Dark Winter (22 page)

‘Yes, I’ve got that. I’ll talk to you in a minute.’ I cut the phone and looked down at Kelly. ‘I know, I know. I’ve got to go in a minute. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. I’ll call you later.’

We stood on the pavement outside the café. ‘Granny and Gramps are inside.’ I opened the door and we went in. Kelly took the conversation out of my hands. ‘Nick has to go to work now, don’t you, Nick?’

I looked down at her. ‘We’ll talk later about . . . you know, what we just talked about. OK?’

She nodded weakly as she accepted my hug. ‘OK.’

As soon as I was outside with my bags I got back on to the phone. ‘Suzy, pick me up, will you? I’ll meet you in Sloane Square, the bus stop outside WH Smith.’

‘Better be there.’

The phone went dead and I walked up to the square, still trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. But, then, I’d spent most of my life doing that, and wasn’t sure I’d ever won the argument.

28

Suzy was late. It shouldn’t have taken her so long. I was waiting against the Smith’s window with my shopping bags piled up at my feet, concentrating on the vehicles coming from my right on the one-way circuit round the square. While I looked out for Suzy, I took a mental note of every female driver of about her age, as well as the model of their car, its colour and registration number – anything to stop me thinking about Kelly.

I checked traser again and pulled out the moan-phone. ‘Where the fuck are you?’

‘Nearly there. Gimme two.’

I got out my own cell and dialled Josh, just in case they’d got back early. If so, I’d be waking the house – they were five hours behind. But all I got was his answerphone.

I spotted the Peugeot 206 first, a shiny silver thing straight from the showroom, then Suzy’s hair flying round as her head swung from side to side, looking for me. She saw me and swerved, her right hand on the wheel as her left changed down, and a cabbie hit his horn as he moved to avoid her. I stepped out on to the pavement and waved to her, then went back and gathered up my shopping.

I did a smily ‘Hello, how are you?’ as I opened the door and climbed in, dumping the bags in the back as she responded with her pleased-to-see-you routine.

‘Fucking traffic.’ She chewed hard on her gum. ‘We gotta get a move on.’

We nudged out into the flow, following the clockwise route round Sloane Square, and immediately had to stop at the lights. ‘Phone the boss, will you, Nick? Tell him what’s happening. I waited in case he wanted to talk to you.’

‘Can’t you do it?’

‘What – and break the law?’ She lifted both hands from the wheel. ‘Go on, you like him, really.’

I pulled out the moan-phone from the bumbag and dialled.

He answered with a gruff ‘What?’ The Yes Man had only wrong sides on his bed, and the moan-phone lived up to its name.

‘It’s Nick.’

‘Well?’

‘We’ve got a meet in just under an hour. We’re on our—’

‘Call me back when you’ve finished with him.’ The phone went dead.

‘There, you see?’ She shrugged her left shoulder and lifted a hand. ‘That didn’t hurt, did it?’

I didn’t answer, instead concentrated on putting the moan-phone back in the bumbag.

‘Just because I’m right. Anyway, what did he say?’

‘We’ve got to call back with a sit rep afterwards.’

She checked her watch. ‘I brought all the kit with me – there’s two ops bags in the back. I reckoned it’s better with us than back at the flat. Another blast from the past, eh?’

She was talking about the stuff that sat in the back of our cars when we went out on ops with the Det: a set of Gore-Tex, including boots, warm-weather kit, wellington boots, Mars bars rewrapped in clingfilm to cut down on noise, and a weapon. A lot of us chose the G3, a 7.62 assault rifle with a fixed butt so you could take good, sturdy, long-range shots, rather than collapsible stocks that tend to move about. It would have been my weapon of choice for this job, too, but the SDs in the boot would do just fine.

We left the square and headed east. Suzy nodded as we drove by Victoria station. ‘Look, they’re busy again.’ Parked at the roadside ahead of us were two unmarked police cars. The occupants looked nonchalant enough, but the sunlight glinted on the blue lights hidden behind their plastic radiator grilles.

