Fear of the Fathers (37 page)

After one last check she left the room. She had a car, she had money and, most importantly, she had a name. The name that had been running around her head for the last two days. The name the foolish agent had let slip at the caves. The name that haunted her. STONE.

Stella and Cronin left the hotel in silence, both caught up in their own thoughts. Cronin was preoccupied with making plans for Stratton's escape, and Stella was wondering where she fitted into it all. There had been no mention of her as the three men discussed the best way forward. True, she wasn't on the run, and had no need to flee the country, but all the same she wanted to feel involved, even if it was in a small way. After months of indolence she once again felt the rush of danger. The thought of everyone going on an adventure without her was inconceivable. She made her mind up that whatever the objections she was going to go with them.

“You were very mysterious about how you were going to get them out of the country,” she said to Cronin, as they started back to London.

“Yes,” he said. “Because I can't be sure of the exact details yet. I'll have to make a few phone calls when we get back and arrange everything. I've got an idea of the best way to do it, I just hope I can get everything organized in time. It could be tricky, seeing as how I've now got to arrange passage for a big cat as well. Did you know about it? Have you ever seen it?”

“No,” she replied. “I've never seen it. I had no idea it even existed until just now. But then again there's so much I don't know about Stratton.” Her last words echoed with bitterness.

“Sounds incredible though doesn't it? I mean, a panther living on the moors.”

“Yes it does,” said Stella. She remembered how only months previously she had been taking the piss out of Jennings, after he claimed to have seen a pair of eyes in the hedgerow by Stratton's cottage. “But there's always been rumours of big cats on the moors.” She lit a cigarette and turned on the radio. “Do you think there's going to be a lot of room on the boat to India?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” said Cronin suspiciously. “And what makes you think it's a boat?”

“I'm just assuming…Well, is there a lot of room?”

“Like I said, I haven't finalized the transport yet. Am I to take it that you wish to travel to India as well?”

“It might be interesting,” she said nonchalantly.

“Have you discussed it with Oggi and Stratton?”

“No, not yet. But I'm sure they wouldn't mind.”

“It's not just a holiday you know,” said Cronin, who instantly regretted the comment.

“For fuck's sake! I know it's not a fucking holiday! You seem to forget Mr fucking SAS man that I spent over five years in Special Branch, and I wasn't just darning the men's socks!”

“Okay, okay,” said Cronin softly. “I apologize. I just think that they'd be wary of taking you into a dangerous situation when there's absolutely no need for it. When you care about someone you don't want to see them hurt. Think about it logically – if you get caught in the company of Oggi then you're going to be in a whole world of trouble. Aiding and abetting a cop killer won't go down too well at all. But I'm sure you know that already.”

“Of course I do. I know the dangers, and I know that they just want to keep me out of trouble. But it still feels like I'm being treated like some sort of helpless child, or damsel in distress. The bottom line is – I'm a good person to have around in a tight situation. I can handle a gun and I can handle myself. I want to help, and I'll be fucked if you lot of chauvinistic pigs are going to leave me behind.”

“Point taken,” said Cronin. “I shall—”

Stella waved her hand and shushed him and turned up the radio.

“…last night at No. 10. After a brief chase the suspect dived into the Thames and has not been seen since. After a detailed search of the river the man was not found. Police believe that in all probability he has drowned. But due to the slim chance that he is alive they have released a photo of him. He is six feet tall, well-built with blond hair, and goes by the name of Thomas Jennings. The public are advised to take extreme caution and under no circumstances approach this man.”

“Fuck,” muttered Stella. “What the hell's going on?”

“He's a friend of yours isn't he?” said Cronin.

“Yes,” said Stella. “A good friend. A very good friend.” She went silent, attempting to assimilate the information she'd just heard. A murder at No.10, and Jennings the chief suspect? It didn't seem real. Jennings, the most honourable, trustworthy and loyal person she knew. What had he got himself mixed up in? “I can't believe it,” she murmured. “I just can't believe it.”

“I'm assuming you don't think he's guilty?” said Cronin.

“He can't be,” she said, lighting a fresh cigarette from her old one. “It's just not possible. He's a good man. The best man I know.”

“You don't know the circumstances,” said Cronin. “Perhaps he had no choice.”

“Maybe,” said Stella. “But I can't imagine him killing someone, not somebody he worked with. But I suppose you're right, it may have been self-defence…But then why would he run? Why didn't he just stay put and explain himself?”

“I suspect there's more to it than meets the eye,” said Cronin. “If you don't believe him capable of murder, then I'm inclined to defer to your better judgement. But there's definitely something going on around the Prime Minister. First that assassination attempt last week. Now this. I think your friend may be mixed up in something above his station. I know what goes on in the higher echelons of the security services, nothing is ever quite what it seems. If your friend's as true and straight as you think, then it's highly likely he's being made a scapegoat for something far more sinister.”

Stella took a heavy drag of smoke. Cronin's words, however well-intentioned, were no source of comfort.

Jennings turned off the television in disgust. The police had named him and released his photograph. Soon the whole country would be familiar with his face. Like most kids he'd had a desire to one day have his name in lights, and his picture in the papers, but he hadn't imagined it happening quite like this.

“Well, that's fucked it,” he said, turning to Grady who was sitting next to him on the sofa.

“What did you expect?” said Grady.

