‘Hope springs eternal. A new Hope. However bad things get, there’s always Hope. Love and Hope conquer fear and hate.’ Fairchild crossed his arms. ‘Campaign slogans from the primaries, Rebecca. The US is waiting, but the bigger picture is the globe is waiting. There’s an overwhelming imperative that Karen Hope becomes the next leader of the Western world. We are living in dangerous times. A steady hand on the tiller is what’s required. Straight ahead. Not left, not right, but down the middle. Nobody is going to believe this crap.’ Fairchild gestured at the envelopes. ‘On the other hand, those who know it’s true will do anything to prevent it coming out. Anything, understand?’
Silva glanced over at the blonde woman. ‘You mean…?’
‘That’s why they’re here. Not to say they’ll do much good if my card is marked. Much as I want to stop Karen Hope, I value my life too. It’s why evil people are able to do evil things, Rebecca. Because most of us are too scared to stop them.’
‘What about the terrorists who carried out the attack?’
‘We’ll deal with them separately.’ Fairchild put his napkin down on the table, pushed back his chair and stood. He slid the envelope across the table. ‘There’s more information in here and the evidence you want too. When you’ve read through everything, call me. If you’re still not interested then our relationship is at an end. I’ll respect your decision either way, but I’m not sure your father will.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Silva glanced to where the waiter was carrying two plates of food over. ‘Without eating?’
‘Tell him I was called away.’ Fairchild pulled out his wallet and laid two fifty-pound notes on the table. ‘Urgent business.’
‘But…?’
‘My time is precious. You’ll make your decision based on the evidence. I don’t think anything else I say will sway you.’ Fairchild gestured at the envelope. He’d done arguing and there was an air of resignation about his manner. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you’re more than this, more than passing time here, delivering letters, marking the days. You’ve done some remarkable things in your life so far, Ms da Silva, and I fully expect you to carry on in that vein. If we don’t meet again, then I wish you luck.’
Fairchild stepped away from the table and whirled round. He headed along the quayside, his aides moving from their positions and following at a discreet distance. The waiter laid the two plates on the table and glanced at the rapidly disappearing figure of Fairchild.
‘Change of plan,’ Silva said. She pointed at the seafood platter. ‘It’s just me, but you can leave that and I’ll see what I can do.’
Six a.m. the next morning and the bleeping of the alarm on his phone came all too early. Holm rose, showered and dressed. He’d slept badly and was still suffering from a thumping headache as he met Javed in the car park. There’d been four empty bottles of red wine on the table when the night had finally ended and Javed hadn’t moved beyond fizzy water.
‘You drive,’ Holm said, chucking the keys to Javed. ‘Be a bit rich if I got pulled over for drunk driving.’
Javed nodded and wisely chose not to make a joke.
Felixstowe lay a few miles to the south-east of Ipswich but the journey was quite long enough for Holm. Every turn of the steering wheel or dab of the brakes had him feeling nauseous.
The port was bordered by an industrial area with dozens of warehouses housing companies, all of which appeared to have something to do with shipping. SeaPak occupied a site adjacent to the railway. Hundreds of containers sat in stacks and a large building had a loading bay on each side. They cruised past and swung into the port proper. At the gate they were met by one of the port police, given visitor badges and shown where to park. They waited in the car for Cornish.
‘Not much security,’ Javed said, pointing at the fence. ‘The place is wide open. Can you remember anything being flagged up recently?’
‘No.’ Holm grunted a reply. He turned his head as a little Mazda sports car pulled alongside. Cornish. She lowered the window.
‘Well, one of you looks like they had a good night’s sleep at least,’ she said.
‘That’ll be Farakh.’ Holm wondered how Cornish could appear so radiant. Perhaps it was the fifteen years she had on him. ‘Me? I’m looking forward to my own bed.’
‘I try to avoid mine if possible,’ Javed said. ‘Makes for more fun.’
‘You, Emma and I should go out clubbing sometime,’ Cornish said. ‘Could be quite a night.’
‘That’s a date. I just need to think about what to wear and—’
‘Stop!’ Holm scrunched his eyes shut. He needed a coffee and a couple of painkillers. Something to eat too. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
‘Stephen,’ Cornish said smiling. ‘You sound like the proverbial bear. Can’t take your booze any more, is that it?’
‘We didn’t get breakfast.’ Javed placed his hand over his mouth and said in a stage whisper. ‘Proceed with caution.’
‘Once we’re done here, I’ll buy you breakfast. There’s this great truckers’ place just along the road that does—’
Holm held up his hand. ‘For God’s sake! The port. SeaPak. What we came for.’
‘OK.’ Cornish nodded. Last night she’d tentatively put forward her idea there was some kind of smuggling operation going on. As she’d elaborated, Holm listened and pretended he was hearing the theory for the first time. This wasn’t about drugs or cigarettes or any other low-grade contraband, she said. This was something far more valuable and explained why a professional hit – and that’s what the ammunition and weapon suggested – had been carried out. The conversation hadn’t gone further because Emma had said talk about the job was off-limits. Now Cornish elaborated.
‘People,’ she said, waving at a stack of containers in the distance. ‘Into the UK by the back door. I don’t know what the hell that has to do with animal rights, but there
