My embarrassed apologies for having taken even longer than last time to get this chapter up. And I'm afraid a month's holiday starting 16th isn't going to help with the next chapter either! Thank you all those who have the patience to be still reading!
Chapter 17
After eight years as an unwilling guest of the Russian prison system, Lucas thought he knew something about how to manage sleeplessness. But when dawn broke the following morning, and none of his tried and tested techniques had worked, he stared out of the window through bleary, swollen eyes and admonished himself to think the situation through logically. Logically, the way Ros would do. No emotion - just cold, rational logic.
The trouble was, he thought, he didn't have Ros's natural talent for ruthlessly excluding the personal from the equation. The idea that Crisis Crusade might have unmasked her in the same way as the FSB had identified him a decade ago made him feel sick, and on several occasions during the night he had physically wrenched his outstretched fingers away from the mobile phone. Yet ironically, it was Ros herself - absent or not - who had stayed his hand. Their visit to Wormwood Scrubs couldn't have been more personal for her, but she had quashed her emotions, overruled her instincts and focused solely on the job in hand; she would expect him to likewise. Lucas himself knew from bitter experience that whenever he hadn't, there had subsequently been a high price to be paid - usually by someone else. He couldn't let that happen this time.
He shook off the duvet and went to make a mug of the instant coffee Ros - no, Penny - so despised. His head, which was thick and ached from lack of sleep, gave a particularly vicious throb, and he washed a couple of aspirins down with the first gulp.
Right, now think. Lucas knew he had a perfectly good analytical brain, but he hated exercising it alone. He had a strong preference for the collective discussions on the Grid, where he could bounce his ideas off other people and benefit from the clarity that a thorough exchange of contrasting opinions brought. Well, that was a luxury he didn't have for the moment. So. Option One: Ros, impatient with the slow pace of their operational progress and resentful at what she perceived as lack of trust in her, had decided to take matters into her own hands. Option Two: Penny had vanished in her role as one of the 'volunteers' in Alex's master plan. Option Three: the worst-case scenario, and the one from which he flinched. Crisis Crusade had somehow discovered Ros's real identity and was presumably now either keeping her captive or … something worse. Option Four: the other one he didn't want to think about. Ros Myers had been playing the entire Grid for a bunch of fools and had gone over to the opposition. No. It was impossible.
It's not. She's done it before. It would explain the attack on her father - assuming that she had always been working with Crisis Crusade. Being the lone anti-Crusade Cassandra on the Grid could have been a strident, public cover for silent covert support. Or she could have switched her allegiance much more recently, but why? Genuine conviction? Lucas couldn't credit that. Yes, there was a sentimental streak in Ros Myers, buried very deep - and hidden very well - but she was no closet romantic idealist likely to be carried away by Alex Callaghan's rhetoric. Lucas had heard her caustically snapping at Ruth that life's dreamers usually ended up turning it into a nightmare for everybody else - and she'd meant every word.
He groaned. All four possibilities carried risks, and at least two directly threatened him; either under duress or intentionally, Ros could reveal his identity too. Common sense, and probably strict adherence to operational protocol too, would dictate that he should leave James Anderson's persona in the flat like a snake shedding its skin, return pronto to the safety of the Grid and report Ros's disappearance without further delay. But, as ever in intelligence work, the situation wasn't that black and white. If Ros hadn't turned or already been unmasked, he could put her in acute danger by breaking his own cover. His intense fear of that was making it almost impossible for him to consider the broader picture, something she would find unforgivably unprofessional. Lucas put his head in his hands and massaged his temples. The details of Crisis Crusade's intentions were still locked away in Alex Callaghan's mind. Harry hadn't minced his words the previous day about how much depended on Lucas and Ros discovering enough about what those were to stop the group tipping the barometer of national stability from its current reading of 'volatile' to ' completely out of control'. If there was the slightest chance of learning more, then the needs of the operation had to come first. That was the decision Harry would surely make, and that Ros would understand. Much as the knowledge made Lucas's stomach churn, the safety of one officer - however valued and however senior - would not tilt the scales one iota in either direction.