I hit the radio and got a phone-in about post-conflict Iraq. Suzy powered down her window. ‘Were you in Gulf War One?’ She spat out the gum. ‘You know, with the Regiment?’

‘Yeah, looking for scud and stuff. It was the last time I wore NBC kit. Even then I wasn’t too sure what to do with it.’

The window got powered up and she laughed. ‘Come on, you know how to use this shit, don’t you? You want me to—’

‘I know – sort of. Not that it mattered much then. I reckoned that if I was in the middle of getting zapped with anthrax or whatever, trying to pull one of those things on was definitely shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted.’

‘But they work.’

‘Sure, but the fucking things also start to fall apart after a day. The only benefit I ever got from mine was that it kept me warm at night. But this time,’ I levelled my hand above my head, ‘I’m going to be up to here in charcoal and rubber.’

Twenty minutes later we found a parking space in Smithfield. I pumped in enough coins to take the whole two hours on the meter while Suzy put my shopping bags with the rest of the kit and locked up. The congestion charge wasn’t a worry for us because the cover company paid a yearly fee, but getting towed away would ruin our day. Those guys just slap on a ticket and the tow truck is there in quick time. We both double-checked inside the Peugeot before moving off.

‘Same as before?’

She nodded, extracting some more gum from her bag, and I dialled her phone to check comms. She pushed the hands-free into her ear and I waved her goodbye with a smile as we passed Starbucks and she went inside. There were fifteen minutes to go until the RV.

The pub wasn’t as packed as last time. I got myself a Coke, and could hear the Starbucks espresso machine gurgling and gasping in my ear as I headed for a seat back from the window. Over the sound of soft violin music Suzy ordered two cappuccinos. A minute or so later she sparked up. ‘Hello, I’m facing the main door, half-way up on the left.’

‘That’s me in position too.’

With three or four minutes to go a familiar face came out of the station and turned left, towards me. ‘Hello, stand by, Navy is here, same jacket on jeans. Approaching Turnmill.’

‘OK, that’s great, I’ll see you soon, then.’

Navy crossed the junction and looked into the pub as he passed. At that moment, things got even more interesting. ‘Here we go, Suzy. Our man is out of the station, towards me, same raincoat, now on. Grey is behind him, still suede on jeans, crossing over the road. Both heading your way.’

‘Yep, got it, just seen Navy pass. See you soon.’

The source walked past the pub, doing a good job of blending in with the world around him.

‘They’ve just passed me.’

‘OK, I’ve got that.’ Suzy spoke as if she was chatting to her mum about the prices in Sainsbury’s. I could still hear the violin music, and also catch some loud Italian gobbing off over the counter as people ordered coffee. Then an edge of concern crept into her voice. ‘Why don’t you come and have your coffee now?’ Maybe she’d seen something.

‘You OK?’

‘Don’t trust him, that’s all.’

29

I could hear Suzy talking to the source as I left the pub. ‘Oh, hello – I didn’t expect to see you here.’ I could just imagine them exchanging surprised smiles. I heard the scrape of chairs, and by then I was passing the front window. I glanced to my left. They were both seated at the table Suzy had described. She was in a leather chair and he was perched on a stool, facing her with his back towards me.

I carried on past, turning left just a few metres later, and down the alleyway. As I came out into the square I made sure I kept looking dead ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, off to my half-right, I caught Navy, sitting on one of the steel benches. He was eating a sandwich, alongside a group enjoying their lunchtime break.

I went in through the glass door and Suzy flashed me a smile. The two women next door to her looked up nosily to see who’d come in, then settled back to their gossip. I pulled up a seat next to Suzy and faced the source.

Suzy took charge. ‘We’re here for the same reason as last time, OK? Any problems, we’re going to go out the back way, and I want you—’

She was pointing at the source, but before she could complete her sentence I cut in: ‘No, we’ll go out the front door, he goes out the back.’

She knew better than to ask why just now; she could do that later. ‘OK, that’s what we’ll do.’ Then, with a smile, as if she was asking him to pass her the sugar, she said, ‘So, what do you have for us?’ She leant forward and took a sip of coffee, and I did the same.

