Liz Carlyle - 06 - Rip Tide (16 page)

Liz stared for a moment at the round face with its roman numerals. ‘Yes. There are two sevens and no eight.’

‘Clever girl’, he said approvingly. ‘Not many people notice that.’

‘Why don’t they change it?’

‘It’s been like that since the clock was made. It’s kept that way, perhaps as a reminder that nothing is perfect.’

Was this a further apology? ‘Well,’  Liz said, as she climbed the staircase, ‘perhaps all intelligence services should have a clock like that. To remind us that what we see is not necessarily the truth.’  Their eyes met for an instant and they both smiled. For different reasons, she thought.

Chapter 23

In the library, Liz sat down in a button-backed leather chair while Fane collected coffee from a table by the door. He brought the cups over and sat down next to her, facing the door, stretching out his long legs and leaning back. Given the rather fraught conversation downstairs, he looked surprisingly pleased with himself. He looks like a cat, thought Liz. If he had a tail he’d be swishing it.

One of the porters came in through the open door of the library, followed by another man. The porter pointed to Liz and Fane, and to her astonishment she saw that the newcomer was Martin Seurat. From the expression on his face, Martin seemed as surprised to see Liz as she was to see him.

‘Ah,’ said Fane, ‘Monsieur Seurat is here.’ He looked at Liz archly. ‘I forgot to say that I’d asked him to join us. I thought it could be useful for us to compare notes on Amir Khan.’

As Seurat came across the room towards them, Fane stood up. ‘Martin, how good to see you,’ he said, sounding uncharacteristically warm. ‘You know Elizabeth Carlyle, don’t you?’

Martin had recovered from his initial surprise. ‘Of course – though I know her as Liz. She is Thames House’s liaison with our other Service.’

As the two men sat down, Liz wanted to box Geoffrey Fane around the ears. He had set this up, and was clearly determined to enjoy a joke at their expense – since the Frenchman would have no idea that Fane knew he and Liz were seeing each other.

He said to Martin, ‘Kind of you to come over on a Friday. I hope it won’t spoil your weekend.’

‘I am sure it won’t,’ said Martin, and left it at that. As Fane glanced at his watch Martin winked at Liz.

Fane said, ‘Elizabeth and I have been discussing the prisoner you’re holding . . . Amir Khan. We were wondering if you’ve got any further with him.’

Martin shook his head. ‘He has continued to be unco-operative. I am due to see him myself next week, and will certainly let you know then if this particular bird begins to sing.’

Liz decided to cut into the conversation. ‘We’re trying to find out more about Khan’s activities here in the UK and how he might have been recruited. As you know, we think he went to Pakistan for training. His parents emigrated from there before he was born. He went supposedly to visit relatives, but we think he attended some sort of training camp.’

Martin nodded knowingly. ‘We have similar problems. We find the recruitment takes place in France, usually in one of the new radical mosques, but the instruction in terrorist tactics occurs elsewhere. We have many second- and third-generation French Algerians, for example, who have become disaffected with the West. They return to Algeria under the cover of a family visit, but come back knowing how to blow up a train.’ He exhaled wearily. ‘There is no easy answer to the problem.’

Liz said, ‘We’ve learned one thing just recently from his family: we think he went to Athens sometime between his stay in Pakistan and Somalia.’

‘Athens?’ Martin digested this for a moment.

‘Ring any bells?’ asked Fane.

‘I’m afraid it does not. The links we’ve uncovered recently with our own Al Qaeda sympathisers have been with Yemen and North Africa. That’s why I was intrigued when I heard Khan had been picked up off the Somalian coast. Still, it will be useful when I see him to know that he was in Greece – especially since Khan doesn’t know that we know he went there.’

‘It’s the best position to be in, don’t you think?’ demanded Fane. He looked sharply at Martin, and spoke with the faintest hint of a sneer. ‘I mean, when you know something and the other chap doesn’t know you know.’ He looked at Liz then. It was quite clear to her that he was no longer talking about Amir Khan.