All right. Inaction was the most dangerous thing of all. He got up decisively and checked his watch. For the moment, he would play the part of an anxious husband with a depressed wife who'd gone missing. James Anderson would continue to do exactly what a man in his position would be expected to do - including by Crisis Crusade. That meant going to the police station to report Penny missing, and at least appearing to contact her parents. As the shower half-heartedly coughed and spat barely tepid water, Lucas decided that he would also phone Callaghan again. Alex's concern about Penny's disappearance had seemed real. He had even rung James late the previous evening to find out whether she had returned, but Lucas still wasn't convinced of his proclaimed ignorance and he wouldn't let himself be convinced by the man's apparent sincerity. Ros Myers wasn't the only person in the world with a chameleon's ability to disguise her real self.
Despite the early hour, the High Street was heavy with traffic and thronged with people heading for work. Walton-on-Thames had once had its own police station, but James and Penny had learned that it had been closed down because, as Alice Ryder had commented sarcastically 'only about ten people a week used it. We'd have needed more crime to make it 'cost-effective', apparently.' The nearest one now was in Kingston, five miles and a half-hour bus ride away that could take double that in the rush hour. Lucas didn't want to wait that long before he contacted Alex Callaghan, so he diverted to the phone box and called his number.
"Hello?" He cursed silently as he recognised Miranda's voice, but when James identified himself, her rather braying grammar school headmistress's tone instantly softened with concern. "James! Is Penny back?"
"No. No, she isn't. I wondered - well, I - I suppose I hoped she - this was something to do with the meeting. You know, when she volunteered? Or she might just have decided to stay with you." James allowed the slightest quaver into his voice. "She - sometimes when she gets down she - well, she blames me. You know, for the way things are."
"Oh James, I'm so sorry." Miranda's voice became brisker. "But we haven't seen her since yesterday morning, and I really think you should contact the police now, you know. You shouldn't delay, not with her being so vulnerable."
Lucas had been listening intently, trying to detect the slightest sign of suspicion, pretence or lies. Nothing. "No, I know," he answered. " I'm getting the bus now. "
"Oh, good grief!" Miranda huffed. "It'll take you forever at this time of day. Hold on, James, just a second - " He heard a muffled shout as he noticed a 461 bus pulling away from the stop he should have been waiting at. "James? Listen, Alex is going into town on business this morning. Just wait at the stop, he'll come and pick you up. He can use the back doubles, get you there in half the time. Fifteen minutes. All right?"
The last thing Lucas wanted was to spend thirty minutes under close and possibly probing observation, but after a feeble protestation, James conceded. As he made his way back to the bus stop he noticed the shutters being rolled up on the Job Centre office. Quickening his stride, he hurried down to it.
"Interviews don't start for half an hour," the receptionist informed him in a tone of bored indifference. "You got an appointment, take a seat."
"I haven't." As she turned to beckon over the guard, James added, "I need to see Fatima Ismail."
"You have to have an appointment." 'Appointment' came out in three loudly detached syllables, as if she was addressing a monolingual foreigner. Lucas suppressed a desire to take the gaudy scarf inexpertly draped around her neck and throttle her with it.
She sent me an e-mail," James insisted. "I need to make one for today."
The girl sighed, but unwillingly she tapped her keyboard. "Twelve forty-five. Sharp. You're late, she'll cancel the appointment."
And pigs - including you - might fly. James made his way back to the bus stop. Lucas knew that Khalida would instantly understand the significance of his breaking their routine schedule of appointments, and this was the way of contacting the Grid least likely to arouse suspicion, especially in the man who was about to give him a lift. He waited in the chill for an edgy ten minutes until Alex pulled up.
"James." Callaghan waited patiently while he fumbled with his seat belt. "Miranda said no sign of her?" James shook his head miserably. "Have you called her parents?"
"Not yet." James twisted his hands nervously. "I don't want to alarm them before I have to, what with Penny's dad being ill … I hoped she'd come back. I was sure she would. I thought she might just have had a bad spell, she does … you know. "
"Has she done this before, then?"
