Skinner's Ordeal (33 page)

`Tell you something,' said Mcllhenney. 'If they did, and they can react like that after taking out a whole planeload, then these are two very dangerous people. What do we do now, sir?

Pick them up?'

Donaldson tutted quietly. 'That's up to Andy Martin. I'll call him right now. But my inclination would be to play the thing out to the end. To tail Ariadne to wherever it is she's going this weekend, and then to take the two of them, together.'

SIXTY-NINE

Arrow was in the kitchen of his attic flat in Notting Hill when the buzzer sounded, a few feet from his ear. He took a pace to his right and picked it up.

`Hello,' he said brightly. 'Trattoria Español aqui. Can I help you?'

Shana laughed. 'Yes, you can open the bloody door!'

Òkay.' He pushed the button, replaced the receiver, and stepped out of the flat on to the landing to meet her. Shana was striding up the stairs towards him, past the first landing already, with a small rucksack bouncing on her shoulder. He jogged down to meet her halfway. She was wearing a plain grey cotton sweat-top and jeans, and looked, even in that simple outfit, very desirable indeed.

Adam looked down at the bag. 'You're travelling light. Hope I've got enough wardrobe space for all that lot.'

Ì've got enough for one night. Once I've heard just how, seriously you want to talk, I might consider bringing more.' She grinned at him. 'You're not having second thoughts about that are you?'

He returned her smile. 'I never have second thoughts. Once I've decided on something, I see it through to the end.'

`That sounds promising.'

Ìt's my line of work. It's made me that way. Come on, love, let’s get upstairs.' He fished a key from his pocket.

She looked at him in slight surprise. 'You always lock up, when you're only coming down to answer the buzzer?'

He nodded. 'It's the way I was brought up. We're very suspicious us of our neighbours in Derbyshire.'

They climbed the stairs arm in arm. At the top, he opened the door and held it for her.

Inside she went straight to the bedroom and laid her rucksack on a chair. She looked around, and nodded.

Ì'm always impressed when I come into your flat. Compared to mine everything's so neat.

Doesn't it frustrate you to be with someone as untidy as me?'

He grinned wickedly. 'I can use a little anarchy in my life.'

`Then you've come to the right place . . .' She bore down on him, and pushed him backward, on to the bed, kissing him, crawling over him, unfastening the buttons on his shirt.

Ì should warn you,' he said. 'I've been handling chillies.'

Ìn that case, just lie back and keep your hands in the air.' Quickly she unfastened his cotton slacks, and leaned over him. `Now, what did you say that you had on the menu tonight . . . ?'

It began with her tongue, licking, swirling, around him, and her hands, exploring, testing.

'Oh yes,' she hissed. Ì can see what you meant.'

He gripped the rails of his brass bedstead, and arched his back.

An hour and a half later, they lay there, naked, replete and dozing. Shana nuzzled her face against his neck. 'Hey,' she whispered. 'Now I've had the
Penne Picante
..

Ànd extras!' he growled.

‘ when am I going to see this pasta? I'm starving!'

Soon,' he said. `But there's something we've got to talk about first.'

‘Mmm. Well I suppose I could last for another half-hour or so.'

`No, I meant proper talk.' He propped himself up on elbow, and looked down at her, his face suddenly serious, and she thought, anxious. A pang of fear grasped her.

'Shana,' he said. 'You know some of my business, but not all of it, not by a long way.

Before I came into the job I'm in now was in the SAS. I did some pretty terminal things, and I managed to come through them all, by being a pretty callous little bastard. But I can't play that part anymore.'

She looked at him, thoroughly frightened now. 'What are you leading up to?'

'Shana, love, all this Agent Robin stuff. We've got to put a stop to it.'

`What do you mean?' Her voice was brittle.

Ì know about you. You've been feeding material to the Iraqis for the last three months.'

Àdam, that's not funny. Don't joke like that.'

Ì wish I was joking. The SIS picked up information about the Iraqi network of deep-cover agents a few months back. They learned that Agent Robin, the English sleeper, was an LSE graduate working in the civil service, who had been recruited in Turkey, on a Muslim student summer-exchange programme.

`They learned too that Robin's purpose was to feed back sensitive information that would be of use to Iraq in planning Gulf de-stabilisation tactics. They didn't know which Department Robin was in, but it was a safe bet that it would be either Foreign, Defence or Cabinet Office. They didn't know either whether Robin was male or female, but when they fed all the data they held into a computer, it took about three seconds to come up with your name.'

