All nine at the table had an identical copy of the same classified file open in front of them. Everyone was by now thoroughly familiar with the details of the man whose movements they’d been following for the past twenty- four hours. They’d observed him being taken from the scene of the gallery robbery to hospital. Tracked his route to and from the Carabinieri HQ in Rome, and had been watching him via the CCTV airport security system when he’d strangely missed his flight and apparently decided to remain in Italy.
‘What are you up to, Mr Hope?’ Patricia Yemm said with a half-smile, watching intently as the figure onscreen walked the quiet suburban streets. The satellite image was magnified large. They could see the thoughtful bow of his head as he walked, the glow of his cigarette.
‘You mean, apart from destroying this entire operation?’ Blackmore said.
Ferris made an impatient gesture. ‘The question is, what do we do with him?’
Across the table from Jamie Lister, a large, square-shouldered man called Mack spoke for the first time. ‘I think we’d all agree that Hope’s involvement in this delicate situation represents a potentially disastrous liability for us. I mean, it’s sheer luck that he got out of there before the bloody police arrived. This was a carefully laid plan and he’s blundered into the middle of it – not just once, but twice now. He’s a loose cannon. I can see only one solution.’
‘I concur with that,’ said a woman to Lister’s left. She had dark brown hair cut short like a man’s, and bright red lipstick that glistened under the lights. The name tag on her jacket read Lesley Pollock.
There were nods and murmurs of assent from around the table. Lister looked down at the file in front of him and said nothing. His mouth was dry. There was a carafe of mineral water and nine glasses in the middle of the table, but he was aware of the unwritten rule that nobody would drink until Ferris did, out of deference.
‘Therefore I propose that we act to take him out of the picture,’ Mack said, looking solemnly up and down the table at his colleagues. ‘And try to see a clear way out of this God-awful mess we’re in.’
Patricia Yemm turned away from the screen and swivelled her chair close into the table. She tapped long red fingernails against the open file in front of her. ‘Are we sure we want to initiate terminal action against this man? He’s not the easiest of targets. It could get very ugly.’
‘Naturally, it needs to be quick and quiet,’ Mack said. ‘Difficult, not impossible. Nothing is impossible. That’s been proven time and again, by this department and others.’
Lesley Pollock pursed her lips and nodded. ‘It’s simply a question of selecting the most appropriate asset to allocate the task to. We have people on standby. Just takes a text message. Problem deleted.’
Lister’s mouth felt more parched with every passing minute. He’d known what to expect when he applied to join the department. Even so, the conversation seemed quite surreal to him.
He thought about his father. He swallowed.
‘Have you read Hope’s file?’ Yemm said doubtfully, turning to look down the table at Mack and Pollock.
Mack flushed with irritation. ‘I’m perfectly aware of his capabilities. But he’s not the only one we’ve trained to that level. He can be taken out. And that’s the course of action I would advocate at this point. I frankly don’t think we’re left with a choice in the matter.’
Ferris had been listening carefully with his chin lowered to his chest. He clicked his tongue, and all eight heads turned, instantly attentive. ‘It’s my feeling,’ Ferris began, then interrupted himself to reach a long, bony hand across the table and pick up the carafe of water. He took his time pouring himself a glass, and sipped slowly. Lister seized the opportunity to fill a glass for himself, too. He drained it in a gulp. Blackmore watched him.
Ferris resumed, measuring his words carefully. ‘It’s my feeling that, while our friend here has most certainly been a liability for us up until now – and in principle I might agree with my esteemed colleague’s assessment – there’s an alternative course of action none of you appears to have considered.’
All eyes were fixed on Ferris, except for Mack, who seemed to have taken a sudden profound interest in the strap of his watch.
‘As I see it, Major Hope’s sudden and unexpected intrusion into the Urbano Tassoni situation works rather neatly in our favour,’ Ferris continued. ‘Under the circumstances, deletion is not the appropriate course of action. And I don’t want this dealt with privately. I want this man brought in alive, as noisily and publicly as possible.’
‘Sir, I’m not sure I follow,’ Lesley Pollock said, frowning.
Ferris smiled a dry smile. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. ‘Let me tell you about my grandfather,’ he said. ‘He was a colonel in the British army. During the twenties he spent some time in India, where, as a professional tracker and rifleman, he was commissioned by the rulers of several provinces to hunt down and destroy rogue tigers that were attacking and eating rural workers. Which he did, very successfully, thanks to certain methods.’
‘Sir?’
‘It’s really quite simple,’ Ferris said. ‘Bear with me. If I explain a little about how my grandfather worked, you’ll understand my thinking on this.’
Ferris went on, and his line of reasoning soon became clear.
Jamie Lister’s mouth went dry again as he listened. It was warm in the operations room, but fingers of ice seemed to be working their way around him. He stared at the table, knowing Blackmore was watching every twitch of his face for a response, and stayed resolutely blank.
‘And that’s how you catch a tiger,’ Ferris finished. He scanned the faces of his team. ‘Now do you understand? It’s a logical conclusion.’
Nobody argued.
‘So it’s agreed,’ Ferris said. ‘I want Hope in custody within the next twelve hours. Alert the Italian police.’
‘You expect them to bring him in, just like that?’ Mack said.
‘I do not. That’s why I want to send in one of our own to head up the task force.’
‘Department?’
Ferris shook his head. ‘Let’s keep back from this.’
‘We’re going to need someone very good,’ Yemm said, ‘if we’re to have a chance of catching him. Someone every bit as capable and smart as he is.’
Blackmore looked at her. ‘Did you have anyone in mind?’
Visibility was minimal as the black unmarked Vauxhall V6 Vectra tore northwards through pouring rain along the M60 Manchester ring road at a shade under a hundred miles an hour. Each of the three occupants of the speeding car was occupied with their own thoughts, and nobody spoke. They were in that quiet space where tension and alertness combine with disciplined training to create a sense of purposeful calm.
They’d been waiting months for this moment. Now, at 11.26 p.m. on this dismal night, it looked like they were finally about to score.
Vince McLaughlin was sitting in the back, wearing the same faded jeans and field jacket he always wore. Across his knee was the police-issue Heckler & Koch MP-5K that he’d just finished checking for the fifth time. In the front passenger seat, Mick Walker was nursing the secure frequency radio they were using to communicate with station HQ and the pilot of the unmarked SOCA helicopter whose blinking lights could be seen high above them through the drifting rain.
The third occupant of the Vectra was a woman named Darcey Kane. Her slim, strong hands were relaxed on the wheel as she skilfully wove the car through the light traffic. Her black hair was tied back under a black baseball cap. Walker and McLaughlin were both very well acquainted with the fierce glint in their team commander’s slate- grey eyes and that set to her jaw she always had when going into action. She was as focused as a hawk on its quarry. She pressed her foot down a little harder and the speedometer crept up past the hundred and ten mark. The
