David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (9 page)

       
“I don’t want to be
lumbered with a fish out of water,” she said. “Specially not an angry, violent
one.
Because there are laws here.
Laws
that are enforced.
That’ll make your usual methods impossible. That
frown on people who
pulverise
everyone they come
across who they don’t like.”

       
I played back how things
had got started with the three
yobs
, and
realised
it was no coincidence. Following the debacle with
Jones she’d set out the field deliberately to see if there’d be a repeat of the
violence. That made her supremely opportunistic.
Maybe even
manipulative.

       
The more I saw of this
woman, the more I liked her. How typical that she came with a health warning.

       
“Those guys who were
hassling me?” she said. “You wanted to stop them, didn’t you? You wanted to
hurt them. And you would have done, if that one hadn’t taken a dive.”

       
“Maybe,” I said.
“Someone had to do something about them. And it fell to one of us.”

       
“Why?”

       
“Think about it. They
pick on the disabled. Damage public property. Spoil this garden for others.
They’re like a cancer.”

       
“That’s a little harsh.”

       
“I don’t think so.”

       
“Then why didn’t you
call security?”

       
“A security guard was
here before you arrived. He tried, but he couldn’t do anything about it.”

       
“So call the police.”

       
“He did. The police
aren’t interested.”

       
“That doesn’t make
dealing with it your job. Or mine.”

       
“Not our jobs, no. But
it’s still an obligation. We were here. We could have done something. Turning a
blind eye was wrong. And
..
.
forget
it.”

       
“What?”

       
“Well, you know who I
work for.”

       
“Obviously.”

       
“Then you know I’ve been
lucky. I’m still here. But a lot of my friends aren’t.”

       
“The Security Service
loses agents too. What’s your point?”

       
“I’m asking a question. These
people – yours, and mine.
The ones who’ve given their
lives, defending this country.
What did they die for? To build a safe
haven for thieves and drug addicts? Or for vandals, like the idiots we just let
walk away?
Degenerates who rot the place away from the
inside, little piece by little piece.
It makes me wonder, why do we even
bother?”

       
She didn’t answer.

       
“Don’t you ever feel
that way?” I said. “It must be worse for you, having to live here with them all
the time.”

       
“It doesn’t strike me
that way at all,” she said. “Where there’s freedom, there’ll always be crime.
That’s how societies work. The big problems, we deal with. Other than that,
it’s about finding a balance, and most of the time we do that pretty well.
You’ve got to keep things in perspective. And guys like them? They’re not
threatening anything fundamental. They’re not smart enough. They’re morons. Who
cares?”

       
“So, freedom and crime,
two sides of the same coin. Don’t you find that depressing?”

       
“No. I don’t. It’s a
glass half full, as I see things. It gives me hope.”

       
I caught some movement
to our left. The door had opened again. A doctor and a nurse were looking
through, but when they saw the garden wasn’t vacant they turned and disappeared
back down the corridor.

       
“You know, my stomach’s
telling me it’s nearly lunchtime,” I said. “Are you hungry?”

       
“Maybe, a little,”
Melissa said, after a moment.

       
“Fancy helping me hunt
down a sandwich?”

       
“That might be nice,”
she said, hesitantly. “But I need to make a couple of calls first. Check up on
a couple of things. I’d do it later, only it can’t wait. You can come with me,
if you like.”

       
I thought her offer over
for second, but decided to decline. There was no point looking over her
shoulder. Not when she was expecting me to, anyway.

       
“No thanks,” I said.
“Why don’t we meet somewhere when you’re done?”

       
“Deal,” she said. “How
about the hospital canteen? Half an hour?”

Chapter Eight

I found the hospital canteen on the top floor of the wing that
contained the offices. Outside, a plaque said
it had been
opened eighteen months earlier by some junior minister from the Department of
Health
. Inside, it looked like it had been transplanted from a mid-scale
department store. Circular tables, each large enough for four people, were
scattered seemingly at random throughout half of the space. A sweeping, curved
counter provided shelter for the people serving the food, and behind them were
three parallel rows of shiny stainless steel kitchen units. It all looked good
- very sleek and industrial - though there was no sign of anyone doing any
actual cooking.

       
Around half the tables
were occupied. I could see little knots of nurses. Physiotherapists. Doctors.
Clerical workers. Each group was set apart by their clothes and separated by
where they sat, as if they were divided into hostile clans. The only exception
was the occasional huddle of patients or visitors who had managed to find their
way into the place. Several of them
scrutinised
me as
I bought a mug of coffee, presumably
categorising
me
by my hospital
pyjamas
. But I belonged to none of the
groups, so I just collected my drink, retreated to an empty seat in the corner
furthest from the door, and settled down to wait.

