‘No.’
‘Then why are your people pushing it?’ asked Toombs.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The thing I’m having a problem with is this,’ continued Toombs, now altogether less friendly. ‘Our people here have been watching closely and it’s like your guys don’t give a fuck. A paid assassin murders one of the greatest spies in the last fifty years, and what do they say? “Oh dear me, where shall we have the memorial event, and will there be cake and tea?”’ For this he attempted a British accent. ‘Seems like they just want to shove the whole thing into the office incinerator and move on – right?’
‘I can’t say,’ said Samson. ‘I’m out of the loop.’
‘But you aren’t. You’re the main man – the guy everyone wants to off. And I ask myself, where’s the fucking bubble wrap? They’ve done nothing to protect you. Why?’
‘I don’t want protection.’
‘Sorry, I gotta tell you this – right now, it looks like they actually want you dead. And that really interests us. Because it means you know something that a lot of people don’t want the world to hear – maybe even your own frigging MI6. You were a serving British Intelligence officer, and a good one. You’ve done them a lot of favours since they let you go – big, important stuff like tracking down the Syrian boy with that mother lode of IS intelligence. They owe you, right? So why don’t they give a shit if you’re dead? And you have to ask yourself – do they really care that Robert Harland was murdered? Maybe they think he deserved it.’
He looked at Toombs and Reiner and told them he had no idea what MI6 suspected because, humiliatingly enough, he didn’t know anything.
‘That’s exactly what your girlfriend said,’ said Toombs. ‘Yet you’re the only people in the world who can help us.’
‘Mrs Hisami is not my girlfriend and we haven’t been in touch for over two years, so that’s completely irrelevant. Look, just accept that I happen to agree with you about the British end of this investigation. I think it stinks, but I don’t know why that is.’
‘A smart guy like you, and you don’t know!’ said Toombs. ‘I don’t buy that. You know that you know something they don’t want you to know.’
‘That’s getting into the territory of known unknowns.’
‘What would you do if you were us?’ Reiner asked.
‘Focus on what Harland and Hisami were doing. They were on to something and it was big. Then, using the four hit men, I’d triangulate to find the person who paid them. At least three of those men knew each other, and the Ukrainian who killed Harland has the exact same profile, so there has to be someone who’s plugged into that network, or already knew them. What about the Ukrainian? Have you interviewed him?’
‘He’s sick, pneumonia,’ said Toombs. ‘But you’re right about the rest of it.’ He studied him. ‘But this is not just a gangster who hires a few shooters. We’re dealing with an individual who has access to an experimental nerve agent.’
‘Experimental?’
‘It was an early version of the binary agent used by the Russians in Salisbury. The agent used in Congress was unitary, which means—’
‘I know what that means,’ said Samson testily, and shifted his leg. ‘It’s crude, difficult to transport and very awkward to handle. So you’re wondering where the heck that came from. If this is not a sophisticated binary agent favoured by the Russians, there may be more of this cheap moonshine on the market.’
‘Exactly,’ said Toombs.
‘Ukraine,’ said Samson. ‘In 2018, Russia was about to deploy chemical weapons in the east of the country. Maybe some of that material found its way to the US. Plus, Ukraine is a really good conduit. I guess the fact that the nerve agent was crude could be a sign that someone is covering their tracks, which would be the same tactic as using a bunch of amateur gunmen instead of professionals.’ He glanced at the two younger officers, who had said nothing. One was making a note on his phone. ‘Look, there’s not a lot I can tell you, but when I learn something, I will. I want to help.’
Toombs raised his eyebrows at Reiner. Reiner nodded, thought for a few moments and looked at Samson. ‘This is a story of two briefcases,’ he started. ‘One briefcase, belonging to the lawyer, was destroyed, and that is a dreadful shame because in it we believe was some material, a dossier – call it what you will – which we think Mr Hisami was going to use if things got rough in the hearing. But the briefcase was pretty much marinated in the nerve agent and it was the first thing to be burned. We don’t know the nature of the material, and Mr Steen’s office can’t help. We have copies of all the documents that his assistant gave him that morning and there’s nothing unusual among them. The second briefcase belonged to Mr Hisami, and that contained a mystery in the shape of a two-year calendar with entries that we don’t understand. What’s so strange about this is that Mr Hisami’s assistant and Jim Tulliver kept his calendar electronically, so there was no need for a physical one unless it was a record of activities that he wished to keep secret. Neither Mr Tulliver nor Mrs Hisami were able to tell us what was in the first briefcase, which isn’t surprising, and they insist they have no understanding of the entries in the calendar.’
‘You don’t believe them.’
‘We