The source also leant forward, and started playing with his sachet of sugar. ‘The ASU – I know where they are.’

I said, ‘Do they have what we want?’

‘Of course.’

We waited for him to carry on, but there was nothing. He just played with the sachet on the tabletop with his massive hands. I wondered what he really did for a living.

Suzy had soon had enough. ‘Well, where are they?’

He looked up sharply. ‘Why did you follow me last night? You could have just asked me.’

‘Why have you got two men outside if you’re on your own? Who’s following who?’

He quite liked that, sitting back a little and taking a sip of his coffee while he thought it over. ‘The terrorism you’re dealing with now, the kind I know, it’s not about tactical attacks to get a government to the bargaining table. It’s about killing as many people as possible. You’re now fighting men and women who pray five times a day to die a noble death.’ He paused for effect. ‘“As you kill us, we kill you.”’

I raised my hands. ‘Hey, listen, whatever.’

‘You people know nothing. You’re all about now, all about nine/eleven. You have no understanding of history. You talk about
jihad
ists as if they inhabit a world where time is compressed, and all the murders and wrongs that their people have suffered for hundreds of years can be righted with just a few years of martyrdom. This is just the beginning of the third wave . . .’

‘Where are they?’ Suzy was getting as pissed off as me, but was starting to show it. He liked that. He closed his eyes. ‘They’re in a city called King’s Lynn.’

Suzy looked surprised. ‘What? East Anglia?’

He hunched his shoulders with irritation, went back to the sugar. ‘How do I know where it is? All I know is that’s where they are.’

‘Is that all you’ve got?’ I said. ‘It’s a big place.’

His eyes swivelled. They were so bloodshot I thought they might fall out of their sockets. ‘The house is in Sir Lewis Street. Number eighty-eight.’

‘How many are there?’

‘I don’t know anything else. Nothing.’

I continued to hover over my cup. ‘Are they armed?’

‘Enough! I’ve told you everything I know.’

Suzy had one other question. ‘How did you find out about King’s Lynn?’

Without answering, he stood up, made his polite goodbyes for the sake of appearances, and left via the back door.

I nodded at him. ‘That’s where Navy was as I came in.’

A pen came out of her bag and she wrote down the King’s Lynn details before we left through the front door and walked towards the car. I tapped her bag. ‘Better give a sit rep.’

‘Don’t you want to?’

‘Nah. My horoscope advised me to minimize communication with arsewipes.’

She powered up and made the call as we walked through Smithfield. ‘We’ve just had the meet.’ There was a pause. ‘King’s Lynn.’ Another pause. ‘Yes, that’s right. Eighty-eight Sir Lewis Street.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, maybe four or five hours?’ She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

I held up three fingers and mouthed three.

‘Sir, we should be there in three hours.’ It was a while before she could get another word in edgeways. ‘OK, sir, yes, we will.’

I beckoned the phone over.

‘Sir, Nick wants to talk.’ She handed it to me.

‘What is it?’

‘What do we know about the source? Is this int reliable – is he reliable? It sounds bullshit to me. Only yesterday he was telling us how hard it is for him. Why should we rush up there on what could turn out to be—’

‘Because no matter how unreliable the information or even he may or may not be, there is no other option. So, until the decision is made to inform others about this, you will rush wherever I want you to. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

The line went dead.

‘You know King’s Lynn, then? You don’t sound like a Norfolk boy.’

I ignored her and told her what the Yes Man had said as we got to the car. She rubbed her hands with what looked almost like excitement. ‘Which way, then?’

‘Just get us to the M11.’

We stopped at a garage once we were on the North Circular and bought sandwiches and a bottle of Coke for me, and four apples and a yoghurt for her. Eventually we got on to the motorway towards Cambridge. I’d been brooding about the reasons the ASU might have chosen Norfolk, and it suddenly dawned on me. ‘If Fuck-face back there is right, King’s Lynn could make sense.’