Gunnymede contained his surprise as well as a level of embarrassment.
‘When Saleem came off the ship? At the oil terminal. Did he say anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘But he knew it was you.’
‘Who set up the team?’
‘Jervis. Maybe they just haven’t told you yet. I think you should be at the next meeting.’
‘If I’m invited I’ll come.’
She chuckled softly. ‘That sounded petulant.’
‘I’m hurt.’
‘You’ll get a message.’
The phone disconnected. Gunnymede remained sitting up.
That was a surprise. Neve. Jesus.
Bethan was in her Dartmoor cottage sitting in front of the fire reading a book when her phone chirped. It was Dillon.
She picked it up. ‘Take all the time off you want. Relax and ignore all phone calls. Forget about work. Yet here you are.’
‘I didn’t say forget about work altogether.’
‘I think you did.’
‘How are you?’
‘Bored.’
‘You’re ruined, then.’
‘Why?’
‘Your job was never supposed to be that exciting. You’ll always be bored now ... Are you alone?’
‘Is this you being fatherly again?’
‘Can you talk, is what I meant.’
‘Yes.’
‘When do you think you’d like to return to work?’
‘What’s come up that can’t wait for me to heal naturally?’
‘Looks like you’ve come under the gaze of the cloak and dagger brigade ... SIS. Secret intelligence services.’
‘I’m already less bored.’
‘They want you to consult.’
‘On what?’
‘There’s a team.’
‘What kind of team?’
‘That’s why they’re called the secret services. Don’t know why they’re called intelligent though. A little bird told me the whole Southampton cockup was because of them. Rumour has it that battle at the ship was their people. I’m surprised you didn’t see any of them.’
She didn’t say a word.
‘There’s something else,’ Dillon said. ‘Your friend Devon Gunnymede. Regarding your military revenge conspiracy. He’s top of the list of suspects.’
‘I explained why I thought he couldn’t be a suspect.’
‘I’m unconvinced. Have you heard from him?’
‘No.’ She masked her disappointment.
‘Well, I recommend you keep well away from him if he tries to make contact. I’m putting a request into MI6 to present him for questioning.’
‘I think you might be wasting your time.’
‘They’re not a law unto themselves you know, even though they might think they are.’
‘I meant, I don’t believe he’s a bad guy.’
‘We’ll see. Can I reply to this SIS request and tell them you’re available?’
‘Yes. I can leave any time.’
‘You’re sure? It means coming back to London tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Okay. Well. See you soon.’
‘’Bye,’ she said and put down the phone.
She sat back in thought a moment before heading into her bedroom to pack.
Gunnymede left his apartment, down the stairs and through the lobby of his apartment block on his way outside when he noticed something in his mailbox. He opened it to find an envelope addressed to him. It was the first piece of mail he’d received at the apartment.
He opened it. All it contained was a small piece of paper with bright yellow stripes across it.
Gunnymede walked into the ante room of Harlow’s office to find Aristotle sitting and reading a newspaper. There was the slightest hint of surprise on the Greek’s expression when he saw Gunnymede.
‘Is the old man in?’ Gunnymede asked.
Harlow’s secretary gave him her usual look of disapproval before picking up the phone. ‘Mr Gunnymede is here.’
She replaced the phone, walked to Harlow’s door and opened it. Gunnymede walked through. Aristotle put his newspaper down and followed.
Harlow was behind his desk. ‘Gunnymede. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine, thank you?’
Aristotle closed the door.
‘If you’re looking for an update, we’ve nothing on Saleem. We think Krilov has left the country. Spirited away by his master. I have my doubts Krilov could’ve helped us identify Spangle anyway. Krilov was merely the UK manager of Spangle’s heroin empire. We might’ve gained some understanding of Spangle’s relationship with Saleem but there you go.’
Gunnymede didn’t acknowledge any of the information, as if it was inconsequential.
‘What is it?’ Harlow asked, seeing something in Gunnymede’s look.
Gunnymede dropped the envelope onto Harlow’s desk. Harlow looked at him enquiringly before picking it up. He tipped the yellow striped piece of paper onto his blotter.
Aristotle leaned in to take a look, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Gunnymede and Harlow who were both looking at each other. ‘I don’t know the significance of this.’
‘It’s a Spangle wrapper,' Harlow said, examining the envelope address.
‘Did you send it?’ Gunnymede asked Harlow.
‘Why would I send it to you?’
Aristotle touched it with a finger. 'You said it was a boiled sweet from the 1980's.'
Harlow took a closer look at the sweet paper. 'It is.'
'So how did he get it?' Aristotle asked.
'Is that relevant?' Gunnymede said.
'What's relevant is he knows where you live,’ Harlow said.
'Not only that,' Aristotle said. 'He's also telling us he knows where Gunnymede lives.'
Harlow turned the wrapper over but it looked very ordinary.
'Maybe there's something embedded in it,' Aristotle suggested.
'We'll have it examined of course,' Harlow said.
‘If it really was from Spangle, how did he know his codename was spangle?’ Gunnymede asked.
‘Ah. That would be my fault,’ Harlow said. ‘Three years ago we attempted to employ the resources of our allies, the Germans and the French. It didn’t reveal anything particularly useful and it left Spangle’s codename exposed. Once again demonstrating the porosity of our dear European friends.’
‘How would he know where I live?’
‘The police I expect. When we lent you to Scotland Yard, you were exposed to the police administrative system.’
‘Another reason why you sent me to Albania.’
‘Yes. A positive development don’t you think?’
‘So Spangle just sent me a message saying hello, I know you’re back in the game and I know where you live.’
‘This time it was hello. Let’s hope next
