Red Station (36 page)

‘Thanks. But it's not them I have to worry about.'

‘No, I suppose not.' He started to say something else, then stopped.

‘What?' said Harry.

Maloney picked at the steering wheel. ‘Whoever's behind all this . . . they'll be seriously worried about you, Harry. You and your mate. You're the bogey who should have stayed in the cupboard.'

‘Are you saying I'm on
another
hit list?'

Maloney smiled at the irony in his voice. ‘Yeah . . . I suppose you wouldn't be too bothered – not after what you've been through.'

Harry got Maloney to drop him off in Southwark. He knew a small hotel where he could hide for a few days and acclimatize himself once more to the noise and pace of London. With Waterloo station nearby, it provided him with an invaluable melting pot of humanity in which to lose himself should the need arise. All those entrances and exits, crammed with people; he actually felt safer when it was within reach.

Maloney handed him a mobile phone and a slip of paper.

‘Pay As You Go disposable,' he said. ‘Same as mine. Ring if you need to. And the address of a doctor so you can get your arm looked at. He's five minutes from here and knows not to talk. Mind your back.'

‘You, too. Thanks for your help. But stay clear from now on . . . it could be bad for your career.'

SIXTY-FIVE

H
arry met Rik the following morning in a burger bar near Waterloo station. He wanted to discuss tactics. He had already visited Maloney's friendly doctor for a change of bandages and a pronouncement that the wound was free of infection.

They found a table against the back wall. Harry had checked the rear and found a fire exit leading down to a narrow side street.

‘Is this what it's going to be like?' said Rik, twirling a tall mug of Cola. He sounded depressed. ‘Eyes in the back of our heads and frightened to go out anywhere?'

‘It doesn't have to be.' Harry tried not to scratch at his arm. It was driving him nuts. ‘Not if I can help it.'

‘Hope not. My mother's already asking when am I going back to work. She's not used to me being at home like this.'

‘It won't be much longer.' Harry sipped his coffee. It was worse than the stuff he'd been drinking in Georgia. At least that brew had a kick to it.

‘What are we going to do?'

‘Before we left, Mace gave me two names. One is Sir Anthony Bellingham.'

Rik nodded. ‘MI6. Something to do with operations.'

‘Right. He's the one who set up Red Station . . . also the one who set Latham on us.'

Rik stared down at the table. ‘You do pick them, don't you? Who's the other one – the PM?'

‘Marcella Rudmann.'

‘Oh. Yeah. The one on the Joint Intelligence Committee.' To Harry's surprise, Rik began to look shifty.

‘You've heard of her.'

‘Sort of.'

‘How sort of?'

Rik shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘She was one of the names I was looking at when I got caught and tabbed.'

Harry chuckled. ‘You're kidding.'

‘No. I was looking through some operation files to do with Afghanistan and saw her name attached to a JIC note. I wondered who she was, that was all.' He picked at the table with his thumbnail. ‘I . . . uh, took a look around her computer files.' He looked abashed. ‘She's got a secret boyfriend.'

‘So what? It happens, you know – even among politicians. Especially politicians. It's called sex.'

‘I know. But she's already in a long-term relationship.'

‘I think you need to get out more.'

‘With a woman.'

‘Ah. Really? That's different.' Harry lifted an eyebrow. Information was power. The only question was, if push came to shove, would he use it? ‘Anyone I'd know?'

‘Her partner's in politics – a second secretary or something like that. The boyfriend's in pharmaceuticals. Very big.' He shrugged. ‘I got out of there quick.'

Harry breathed deeply, his mind working. ‘Did you leave a trace?'

‘No!' Rik looked affronted.

‘Could you get into the files again – if you had to?'

‘Of course.'

‘Good. For now, get me her home address and phone number.'

‘No problem. I'll access the Civil Service Directory.'

Harry nearly laughed. ‘It's as simple as that?'

‘Well, not quite. There's a gateway to a sub-level directory for specialist contacts; I'll have to go through that first. But it's doable. Why do you need her stuff?'

