An annoying short time later, Goren found himself downstairs in Tanya's kitchen again. It was six o'clock in the morning and everyone was up, dressed and attempting to look alert. Jack, who was probably the best-rested person present, was busy putting out coffee, juice, fruit toast and bacon sandwiches. Evidently he wore the cooking hat in his and Tanya's house. Goren debated the wisdom of a bacon sandwich if you were trying to lose weight, then thought the hell with it, and picked one up. It was delicious.
Jack wandered across to them, looking thoughtful and munching a piece of toast.
"Sleep well?"
"Not bad, thanks." For a man trying desperately to forget that his ex-lover is separated from him by only a thin wall, and trying not to picture her naked in the bath. He rubbed a toe where he'd caught it stumbling over boxes in the spare room whilst getting dressed. Jack spotted the movement.
"Sorry, I keep meaning to shift those boxes and clear that room out. That's going to be the nursery."
"You're expecting?" (Why was there no adequate phrase in the English language for asking a man if his partner was pregnant?)
"We hope to be," Jack replied, and smiled hopefully. "Tanya says she'd rather get it over with whilst she's young... which reminds me, it's her birthday in a few days' time..." He broke off, remembering the seriousness of what they were involved with.
"She has a point," Eames replied from behind them.
Jack tipped his head on one side and regarded them both thoughtfully. "Don't mind me saying but... the two of you haven't done anything wrong, or illegal, yet. We go through with this, and that changes; we could all lose our jobs, maybe go to prison. Are you sure you want to do this?"
Interesting, Goren thought, that it was McAllister asking this and not Davenport. "How many people does that stadium hold? You're putting your career on the line too."
Beside him, Eames nodded. "I don't want to lose my job either, but I don't think we have a choice here. If there's even a small possibility that they're wrong about what was planned for the soccer match, we can't ignore it."
"Good point, can't argue." Jack smiled wryly. Goren had the impression that something else was preying on the journalist's mind, but forced himself to ignore it. This was too important to focus on anything but the job in hand, namely, catching Mikhail Andropov.
Davenport wandered across, looking wide awake and slightly hyper, an expression Goren remembered from the start of the surveillance operation they'd been on together over two years ago.
"What's the news from Tanya?"
The spy swiftly swallowed the remains of his toast, followed by downing the rest of his tea and checking his cellphone. "Nothing so far. All Collins has done so far is sleep. She usually starts work at nine, so we've a couple of hours' grace to set things up."
"What's the plan?"
"Borrow a van, park up outside Towells Construction and listen in, then follow her if she goes anywhere, and with luck she'll lead us to Andropov."
"In the meantime, he's doing what?" Eames countered. "At this rate, we're going to be too late."
Davenport spread his hands in frustration. "If you have any better ideas for finding him, I'm open to suggestions. Right now she's our only lead."
"Any more news from Whitefield?"
Sienna replied. "No. I can't get hold of him at present, though I'll keep trying. Of all the times for him to be out of contact..." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'll see you all later. I'm due in court and I have to go rally the troops at work. There's not really a whole lot I can contribute here, anyway. I'll keep chasing the people I rang earlier, see if anyone turns up anything more on Andropov."
Davenport nodded, then grinned sardonically. "Well, if I don't see you before, I'll see you at the match on Saturday." He caught Goren's expression. "We were all planning to go – Michael & I, Jack, Tanya and SiSi. Which is a pretty good incentive for getting this right. Anyway, let's get going. I suggest that you two-" he gestured at Goren and Eames "-are with me in the van. If she goes anywhere, I can't follow her, if Andropov's planning anything linked to the stadium, he almost certainly knows what everyone on the task force looks like and he'll have told Collins to watch out for us."
"Will he know what we look like? He must know we've been investigating him for the murder of the Elahis. Hold on - Collins will recognise us unless we're careful, we met her when we visited her office."
Davenport sighed. "Good point." Then he grinned. "Actually, that could even be an advantage if we play it right." He frowned briefly. "Out of curiosity, why are you investigating their murder, anyway? I mean, I'm not arguing – it's manna dropped from heaven from my point of view – but surely they usually give that kind of thing to Homicide?"
Goren shrugged. "We don't know." He made a mental note to call back into Major Case – they were due to update Deakins on how things were going (and that was going to require some creative explanations), and now more than ever, they might need to know the answer to that little conundrum.
"Here you are." Davenport handed him a cellphone, then turned to hand them out to the others. "These are secure. They've all got different numbers, and the numbers are stored in the phone memory." They each checked which ones the others had, committing them to memory. "We can stay in contact with these – no-one can eavesdrop, not Andropov, not Mulligan."