       
 
A quick inspection the other customers’
footwear revealed no sign of my boots, so I turned my attention to the garden.
It was deserted. I wondered if that was because no one wanted to be there, or
whether people were put off by the kind of
yobs
we
had encountered earlier. I was still feeling surprised by Melissa’s attitude to
the situation. I hadn’t expected her to accept the hooligans so readily. I
thought back to the other MI5 people I’d crossed paths with over the years, and
couldn’t imagine any of them seeing things that way, either.
Especially
not the field agents.
Either she was the exception that proves the rule,
or the Security Service had changed dramatically in recent times. And I
certainly couldn’t see her point of view finding much
favour
in Naval Intelligence. In my world things were much more black and white. There
was a threat, or there wasn’t. Someone needed to be eliminated, or they didn’t.
I was beginning to think that spending time with Melissa could be interesting,
if only for the shades of grey she brought with her.

       
I was half way across
the room with my third cup of coffee when two shrill, angry voices caught my
attention. They were coming from a table to my left. Two women had started to
argue. I sat down and watched them out of the corner of my eye. They were both
smartly dressed.
In office clothes, not medical uniforms.
I guessed that one was in her mid thirties, and the other no more than early
twenties. Their postures suggested that the older woman had started the ball
rolling. The younger one looked like she was reaching the end of her tether.
She fell silent for a moment,
then
sprang to her feet,
sending her chair skidding away behind her. She lent across the table, palms
flat on its surface, her nose almost touching the other woman’s. Her voice
dropped to a whisper, and for the life of me I couldn’t make out what she said.
Then she turned and flounced away, almost falling into Melissa’s lap as she
chose that moment to wheel into the room.

       
 
“Everything OK?” I said, as Melissa reached my
table a few moments later.

       
“It is with me,” she
said. “But what was that all about? I nearly ran that woman over.”

       
“I don’t know. Some kind
of argument, I think. I couldn’t hear the details.”

       
“Damnation. I always
miss the excitement. Was it a good one?”

       
“No. Quite tame,
really.”

       
“Any punching?”

       
“No.”

       
“Scratching?”

       
“No.”

       
“Eye gouging?”

       
“None.
Nothing like that.
You really didn’t miss much.”

       
“
Who
was she arguing with?”

       
“Another woman. She’s
still here.
Grey cardigan, white blouse.
Three tables behind you.
Seven o’clock.”

       
Melissa looked up
slightly towards the window, trying to catch a reflection in the glass.

       
“It must have been quite
a good one,” she said. “That woman’s hand is still shaking. Ten quid says
she’ll spill her tea.”

       
I didn’t reply.

       
“I wonder what they were
rowing about?” she said. “Work? What do you think? Football? Or maybe a man?”

       
“No idea,” I said.

       
“I bet some guy’s at the
heart of it.
An office romance.
Never a good idea.”

       
“I wouldn’t know.”

       
“Well, have you ever
heard of one working out well?”

       
“Actually, no,” I said.
“Although, it’s not a field I have much experience in.”

       
“Me neither,” she said.

       
“So, tell me, how did
your phone calls go?”

       
“Oh, OK. Frustrating,
more than anything. I had to follow up on a few things. I made some enquiries
before I arrived here, and a few of the responses aren’t coming through quickly
enough. I had to light fires under a couple of people.”

       
I looked out of the
window for a moment, trying not to take her bait.

       
“You want to know what
we’re doing here, don’t you?” she said.

       
“No,’ I said. “I
honestly don’t have the slightest interest.”

       
Melissa tipped her head
to one side, like she’d done in the garden, and waited a few seconds before
saying anything else.

       
“Do they have good
sandwiches here?” she said.

       
“A couple looked quite
reasonable,” I said. “There was a prosciutto and goats’ cheese
panini
. That was probably the best
of the bunch.”

       
“OK, then,” she said.
“You grab us each one of those. We’ll eat. Then we have an important meeting to
go to. But before that, there’s something I want to show you, downstairs. It’ll
help you make sense of everything.”

Melissa told me to hit the button for the basement, and when the door
opened I saw that instead of a single corridor as there’d been at ground level,
we now had a choice of four.

       
“It’s like Hades, only
with
colour
-coding,” she said as she emerged into the
stale air, nodding towards the broad stripes that were painted on the pale
green walls. “I mean, as in the underworld, not the god of the dead.”

       
“I don’t care about the
dead,” I said. “Just as long as there are no three-headed dogs down here.”

       
“Don’t worry,” she said,
starting off down the corridor to our left. “There are no dogs of any kind.
Except maybe some Guide Dogs, and you hardly need worry about them. So, are you
coming? It’s this way. We want the purple route.”

       
I caught up with her and
took hold of the chair’s handles, but didn’t need to actually push. She was
happy to keep the speed up on her own, running her hands rhythmically around
the rim of the wheels. The corridor she’d chosen was long and straight. The
light grey on the floor was peeling in places, allowing the concrete to show
through, and the walls were plain except for the slightly wavy navigational
line that ran all the way down the right hand side. A mess of cables and
ventilation ducts dangled from angled brackets above our heads, along with a
row of caged-in fluorescent lights. They were evenly spaced, one every ten
feet, so there was no relief from their harsh glare.