That evening Liz and Martin met up in Gaylord’s, a wine bar halfway between Victoria and the river, just off the Vauxhall Bridge Road. It was slowly filling up with professionals who worked in the area, having a drink before the long weekend.

Martin was in a good mood. He had left the Athenaeum with Fane and they’d gone together by taxi to Vauxhall Cross. Still fuming over Fane’s antics, Liz had declined their offer of a lift and had walked back to Thames House on her own. She found Fane’s breezy lack of concern for the death of the undercover agent, and the absence of any sense of personal responsibility for what had happened, quite astonishing. As a rule she had little sympathy for Bruno Mackay, whom she found self-satisfied and patronising, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him when she saw how his boss was subtly shifting blame for an agent’s death on to his shoulders.

‘You know,’ said Martin, sipping his glass of Chablis, ‘I found Geoffrey Fane rather strange today.’

‘Oh, yes?’ asked Liz a little warily. Now did not seem the right moment to tell Martin that Fane knew about their relationship.

Martin shrugged. ‘As a Frenchman, one knows that there are always Englishmen who think we are buffoons,
and that there are others who simply dislike us. But many Englishmen seem to like the French, even admire our culture. I always thought Fane was one of them.’

‘And you no longer do?

Martin lifted his hands, perplexed. ‘I found him different this afternoon. He seemed to become competitive, sparring with me if you like.’ He gave a small smile. ‘But I think I know the reason.’

‘What do you think it is?’

‘The presence of Mademoiselle Carlyle! He is quite keen on you, I believe, and not very happy that you should be associated with the likes of me – a foreigner. However good the relations between our
bureaux
, he sees me as a competitor nonetheless.’

So Martin realised Fane knew about them, thought Liz, impressed that he had sussed that out for himself. Before she could say anything he went on, ‘I don’t take it personally. He would feel that way about any man you were with, I sense.’

He took an appreciative sip of his wine, then said cheerfully, ‘Anyway, it is of no real consequence. Geoffrey Fane remains
formidable
in many respects, and he will continue to have my respect. But I will soon encounter someone who to me is far more daunting.’

‘You will?’ asked Liz. Did Martin have another meeting he hadn’t told her about?

He looked at her with a sly smile. ‘The weather is supposed to be very fine tomorrow. I expect I will be meeting your mother.’

Chapter 24

Sound chap, Blakey
. Fane’s words were in the back of Liz’s mind as she sat in the office of the Director of UCSO. David Blakey had the characteristic poise of an MI6 officer, but seemed a good deal more relaxed than the version Liz usually found herself working with. True, Blakey’s suit was beautifully cut, but she noted with relief that there were none of the flamboyant extras that Geoffrey Fane and Bruno McKay liked to affect – no paisley silk handkerchief peeping out of the top pocket, no obvious shirt cuffs with gold cufflinks, no regimental tie.

Blakey had calmly explained the history of UCSO’s concerns: how his original call to Fane had come after the head of UCSO’s Athens office, Mitchell Berger, had become suspicious about the recent spate of hijack attempts on valuable shipments. Now, as Liz moved the discussion on to the murder of Maria Galanos, David Blakey begin to look uneasy.

She said, ‘We’re still waiting for the Greek police report, but we know Maria Galanos was strangled.’

‘Yes, I’d heard that. Do they think she knew the person who killed her?’

‘It doesn’t sound like it – apparently her electricity had been tampered with, presumably to make the flat dark when her attacker struck. Which means it wasn’t some sort of argument that suddenly escalated. It was planned – someone must have got into the flat beforehand. Do you know if she had a boyfriend?’

Blakey shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. The thing is, I never met the girl. I would have thought Geoffrey’s colleagues in Athens would know all that sort of thing. They chose her for the job,’ he added with a note of weariness. He seems more disturbed by her death than Fane was, thought Liz, even though he’d never met her. It must be causing a big upset in the Athens office.

She said, ‘Berger met her, of course, so he probably knows more about her. When’s he coming to London next?’