Beside him, Jack turned to put away a jar of marmalade, and knocked over a box inside the cupboard, with a muttered "Bugger". He picked up the box and frowned. "Okay, who's been eating the porridge?"
Davenport & Sienna exchanged do you want to take this or shall I? looks, then Davenport replied, "Well, some say it was the big bear, some say it was the little bear..."
"Har-de-bloody-har," Jack replied. "Who's eating porridge in summer?"
"Probably someone who's been drinking too much," Sienna replied. "You told me that yourself. And right now, no-one really cares. Let's go."
Jack shrugged and replaced the box, muttering "Around here, that doesn't narrow it down."
Goren tried to follow this, then Eames sidled across and murmured "What she means is, it doesn't taste of much, so it's a good thing to eat if you think there's a chance you might be seeing it again. And be grateful you will never, ever, go through morning sickness."
I didn't really need to know that.
Half an hour later, the two of them plus Davenport were seated in Davenport's SUV. They were blocking the exit of an ancient Volvo from the driveway of an old terraced house in one of London's scruffier areas. It looked to Goren as though it was a shared house, probably containing students and people of a similar age who couldn't afford anything else. Davenport's plan was to "borrow" a van from the local council, on the grounds that an ordinary car with people sitting in it for hours might be spotted, but a council van could sit there for hours and not be noticed. They were currently waiting for a council employee he knew to try to get to work. How exactly he planned to get this person to lend them a van, Goren had yet to discover.
The door of the house opened, and a familiar figure emerged. Goren recognised him as the "receptionist" from Tanya's dojo; "Amp", the heavy young man with scruffy red hair. He stumbled out, rubbing his eyes, then stopped as he saw the SUV. Several expressions crossed his face; rage, determination, recognition, and the oh shit, it's you expression that Goren imagined a lot of people put on when they encountered Andrew Davenport.
Davenport opened the door. "Hiya, Amp. Can I have a word?"
"Do I get a choice?"
"No, not really."
"Alright." He clambered into the front seat of the SUV. "What can I do you for? And be quick 'cos I'm late for work. We've got three streets to repair lights on. You wouldn't think people would whinge about it so much in the summer, would you? "
"I need a van. Specifically, I need a van which looks like a council van. And you can get me one."
"You can't have one."
"I need a van."
Amp glared, then, in the manner of an Englishman trying to communicate with someone from another country, enunciated clearly "You... Can't... Have... One."
"What's it worth?"
"Nothing. I don't do that any more."
"I don't know why not. They dropped the charges. Thanks to me, I might add. According to me, you were just a poor unfortunate lad from the country in the big city, led into bad ways by his uncle, but at the last minute you decided the right thing to do was to talk to the police. Just as well, given what they were using the vans for..."
"Yeah. They dropped the charges. Do we have to talk about this?"
Davenport leaned across and addressed Goren & Eames. "Duncan here used to occasionally "borrow" the stencils from the council's painting depot. It's amazing how many people find council vans useful. They can park anywhere and no-one notices them, not even the police. You can fit so many different things in the back, drive them all over the city, and who can tell a white van with a council logo on apart from the real thing? Dead simple to paint it on the side, only takes a few minutes, and Duncan's uncle owes a secondhand van company, I'm sure he won't mind lending us one."
Amp squirmed. "Look, I don't do that any more. I don't work for my uncle, I kept my job at the Council, I'm getting my HGV license and getting out of here as soon as I can. I'm a good person now, Drew. I'm not fucking going back to that. Not for you."
Davenport's expression turned nasty. "Not even if I suddenly remember that actually, it was me who discovered that you were stealing the stencils? That the only reason you 'fessed up is because I'd have gone straight to the police anyway? Do you know how long you can serve for aiding and abetting people who deal in pirate DVDs? Do you know what that money goes towards? Do you know that DS Hunter down the local nick still thinks you were involved in actually driving those vans? They can still try you for that, Amp. You knew what you were doing, and the only reason I didn't drop you in it was because sometimes I'm too nice for my own good."
Amp swayed from side to side, a visible sign of distress. "They were my family, I was living with them, what was I supposed to do? They'd have thrown me out! And besides, that's a bloody joke. You're more of a bastard than my uncle or DS Hunter."
Davenport's face tightened just briefly. "Look, I'm only going to ask the once. I just need a van for today. You must know where your uncle kept a copy of the painting kit. Dead simple."
"No. I'm not helping you break the law. I've gone straight and I'm staying that way."
