David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (19 page)

       
“That piece being?”

       
“What they’re targeting.
And I think we should bring in additional resources specifically to help in
this area.”

       
“I’m not sure,”
Chaston
said. “We can’t afford to dilute the operation, or
lose focus or control. The consequences would be too dire. We have a plan, and
we should follow it through with maximum expedience.”

       
“I think we should do
both things,” Melissa said. “And here’s why. We can see how this group responds
to setbacks. So, the failure to secure the
caesium
may well not stop them. They’ve probably got a plan B, ready to roll. They
could just press ahead, only with a different weapon. And they could easily
shut down this whole arm of their operation, leaving us high and dry if it’s
the only thing we’re looking at.”

       
“There’s the timescale
to think about, too,” Jones said. “The second attempt on the
caesium
was so hard on the heels of the first, it suggests
they need it urgently. Which means we may not have long to unravel this thing.
They could be preparing to strike at any moment.”

       
“I agree,” Hardwicke
said. “This has all the hallmarks of something spectacular. I’m determined that
we stop it. But if we don’t, I’m not going to tell the PM we backed away from
the Hydra that caused it after only cutting off a single one of its heads.”

Chapter Fifteen

The Naval Intelligence Division’s offices in their bleak, unmarked
building in
Tottenham
Court Road were nowhere near as
plush as the ones in MI5’s headquarters. The chairs were not as comfortable.
The dull orange carpets were worn through in places. There was no restful view
of the Thames from the unwashed windows. But they did have one advantage. There
was a
Caffe
Nero almost next door. And the strong
cappuccino they sell made recounting recent events for a second time that day
much more palatable.

       
“So
what’s your next step?” my new controller said, when I finally wound up the
summary.

       
“Box want me to stay on
at the hospital, and help them dig into the theft,” I said. “But I was thinking
along different lines.”

       
“Really? Such as what?”

       
“I think we’ve reached
the point where I’d be more useful on our side of the fence again.”

       
The controller reached
into his briefcase, took out a bottle of water, and drained the remaining two
inches in a single swig.

       
“Out of the question,”
he said, tossing the empty bottle into an overflowing rubbish bin next to the
door then turning back to me. “Your job with them isn’t close to being done.”

       
“I don’t agree,” I said.
“The
caesium’s
been recovered. None of it’s missing.
It’s all under lock and key, somewhere else. The people who stole it are in the
bag. Box have got all their available resources trying to find out what the
target would have been, in case someone tries to hit it another way. All the
bases are covered. They don’t need me anymore.”

       
“Maybe not, from that
point of view. But you were never there to find
caesium
or catch thieves,
Trevellyan
. Or even to stop the
thieves using the
caesium
to kill people. Your job is
to find out whether anyone from Box is bent. And judging by the picture you
painted, I’d say their brass is right to be worried. Something is very
definitely rotten with the state they’re in.”

       
The problem was, I knew
he was right. But it had been unpleasant enough the various times I’d had to
wash the Navy’s dirty laundry, in the past. I didn’t relish having to do the
same for MI5, now. Not because I had a particularly soft spot for them as an
organisation
. But because I had to admit, there was
something about Melissa I liked. I was going to be genuinely disappointed if I
found she’d crossed the line.

       
“Let me ask you this,”
he said. “Box
have
sketched out a pretty convenient
connection between the first time the vault door was damaged and the successful
theft. But what do you think? Are you buying it?”

       
“I’m not convinced of it,”
I said. “But I’m not convinced it was a coincidence, either. That’s why I went
looking for witnesses. The key will be getting our hands back on that janitor.
He saw what happened. His story should throw a little more light on things.”

       
“It might, I suppose.
If you can trust him.
He might be a plant.”

       
“He might be.”

       
“You’re looking to him
to explain that connection. Well, something smells off, and that’s where the
stench started from, for my money. I mean
,
I
understand the idea of someone learning lessons. But think about how much the
M.O. changed. And when.”

       
“What do you mean?”

       
“Scratching a high
security door and expecting it to trigger an evacuation of such a closely
monitored substance? That’s totally naive. But compare it with what happened,
only a couple of days later. It wasn’t just in a different league of
sophistication. It smacked of
specialised
knowledge.”

       
“It was a step change,
for sure.”

       
“It was. So, ask
yourself, what had changed between the attacks? Two agents turned up, on the
scene. And all of a sudden this mystery group that no one had heard of before
went from amateur hour to knowing exactly how to press all Box’s buttons. How’s
that for a coincidence?”

       
“It’s a stretch, I grant
you. But I don’t see Melissa Wainwright’s fingerprints on it.”

       
“Why not?”

       
“Because one of the
thieves, posing as the
hazmat
team leader, called her
and told her they were moving the
caesium
. We can
prove that.”

       
“So? What’s your point?”

       
“How did they get her
number? Someone from Box must have given it to them.”

       
“Unless she gave it to
them herself, to create her own alibi? Did you consider that?”