"Yes, but - but not like this. Just for a few hours, if we've had an argument or - or if she wants to be on her own, but never overnight, never. Something - oh God, I don't even want to think it, but it must have done - something must have happened to her. How can I possibly tell them - and the kids?"
"Maybe it won't be necessary," the other man said. He handed James a cardboard cup nestled above the dashboard. "Here, you look like last week's leftovers. Cappuccino. And there's a couple of croissants in that bag." He pointed.
Lucas hadn't eaten since his lunch at Leadenhall Market, and the knots of tension in his stomach loosened just enough for it to give a growl of anticipation. As James muttered an embarrassed apology, Alex smiled wryly, made a swift left turn and put his foot down. "Let's step on it."
" Miranda - er - said you're - you're off on business today?" Lucas injected enough uncertainty to make him sound more like a man straining to make small talk than one who really wanted to know.
"Yeah." Callaghan flicked a glance at him and asked: "Haven't you heard the news?"
James shook his head even as Lucas's throat went dry. He increasing alarm over Ros's vanishing act had temporarily driven even the inkblot of social disorder oozing across the country to the back of his mind. Have I missed something?
Callaghan tutted in mock reproof - at least Lucas hoped it was mock. "You need to keep on the ball, Jamie. PM's been on 'Today' this morning shitting enough bricks to build a council estate. Chinese business and trade delegation was due to fly in this week. The Chancellor and the DOI have been crowing like a poultry farm for months. They were preparing to invest in shale oil production, medical research, HS-1, you name it." His smile glowed with a complacency that made Lucas want to hit him. "Not any more, they aren't. The Chinese autholitties are wullied by the cullent and incleasing instabirrity in Gleat Blitain.' They've pulled out. That'll panic every foreign investor. Others will follow their lead."
It was all Lucas could do to not to snap why he thought that was anything to gloat about. He had known about the massive investment agreement that the government had been working for best part of a year to reach; MI-5 had put a sizeable number of man-hours into checking the credentials of some suspect members of the Chinese delegation. Apart from providing a much-needed fillip to government finances, the deal would also have secured thousands of jobs - some of which might now be at risk - and created others. But with an effort, James looked suitably impressed. "Hell, you mean - it's really working! We've got them on the run - they won't be able to ignore us for much longer!" Lucas drained his coffee cup, mindful of the recording device Ros had concealed in the car. "Is that why you're going into town?"
"Partly." For a second Lucas mentally cursed the man's caution. He dared not push and risk arousing whatever latent suspicions he might have. Then, after a moment's silence, his faith in the sheer, ego-driven stupidity of human nature - even Callaghan's - was restored. "That and have a little chat with our man on the inside."
"On the inside?" James looked at him with the bewilderment of a man with more immediate problems on his plate. "You mean - what you were talking about at the meeting? A - what, a - some kind of a - a mole? Inside the government?"
Callaghan's smile was edged with patronising contempt, and his next words made a shiver of apprehension run through Lucas.
"You sound like something out of Le Carre, James. I prefer … informer. But yes. Right in the heart of the Establishment, old boy. There to shore up the rotting, oppressive, mouldering foundations of the state, and busily digging with his little paws right underneath them. "
"Wow." James moistened his lips. "I thought - well, to be honest, I thought you were exaggerating. Getting people fired up … you know. I didn't think we really had a mole."
The traffic was flowing more freely now, and they were already approaching Kingston. Callaghan politely slowed to allow an old lady to wobble her way across the zebra crossing and turned towards the police station.
"All organisations have them. Different names - mole, informer, whistleblower … spy." The tone was casual, and with an effort, Lucas kept his expression neutral. "And they all do the same thing … help you to know the enemy's mind. Keep one step ahead. You can bet those Neanderthals in Mi-5 aren't sleeping on the job. Most of them are too hide-bound to realise you can't maintain the status quo on a sinking ship, but they've got a few with brains." He snorted. "I've got their number, believe me; it's just sensible precautions now that we're about to deliver the final blow." He threw back his head and laughed. "Don't look so worried, James! Unless your real name's Bond and you're licenced to kill, you're safe."
