Chapter Eight: Flashpoint

The Grid had that flat, empty feel that always followed the completion of any operation, even a successful one. A combination of the anti-climax and the tension of waiting to see what would happen next.

'Well, that's Milcic safely delivered to his new handlers.' Adam perched on the corner of a desk. 'I'm starting to think that his war crimes were just him whining at people. I've never known anyone complain so much.'

'Not even Zaf after you scratched his car?' Ros enquired sweetly.

'That was not my fault,' Adam said, voice tinged with defiance and exasperation. 'And it's a ridiculous car for any spook to have, anyway,' he added.

'Speaking of young Mr Younis,' they started as Harry spoke suddenly; he had joined their small group unobserved, 'where is he?'

His eyes were on Jo. She cleared her throat and returned the gaze. 'I don't know, Harry. He had a family emergency.'

His eyebrows raised a fraction. 'What sort of family emergency?'

'I don't know,' Jo repeated, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks and cursing Zaf mentally. 'He had gone before I got up this morning.'

Silence.

'H-he'd left a note.' She started to hunt through her bag.

'I don't need to read it, Joanna.'

Jo continued to meet his eyes levelly. Adam and Ros, like spectators at a match, looked between the two silently. And curiously. There had been an atmosphere lately. Subtle and indefinable, but there. And in the silence its presence screamed.

'I can ring him - get him back here if you need him, Harry.'

This, Harry thought, was why you were supposed to keep all things personal buried. You didn't bring them into the workspace and you certainly did not compromise your colleagues. There was always the possibility that Zafar had indeed responded to a personal situation of his own – his was a large family, and close-knit.

But he knew that wasn't the reason. He could feel it.

'No. It's fine.' Harry went back to his office.

Still on the edge of Jo's desk, Adam bent over. 'Well, go on, then. Where is he really?'

'I don't know.' Every word was weighted.

He exchanged a glance with Ros. 'Come on, you can tell us. We won't say a word, will we, Ros?'

'I said I don't know, Adam! Just leave it, for God's sake.' Jo grabbed an armful of papers and stormed across the floor.

Adam watched her, eyes wide. Ros laughed softly. 'Good for her.'

He turned. 'That's not like Jo.'

'Isn't it? No, I suppose you'd prefer it if she fell at your feet.' The cynical smile faded. 'But you're right – something is going on.'

Adam glanced over at Harry's office. 'Yes.' A pause. 'Do you think it there's even the slightest chance it's all connected to the inquiry into the financial records of the JIC and a certain Mr Oliver Mace?'

Ros' eyes narrowed, hard as granite. 'What do you think?'

ooOoo

Mia Kenton had no fixed address that Zaf could find. A Post Office box to which her mail was forwarded and the address of her offices near Victoria that Jo had given him.

They were a small, discreet suite of rooms and the people who worked there were handpicked and beyond bribery. Not that he had tried. He already knew it would be a waste of time.

She had taken on huge importance in his mind. It was a feeling, backed up by nothing. Her appearance now was not a coincidence but to whose agenda was she working? There was no point trying to ask Harry again. He was, unquestionably, one of the cleverest people Zaf had ever known but on some things he could be very blinkered.

'You'll keep an eye on him for me, won't you?'

Zaf had done a little digging of his own and had turned up only scraps. He had run some of the information past Mike and Selim – they had recognised the name and been astonished to connect it with their photo. Mia Kenton was something of an oddity. High up the food chain of their particular profession, but low key. She was rumoured to have contacts in every country on every continent and her nameless, faceless clients were guaranteed total anonymity and discretion.

The most he had been able to get out of the guarded voice on the phone was the fact that the hard-to-pin-down Ms Kenton was away on business. Zaf had traded heavily for a favour from a pretty girl at passport control, on the off chance.

It was a chance that had paid off – Mia Kenton had re-entered the country very early that morning. Where she would be now was anyone's guess, but Zaf bargained on her going to her offices at some point. The woman was a professional, after all.

And it was her base of operation, probably the closest thing she had to a proper home.

There was a salutary warning in that somewhere, he was sure but at the moment chose to ignore it.

Zaf re-tuned the car radio, took a long drink of water and settled in for the wait.

ooOoo

'I spy with my little eye something beginning with R.'

'Renault.'

'Stone bloody cold.'

Selim glanced around the street. 'Rooftop.'

'Not even close, mate.'

Another glance. Selim grinned. 'Redhead.'

Mike let out a low whistle. 'Scorching! Give that man a star.'