       
I didn’t answer.

       
“And can you be sure it
was one of thieves who called her?” he said.

       
“I was there when she
took the call,” I said.

       
“But could you hear who
she was talking to?”

       
“No.”

       
“So it could have been
anyone. Like, Jones, for example. Where was he when the theft took place, by
the way?”

       
“Still out of the game
after his accident.”

       
“Was he? Are you sure?
Because he was back at the hospital later that night, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he the
one who told Wainwright about the Fire Brigade finding the
hazmat
team all tied up?”

       
“He was.”

       
“Right before someone
told the thieves. I wonder who that could have been?”

       
“We don’t know anyone
told them.”

       
“No, you’re right.
 
It could have been a complete coincidence,
them choosing that particular moment to knock out their escort.”

       
“Well, Melissa
Wainwright couldn’t have warned them. I was sat next to her in the car.”

       
“And the buyers. Or
whoever was supposed to pick the stuff up. Who warned them? Not the thieves.
What did they say when the Box agent knocked on the gate? ‘You’re late?’”

       
I was silent for a
moment.

       
“I know you agree with
me,” he said. “Otherwise, why did you risk turning Croydon into the new Chernobyl
to stop Wainwright leaving the scene?”

       
“She wasn’t ‘leaving the
scene,’” I said. “She was being abducted at gun point. Who knows what those
guys would have done to her?”

       
“So you did it to save
her? Or because you know every successful job has an inside man? And once they
were in the wind, we may never have found them again. Not in time, anyway.”

       
“To save her. It was a
calculated risk.”

       
“Calculated, how? You
may have had time to peep into the back of the van, but don’t tell me you knew
it was just a tube of aspirins the guy was holding, and not a remote trigger.”

       
I didn’t reply. Because
I knew he was right again.

Chapter Sixteen

I wasn’t ready to place Melissa in the frame. Not as firmly as my
control had her there. Not yet, anyway. But I had to admit, when I made sure
the thief didn’t take Melissa away, it wasn’t because I was certain she was
innocent. I still hoped she was, though. And as the meeting I’d just endured
had made clear, finding out one way or the other was going to be down to me.

       
There was nothing to be
gained by postponing the inevitable, so as soon as I had the office to myself I
pulled out my phone and called Melissa’s number. She answered on the eighth
ring, just as I was expecting to be dumped into her voicemail.

       
“How’s it going?” I
said.

       
“So, so,” she said. “And
you?”

       
“I’ve had better days.
And I’ve had worse. But what’s happened to darken your mood? Any news?”

       
“No. I’m just
frustrated. I’m on my way back from Leytonstone. The surveillance team leader
from GCHQ emailed me right after you left
Millbank
.
She thought she had something, but, well, no cigar.”

       
“Just a red herring,
then?”

       
“Not entirely. They’d
picked up a suspicious word repetition in a series of emails from a community
centre
over there. But you know how those tend to go. It
didn’t pan out. The traffic’s like a particularly malicious practical joke. And
on top of that...”

       
“What?”

       
“Nothing.”

       
“Come on. Tell me.”

       
“I will. Just, not on
the phone, you know?”

       
“Do you want to meet for
a drink when you get back into town? We could chew the fat for a while? Set the
world to rights?”

       
“Why not?” she said,
naming a little pub she knew on
Albermarle
Street.
“That sounds fun. I’ve got to close the file on this non-lead, so see you there
at six?”

I arrived at the pub a quarter of an hour early, but Melissa
was
already there. She’d picked a table in the corner and
was sitting with one hand on a glass of hard cider and one eye on a TV that was
showing 80s music videos with the sound turned off.

       
“I got you a drink,” she
said. “Beer. It’s called Old Speckled Hen. I hope it’s OK.”

       
“It’s more than OK,” I
said, taking a sip. “It’s one of my
favourites
. Thank
you.”

       
“That’s a relief. I only
picked it for the name.”

       
“That can work
sometimes.”

       
“You don’t think I’m
crazy?”

       
“Not at all.”

       
“Could you tell, if I
was? Do you get many basket cases in the Navy?”

       
“I don’t know. I’ve
heard of a few. I’ve got no idea if the stories are real, though, or just urban
legends.”

       
“What about people
you’ve worked with?”

       
“I work alone, most of
the time. The people I spend time with aren’t in the Navy. They’re the ones who
are out to do us harm. Some of those are crazy, of course. But I stop them,
anyway. I’m an equal opportunity operative. Why do you ask?”

       
“It must be very
different where you work. Being isolated like that. With us, it’s all-for-one,
you know? Instinctive interdependence. Whatever you’re doing, you’ve got
someone else’s back and someone else has got yours. You thrive on that sense of
belonging.
On being part of something bigger than yourself.
You need it to function. Only now, I suddenly don’t feel like I belong. I feel
like everyone’s eyes are on me, but in a bad way. Does that make any sense to
you?”