, and his line of reasoning soon became clear.

Jamie Lister’s mouth went dry again as he listened. It was warm in the operations room, but fingers of ice seemed to be working their way around him. He stared at the table, knowing Blackmore was watching every twitch of his face for a response, and stayed resolutely blank.

‘And that’s how you catch a tiger,’ Ferris finished. He scanned the faces of his team. ‘Now do you understand? It’s a logical conclusion.’

Nobody argued.

‘So it’s agreed,’ Ferris said. ‘I want Hope in custody within the next twelve hours. Alert the Italian police.’

‘You expect them to bring him in, just like that?’ Mack said.

‘I do not. That’s why I want to send in one of our own to head up the task force.’

‘Department?’

Ferris shook his head. ‘Let’s keep back from this.’

‘We’re going to need someone very good,’ Yemm said, ‘if we’re to have a chance of catching him. Someone every bit as capable and smart as he is.’

Blackmore looked at her. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’