Selim shifted in his seat. The car was starting to feel cramped. Mike tore into an orange, the enclosed space soon redolent of the sweet tang. Their quarry had finally moved; they had tracked him from the house in Belgravia across town to a dingy building in Camden. He had changed cars at a lock-up under old railway arches, switching the sleek Jaguar for something battered and innocuous.

As far as the watchers were concerned he may as well have stayed in the flash motor. Whatever field skills the man may have once had were long since gone. And they were far too good to be shaken off by such shabby tricks.

Mace – they knew his name and almost everything else about him – might suspect he was under surveillance but he certainly wouldn't know it. And he was arrogant enough to believe he could best any surveillance, real or imagined.

Arrogance was their ally in this game.

There had been increased activity at that white-fronted Georgian townhouse over the past days: dark cars, any number of officious looking people entering – and coming out again with armloads of boxes and files. The two observers had kept a greater discreet distance and an even closer watch. And in the lull that followed, Mace had led them here.

In the driver's seat, Mike stiffened. 'We've got some live ones.'

Selim's eyes narrowed. 'Looks like the heavy mob. What should we do? Phone Zaf?'

Mike ran his tongue over his lips. 'Not yet. Give it a while, see what happens.'

ooOoo

Zaf had studied the photograph until he was sure he knew every line of her face.

Even so, when Mia finally arrived at the offices he almost missed her. She was tiny, he thought, watching her from across the street. And it wasn't that she was easy to ignore – she was a memorable woman. But she had the knack of making herself unobtrusive; and no-one could teach you that. She was a natural.

Theirs must have been a terrifying partnership, back in the day.

He debated about following her in, forcing an interview then and there. Although, exactly what he would ask he had no idea. Patience was one of the things you learnt on this job and Zaf exercised his now. Mia Kenton spent a little over an hour in the building; from his vantage point Zaf watched her make the short walk to her car. She had the typical spook's look when she moved, he thought. That way of watching without seeming to watch.

He followed her – it was a circuitous route, weaving in and out of traffic. He had a bad few minutes – more than once – when he thought he had lost her, breathing easily again when he saw her turning off or still ahead of him at traffic-lights. Mia led him away from the centre of the city – more trees, more houses. They had entered Chiswick. Nice area, he noted dispassionately. And finally came to a stop outside a handsome block of flats somewhere between the high-street and the train station.

Mia pressed one of the buzzers. Top-floor flat. She spoke into the intercom; a moment and then she pushed the door open. And Zaf's internal debate started up again – this time cut short when, only a few minutes later, the glass door flashed as it opened again and she walked out, going on foot down the street.

As soon as she rounded the corner Zaf was out of the car, jogging lightly across the street. Six buttons for each floor and Mia had pressed the one at the far end. 8c. He pressed one at random.

'Hello?' Woman's voice, husky and bored.

He adopted his best Cheerful Courier persona. 'Got a delivery for flat 4b.'

'Well, what are buzzing me for then?'

'No answer – but if you let me in I can just stick it outside their door, yeah?'

A pause, then, 'Yeah, all right then.'

Hand already against the door, he pushed it as soon as the buzzer sounded and slipped inside. No lifts, just a central staircase. Zaf took them two at a time. From behind various doors came the muffled sounds of voices, music and TV sets. The top floor was quiet, a door on either side of the landing. 7 and 8. There was no lock that Zafar Younis could not get through.

That was his boast, at least, and on this occasion was true. The lock clicked smoothly; the door opened onto a dark corridor. His hand searched the wall until he found a light switch. It made little difference – the bulb was dim and looked close to expiring. Three doors along the corridor and no sounds from behind any of them.

'Who the hell are you?'

Her arrival was silent. Zaf half-turned and was pushed forward. The door fell to heavily behind her. And she didn't seem so small, now, in the confines of this gloomy corridor.

Mia Kenton was obviously in no mood to talk and looked like she meant business. Zaf hesitated. You don't hit women. The hesitation cost him.

Her movement was a rush; his head snapped back and he felt his lip split, mouth filling with blood. Vicious bitch, he thought. She came at him again and he blocked her, a defensive move with enough force to send her spinning into the wall. She staggered, regained her balance.

They grappled with each other. Overpowering her wasn't as easy as he had thought. Arm locked behind her back, she twisted out, landed a blow in his stomach that doubled him over. He moved back to avoid her next strike, got hold of her again and heard a faint cry of pain. Nails raked across his face; he turned his head, protecting his eyes and felt his grip loosening.

From somewhere ahead a door had opened, rectangle of light spilling across the floor.

'Stop! It's all right – stop it! Zaf!'

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Zaf steadied himself against a wall, looked up at the figure silhouetted in the doorway and found the familiar eyes of Ruth Evershed.

TBC