Goren could almost hear the crunching of mental gears as Davenport changed sales pitch in mid-course. "Amp, do you know what I do for a living?" His voice was a lot softer now.
"Nobody bloody does. I told Tanya about you, and she just said, don't worry, he's on the right side, you can trust him. Hah." Amp snorted and looked out of the car window unhappily.
"Right. Well, how about I put it this way; I'm not actually asking you to break the law. I just need a van, RIGHT NOW, so I can watch someone from for a few hours. That's all. Nothing bad, and then we can forget the whole thing ever happened. I have my reasons, I just can't tell you what they are."
Amp's face looked more hopeful. "That would be it? No more borrowed vans? You'll get rid of it for me, no-one can trace it back?"
"Nope. Not at all. I'll never bother you about it again." Goren and Eames, unlike Amp, could both hear the well, unless I really DESPERATELY need one in that sentence. Worth remembering, Goren thought. Even if you work with Davenport, don't trust him, because he'll do anything to get what he wants. But then they were all involved, right up to their necks, and all of them had accepted, one way or the other, that the stakes were so high that they justified almost anything, including risking their careers and possibly lives.
"Alright. Where do you want it?" A sudden thought seemed to strike Amp. "By the way, can you tell Jack I need him to lend me the spare key for their house when he gets chance?"
Davenport looked puzzled, but nodded eagerly and did not pursue it, apparently wanting to get on with getting the van before Amp changed his mind. They agreed on an address, and Davenport rolled the SUV forward. Amp set off down the road with a crunching of gears, with the SUV in pursuit. Once Davenport was satisfied that the young man hadn't decided to run off to the police, they set off to wait for the van at the prearranged address.
Three hours later, they were parked up in the van Amp had dropped off. It really was indistinguishable from the real thing, and combined with the visibility jackets he had somehow managed to find for them, they looked the part. No-one had bothered them during a dull morning sat outside Towells Construction, but now the tension had just gone up three notches. After a morning in which Collins, tailed by Tanya, had arrived at work and apparently done nothing that didn't relate to her job all morning, she had just made a phone call to Andropov, picked up by the surveillance equipment Davenport had rigged in the back of the van, and arranged to meet him.
Eames and Goren frantically shed their visibility jackets. Underneath, they were wearing ordinary street clothes. This would be an interesting challenge. It was now eleven o'clock on Thursday morning. The match would take place in just over 48 hours, meaning that if what they suspected was correct and Andropov was involved, they had better prove it very quickly.
Collins left the office, trailed by both of them. They were walking arm and arm, playing the role of a couple out for a walk. Suddenly, Collins glanced around her, pausing slightly, ostensibly to check the contents of her handbag. They were too experienced to show any reaction, but as she set off, they paused to check the contents of a shop window, keeping up the pretence, then followed her again.
Suddenly, it happened again, and this time, Collins' eyes definitely lingered on them for a second. Damn. She knew what to look for. Andropov had obviously taught her how to look for a tail, and even though they were some way back, both wearing hats and sunglasses and in totally different clothing from the last time she'd seen them, she seemed to have recognised them from their earlier meeting.
She set off again, then suddenly dived into a busy department store on the corner of the street. They entered shortly afterwards, but this was an awful place to try tailing anyone, heaving with harassed parents and children, and foreign tourists fighting each other for sale bargains. They tried their best to keep up as Collins climbed higher and higher within the store, but she was on to them now. The last they saw of her, she was in a crowded elevator on the top floor, and the doors were closing... they sprinted, but couldn't get to the stairs in time. Though Goren checked one floor and Eames the other, each taking a different staircase and frantically searching each floor for a sight of her, they'd lost her.
Finding a nice quiet corner, Goren spoke quietly into one of the secure cellphones Davenport had provided them with. "Looks like she made us. Spotted us, gave us the slip."
Davenport's voice came back in reply. "Excellent. Nicely done."
A few seconds later, a short man with brown hair and glasses and a rather nondescript face sauntered out of a nearby back street, where he'd been watching the single exit from the department store as soon as Goren and Eames had gone into it, and slipped after Jane Collins. In the crowd, he wasn't much noticed, especially not by the woman he was following, who hurried along as though her feet were on fire. But of course she did, he thought. She'd just given the police the slip.
Suddenly, she stopped and dived down an alley. Jack, who could not follow her into it without being noticed, sat down against a wall nearby as though he were tired and resting his feet, and fiddled carefully with the listening gear under his denim jacket. Again, courtesy of Davenport. Goren had wondered exactly where all of this surveillance gear was coming from. It was a new generation of technology, one the NYPD had not yet upgraded to, and whilst it made sense that the intelligence services would have it – Andropov would surely have supplied his girlfriend with a secure cellphone, and they'd need very good listening gear to pick up any conversations she had on it – Goren couldn't help but wonder if someone somewhere in MI5 had just discovered that a lot of their equipment was missing.
