‘Yes, but what’s in the containers?’
‘Whatever Taher wants. Terrorists and weapons, I suspect.’
‘Every two weeks?’
‘Not necessarily. Could be they continue to move the containers whatever. Perhaps there are usually legitimate goods inside, so if there did happen to be an inspection the Border Force would have to be very lucky to strike gold.’
‘So what do we do next?’
‘According to the schedule the container will be on board the Excelsior bound for Rotterdam the day after tomorrow. If we’re going to meet its twin on the other side of the North Sea then I’m afraid we have to tell Huxtable something.’
‘Not the truth?’
‘No. I’ll use the Nazi memorabilia story. We’ve discovered that Henderson has links with far-right groups in the Netherlands. We make the case for going over to Rotterdam and liaising with our Dutch counterparts. Take it from there.’ Holm shrugged. ‘To be honest, as long as we keep a low profile, she’s not bothered what we do.’
The Spider was a little more prickly than Holm expected when he put forward his plan. First the budget wouldn’t stretch, then she said it was out of their jurisdiction, finally – and rather insultingly – she proposed sending an away team comprised of operatives better able to function under demanding conditions. By which she meant younger in the case of Holm, more experienced in the case of Javed.
In the end, though, she caught herself in her own web: the budget wouldn’t extend to a full-scale operation and with the heightened levels of threat in the UK and abroad, the best agents couldn’t be spared.
‘We’re going on a trip,’ Holm said when he returned to the office. ‘To the Netherlands.’
‘Us?’ Javed said. ‘You mean you and me?’
‘Yes. Don’t sound so surprised. You seem to have caught a whiff of the Spider’s scepticism. You don’t think we’re up to it?’
‘No. I mean, yes.’ Javed bit his lip for a second. ‘I mean—’
‘You mean you’re up to it but I’m not, right?’ Holm glared at Javed. ‘How many countries have you visited?’
‘Loads. Last year I went to the Seychelles.’
‘I’m not talking about holidays, I mean on service business.’
‘None.’
‘How many live operations have you been on?’
‘None.’
‘How many arrests have been made as a result of your research or actions?’
‘None.’
Holm shook his head and tutted. He gestured at Javed’s monitor. ‘You’re good with computers though, right?’
‘You know I am.’
‘Well get on that thing and get us flights to Amsterdam and car hire once we’re there. And make the car a decent one. I don’t fancy driving God knows how many kilometres in some jalopy.’
‘Driving?’
‘Don’t look so surprised. How else are we going to track the container back to its origin?’
‘I thought…’ Javed turned and stared at his screen. ‘You know. Helicopters. Satellites.’
‘You’ve been watching too many movies. This is you and me, lad. The Spider might scrape to a few tankfuls of petrol and some cash for a snack or two on the way, but helicopters and satellites are out of the question.’
‘But if we tell her we’re after Taher, wouldn’t that help?’
‘If we tell her we’re after Taher then I’ll be drawing my pension next week and you’ll be issuing parking tickets around Westminster.’ Holm put a finger to his lips. ‘No, we keep this quiet. Hush-hush. Stick to the guff about old Nazi uniforms and moth-eaten swastikas. That’s what we’re after. I can see our colleagues in the canteen coming up with a few jokes at our expense, but the last laugh will be on us.’
Javed turned back to his screen without saying anything and Holm wondered if the young man believed a word of it. He wasn’t too sure himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Fairchild and Lona left the next morning. Lona was taking Fairchild to the airport before going to Positano to make preparations. Silva and Itchy continued to practise for the rest of the week, and late on the afternoon of the fourteenth of August they piled the equipment into the van. Gavin drove and they wound their way out of the mountains and headed for the town of Salerno. From there they followed the road along the Amalfi Coast. The route hugged the coastline, winding back and forth along steep hillsides which plunged to the sea. Houses clung to cliffs or sat on rocky outcrops, and hotels loomed precipitously above stone walls and wire netting that held back crumbling buttresses. The effect was haphazard, but the vista was undeniably beautiful.
‘Beats rainy Plymouth,’ Itchy said as they crawled along in a queue of tourist traffic. ‘Just about the only thing the same are the boats.’
Itchy was right. Yachts and motor boats dotted the sea along with numerous sightseeing craft. Huge gin palaces cruised past, tanned beauties of both sexes splayed out on the foredecks. Silva thought of the Hope family and their wealth. She glanced at her watch. By her reckoning, Karen Hope had less than thirty hours left to live.
She closed her eyes. Swallowed back a feeling of nausea. Thought, oddly, of Sean. She remembered him being in awe of Hope, beguiled, enchanted. What would he say if he knew what Silva was about to do? She doubted he’d understand her motivation or be in any way sympathetic. Perhaps that lay at the root of the problems between them. Extraordinary circumstances had thrown them together but were they really suited? She wasn’t sure and now, with what was about to happen, she wondered if she’d ever get to find out.
A little while later they came to the outskirts of Positano. The view was breathtaking. A succession of white buildings cascaded down to the sea where several
