A Covert War (22 page)

***

Three days later, Cavendish rang James Faulkner and asked for a meeting. Faulkner sounded reluctant, but because of their overlapping responsibilities he knew he was obliged to. Cavendish gave him no idea of why he wanted the meeting, but pressed him on its urgency.

Faulkner duly arrived at MI6 headquarters and was shown up to Cavendish’s office. He was surprised to see Andrew Butler there, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner.

Cavendish greeted him, a touch formally Faulkner thought and invited him to sit down. He then produced a manila envelope from which he withdrew two sheets of paper. He passed one to Faulkner and the other to the Commissioner.

‘I would like you to read that for me if you would,’ Cavendish asked the SOCA chief. ‘I’ll be interested in your reaction.’

Faulkner frowned and pulled the sheet of paper towards him. He took a pair of half-moon glasses from his jacket pocket, perched them on the bridge of his nose while holding them with one hand, and scanned the document. He could feel the colour and heat flooding into his neck as he looked through the typescript.

What Cavendish had given the two men was an almost complete script of the conversation that had taken place between Faulkner and Hudson at the riverside pub a few days ago. Cavendish’s man, the lip reader had poured over the film many times and used his own skills and inclination to fill in the majority of empty spaces that had prevailed after his first attempt. The result was an almost complete copy of what had been said between the two men.

Faulkner kept his face fixed firmly on the paper, his mind working furiously. Eventually he put his glasses back in his pocket and looked across the table at Cavendish.

‘What is this, Sir Giles?’

Butler peered over the top of his glasses. ‘Yes, what is it?’

Looking at the Commissioner, Cavendish said, ‘Our SOCA chief had a meeting with Randolph Hudson, the CIA Station Chief a few days ago at a pub alongside the river. We filmed that meeting and used lip reading techniques to produce that transcript of what was said between the two men.’

Butler dropped his eyes down to the script. ‘It’s nothing but a piece of paper with a jumbled narrative.’

‘I agree,’ Cavendish told him. ‘But with the film it makes an awful lot of difference.’ He turned his attention back to Faulkner. ‘Well, have you anything to say?’

Faulkner dropped the paper on to the table top. ‘Well, what is it? All I can see is what appears to be a script of some kind.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘So what are you saying?’

Cavendish did not want to go along with what he knew was play-acting from Faulkner. He decided to nail this and force the man into a climb down and possibly a confession; although he considered the latter unlikely.

‘You and the CIA Chief are part of an organisation known as The Chapter of Mercy.’ Faulkner said nothing. ‘Along with other men of authority, holding very senior positions, you are actively engaged in smuggling heroin and people into this country. You are also engaged in supplying arms to our opponents in Afghanistan; namely the Taliban and Al Qaeda.’

Faulkner jumped up. ‘Rubbish! Absolute rubbish! I’m not sitting here listening to this scandalous trash,’ he said sternly, and turned away to walk to the door.

‘You won’t get out,’ Cavendish told him, ‘the door is locked.’

Faulkner spun round, his face a picture of anger. ‘What on earth do you mean by holding me against my will, Cavendish?’ he shouted furiously. ‘I insist you open this door immediately.’ Cavendish shook his head and maintained a fixed stare at Faulkner.

The SOCA chief glared at the Commissioner. ‘Andrew, are you going to sit there and be a party to this, this kidnap?’

The Commissioner held the sheet of paper in his hand. ‘I think James, under the circumstances you should at least listen to what Sir Giles has to say.’ He looked at Cavendish. ‘I for one would certainly like to know what’s going on.’

Faulkner came back to the table and sat down. ‘This is complete tosh,’ he told Cavendish. ‘And an absolute insult to my integrity.’ He picked up the sheet of paper and waved it at him. ‘For your information, Hudson and I were discussing a case that we are investigating; nothing more than that.’

‘At this moment,’ Cavendish said without waiting for Faulkner to add anything else to his tirade, ‘Randolph Hudson is being spoken to by my opposite number in MI5. He is being advised to seek retirement on medical grounds seeing as it’s unlikely we could hold him here in UK. After all, he would probably claim diplomatic immunity.’

