David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (35 page)

       
“Watch out,” Jones said,
raising his gun and aiming it in my direction.

       
The first guy had rolled
over and was scrambling for the spot where his battered old Browning had come
to rest in the earlier struggle. I stepped towards him, ready to kick the gun
away again, when Jones fired. The shot was uncomfortably loud in such a small
space, but it did its job. The bullet hit the guy at the base of his skull. He
slumped forward, face down. His body gave one long, last, violent shiver. Then
he was still.

       
“Wow,” Jones said.

       
I walked across and
examined the guy I’d tangled with first.

       
“Wow, indeed,” I said.
“What a great job. We started with three people who could have helped us. And
we’ve ended up with none.”

       
“What about that one?”
Jones said
,
nodding towards the guy I’d just been
looking at.

       
I shook my head.

       
“Damn,” he said. “I
thought we’d be able to talk him, to at least. I wouldn’t have pulled the
trigger, otherwise. What should we do now?”

       
“Search the bodies,” I
said. “I want their phones. And I want to see everything in their pockets. We
might be able to piece something together. But first, I want you to call your
office. Tell your control to find out if the police have been called, following
those gunshots. If they’re on their way, get them turned around. Then tell them
to get their best cleaner out here. These bodies need to disappear. Quickly.
And Tim?”

       
“Yes?”

       
“Do not say anything
that could link what’s happened, or this address, to Melissa. And make
absolutely certain not to tell anyone she’s disappeared.
Anyone
at all.
Do you understand?”

       
“Yes. But why?”

       
I gave him a moment to
think that one through.

       
“Oh,” he said. “I get
it. You think there’s a leak in the department.
So if
Melissa’s clean, we don’t want them reporting that she’s hiding, or they’ll go
looking for her.
And if she’s dirty, we don’t want them to know we’re on
to her or she’ll go deeper underground.”

       
“Right,” I said. “And
for now, remember something else. As far as you and I are concerned, she’s
innocent until proven guilty.”

I figured that since experience was on my side I’d search two of the
intruders and just leave one for Jones, but I was still finished first. The guy
whose throat I’d crushed had a spare clip for the huge Desert Eagle he’d been
carrying, and that was all. I left it behind. The guy who’d done the talking
had a spare clip, pictures of Melissa and me, and an old battered switchblade
with a wooden handle. I took the knife and photos, and moved across to where
Jones was standing. He was next to the final body, his phone still in his hand,
apparently transfixed.

       
“Come on, son,” I said.
“What are you waiting for?”

       
“I don’t know,” he said,
with a shudder. “It’s just - look at him.”

       
“Not pretty, I know. Do
you want me to do it?”

       
“No. It’s OK. It’s just
- I’ve never done this before.”

       
“Well, ordinarily I’d tell
you to take your time. Only right now, Melissa’s missing, which means time is
the one thing we don’t have. So either get on with it, or step aside.”

       
Jones crouched down and
reached out his hand like a reluctant, bony spider. He didn’t exactly work fast,
but in the end he at least did a nice thorough job.

       
“Sorry,” he said. “No
phone. Just a spare magazine.”

       
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“That’s the same as the others. You didn’t miss anything.”

       
“Then what are we going
to do? Can we trace them through the ammo, perhaps?”

       
“You could try. Your
people will have the resources, I guess. But there’s one other thing.”

       
“What?”

       
“Have you ever done a
photo fit picture?”

       
“I’ve seen them. And we
learned about them, in training. I’ve never done one, though. Why?”

       
“Something about this
guy is familiar, and I’ve just figured out what it is. I was looking at his
face, trying to remember how he looked before you shot half of it off. And then
it struck me. Take away the fatal injury. Add hair. Change the clothes. And I’ve
seen him before.”

       
“You have?”

       
“Yes.”

       
“Where? When?”

       
“At St Joseph’s. He was
working as a security guard.”

       
“Are you sure?”

       
“I’m certain. I watched
him sorting out of a bunch of
yobs
who were messing
around in the hospital garden.”

       
“The guy didn’t look
like he knew you.”

       
“He didn’t know I’d seen
him. I wasn’t there, in the garden. I was watching through a window, waiting to
see if he needed any help. I saw a guard try to chase some kids out of
there
once before, and he got nowhere.”

       
“But this guy managed on
his own?”

       
“You could say that. If
you’re a fan of understatement.”

       
“Everything’s leading
back to the hospital. Well, if he works - or worked - at St Joseph’s, at least
that gives us a place to start. We should head over there right away.”

       
“I don’t think so. I’ve
seen the hospital security office before. And without an army of forensic guys
we’re not likely to turn anything up in there. We should start with
Leckie
, himself.”

       
“The person? Not the
place?”