But Blakey didn’t answer. Instead he reached for his phone and dialled two numbers – an internal extension. ‘Could you pop in?’ he said without preamble.

Moments later, the door to his office opened and a tall, slim woman walked in. She wore a smart linen shirtdress and plain but expensive-looking jewellery – a necklace of gold coins and a bracelet of fine gold wires. No wedding ring, observed Liz. The new arrival was about forty, with a mature, lightly sunburned face, blonde hair tied back, revealing a high forehead, bright blue eyes, and a sharp chin. The effect was smart and attractive rather than beautiful. It was a look that Liz would love to be able to achieve, though she had long ago accepted that she never would.

Blakey stood up and pulled out a chair for the woman. ‘This is Liz Carlyle. She works with the friend I mentioned,’ he told her.

Liz looked at him in surprise; her understanding from Fane was that only Berger in Athens (as well as Blakey himself) knew about the involvement of Fane and his colleagues in tracing the possible UCSO leak. Just how much had Blakey told this woman? She decided to ask Fane at the earliest opportunity what the agreement with Blakey had been.

‘Katherine Ball,’ said the blonde woman, stretching out her hand to Liz.

‘We were talking about the problem in Athens,’ said Blakey.

‘Yes,’ said Katherine, non-committally.

‘Liz was asking about Maria, and I said I’d never met her. I think you did, though.’

‘Yes, though I can’t say I got to know her particularly well. Mitchell and I are usually pretty busy when I’m there,’ she said, looking at Liz and smiling. ‘I’m never in Athens very long, so my days are full – I don’t have much time to chat to the staff.’

Liz nodded. ‘I understand. Do you know if Maria was friendly with anyone in particular?’

While Katherine thought about this, Blakey interjected, ‘She hadn’t worked in the office very long . . .’

Katherine interrupted. ‘The twins,’ she said. Liz looked at her and she explained. ‘Two Greek girls who work in the office. Anastasia and Falana. They’re not related, actually, but I always call them the twins because they’re inseparable.’

‘And Maria knew them?’

‘Everybody knows them. They’re the dogsbodies in the office. I don’t mean that unkindly – it’s just that if you need anything, from a photocopy to coffee for a visitor, one of them gets it.’

‘And Maria and these two?’ asked Liz, trying to move the woman on.

‘I think they were intrigued by her. Another Greek girl – slightly older but roughly the same generation. Yet half-English, educated – she’d travelled.’ She glanced over at Blakey as she said this. ‘Anyway, I think they got quite friendly. Even went out together.’

This was not surprising, given Maria’s brief from the Athens MI6 Station. It would have been a good way for her to learn the office gossip. The ‘twins’ would have known far more than Berger about the personalities in the office, all their foibles and little habits, which when added up could provide the lead she’d been asked to look out for.

Katherine went on, ‘I have to say, I was a little surprised. Not to be snooty about it, but Maria came from a different background – I don’t think either of the twins has much education, and they both come from fairly humble families. I wouldn’t have thought they had much to offer someone like Maria. All they ever talk about is pop music, clubbing and boys.’

‘Well, they’re young after all,’ said Blakey mildly. ‘That’s understandable.’

But Katherine shook her head. ‘There was more to it than that. I have the feeling they’ve got some pretty ropey friends in the clubs they go to. The girls are often the worse for wear when they come to work; I was going to speak to Mitchell about it, in fact. I think sometimes he’s too tolerant.’

‘Was Maria like that?’ asked Liz. It sounded unlikely. Surely she wouldn’t have been on the books of the Athens Station if she had been a committed party girl.

Katherine shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But she was young and single – and pretty.’

‘But wouldn’t the boys she met through the “twins” have been a bit young for her?’ asked Blakey. ‘Or was she a . . . what do they call it these days . . . a cougar?’

‘I’m surprised you know that expression, David.’ Katherine smiled at him. ‘Maria wasn’t anything like old enough.’

Liz nodded. ‘Anything else we should know about Maria?’