Faulkner looked nonplussed. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

Cavendish ploughed on. ‘Commodore Deveraux has been apprised of the situation by the American Ambassador. The fact that he is being told that his accomplices are under suspicion should be enough for him to seek early retirement as well, don’t you think?’

Nothing was said for a while because Faulkner was considering his options and the vague signals being sent out by the MI6 chief.

‘Why do I think there is more to it than this?’ he asked Cavendish. ‘Or am I supposed to know that too?’

Cavendish allowed himself a smile. ‘We shall see,’ he told Faulkner. ‘But at the moment we have succeeded in stopping the organisation in its tracks. We know the CIA have been sanctioning the operation for their own sordid reasons. We also know the part played in it by some members of the American Air Force. What we need now, Faulkner are names. We want names that will help us in breaking the so called Chapter of Mercy into a thousand pieces and protecting so many innocent people here in Britain and elsewhere.’

Butler spoke then. ‘James, I think you should cooperate. I think there is some
quid pro quo here
. Am I right Sir Giles?’ he asked, turning to Cavendish, who nodded. He then looked back at Faulkner. ‘If this crosses my desk officially, then I will be compelled to act. It will cause an enormous stink all the way back to the Whitehouse; you know that, don’t you?’

Faulkner could see he was trapped, even though it appeared that he was being offered a way out. He would have to resign on health grounds of course, or family reasons, but would his cooperation ensure his freedom? It was possible she would always live in fear that some rogue elements of The Chapter would come looking for him.

Finally he looked over at Cavendish. ‘Give me a few hours. I’ll go back to my office, sort some things out.
Quid pro quo
, right?’

Cavendish nodded.
‘Quid pro quo
.’

Faulkner left and Butler spent about twenty minutes with Cavendish. They discussed the case briefly and Butler managed to extract a promise from Cavendish that he would keep the Met informed of anything that be useful to the police once Faulkner had been debriefed.

When the police commissioner left, Cavendish began planning the next stage of his campaign to kill the organisation stone dead. He now had some work to do with Susan and Marcus as part of the scheme he was considering. He managed a quick lunch at his favourite eatery and returned to his office a little after two o’clock in the afternoon.

At ten minutes past two his phone rang. He picked it up. It was the commissioner.

‘Sir Giles? Andrew Butler here. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

‘Oh, and what is that?’ Cavendish asked.

‘It’s about James Faulkner. He has committed suicide; he shot himself.’

SIXTEEN

Susan shivered as the wind blew suddenly with swirling gusts that made walking difficult. The hammering rain forced her to keep her head turned away and from time to time the strength of the wind almost blew her off her feet.

Susan had caught the tube to Charing Cross and was now battling her way along the Strand to the Starbucks coffee bar where she had first met Cavendish. The rain and the wind were totally unexpected, as was the call from Cavendish. He said he had a proposition to put to her, and that he hoped she would not mind if he didn’t call on her at her home.

It had been something like three weeks since Susan had seen Cavendish. It had been the evening that Marcus had turned up unexpectedly at her house. She hadn’t seen Marcus since that day either and had wondered if her association with those two was at an end. What Susan did not know at the time was that Cavendish was keeping Marcus off the streets for his own safety.

Summer was turning into autumn and giving in too easily as it did in England. Susan had no umbrella and could feel the cold wind pushing the rain at her as she dodged from one pedestrian to another and wondering what on earth it was that Cavendish wanted to see her about.

She turned towards the large, double doors of the coffee house and pushed then open, welcoming the sudden shelter from the weather. She let the doors swing shut and stepped aside as someone made a move to go past her, his face a picture of gloom as he caught sight of the sudden squall that had sprung up outside.

Before Susan had finished running her fingers through her hair to flush out the wetness, Cavendish was by her side.

‘Let me take your coat, Susan,’ he offered.

Susan thanked him and allowed him to pull her coat from her shoulders.

‘We’re over there,’ he told her, pointing to the same corner in which they had sat on their first meeting.

‘We?’ Susan said, looking at Cavendish in surprise. Then she glanced across the room and saw Marcus sitting there. He smiled and waved at her.

Cavendish was grinning. ‘What would you like, coffee?’

