But now, inside this pub, Andrea may have found those same culprits. After greeting her, Giles dropped his jacket on the seat and walked to the bar, standing a couple of stools down from the men. There was quite an age difference between them. The older man was of average height but thick build, a combination of muscle and weight that spoke of a man still capable of intimidation, but relying too much on past glories. His face was thick and fleshy, with eyes set among deep lines of hard experience that ran all the way to his thinning silver hair.
The other man was younger, tall and slim. He kept in shape, but unlike his acquaintance, didn’t hold himself with the air of a man trained to fight. He wore a cream coloured woollen cap which, judging by the stray curls escaping at various places, struggled to hold a mass of hair in place. The hair was the same sandy blond colour as his beard.
The men stopped their quiet, urgent discussion when Giles reached the bar. He ordered a beer and made a show of checking his phone, hoping they’d resume, but instead they chatted much more amiably, with the younger man asking the other how France had been on his last trip. Giles resisted smiling as he put away his phone and carried his beer back to the table. To anyone else, chatting about a recent trip to France would mean nothing; just innocently passing the time of day. But in the context of Exphoria, it spoke volumes. He sat next to Andrea and asked, “How did you spot those two in here?”
“They weren’t in here at first. I got to the location in time to see them crossing the road together, away from the park and heading for the pub. Nobody else looked likely, so I figured I’d give it a chance. And there’s been no-one around since.” Giles noticed that she’d chosen a table window, affording a view of the green space across the road, to keep watch.
“Bloody good work,” he said, sitting down. “If these really are our guys, it sounds like the older man was recently in France, so could be the mole’s contact. I wonder who the other chap is?”
“He looks like a computer type. Maybe he’s the mastermind, and the bruiser’s just a merc.”
“Certainly possible. Idealism is the province of the young.”
“Speak for yourself, gobshite,” Andrea laughed. She took out her iPhone and switched to the camera, casually holding it up with one hand. “Lean in. Pretend I’m showing you a photo album. Smile, for God’s sake.”
Giles did as ordered, and saw that Andrea was pointing the camera in the general direction of the two men at the bar, who had resumed their argument, although in a calmer fashion than before. He smiled, said, “Oh yeah, that’s great,” in the most vacuous tone he could muster, and pointed at the screen. His finger touched the on-screen shutter button, snapping a photo. They continued the charade for a while, taking subtle photos where it would seem natural, even taking a selfie at one point to maintain the illusion.
“Pity these things don’t come with boom mics,” said Andrea. “You should get your tech boys on that. They all like to think they’re Q.”
“And here I thought you people could hack someone’s phone mic from across the room,” said Giles. “Or do you have to call in GCHQ for that?”
“Cheeky bugger.”
“Yes, well, don’t look now.” The older, thickset man was gathering his coat, preparing to leave. He checked his watch, said something to the younger man, then headed out of the door. Giles took a sip of his beer and said, “Quick, call me.”
Andrea still had her iPhone out. She dialled Giles’ number, while pretending she was still looking at photos.
Giles answered his buzzing phone and conducted one side of an imaginary ‘work emergency’ conversation for the benefit of anyone within earshot, particularly the younger man at the bar. He didn’t seem to be paying Giles and Andrea any attention, but neither would anyone trained in surveillance.
Giles ended the fake call, said, “Sorry, love. Emergency, I’ve got to go in,” and kissed Andrea goodbye.
38
The thickset man had left less than a minute before. Giles stepped onto the street, still carrying his Samsung phone, and pretended to make a call while scanning the street for his quarry.
The first surprise came when the man set off walking west, towards King’s Cross, instead of making a beeline for Angel tube station as Giles had expected. He was going at a fair clip, too. Keeping his phone pressed to his ear, Giles turned in the same direction and followed.
Monday nights were quiet around this area, but the weather was good, and the street became busier as they drew closer to King’s Cross. Giles crossed the road several
