‘Maybe they will be,’ said Lyne wearily.
‘When?’ she demanded. ‘When are they going to take these people into custody?’
Lyne revolved his chair and used his feet to wheel it round to her. ‘You’ve been back precisely ten hours, Isis, and you already want access to the policy decisions. You understand the deal here. We gather the intelligence, okay? And the guys living up in the beautiful English summer get to make the policy, right? I don’t see why you need to raise this again. If you want to decide policy, go see your Prime Minister. He and the President will decide when to take the suspects off the street. Not you, Isis. Not me.’
‘But what kind of advice are they getting?’
‘Twice daily assessments. The President and the Prime Minister value the information we’re getting here. That’s what we’re told, and I believe it.’
‘Nathan, I accept it’s good material – really impressive in a way – but doesn’t it strike you as odd that there’s no movement, no sign of what they’re planning, no hint of a target or of a battle formation? They’re inert. ’
‘But this is exactly what they do. The key men always lie doggo before an attack, right up until the moment they’re needed. In the files you’ve just read there are cross-references to the capture of a Spanish cell and their plans to drive a truck full of explosives and cyanide into the US Embassy in Paris. None of the principals cased the joint, none went anywhere near the target. That’s the way they operate.’
‘So if we already know their MO, why the hell are we studying it further?’
‘You know, you’re a very smart, very beautiful woman Isis. But you can’t run the whole goddam programme.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like an old-fashioned male supremacist, Nathan.’
‘That’s not true. But you are becoming a royal pain in the ass.’
‘Aha, the same phrase used to me by a member of the CIA in Tirana after a briefing from your Jim Collins. Were you in on that conversation, Nathan?’
‘No, but I did overhear a little of what they said. Collins and Vigo were talking on the phone to Milos Franc. I heard that – yes.’
‘Right. During that conversation, information about me – my address and my father’s address – was released so that the Albanian Intelligence Service could threaten me.’
‘I wasn’t party to that,’ said Lyne, looking her straight in the eye.
So Vigo was responsible, she thought. That was hardly surprising, but she was puzzled by his motive. ‘Why do you think he would do that? It’s not as though Karim Khan was remotely important to RAPTOR. Why would he go to the trouble of threatening me?’
‘Has it occurred to you that he might just have wanted to scare you a little? Clearly you were causing trouble in Tirana. Maybe it’s Vigo’s way of warning you to toe the line.’
‘By releasing my father’s address, which is still classified information? That’s a serious breach of security. Vigo is breaking the Official Secrets Act.’
‘Look, Isis, my patience is kind of running out here. I saved your ass when you were in trouble with Vigo and Spelling over the break-in. Will you just give me a break and shut the fuck up? Okay, so you were threatened a little. So what? You’re back here and now you’re expected to work for a living.’
‘You know I’m right, Nathan.’
‘Right about what?’
‘About RAPTOR. It’s not working.’
‘I’m not going to discuss it any longer. We both have work to do.’ He pushed himself back to his screen.
Dolph had been watching the exchange. He got up and came over. ‘Permission to give Herrick a jolly good spanking, sah.’
Lyne didn’t smile.
‘Failing that, perhaps we could go for a smoke up top?’
‘Fine, I’ll see you back here in half an hour.’
Herrick checked her watch. It was 4.20 a.m. Beirut was two hours ahead and she could just about get away with calling Sally Cawdor. She picked up her bag and followed Dolph to the elevator bank.
A minute or two later they walked out of the modest brick building which capped the Bunker and strolled a little way to the airfield, surrounded by the scent of mown grass mingled with dew. Dolph took out a pack of Marlboro and offered her one. She looked up with the first drag. ‘No stars,’ she said.
‘Did you make the call to Beirut?’ he said, flicking the match away.
‘No, I will in a few minutes.’
‘What are you up to, Isis?’
‘Following my nose.’
‘And what a nose. Tell me.’
‘Not for the moment.’
‘It’s got something to do with you breaking into the bookshop? ’
She shook her head.
‘Why don’t you just tell Dolph about it?’
‘Because I can’t,’ she said.
‘You think I’ll tell Vigo?’
‘You did work for him once.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’d grass you up, Isis.’ He looked at her. ‘You know, there’s a really fascinating intelligence problem here. These guys are a mystery. They are not following any of the usual patterns. They’re not making the connections with al-Qaeda, the Armed Islamic Group or any of the other groups – Salafist group for Call and Combat, for example. They’re like a parallel group. There is no communication between the individual members. They’re-’
‘What about the money transfers from the Gulf, the network of helpers, the training in Afghanistan and the tri-border region? It looks pretty standard to me.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not. There’s something else, isn’t there?’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying. You’re trying to draw me out by repeating my arguments to me. It’s the oldest trick in the book, Dolph.’
A look of theatrical hurt passed across his face. ‘Captious, that’s the word for you. Even when someone agrees with you, you find a reason to doubt them.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said distractedly. ‘What about the foreign intelligence services? They must have got wind of RAPTOR by now.’
‘Yeah, they have. In Hungary the local plods are showing interest in suspect Eight, the Yemeni, and the French are definitely on to the Saudi in Bosnia, though we don’t believe they’ve sussed the operations in Toulouse and Paris. It’s a matter of time though. In Germany the BND are showing interest in the late Mohammed bin Khidir, in particular his fake passport.’
‘Time,’ said Isis, screwing the butt of the cigarette into the ground with her toe. ‘The whole thing is based on the assumption that we have time. Somewhere there’s a clock ticking. We seem to have forgotten that.’
‘Nathan hasn’t. He wants to know when, where and how. He’s just working within the system. He’s a genuinely good guy.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Hang around, will you? I want to ask you about Lapping but I do need to make this call first.’
She walked off into the dark and dialled the Beirut number. A bleary male voice answered after half a dozen rings and she asked to speak to Sally Cawdor. Sally came on, also a little sleepy.
‘It’s me – Isis. I’m sorry to call so early but-’
‘You picked your moment,’ said Sally. ‘We were up half the night trying to get me pregnant.’ She paused and giggled. ‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ In the background there was the sound of male complaint.
Isis smiled. Sally had been in the Service for four years before marrying a Lebanese businessman. Herrick had known her at Oxford but they were recruited independently. Sally was already in SIS when Isis joined.
‘You know that problem I had…?’ started Isis.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you manage to do anything about it?’
‘I emailed you and sent a message through Dolph to call me.’
