Faulkner looked nonplussed. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
Cavendish ploughed on. ‘Commodore Deveraux has been apprised of the situation by the American Ambassador. The fact that he is being told that his accomplices are under suspicion should be enough for him to seek early retirement as well, don’t you think?’
Nothing was said for a while because Faulkner was considering his options and the vague signals being sent out by the MI6 chief.
‘Why do I think there is more to it than this?’ he asked Cavendish. ‘Or am I supposed to know that too?’
Cavendish allowed himself a smile. ‘We shall see,’ he told Faulkner. ‘But at the moment we have succeeded in stopping the organisation in its tracks. We know the CIA have been sanctioning the operation for their own sordid reasons. We also know the part played in it by some members of the American Air Force. What we need now, Faulkner are names. We want names that will help us in breaking the so called Chapter of Mercy into a thousand pieces and protecting so many innocent people here in Britain and elsewhere.’
Butler spoke then. ‘James, I think you should cooperate. I think there is some quid pro quo here. Am I right Sir Giles?’ he asked, turning to Cavendish, who nodded. He then looked back at Faulkner. ‘If this crosses my desk officially, then I will be compelled to act. It will cause an enormous stink all the way back to the Whitehouse; you know that, don’t you?’
Faulkner could see he was trapped, even though it appeared that he was being offered a way out. He would have to resign on health grounds of course, or family reasons, but would his cooperation ensure his freedom? It was possible she would always live in fear that some rogue elements of The Chapter would come looking for him.
Finally he looked over at Cavendish. ‘Give me a few hours. I’ll go back to my office, sort some things out. Quid pro quo, right?’
Cavendish nodded. ‘Quid pro quo.’
Faulkner left and Butler spent about twenty minutes with Cavendish. They discussed the case briefly and Butler managed to extract a promise from Cavendish that he would keep the Met informed of anything that be useful to the police once Faulkner had been debriefed.
When the police commissioner left, Cavendish began planning the next stage of his campaign to kill the organisation stone dead. He now had some work to do with Susan and Marcus as part of the scheme he was considering. He managed a quick lunch at his favourite eatery and returned to his office a little after two o’clock in the afternoon.
At ten minutes past two his phone rang. He picked it up. It was the commissioner.
‘Sir Giles? Andrew Butler here. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’
‘Oh, and what is that?’ Cavendish asked.
‘It’s about James Faulkner. He has committed suicide; he shot himself.’
SIXTEEN
Susan shivered as the wind blew suddenly with swirling gusts that made walking difficult. The hammering rain forced her to keep her head turned away and from time to time the strength of the wind almost blew her off her feet.
Susan had caught the tube to Charing Cross and was now battling her way along the Strand to the Starbucks coffee bar where she had first met Cavendish. The rain and the wind were totally unexpected, as was the call from Cavendish. He said he had a proposition to put to her, and that he hoped she would not mind if he didn’t call on her at her home.
It had been something like three weeks since Susan had seen Cavendish. It had been the evening that Marcus had turned up unexpectedly at her house. She hadn’t seen Marcus since that day either and had wondered if her association with those two was at an end. What Susan did not know at the time was that Cavendish was keeping Marcus off the streets for his own safety.
Summer was turning into autumn and giving in too easily as it did in England. Susan had no umbrella and could feel the cold wind pushing the rain at her as she dodged from one pedestrian to another and wondering what on earth it was that Cavendish wanted to see her about.
She turned towards the large, double doors of the coffee house and pushed then open, welcoming the sudden shelter from the weather. She let the doors swing shut and stepped aside as someone made a move to go past her, his face a picture of gloom as he caught sight of the sudden squall that had sprung up outside.
Before Susan had finished running her fingers through her hair to flush out the wetness, Cavendish was by her side.
‘Let me take your coat, Susan,’ he offered.
Susan thanked him and allowed him to pull her coat from her shoulders.
‘We’re over there,’ he told her, pointing to the same corner in which they had sat on their first meeting.
‘We?’ Susan said, looking at Cavendish in surprise. Then she glanced across the room and saw Marcus sitting there. He smiled and waved at her.
Cavendish was grinning. ‘What would you like, coffee?’
Susan said she would and then tried not to make it look as though she was in a hurry to get across the room to Marcus, but she felt so good at seeing him there that she just wanted to rush over and say hello.
But she walked.
‘Marcus, what a surprise,’ she admitted to him as he stood up like the perfect gentleman he was. There was plenty of noise in the coffee house and she had no qualms about saying it loudly.
‘I’m like a bad penny, Susan; I keep turning up.’
Susan laughed and sat opposite him. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Marcus. Where have you been?’
Marcus glanced across at Cavendish. ‘He’s been keeping me under lock and key.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘It’s for my own good, so I’m told.’
‘Or is it for Cavendish’s good?’ she asked him, her nose wrinkling in that same sense of impish fun that Marcus was displaying.
‘You know, Susan, it really is good to see you. How are you?’
She gave a kind of so-so shrug. ‘I’m ok, Marcus, I just wish I could have done more to find David.’
He put his hand over hers. ‘Don’t ever give up,’ he said softly.
Susan liked the feel of Marcus’s hand on hers. ‘I won’t, but it’s difficult. Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘why are we here?’
He grinned. ‘I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you; it’s a state secret.’
Susan laughed. ‘Now come on, Marcus; what are we doing here?’
He winked at her. ‘All in good time,’ he told her. ‘All in good time’
Cavendish came up to the table and put Susan’s coffee down in front of her. He then sat down beside Marcus. The two men were now facing her. There was still a great deal of movement and general noise around them but Susan focussed her mind on the two men.
‘My dear,’ Cavendish began, ‘we’ve been doing an incredible amount of work behind the scenes since we saw you last, and you haven’t been forgotten.’
Susan sipped her coffee as Cavendish spoke, her curiosity level rising.
‘But first a little background before I come to the reason for asking you here.’ He glanced away for a moment and Susan wondered if he was play acting; putting on a show for her benefit.
‘When your brother was shot, he was working for me.’
As a statement it carried little weight, but it staggered Susan. She almost burnt her mouth as she dipped her head and gasped. Cavendish put up a hand.
‘It happens, Susan; men work undercover for the State, but they are not always allowed to reveal that. Your brother was a very good field agent; it was why he was on assignment at the Mission in Jalalabad.’
‘I thought he was a journalist,’ Susan said weakly.
‘So did The Chapter.’ Cavendish arched his eyebrows. ‘Well, for a time they did. We believe it was that organisation that tried to kill him.’
‘So this meeting is about David, isn’t it?’ Susan asked him, feeling a little surge of optimism rising inside