“I thought they might keep it quiet, try and deal with it discreetly. I didn't think they were going to turn it into some media circus. I wouldn't have thought they'd want to draw attention to themselves. If they're up to something, the last thing they want is heavy media interest.”

“They obviously want you badly.”

“Yeah, too badly. It's a nightmare. I may as well hand myself in now, my life's over with.”

“That's no sort of attitude, is it?” said Grady. “You're an innocent man, you can't just give up. I told you, I can get you out of the country. Lie low for a while.”

Jennings sighed and held his head. “Maybe, I don't know. I'm too confused at the moment to make any decisions. What I need is some time.”

“Well,” said Grady. “I'm afraid that's something we haven't got a lot of. I'll give it two days at the most before they find out I'm in the country. And once that happens they're going to be banging down my door like a Jehovah's Witness on crack. So, I hate to push you, but we've got to start making plans.”

“You're right. Of course you're right. But first, how about getting me a drink.”

Grady went to the table and poured Jennings a large scotch. “Are you not having one?” asked Jennings.

“No,” said Grady. “One of us has to keep a straight head.”

“You're right, I shouldn't really have this. But at the moment my head's mush anyway. I'm pretty certain it can't get any worse. Who knows, I may get a moment of clarity.”

“Yeah, maybe,” grunted a dubious Grady.

Jennings took a large swig and felt his body ease. He sat back and briefly closed his eyes. “Of course, there is one option we haven't thought of,” he said.

“And what's that?” asked Grady.

“I could go to the media. Any reporter would love to expose a high-level government conspiracy, it's what they dream of when they start out as a junior. They all want to be the next
Woodward
or
Bernstein
. If I go to someone with this, they'll be in heaven.”

“Damn right they'll be in heaven,” said Grady. “They'll have caught Britain's most wanted man. How's that for an exclusive.”

“I disagree. I'm pretty certain they'd be more interested in exposing the real story, rather than hanging me out to dry. Catching a criminal is one thing, but a government cover-up, that's
Pulitzer Prize
-winning stuff.”

“Okay then, let's say you're right. You need someone you can trust. Do you know of such a journalist? Because I'll be damned if I do.”

“I guess not,” Jennings conceded. “But it's an idea. I'm a desperate man Grady, a wanted man, anything I do is going to have an element of danger.”

Grady got up and walked to the window. He had forgotten how obstinate Jennings could be. There was an easy way out, and that was Grady's way out: a change of appearance and a fake passport was all it required. But Jennings wasn't having any of it, he was determined to stand and fight whatever the cost. He admired him for it, but there was a time to fight and this wasn't it. Unless he talked him round soon it would be too late.

“I wonder if Stella's seen the news,” said Jennings, breaking into Grady's thoughts.

“You'd think so,” said Grady. “I imagine it'd be pretty difficult to miss. At least she'll know why you haven't been in contact.”

“She'll be worried,” said Jennings.

“That's what you'd like to think.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” said Grady. “Just a joke Mister Tetchy. I'm sure, as you say, that she will be worried.”

“I really need to speak to her.”

“Yes, I'm sure you do. But in the current climate I don't think it's a good idea.”

Jennings sipped some more whisky. “But earlier on you said we could find a safe place to make a call from.”

“Yeah, I did. But I've had time to think since then. They're bound to be monitoring her phone 24/7, unless of course they don't know about your close friendship.”

“They might well be, but I'm not going to tell her where I am.”

Grady sighed. “Listen buddy, if you could stop thinking with your dick for one minute then we might get somewhere. I think I've humoured you for long enough. Bottom line is, we need to get you out of the country – and soon. So forget about Stella, forget about exposing conspiracies, and concentrate on staying alive and free…I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I don't feel like I have a choice anymore.”

After an ephemeral surge of anger, accompanied by an irate glare, Jennings calmed himself. “Sorry Grady, you're right,” he said. “I know I need to go, I just hate running away.”

“It's just a tactical withdrawal,” said Grady. “Once you're in the States we can get you out of the way, and then you'll have time to rationalize the situation. I'm not telling you to let them get away with anything, I'm just telling you that this isn't the right time for heroics. We're just sitting ducks, the police could be through that door at any moment.”

Jennings finished his drink. “Okay then,” he said. “You sort out my passport, get me a ticket, and we'll go. But there's one thing I need to do first.”

“And what's that?” asked Grady, sensing he wasn't going to like the response.

“I need to say goodbye to Stella.”

Stratton finished watching the news report and muted the TV. There was a brief silence as he and Oggi lay back on their respective beds and digested what they had just seen.

“What do you make of that then?” said Oggi.

“I'm not too sure what to make of it,” said Stratton. “All I can tell you is that he's innocent.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him.”

“I'll have to trust you on that. I'll say one thing though – it's lucky Cronin turned up, because that Jennings isn't going to be any use to us now, is he? He'll be too busy trying to get himself out of the country.”

“I guess he will. But that doesn't mean he's not going to be any help.”

“What do you mean?”

Stratton opened his mouth to speak, but then paused and said, “Don't worry about it, it's nothing. Anyway, you seem to have changed your tune about Father Cronin.”

“Well, I've got no choice. He knows everything now doesn't he. If he stitches us up there's nothing I can do about it. It doesn't mean that I trust him though. I'm reserving judgement until we're safely out of the country, and even then I'll be watching him.”