       
“Correct. We need to
know whether
Leckie
is the villain or the victim.
These guys could have worked for
Leckie
, and
Leckie
could have sent them here to get us. Or al-
Aqsaba’a
could have found out
Leckie
was planning on helping us, and sent the guys to silence him.”

       
“What about the photos
the guy was carrying? They’re only of you and Melissa. That’s pretty
suspicious.”

       
“True. But you should
never jump to conclusions. They already
know what
Leckie
looks like
,
remember
.
They wouldn’t need a picture of him. And they might not know you were back off the
sick list.”

       
“Well, OK.
If you’re sure.
And we’ve got some time while we wait for
the cleaner. Why don’t I make some
calls.
See what I
can dig up on the guy.”

       
“You do that. I need to
duck out for a while.”

       
“Why?”

       
“I have some calls of my
own to make.”

       
“Oh, I see. But where
can I reach you if I find anything?”

       
“If?”

       
“OK. When I find
something.”

       
“Just call me. I won’t
be far away. But be discrete. And be quick. Melissa’s life might depend on it.
And
Leckie’s
, if he’s not a crook.
As well as any chance of finding the other batch of
caesium
.
And getting a hook into al-
Aqsaba’a
.”

       
“Oh. So, no pressure,
then.”

Chapter Thirty

I’m not normally in
favour
of field agents
acting like they’re tied to their controller’s apron strings, but I figured a
second attempt on my life since lunchtime was worthy of a mention. And on top
of that, I had a couple of questions I wanted to ask. Questions that would best
be
asked without Jones being in earshot.

       
I made my call looking
out over the Thames, and then headed for a little Italian cafe I knew on the
ground floor of the main OXO Tower building, just across the way. There was no
point heading back up to Melissa’s apartment,
specially
while the cleaner would be there. That would break the golden rule: be seen by
as few people as possible. And in any case, I needed time to think. I was
bothered by Melissa’s text about new information, followed so closely by her
no-show. I guessed whatever she’d found related to
Leckie
in some way, but how? And where was she? Had she been snatched? Killed? Or was
she lying low, waiting till it was safe to resurface?

       
I was half through my
first cappuccino, thinking about the permutations of al-
Aqsaba’a
and the hospital and
Leckie
and MI5 and Melissa when
a connection sent me reaching for my phone. I dialed Jones’s number, and he
answered on the first ring.

       
“I’m still working on
it,” he said. “It’s not easy getting hold of people today, for some reason. So
far all I’ve got is some basics on
Leckie
.
His date of birth - which is the same as my dad’s, coincidentally.
His address - an ex old people’s home in
Harpenden
.
Snobby place, a few stops up the railway line, and handy for
Luton
airport if he’s planning a quick getaway.
His golf club.
Two of them, actually.
But not much about his professional life after he left Box.”

       
“Well, keep on it,” I
said. “And there’s something else I want you to look at. I want to know if
there’s a link between him and Stewart Sole.”

       
“The guy who arranged
the fiddling of the transfer records, which allowed the
caesium
to be stolen?”

       
“Correct.”

       
“Should there be?”

       
“Not necessarily. But if
there is, it’ll go a long way towards telling us which side of the fence
Leckie’s
really on.”

       
“I’m with you. OK. Leave
it with me. I’ll see what I can find.”

       
“Good. And I mean any
connection, however small or insignificant it might seem. If their grandparents
ever had a drink together, I want to know about it.”

       
“Understood. Got to go
now, though. The cleaner’s arrived. Oh, there are two of them. Anyway, I’ll dig
up what I can. Catch you later.”

       
I put the phone down and
returned my attention to my drink, forcing myself to concentrate first on the
taste.
Then on the smell.
And
finally the contrast of the pure white foam against the rich, dark liquid.
Anything to take my mind away from thoughts of what might be happening at that
moment, somewhere outside that room.

       
The ploy wasn’t very
effective, but in the absence of anything better I was contemplating the need
for a second cup when my phone rang. I was expecting it to be Jones, but my
pulse quickened when I saw the name on the screen: MELISSA (MOBILE)

       
“Are you OK?” I said,
snatching the handset off the table. “Can you talk?”

       
“I can, now,” she said.
“It was just another false alarm. That’s the fourth this year.”

       
“False alarm? What are
you talking about? Where are you?”

       
“I’m on
Millbank
. Heading towards Parliament. I was caught in
another pointless lockdown. Why? You sound worried.”

       
“You’ve been in Thames
House this whole time?”

       
“I haven’t set foot
outside since you left to get the champagne. I was going to bail early, to meet
you and Jones, but the bonehead environmental control system thought it had
picked up another airborne contaminant. As usual, it came back negative. And
while they were figuring that out, no one in the building could leave. Or send
an email. Or even pick up a phone.”

       
I closed my eyes and
took a moment to trace the implications of her words.

       
“David?” she said. “Are
you still there?”