‘Because she's in the right job, powerful, connected and I want to unsettle her. If I just ring her at the office and say “Hi, honey, I'm home” she'll have the Rottweilers on our backs before I put the phone down. I have to get to her in a way that won't get me arrested.'

‘Oh. OK.'

‘Then there's Bellingham.'

‘I was afraid you'd get round to him. He's bad news. His address won't be on file.'

‘Probably not. But he's the main mover behind this, along with Paulton. And any time I want him, he'll be in Vauxhall Cross.'

‘But you can't go in there.'

‘I don't intend to.'

‘What, then?'

‘I want you to access Clarion.'

‘
What?
' Rik nearly overturned his drink and scrambled to rescue it, attracting a scowl from the woman behind the counter. Probably thinks we're discussing a drugs deal, thought Harry.

He handed Rik a tissue. ‘Take it easy. We can do this.'

‘No way, man – you're nuts!'

‘Well, if it's beyond you.' Harry shrugged and began to get up.

‘No. Wait . . . I can. I will. Just . . . give me a second.' Rik finished mopping the table and tossed the sodden tissue aside. ‘That was a low blow.' He looked genuinely hurt.

‘I know.' Harry smiled. ‘That's why I said it. You in or not?'

Rik relaxed, mollified. ‘OK. I suppose.' He chewed his lip for a few seconds, then said, ‘I'll need a laptop – a good netbook would be better – and a list of places where we can hook into the wireless network and move on. When we hit the directory and then Clarion, it'll have to be in short bursts in case they've got a watch on them – and I bet they do.'

Harry took an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Rik. If the woman hadn't suspected they were conducting a drugs deal before, she certainly would now. ‘There's five hundred in there. Do what you have to and we'll meet up again tomorrow. Can you do it?'

‘Easy. I'll pick up a machine and check out some places where we can work.'

‘Even better.' Harry was impressed. Rik evidently worked best when he was challenged on his own turf. ‘Call me when you're set.'

After Rik had gone, Harry took out a new Pay As You Go mobile and dialled a number from memory. When it was answered, he asked for George Paulton. Time to set the ball rolling.

‘Which department is that?' said the operator smoothly.

‘Operations.' Harry quoted a six-digit code, part of which was Paulton's extension. He doubted it would still work because the codes were changed on a regular basis. But it might get him past the watchdog on reception.

‘I'm sorry, sir, I don't recognize that number. Could I ask who's calling, please?'

‘Tell him it's Harry Tate. I'd like to meet.'

‘Mr Tate? Just a moment, sir.'

Harry counted to ten, then twenty. Paulton was playing hard to get. Nobody should be faster at answering his phone when a ‘hot' name was mentioned. And right now, the name Harry Tate should be melting the wires around the building.

He switched off the mobile and walked outside. An entire system committed to tracing and analysing calls would now be trying to find where the call had originated, triggered by his use of an out-of-date code. He dumped the mobile in a rubbish skip. He had others and would try again.

Next he called Maloney.

‘I can't get to Paulton. You heard anything?'

‘I was about to call you.' Maloney sounded worried. In the background Harry could hear voices and the shrill ring of telephones.

‘What's up?'

‘First the good news. I got the aerials. You were right: they show a Land Rover parked all afternoon next to an old boat. It was left in such a way it looked like a write-off . . . doors open and a damaged roof. But in a sweep the following morning, it was gone.'

‘Surprise, surprise. It was down by the landing stage. Good vehicle for driving through mud and picking up a load of drugs.'

‘Right. Anyway, I spoke to Doyle; he's making noises and they're turning over the area right now, especially the old boat. That's probably where they were hiding.'

‘Anything on the boyfriend?'

‘Nothing yet. They're still processing his prints. They think he might be foreign – maybe Romanian.'

Harry waited, then said, ‘OK. So what's the bad news?'

‘Paulton's gone missing.'

