“You’re wrong. He takes it seriously. We all do. But he’s used to this sort of thing, and we’re not. Not all of us, at any rate.” Sabine paused. “How are you, by the way?”
“Tired.”
“I know Alex was a friend of yours. I’m sorry.”
Liz was silent for a moment. Then, “Thank you.”
“Dalton is right, however. We have to keep pulling threads until we get the right one. And that means you need to keep following this one, wherever it might lead. Even if it’s a dead end. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I know.” Liz looked at Olly. “I might need help.”
“All that we can give.” Sabine paused again. “Things are coming to a head here, I can feel it. So can Dalton, for that matter. There’s something brewing, just out of sight. The sooner we find out what it is, the sooner we can stop it.”
“Agreed,” Liz said. “Be seeing you.”
Sabine’s image blinked out. After a few moments of quiet thought, Liz regarded Olly again. “I figured they weren’t going to ask you any questions, but I thought you should see it.”
“What was that?”
“DedSec London. A good chunk of it, anyway. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes less. It depends on the day, what’s going on, that sort of thing.” She ran her hand through her hair and studied him, as if considering how best to approach a problem. “There was another shooting last night.”
“What? Where?”
“The Wolfe Tone.”
Olly raised his eyebrows. “That’s a Clan Kelley pub.”
Liz nodded. “Good chance whoever got topped was working for the Kelleys…”
“Or they wanted him dead.”
Liz shook her head. “They wouldn’t do it right on their own doorstep. Not so publicly, at least. Mary Kelley is a bloody-minded old hag, but she’s smarter than that.”
“So does that mean the Kelleys are mixed up in all this?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine Mary Kelley not being at the centre of something so vicious.” She paused. “What do you know about Albion?”
The question surprised Olly. “Just what I see on the news – or in the street.” Albion had become a definite presence in East London. They were on practically every other corner in Tower Hamlets, swaggering around in full military kit like they were in bombed-out Baghdad or somewhere. “Bunch of wankers playing toy soldiers, innit?”
“Dangerous, though. Do you know what it is Krish sent you to pick up yesterday?”
Olly shook his head. “Didn’t ask.”
“You’re smarter than you look.” She paused. “It was a dossier on Albion. Most of it we probably already know, but…”
“Information is information,” Olly said.
She nodded. “Albion are positioning themselves for… something. They’re not the only opportunistic bastards on the board, but they’re here now, and they’re the ones I’m worried about.” She tapped her Optik. “Yesterday, they had a bit of a set-to with the local coppers.”
An image – a drone-feed, Olly knew – popped up on his display. He saw the cops swarm towards a trio of Albion goons. No guns were drawn, but the tension was evident, even from high above. “What set that off?”
“According to the report of one PC Moira Jenks, one of the goons tried to walk off with some evidence.” Liz looked at him. “Like maybe an Optik that was used in the commission of a targeted assassination, for instance.”
“Shitting hell,” Olly murmured. “Albion did it? Why?”
“That’s what I’m planning to find out.” Liz smiled. “And that means we need to pay a visit to Bethnal Green police station.”
Olly stared at her. “You what?”
The restaurant was new. Chic, scruffy-trendy, the sort of place that wouldn’t last a year in the current economic climate. Sarah threaded her way through the tables, letting nothing of her disdain show on her face. Instead, she put her best smile as Winston Natha rose from his seat to greet her with genteel enthusiasm.
Winston was short and round and genial. The sort of man designed to run a corner shop and chase street urchins on the rob with a broom. He dressed well, but not too well, and his grey hair was slicked back against his skull. He stood as she drew close, and took her hands in his. “Sarah, it is ever a delight to see you.”
“Winston. You’re getting fat.”
“I prefer the term ‘sleek’. Like a sealion.” They sat and he looked her over. “You, on the other hand, look as statuesque as ever. How many times a week do you go to the gym? Six – or seven?”
“Once a day, work permitting. You should try it.”
“No, I prefer to invoke my privilege in this instance. As a man, my gravitas is only enhanced by a bit of patriarchal pudge. I’m told it lends me a grandfatherly air.”
“You do look a bit like Father Christmas, I confess.”
Winston smiled. “Then it is working. You’ve succumbed to my charms already.” He continued to smile as a waitress swooped down and took Sarah’s order. “I was surprised to receive your invitation. We haven’t spoken much since the election.”
“I’ve been busy, as have you.”
“Indeed, busy days, busy days. Much to do.” He paused. “What do you think about this TOAN conference business?” He took a sip of coffee. “You got an invitation, I’m sure.”
“I did. And you?”
“Of course. Are you going?”
“I’m debating it.”
Winston smirked. “That means no.”
Sarah smiled. “What about you?”
“Tempting,” Winston said. “We’ve spent enough on it. I feel somewhat obliged.”
“How much was it, at last count?” Sarah asked, as the waitress brought her coffee. She took a sip and regretted it. Burnt beans again, and way too much cinnamon. “We’ve spent tens of millions we don’t have, bringing in financial and tech-elites from all over the world. Just to remind people that Britain still exists and matters.”
Winston raised an eyebrow. “I’d say that’s fairly important, wouldn’t you?”
“At the moment, I can think of any number of better places for that money than paying for Skye Larsen’s glorified ego-trip. Oh, she says it’s about discussing the issues of the day – the housing crisis, the wage gap,