Susan said she would and then tried not to make it look as though she was in a hurry to get across the room to Marcus, but she felt so good at seeing him there that she just wanted to rush over and say hello.

But she walked.

‘Marcus, what a surprise,’ she admitted to him as he stood up like the perfect gentleman he was. There was plenty of noise in the coffee house and she had no qualms about saying it loudly.

‘I’m like a bad penny, Susan; I keep turning up.’

Susan laughed and sat opposite him. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Marcus. Where have you been?’

Marcus glanced across at Cavendish. ‘He’s been keeping me under lock and key.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘It’s for my own good, so I’m told.’

‘Or is it for Cavendish’s good?’ she asked him, her nose wrinkling in that same sense of impish fun that Marcus was displaying.

‘You know, Susan, it really is good to see you. How are you?’

She gave a kind of so-so shrug. ‘I’m ok, Marcus, I just wish I could have done more to find David.’

He put his hand over hers. ‘Don’t ever give up,’ he said softly.

Susan liked the feel of Marcus’s hand on hers. ‘I won’t, but it’s difficult. Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘why are we here?’

He grinned. ‘I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you; it’s a state secret.’

Susan laughed. ‘Now come on, Marcus; what are we doing here?’

He winked at her. ‘All in good time,’ he told her. ‘All in good time’

Cavendish came up to the table and put Susan’s coffee down in front of her. He then sat down beside Marcus. The two men were now facing her. There was still a great deal of movement and general noise around them but Susan focussed her mind on the two men.

‘My dear,’ Cavendish began, ‘we’ve been doing an incredible amount of work behind the scenes since we saw you last, and you haven’t been forgotten.’

Susan sipped her coffee as Cavendish spoke, her curiosity level rising.

‘But first a little background before I come to the reason for asking you here.’ He glanced away for a moment and Susan wondered if he was play acting; putting on a show for her benefit.

‘When your brother was shot, he was working for me.’

As a statement it carried little weight, but it staggered Susan. She almost burnt her mouth as she dipped her head and gasped. Cavendish put up a hand.

‘It happens, Susan; men work undercover for the State, but they are not always allowed to reveal that. Your brother was a very good field agent; it was why he was on assignment at the Mission in Jalalabad.’

‘I thought he was a journalist,’ Susan said weakly.

‘So did The Chapter.’ Cavendish arched his eyebrows. ‘Well, for a time they did. We believe it was that organisation that tried to kill him.’

‘So this meeting is about David, isn’t it?’ Susan asked him, feeling a little surge of optimism rising inside her.

‘To a point, yes,’ he told her. ‘But more importantly, it’s about stopping the organisation and their insidious business.’

Susan looked at Marcus. He just seemed to be sitting there gazing at her with a poorly concealed smile on his face. She felt her colour come up and looked back at Cavendish.

‘So,’ the intelligence chief went on, ‘I’ve asked you here to put a proposition to you.’

‘What’s that?’ Susan asked warily.

Cavendish shifted in his seat. He leaned closer. ‘I believe the reason you received that second letter from your brother is because someone is trying to contact me.’

‘You?’ Susan interrupted. ‘Why didn’t they send you the letter then?’

‘Too obvious,’ he told her. ‘I believe from intelligence I have received from Afghanistan that there is a problem within the organisation. I’m not too clear on exactly what it is, but I believe that there is an element of unrest somewhere in their loop, so to speak.’

Susan was nodding her head as he spoke. She stopped and lifted the cup to her lips. Marcus watched her closely. She looked over the top of her cup at him, her eyes almost sparkling. Once again she felt conscious of her own behaviour and glanced away.

‘So I want to try to develop that weakness, so to speak. It might just be someone giving us an opportunity to get your brother out.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But I have a gut feeling that there is more to it than that.’

‘So why have you asked me to come here?’ Susan asked him.

Cavendish studied the tips of his fingers for a while. Then he looked up at Susan.

‘When your brother was working under cover at the Mission, there was another agent there also, but your brother did not know. That agent has never been replaced because the risk of exposure was too great; the organisation would have known immediately. But now I think we have someone who could be ready to work for us in Jalalabad; a case of seeing an opportunity present itself and grabbing that opportunity.’