James managed a weak smile. "Sorry. It's just Pen … she was so - so much happier, almost like her old self after that meeting. The prospect of doing something, you know - she was even talking about getting the kids back if things changed for the better. God." He ran both hands distractedly through his hair as the car pulled up opposite the police station. "Where is she - I don't understand."
"Go and make that report," Callaghan said firmly. He opened the door, and as he did so, his mobile rang. Lucas flicked a sideways glance towards its flashing screen and committed the number to memory. "And stay in touch. Call her parents. Someone knows where she is."
Are you that someone? Lucas thought grimly as he entered the police station. Callaghan's breezy, arrogant confidence, coupled with the comments about spies and final blows, had shaken him. Suddenly he was swept with an urgent need to get in touch with the Grid. He battened down on the surge of adrenalin. During the drive he had several times glimpsed a small metallic blue Nissan in the car's rear-view mirror, and suspected it was following them. Lucas didn't know if Callaghan was under surveillance - it was possible - but it was equally possible that Callaghan was keeping tabs on him, in which case to do anything other than what James had come here to do would be dangerously reckless. He would be able to make contact the correct way in a matter of hours. He closed his mind to what could be happening to Ros Myers in those hours, and queued up at the reception desk.
oOoOoOo
It took James almost two nerve-wracking hours to file an official missing persons report on Penelope Marie Anderson, at the end of which Lucas could willingly have hugged Ruth Evershed to within an inch of her life for having drummed the details of their legends into them both so obsessively. The over-worked police constable interviewing him had shown as much concern as anyone could, despite a phone that never stopped ringing, what sounded like a minor riot going on in the station's holding cells, and the outbursts of impatient fury from other people demanding instant attention outside. As he emerged, Lucas breathed a silent sigh of relief that whatever had become of Ros, it wasn't going to fall to the local police to find her. He looked at his watch; he had no intention of missing his appointment with 'Fatima', and time was passing, especially if he had to take the bus back to Walton. There was a mini-cab office just across the road, its lop-sided neon light flashing unconvincingly 'Superb Taxis', and he was on the verge of stepping off the kerb when there was a shriek of brakes accompanied by a deafening blare of several mismatched horns. He leapt backwards as a car shot past, fishtailing round the corner and narrowly missing a lamp-post as it slalomed down the nearest side street.
"Bloody little idiots," a man next to him said. "Joy-riders. Get them round here all the time. Some poor, law-abiding mug'll come home tonight to find his car fit for the bloody scrapyard." He jerked his thumb towards the police-station. "Can't expect anything from them. Worse than useless."
Lucas murmured vague agreement, his attention distracted by what he had seen as he had jumped for safety. Parked a few places down the side street was an all too familiar small, metallic blue Nissan. Shit. He scrutinised the street. Pub, betting shop, couple of small restaurants and a building society.
"Excuse me." The woman shopper looked at him enquiringly. "Sorry, but do you know if there's an internet cafe anywhere near here?"
She knitted her brows in thought. "Goodness, they've all been closing down lately." She sighed. "There's still one, I think, dear. Down the road, and take the left into the market place. Just next door to the shoe-shop."
He followed her directions. It would look perfectly normal to whoever was taking such an intense interest in James Anderson's movements for him to go to an internet cafe to contact his in-laws, and the confirmation of his suspicions that the surveillance was on him had made Lucas's unquiet mind up for him. That, Ros's disappearance and Callaghan's comments about delivering a final blow meant this was no time to be wasting precious hours in passing messages through Khalida. To hell with cold, rational logic; he was going straight to source.
He paid for fifteen minutes, and after a swift glance across the rows of computer terminals, slid into a cubicle towards the back. As he logged on, another man paid and sat facing him three rows away. Lucas could see his colleague loitering with no apparent particular intent on the pavement outside. Swiftly, he logged on. His cover looked as if it were flapping in the breeze, but it might not yet be completely blown. Wishful thinking, North. Decision time. OK. Speed was of the essence, before these jokers decided, or were ordered, to make a move on him. As the words 'Hello dear, how nice to hear from you!' telling him that once again Callum was on duty, tripped across the screen, he jettisoned James Anderson-speak and started typing a rapid reply in pure, fluent Grid.
