scene though his mind. Parrish had run out probably counting on using the arrival of the Land Rover as a distraction, or to draw fire from the boat. They would never know which. All he’d done was make the men on the boat think the kids in the Land Rover were part of the intercept.
And therefore a target.
Unless…
‘Who was Red Three?’
‘Bloke called Doyle? Why?’
‘I tried to raise him when the Land Rover turned up. There was no reply.’
‘Could have been a comms breakdown. He was covering a lot of ground that night.’
‘Is he any good?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. What do you want him to do?’
‘The Met were taking regular aerial shots of the area the day before the bust, right up to the closure of the cordon. I saw a couple during the briefing, when we were going over the approaches. Can you get a look at other copies through Doyle?’
‘I suppose so. Not sure what I’d tell him, though. Like you, I’m out of it.’
‘Not quite. You can still walk in the building without being arrested. This is important. Tell him something’s been bugging you about the Land Rover and you can’t let go of it. Professional pride and all that. You don’t have to mention me, though.’
‘What about it? He’s bound to ask.’
Harry shrugged. ‘Like how did it get there? A noisy great Land Rover out of nowhere?’ He shook his head.
Maloney thought about, then did a double take, nearly slamming into the rear of a truck pulling out with a signal. ‘Shit! You’re right. Even with the holes in the cordon, someone would have seen it. But if they didn’t drive through the cordon right then…’
‘… they must have been inside already,’ Harry finished. ‘Get the aerials of the track and anywhere that could have housed a Land Rover. And look at the background on the two kids.’
‘I can tell you that now. The girl was Estelle McGuiness, the daughter of a local chief superintendent.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘I know. It gets worse. He admitted he’d talked about the operation at home. His daughter was into birdwatching and the Wetland Trust activities in a big way, and worried a drugs bust would upset the birds.’
‘So she’d have known when it was going to be shut down.’
‘Exactly.’ He looked grim. ‘Her father’s been suspended.’
‘And the boyfriend?’
‘Nothing. Friends say she’d only recently met him in a local club and she was besotted. He showed particular interest in her birdwatching. Apart from that, he’s a mystery.’
‘Meaning bent — he’s got to be.’
‘But how do we prove it?’
‘There’s only one way. We find where that bloody Land Rover was stashed. After that, it’s up to the Met to trace the boyfriend.’ Harry’s mind went back to the way the young man had held up a hand towards the incoming boat. Was it the gesture of an innocent man seeing the gun — and making a vain attempt to ward off the shot that followed?
Or a not so innocent man finding himself in the middle of a police trap and trying to tell his friends on the boat that he hadn’t betrayed them?
It was nearly dark by the time they reached the river in central London. Rik had already jumped out at New Cross, saying he would be in touch. Shoulders bunched against the cold and damp, he had merged swiftly with the crowd near the station.
‘He doesn’t say much,’ said Maloney, pulling into the traffic.
‘He’s in IT. He’s been through a steep learning curve. Good, though. Steady under pressure. I trust him.’
‘That’s enough for me.’ Maloney smiled. ‘You haven’t exactly had a lot of that, have you? Trust.’
Harry didn’t say anything. He’d filled Maloney in about Red Station, its members, the Clones, their narrow escape from Latham. Nikolai. With the telling, he was once more feeling drained. And now, with Rik gone, it was as if a string had been broken.
He thought about trust, and those who knew him. ‘What’s the chatter?’ he asked. The security industry was secret, but people still gossiped. The nuts and bolts of the shooting would have got out eventually.
‘You were handed a shitty deal,’ said Maloney. ‘Everyone knows it, too. If you were spotted right now, there’s not many would go out of their way to turn you in.’
‘Thanks. But it’s not them I have to worry about.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He started to say something else, then stopped.
‘What?’ said Harry.
Maloney picked at the steering wheel. ‘Whoever’s behind all this… they’ll be seriously worried about you, Harry. You and your mate. You’re the bogey who should have stayed in the cupboard.’
‘Are you saying I’m on another hit list?’
Maloney smiled at the irony in his voice. ‘Yeah… I suppose you wouldn’t be too bothered — not after what you’ve been through.’
Harry got Maloney to drop him off in Southwark. He knew a small hotel where he could hide for a few days and acclimatize himself once more to the noise and pace of London. With Waterloo station nearby, it provided him with an invaluable melting pot of humanity in which to lose himself should the need arise. All those entrances and exits, crammed with people; he actually felt safer when it was within reach.
Maloney handed him a mobile phone and a slip of paper.
‘Pay As You Go disposable,’ he said. ‘Same as mine. Ring if you need to. And the address of a doctor so you can get your arm looked at. He’s five minutes from here and knows not to talk. Mind your back.’
‘You, too. Thanks for your help. But stay clear from now on… it could be bad for your career.’
SIXTY-FIVE
Harry met Rik the following morning in a burger bar near Waterloo station. He wanted to discuss tactics. He had already visited Maloney’s friendly doctor for a change of bandages and a pronouncement that the wound was free of infection.
They found a table against the back wall. Harry had checked the rear and found a fire exit leading down to a narrow side street.
‘Is this what it’s going to be like?’ said Rik, twirling a tall mug of Cola. He sounded depressed. ‘Eyes in the back of our heads and frightened to go out anywhere?’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Harry tried not to scratch at his arm. It was driving him nuts. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Hope not. My mother’s already asking when am I going back to work. She’s not used to me being at home like this.’
‘It won’t be much longer.’ Harry sipped his coffee. It was worse than the stuff he’d been drinking in Georgia. At least that brew had a kick to it.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Before we left, Mace gave me two names. One is Sir Anthony Bellingham.’
Rik nodded. ‘MI6. Something to do with operations.’
‘Right. He’s the one who set up Red Station… also the one who set Latham on us.’
Rik stared down at the table. ‘You do pick them, don’t you? Who’s the other one — the PM?’
‘Marcella Rudmann.’
‘Oh. Yeah. The one on the Joint Intelligence Committee.’ To Harry’s surprise, Rik began to look shifty.
‘You’ve heard of her.’
‘Sort of.’
