The sirens were all around them now, cars converging from all points. Men in uniform were running towards them with weapons raised, moving crab-like as they identified potential threats and prepared to retaliate. Some were shouting, telling them to drop their guns and to get down on the ground. Others were urging shocked onlookers to safety. The official machinery of armed response was in full swing.
Harry saw Rik drop his weapon and lie back on the ground, then roll with difficulty on to his belly with his arms wide as a policeman stood over him with plastic cuffs. He did the same, knowing there was no choice. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rafa’i sink to the grass. The man looked shocked by the turn of events, and he wondered how long that would last. The former cleric no doubt had a fallback plan in mind.
Through a veil of grass stalks in front of him, Joanne’s face was turned towards him, eyes open but unseeing. The snarl was gone now, leaving her calm, void of expression. Then an armed officer in a dark jumpsuit moved across his line of vision and placed one booted foot on her arm before stooping to remove the gun from her hand.
Ballatyne arrived minutes later with a brace of helpers. He singled out Rik and Harry, ordered them to be released from their cuffs, and told two of his men to get Rafa’i out of sight. He looked around at the scene, taking in Joanne Archer’s body and the two dead soldiers, which were being covered with dark sheets, and shook his head.
‘What the hell happened here?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you two get enough greens? This is a blood bath.’ He lifted a corner of the cloth away from one of the soldiers and bent to peer at his face. ‘Yeah — that’s one of them. Clever move, coming in uniform. Who would have thought, eh?’
He turned as a constable approached holding Joanne Archer’s rucksack. Inside was a plastic bag full of money, Euros of every denomination.
‘Someone had a good pay day,’ Ballatyne murmured. ‘I think we can guess where that came from, and the banknote number you found at Jennings’ place should confirm it. She probably got Dog’s pay-off as well. Jennings didn’t take any chances; cash payments to hide the trail, then everyone disappears into the sunset. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong people.’ He told the constable to bag and tag the rucksack, then stared at Rik, who was being examined by a paramedic. The gunshot wound had been to his shoulder, but other than some blood loss and looking sickly, he seemed to be coping. ‘You were bloody lucky, Ferris,’ he said mildly. ‘That girl could shoot the eye out of a gnat, according to her record. Still, I suppose we all have our off days.’ He turned to Harry. ‘I need to speak to you — alone.’ His expression was unfriendly and Harry reflected that Marshall had left behind a tough and capable replacement.
‘Just a second,’ he said, and walked over to Joanne’s body. He lifted the cloth and studied the wounds, then dropped it back in place.
He followed Ballatyne across the grass to the lakeside path. Two armed policemen walked a few paces behind and stood by, silently watchful. A crowd of people from the lakeside cafeteria had gathered near the entrance and Ballatyne delegated one of the officers to push them back fifty yards.
‘Bloody people think it’s a tourist show. Ferris’ll be arrested, you know that, don’t you?’ He was watching Rik being led to an ambulance with a paramedic supporting him and two armed officers close behind.
‘Don’t talk wet,’ said Harry bluntly. ‘If you arrest him, you’ll have to arrest me, too.’
‘It doesn’t work like that and you know it.’ Ballatyne watched a duck swimming past a few feet away. ‘You’re one of the privileged few, authorized to carry. He’s not.’ He peered sideways at Harry. ‘Your record makes interesting reading.’
‘Rik was helping me. He saved my life — ask any of that lot.’ He gestured towards the crowd of onlookers who were being marshalled into a line by officers, ready to be interviewed.
‘We intend to, don’t worry. Not that it’ll help. You know how unreliable witnesses are: they’ll all remember something different and nobody will recall the good guy doing a heroic deed. To them, anyone with a gun is a villain — even the cops. Ferris will do time and there’s nothing I can do to help.’ He paused for effect. ‘Face it, Harry, he shouldn’t have been armed. What the hell were you thinking?’
Harry felt like pushing him into the lake, but controlled his anger. For someone spouting the law, Ballatyne didn’t seem all that serious, in spite of his expression. It was as if he were leading up to something.
‘If Rik hadn’t been armed,’ he said quietly, ‘I’d be dead. So would Rafa’i and possibly a fair number of innocent tourists. You’d have an international incident on your hands and half the Islamic world shouting about how one of their leaders had been kidnapped out of Baghdad and assassinated in a royal park just a spit away from Buckingham Palace and Downing Street. Oh, and the assassin? A member of the British Army, hired by members of the Coalition and helped by two other members of the British Army. That’d make great press.’
‘Former members,’ Ballatyne corrected him. ‘Those two bozos handed in their papers a while back. And records will show that Joanne Archer died heroically in Baghdad trying to protect an Iraqi VIP. Anything else?’
‘So how do you explain a dead female assassin in the centre of London?’
‘Who cares? If we have to, we lie. Haven’t you heard of spin? It’s been all the rage since ninety-seven.’
Harry felt hollow. Ballatyne seemed to have all the answers. But he wasn’t about to roll over just yet. ‘Before you do that,’ he said, ‘you might want to think how it will run in tomorrow’s media.’
Ballatyne blinked and studied Harry’s face. ‘You’d never do that.’
‘Is that what my record says? A lot’s happened since then. The story’s already written. Somebody would print it — if not here, then elsewhere or on YouTube. Throw in what went on when Paulton and Bellingham tried to kill us both in Georgia and there’ll be a feeding frenzy.’
‘Like I said, you’d never do it.’ Ballatyne’s jaw was firm, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
‘You’ve known my status long enough. Yet you still chose to use me — and Rik — because it suited you to have Rafa’i’s killers taken out without official involvement. Try screwing me on this and it’ll come back and bite you on the arse.’
Ballatyne sighed and looked away across the lake at a clutch of Canada geese making their way towards them. ‘I should come here more often, you know. It’s a nice place. Peaceful. I like ducks. They’ve got no agenda.’ He paused. ‘All right. But I want a quid pro quo. A big one. I want you to take Rafa’i back to Iraq.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
Harry stared at him. So this was what he’d been building to all along. Ballatyne didn’t give a stuff about Rik breaking the rules; all he wanted was leverage. The man was nuts. ‘Rik goes free. No prosecution.’
‘Yes. We want Rafa’i off our hands, the sooner the better. What he gets up to once he’s back in that bugger’s muddle called Baghdad, we don’t care. He’s too dirty for us.’
Harry grunted cynically. ‘So much for the Coalition’s golden solution.’
‘Well, let’s say he turned out to be low-grade gilt. Apart from the fund-gathering, we’ve had confirmation from two sources in Iraq that Rafa’i knew about the intended bombing of his compound in advance. I won’t go into all the nasty details, but it looks like he got wind of an attempt on his life and decided to use it to his own advantage. We’ll never know for sure, but it’s my guess he took Archer’s disappearance to a meeting as a signal that something was about to happen. He might not have known what her part was in all this, but probably figured she was being withdrawn so they could take him out without harming her. He may have counted on playing them at their own game and using Archer to vouch for him once he was over here.’
‘So what has this all been about?’
‘Propaganda. Power. Pecking order. The man’s no fool; he’s learned to read people. He’s a politician. He knew it was only a question of time before someone in his own community took a pop at him. But what if he turned it on its head? His survival and reappearance, followed by a triumphant entry to Baghdad, would be like the Second Coming. And with the funds and support he’s been gathering, it would create havoc. He’d be in a position of incredible power — for a while, anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It wouldn’t last. They’d use him for his contacts and influence, then get rid. It’s the nature of things over there. A lot of people don’t want him to get even that far.’
‘Like?’
‘Oil people. Money people. Some members of the new Iraqi government.’