SIXTY-SIX

H
arry disconnected with Maloney and called Rik Ferris. Whatever he did now, he had to act fast. Without Paulton to lean on, they were at a disadvantage.

‘I need Rudmann's direct number,' he said when Rik answered.

‘What, now?' Rik sounded unimpressed. ‘Christ, what's the rush?'

In the background, Harry heard a woman's voice asking if Rik wanted the printer bundle. Rik's voice faded and said no.

‘Our main player in Five has done a runner. I need to shake the tree.' He gave Rik a quick rundown of what Maloney had said.

‘You think he's ducked out?'

‘I don't know. He either jumped or Bellingham got to him. It means we've lost one of our chances to prove what Red Station was all about. If Paulton chose to go missing, he's gone for good.'

‘Give me a few minutes. I'll find a network and call you back.'

Harry waited fifteen minutes. He took the opportunity to find a quiet stretch of pavement where he could walk and talk undisturbed. Any conversations he was about to have would be best conducted privately.

His phone rang. It was Rik.

He read out a number followed by an address. ‘The number's her direct line. After you call her, dump the phone; they'll probably have an automatic trace on it.'

‘Right. How long will it take to access the server?' He didn't want to use the name Clarion over the phone.

‘That'll take a bit longer, and I'll need your help.'

‘Me? What do I know about computers?'

‘I need you to act as a spotter. Once we start, we might trip over a Guardian – that's an automatic alarm-and-trace system, set up to monitor unauthorized access. If Bellingham's being really clever, he'll have a team on standby ready to jump all over us.'

Harry was in a quandary. He had to speak to Rudmann. According to Mace, she was the only person with the clout who could help him. Anyone else would merely pass the ball. If it reached Bellingham, it was likely to be fatal. But without proof of Bellingham's use of Clarion, and any messages it contained, he would have nothing to convince her that he was telling the truth.

‘Where are you now?' He decided to go for Clarion before Bellingham shut it down. ‘You ready to do this?'

‘Yes. I'm near Piccadilly. Can you head for Maddox Street?'

‘Maddox— Jesus, why there?' Maddox Street was a stone's throw from Grosvenor Square, home of the fortress known as the US Embassy. After Thames House, Vauxhall Cross and the headquarters of the Met, it probably housed more police and security officials than anywhere in London.

Rik's voice held a chuckle. ‘Traffic. Electronic and people. We can get lost if anyone gets on our tracks. There's a place called Café Risoux. See you there.'

Thirty minutes later, Harry entered the Café Risoux. It was long and narrow, given the illusion of space by large wall mirrors at strategic points. It wasn't yet lunchtime, and held a mixed clientele of young women shoppers, elderly tourists and a few suits, and two men with American accents who were collecting bagged snacks to go. Rik was hunched over a table at the rear, close by the fire exit and staring at the screen of a tiny laptop.

‘All set.' Rik waved him to sit. ‘I've done some tracking already; he's not as clever as he thinks. I'll be two ticks. Can you get coffee? Americano – four sugars.'

‘You'll get nervous and fat.' Harry went to the counter. While his order was being prepared, he checked the street outside. He'd been careful on his way here. The likelihood of being spotted by someone from MI5 was remote, but fate had a habit of turning and biting you when you least expected it.

When he got back to the table, Rik was looking pleased with himself.

‘I'm in,' he breathed, and checked the nearest customer, a student type using a laptop two tables away. He pulled a chair round and nodded for Harry to sit, blocking the man's view. Then he bent back to his keyboard.

‘What I'm doing,' he explained softly, ‘is accessing Clarion, then checking all the outgoing lines to see if I can spot a pattern or a name which looks good. It might take some time.'

‘Time we have,' said Harry, and hoped he was right. ‘But is it safe?'

‘Sure. Unless I trip any of the numbers.'

‘How will you know when you've got the right one?'

‘By a process of elimination. I reckon he'll have been using the same number all along. It's his set-up, and I bet he didn't share it with anyone else or change his settings.'