Ros missing. Self under surveillance. Callaghan on way to London, took call. Run search for number plate PS 73 HEB and check phone 0770 587221. Instructions?
He could feel his watcher's gaze on him across the room, but kept his eyes on the screen, willing a response to appear while his brain ran feverishly over his options for shedding his tails. The shop had a back door, but it looked as if it led into a walled yard. So far, it didn't seem as if Tweedledum and Tweedledee had been ordered to do more than watch, and the blatant nature of their watching could signify an attempt to stampede him into betraying himself, which trying to re-create a video-game style escape out of the toilet window and over a brick wall certainly would. So far, he was still James Anderson, and the most normal thing for James Anderson to do would be to walk out of the front door. Better yet, it led into the market square, which was beginning to become busy with shoppers and stalls. With luck, he could lose them and make it look innocuous.
A soft ping announced Callum's reply. It was short, urgent and unambiguous. COME IN. IMMEDIATELY. CONFIRM.
Lucas swallowed hard. Hell. That meant abandoning Ros to her fate, whatever it might be. the machine pinged again. CONFIRM.
Lucas glanced over the top of his screen just as Tweedledum's eyes flicked away from him. He typed in 'confirm, out '. Then, as swiftly as his damp and slightly unsteady fingers would allow, he opened Google Maps. There was a railway station about half a mile distant, but with two watchers to lose, he didn't want to offer them that much time to find him again. Bus stops in Clarence Street were much closer. The destination of the buses didn't matter at this stage; they would put a fast distance between him and Callaghan's bloodhounds. He took and released a slow, deep breath, logged off, and went to pay for his time. As he passed Tweedledum, the man stared at him with open belligerence.
"Had a good look?" James snapped, and strode out. A crowd three deep had gathered around a pair of acrobats performing in the centre of the marketplace, and Lucas made straight for it. He eased through until he was close to the front and then risked a glance back. Tweedledee was behind him, but Tweedledum was nowhere in sight. Lucas walked at a steady pace across the circle, stooped to drop a coin into the performers' bowl, then, without straightening, suddenly darted fast through the spectators and dived between the market stalls into the narrow and now crowded pedestrianised lanes lined with shops that meandered behind the square. He was a big man, and crowd-surfing wasn't his forte, but Tweedledee was bigger, and less fit. Swerving between dawdling shoppers, Lucas reached the green of All Saint's Church. He circled the stone cross at its centre, pretending to admire it, hoping he had lost his pursuer, but Tweedledee lumbered into sight at the edge of the green. Hell. As the man raised his mobile to his ear, Lucas span aside and almost fell over a group of joggers.
"Sorry." Hastily, he regained his balance, and shot another look over his shoulder. Led by a girl wearing headphones, whose eyes were glazed with the indifference of the iPhone-addicted to the real world, the group ran across the green and funnelled into a narrow alley separated from the church cemetery by railings. Instinctively using their Lycra-clad bodies as a shield, Lucas ran with them. The alley was barely wide enough for two people to pass, but at the end of it he could already glimpse the welcome, scarlet top decks of several buses. Hugging the brick wall that formed the rear of a department store, he glanced tensely backwards, but so far there was still no-one but shoppers behind him, and the joggers were already weaving through oncoming shoppers and emerging onto Clarence Street.
Lost you, сволочь. Relief surged as he broke into a sprint towards a bus just pulling into the kerb. He was ten feet from its doors when a sudden iron grip on his arm twisted it painfully up behind his back. Tweedledum offered him a smug grin. "In a hurry, James?"
Lucas had never been a natural fighter, but eight years of battling to stay alive in Russian prisons had taught him a few tricks unlikely to be in the repertoire of your average Crisis Crusader. He allowed himself to go limp for a split second, then, as Tweedledum's grin widened, launched a swift and accurate kick at his kneecap. As the man let out a howl of pain and staggered, his grip slackened just enough. Lucas yanked his arm free and and threw his full weight behind a punch that knocked his now hopping assailant flat on his back. Everyone in the vicinity hastily backed away - except Tweedledee, who was running full pelt towards them. Without hesitation, Lucas hurdled his supine colleague, raced for the bus and leapt on board.