Then again, knowing Davenport, that someone would probably – hopefully – be the sort of someone who wouldn't report it. He had to admit, this was crazy, dangerous – but exhilarating. It reminded him a lot of being in Army Intelligence. Not a job to do if you lacked nerve, but if you were willing to play with no rules at all, then making things up as you went along, relying only on your wits and your contacts... It was fun, and he had to remind himself that this was no game. Still, he felt more alive than he had done in weeks.
In the van outside Towells Construction, Davenport picked up the signal, loud and clear, and they could all hear the conversation she had:
"Mike? Hi, Mike, it's me."
A male voice with a Russian accent replied. "Jane. So good to hear from you. Do you have anything to tell me? Can anyone overhear you?"
"No, I'm in the alley, The police have been in and out, asking questions. I don't think they suspect anything. I pointed them at Khaleel, like you told me to."
"Did they buy it?" That was urgent.
"Yes. He's in custody. I rang the police and asked, I said I was worried about whether they'd caught Ranjit's murderer..."
"I know. That was such a terrible waste. I am so sorry for the loss of your friend, that was... unexpected. I am sorry I ever involved Khaleel, but you know the stakes we are playing for here, Jane. Sometimes I have to work with people I would rather not, and I can't always control what they do. But at least justice has caught up with them."
"I'm so nervous, Mike. Are you sure it's all going to work?"
"Of course. It will be quick and clean and neat. No-one innocent will suffer, I promise you. You are so brave and so clever, Jane. I knew I made the right decision in trusting you."
The conversation deteriorated into smooching and muttered endearments, undoubtedly sincere on Collins' part, undoubtedly all faked on Andropov's. Jack smoothly moved away from the end of the alley, and by the time Collins emerged, he was halfway down the street, having unobtrusively stowed the listening gear in his backpack, ditched the jacket and baseball cap he had been wearing and donned a pair of sunglasses. Even if Collins had been looking for him, which she wasn't, he would have been difficult to spot.
As Goren and Eames watched from the front seats of the van, Collins came tripping back down the street. She was briefly blocked from view by a large police van rolling slowly along the street, then came back into view, followed unobtrusively by Jack. From behind them came a muffled sound of exultation. Davenport slid back into the driver's seat, grinning from ear to ear.
"Modern technology!" he grinned. "I just heard back from Whitefield's team. Sent them a voice sample from that, they've analysed it, it's definitely Andropov. All in a few minutes." He shook his head. "Sometimes the world we live in amazes even me." Behind him, Goren could see the police van parking up a few cars down from them on the same side of the street. He directed his attention back to Davenport.
"Now what?" Eames asked. They looked at each other, each pondering what their next move should be – snatch Collins and question her? Go straight back to Special Branch? More surveillance? – and for a few brief seconds no-one was looking out of the windows. When Goren looked up, therefore, his first thought was simply oh, shit. Collins was walking towards them. This wasn't in the plan. She banged imperiously on the window of the van, and kept doing so until Davenport rolled it down.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
We could ask you the same. "I'm sorry, do I know you, love?" Davenport replied in a sharp London accent. "We're here to fix the road."
"You've been sat here for ages, and your friends have been following me."
"Don't flatter yourself, love," Davenport replied easily, but they could see the strain showing in his neck, which was tense. None of them had thought that, even if she did spot them following her, Collins would do anything without first speaking to Andropov. That looked like being a mistake.
She glowered. "You've made a very stupid mistake. I've called the police. In fact, they're right behind you."
Oh shit.
"I don't think you want to do that." Davenport suddenly slid out of the front seat of the van, and pressed himself up against Collins, his hand on her shoulder, digging viciously into the nerve points there so that she couldn't move. Goren and Eames, watching in horror, suddenly realised what he was doing, and jumped out of the van themselves, uncertain for a second whether to intervene, to shield Davenport from view, what was the right thing to do...?
"Bad, bad idea, sweetheart," Davenport murmured, and they could all see, hidden by his visibility jacket, the black barrel of his gun shoved hard into Collins' ribs.
Most people, when threatened with being shot, will do whatever you tell them. Collins, unfortunately, was not one of those people, and screamed at the top of her lungs: "POLICE! POLICE! Help, I'm being mugged!"
To their horror, five policemen, batons at the ready, came sprinting out of the van behind them.
