Once again, she wondered about Marko Novak’s timing. He hadn’t seemed at all surprised to find her in Montgomery’s apartment, and making the landlord open the door, rather than knock, suggested he wanted to surprise whoever was inside. The only thing that had seemed to catch him unawares was Montgomery being dead. Then there were the words he spoke as he tried to strangle her. “He was right about you.” That suggested Montgomery had talked about her, and it was now a safe bet he’d told Novak about her mole hunting. But had he also guessed she’d come to suspect him rather than Voclaine, or was at least working her way towards it? That would explain why he attacked her with such force, because there was no chance of mistaken identity. Montgomery had known exactly who he was fighting in that apartment.
As she drove along the N4, a theory formed. Could the apartment have been bugged? If so, Marko would have known something was wrong as soon as she and Montgomery began fighting. If it was also wired for vision he would have known even sooner, possibly from the moment Bridge broke into the apartment. And that could explain why he expected to see her, but was surprised at Montgomery’s body. If Novak headed for the apartment as soon as he saw her enter, then he would have been in transit when Montgomery returned home, fought with Bridge, and died, which all happened in the space of a few minutes. He hadn’t known Montgomery was there until he saw the body.
If Bridge was right, that meant the Russian was spying on his own mole. Not too surprising, but she wondered whether he trusted his fellow gendarmes more than that. Were they all in it together, coordinating the leak between them? Was he simply bribing them to look the other way? Or were they blissfully unaware one of their own was betraying not just the British, but their own country as well?
It was all too risky. If just one other gendarme was working with Novak, all it would take was a word to the wrong person and she’d find herself staring down the barrel of another SP2022. Agenbeux wasn’t safe for her any more, and as for trying to get into Paris unseen; she might as well shoot herself now.
She turned the Fiat south onto the N67 and began the long drive towards Côte-d’Or.
55
“It was originally shipped from Hong Kong. And it could already be in Portsmouth.”
Two short sentences that had sent Emily Dunston into overdrive, a flurry of phone calls and emails that culminated with Andrea Thomson sitting next to her in the back seat of a car as it raced to Portsmouth. While both women were veterans of their respective departments, their paths had rarely crossed. But Andrea had received a call from Giles Finlay — at home, of course — asking if she could accompany a colleague of his to Portsmouth for the night. A smuggling concern of urgent priority, he said, but couldn’t elaborate on the phone. Eight minutes later, a blacked-out car quietly pulled up outside her flat and Andrea climbed in to find Emily Dunston waiting for her.
“Thank you for coming, Ms Thomson. Technically I could just invoke the Terror Act, but I have a sense this will go easier if someone with domestic authority can pull a few strings.”
“Giles said it’s connected to smuggling. That’s not really my area…?”
“Doesn’t need to be. Let me worry about the details. Giles may act like he’s everyone’s friend, but he doesn’t trust people lightly. That’s why he recommended you.”
It took a moment for Andrea to realise this was a compliment. “You’ll still have to give me more to go on. I’ll help if I can, but I’m not willing to throw Five’s authority around without some kind of brief.”
Emily exhaled loudly through her nose. Finally she said, “No paperwork. Not yet. Strictly verbal only. Will that do?” Andrea nodded, and Emily continued. “We’ve been tracking an amount of what we call matériel chaud through Europe. It appears to have sailed from Hong Kong, over the Indian Ocean, up through Suez, to make landfall at Sines in Portugal. From there it travelled through Spain and into France, making its way to Saint-Malo. It shipped from Saint-Malo one or two nights ago, heading for Portsmouth by way of Guernsey.”
“Easy entry into the islands, no questions asked. And that puts it firmly inside UK territory, so getting it onto the mainland becomes easier.”
“Precisely. We assume that’s also why it came onshore at Portugal, rather than somewhere closer like Italy, southern France, or directly to the UK. To be blunt, it’s much easier to get the Portuguese to look the other way. Fortunately for us, the men entrusted with the package have been as subtle as a brick through a window. Our sources flagged them early when they crossed the Pyrenees, and we’ve been chasing them ever since.”
“I haven’t touched French since high school, but doesn’t matériel chaud mean, well, hot stuff? Is this an arms shipment?”
Emily snorted. “In a manner of speaking. We believe the package contains radioactive material, possibly caesium-137 or similar. We haven’t been able to determine where it’s bound for, or to what end. But now that we know it was sent from Hong Kong…”
“…You suspect Chinese involvement. I know we’re hardly best buddies with Beijing, but that seems a little extreme?”
“It could be a rogue actor, rather than state. Or it could be fully deniable by design. Or it could simply be a money maker. Certain groups will pay through the nose for this stuff.”
“And by certain groups, you mean terrorists. ISIS, and the like.”
“They’d have a field day. Just ten grams of caesium can contaminate a square mile of land. More, if the weather’s right.”
“And how much matériel chaud have you been tracking?”
Emily lowered her voice. “About fifty grams.”
As the car sped south on the motorway, Andrea