"Undercover police." He flashed a wallet that in fact contained James Anderson's maxed-out credit card. "Move!" That was another thing life in prison - and MI-5 - had taught him: you can fool most of the people a hell of a lot of the time with enough chutzpah. He slumped into a seat, breathing heavily, and cradled his arm. Now his bridges were well and truly burned. And Ros's. That thought wiped out any nascent feeling of triumph. He looked at his phone. She'd been gone over twenty-four hours.
Harry will deal with it. He gritted his teeth against the steadily increasing throb from his shoulder. You just need to get to the Grid. Harry will know what to do.
oOoOoOo
"Lucas, y'aright, mate?" James's credit card hadn't had the same effect on the Thames House security staff as on the bus driver, and Lucas had had to wave the magic wand of Harry Pearce's name to bring Chen Liu to escort him in. Worry had thickened the young man's Scouse accent. "Harry's been dead worried, like."
"I'm fine," Lucas said mendaciously, as they cleared the pods.
"Well, y' look right grotty. Harry's in his office. I'll get you a brew." He scampered away, and Lucas threaded his way across the Grid, noticing uneasily that there was something almost frenetic overlaying the usual brisk, intent buzz of activity. The impression was reinforced when Harry looked up, slammed down a phone in mid-conversation, and barked: "What the hell happened?"
Lucas eased himself into a seat, gratefully accepted Chen's 'brew' and told him, hardly noticing when Ruth and Khalida hurried in to join them. Harry barely let him finish before he exploded.
"You were ordered to keep an eye on her. I warned you, Lucas, I told you the strain on her might be too much!"
It was unfair; it was he who had made that impossible by separating them, but Lucas didn't protest. The atmosphere on the Grid had already made it clear that something was badly wrong, and the renewed shrilling of Harry's direct phone to the Home Office confirmed it. Besides, he knew that ambivalence warred for supremacy with affection when it came to Harry's feelings about Ros Myers. He mumbled an apology.
"Later." Harry's head snapped around as Ruth, her hand cupped over the phone, ventured: "Harry, the Home Secretary insists - "
"Tell him no! How many more times, Ruth!"
"But he says he'll come - "
Harry snatched the receiver from her hand and crashed it back onto its rest. "Let him. Chen, go and see how far Callum's got."
Lucas swallowed down nausea caused by his shoulder and his growing alarm. "What's happened?"
"Other than the Chinese deal going south, the pound in freefall and the stock market placing bulk orders for incontinence pads?" Harry yanked the knot of his tie loose and opened his collar; he looked and sounded at the end of his tether. "I'll tell you what's happened, Lucas. A couple of your damned 'Crusaders' have just been interviewed on Radio 4 - on The World at bloody One, no less - and announced that given what they describe as the 'ongoing castration' of council services nationwide they're urging a national refusal to pay council tax as of today. Special Branch already has reports of angry crowds building at council offices. Why do you think Towers is - "
"Harry!" Callum crashed through the door. "Harry, you need to come. Now."
The urgency in his tone pre-empted any objection, and Harry led the charge to the tech suite. Callum, who Lucas now saw was white-faced, snapped at Chen: "Replay it." He turned to Harry. "We just had a call on the emergency number."
At first, Lucas couldn't make anything out other than a babble of voices shouting. Callum all but shoved Chen from the console, and typed an urgent toccata on the keys. "Again." Bile rose in Lucas's throat as he recognised Ros's voice. "Tell Harry -" She sounded as if she was struggling for breath. "Kallima … my father - Harry -" The last word broke on a shriek and the sounds of a struggle. " He knows … him - " There was the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with human flesh, a piercing scream and a crash. Ruth's hands flew to her mouth. The last few words were an almost unintelligible croaked whisper. " Harry … knows .. help. Feel … help …" The word trailed off into a soft, ominous shuuush. Then there was nothing but silence.
oOoOoOo
Thank you for reading, and despite making you wait so long until you could, might I still ask for a review? :)