She was wide-eyed now. She made a move to slip out of bed, but he grabbed her hand and held it until she stopped struggling' Ìt's all right, love. I'm not going to hurt you. But just listen on.

‘The M16 people knew from their source that you were about to be activated. That's when they brought me in. You were under surveillance from that point on — phone taps at the office, at home, on your mobile, the whole works. When you were contacted we knew right away.'

Suddenly she glared at him. 'So all this, you and me, this was just you doing your job?'

`Listen,' he said fiercely. 'If I'd been doing my job properly, we'd be having this conversation in a cellar somewhere. Us getting involved wasn't on the agenda. Now we are, it's your one chance of coming out of this in one piece!' The fire left his eyes. `Tell me why, Shana. You're no Muslim fanatic, and you're as British as I am. What did they use on you?'

Her gaze dropped from his, and she started to sob. 'They threatened to kill my parents.'

Àhh; said Arrow, matter-of-fact. 'That's pretty basic, and it's just like them. With someone young like you, it works nearly every time. Tell me, how did they set you up?'

She stifled a sob, and he wiped her eyes with a corner of the bedsheet. 'When I was in Turkey, on that exchange, I was approached by a man who said he had an employment proposition for me. I thought he was a Turk, so I had coffee with him. He was very matter-of-fact about it. He said that as a Muslim, the interests of the State of Iraq were my interests. He proposed that when I graduated, I should apply for posts in the civil service, with the Ministry of Defence or the Foreign Office as my preferences. Once inside, I should look for posts in sensitive departments. He gave me a list. The Foreign Secretary's Private Office was at the top. Defence was second.'

She went on: 'He said that once I was in a suitable post, I would be contacted and I would feed information back to them. When I was operational, money would be lodged for me in a numbered account in Zurich. He also said that if I refused or failed to co-operate in any way, then my parents would be killed first, and me next. You know all the rest. I've been passing information since I've been activated.'

She looked up at him desperately. 'What's going to happen to me, Adam? Are you going to put me away?'

He shook his head. Nothing's going to happen to you, love. You haven't done anything, you see.'

She stared at him, bewildered.

`You don't think I'd 'ave let you feed genuine secrets to the Iraqis, do you? Everything you saw, copied and sent was specially prepared. It was realistic enough not to compromise you with them, but written so that it would expose their agents in other Gulf States. We've shut down most of those within the last month. You're an international heroine, love, even if you did think you were a spy!'

She gazed at him, open-mouthed. 'Who knows about this?'

`Me, John Swift, Morelli, the PM and the head of MI6, that's all. Now what we've got to do is close you down, without the Iraqis suspecting that they've been stuffed.'

`How can you do that?'

`This is what Morelli, MI6 and I have worked out. Swifty doesn't have to know, and the PM doesn't want to. I've got a document photocopied and ready for you to hand over. It's from the director of MI6 to Morelli, saying that the Iraqi network has been uncovered in its entirety, and is about to be terminated. I've added in a note saying that you're cutting and running. You communicate through a safe house in Kilburn, right? You make a phone call, and take your material there, to hand it over to your contact. You see him, but you don't know his name. Am I right?'

She nodded. 'Yes,' she whispered.

'We know who he is, though. He's called Rafiq; he's a restaurant worker with a French passport. As soon as Rafiq transmits your message to Baghdad, he'll be picked up and charged. Well announce his arrest, but we'll say that his contact in Whitehall has committed suicide. Unless we're all very much mistaken, the Iraqis will shut down the whole operation. They won't look for you, because our suicide announcement will make them believe that we've killed you. That's what they would do in our shoes; hold one for a show trial and execution, and just do away with the others.'

She looked up at him, her confidence returning. 'So what do I do?'

`Don't go to the office tomorrow. Leave here early and go home. Make your call to Rafiq, and set up a meeting for ten o'clock. Then pack your favourite clothes and take a taxi to Kilburn. Meet Rafiq at the safe house, and hand over the material. Let him leave first, then you go. But you don't go back to the Ministry . . . ever. Or to your flat. I'll see to it that it's cleared, and the rent and everything taken care of.'

`What do I do instead?'

He reached for his wallet, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to her. 'You go to this address. It's a flat in Godalming, in Surrey. But don't go straight there. Take a taxi back into London and catch a bus. That's nice and public and it'll make it easy for us to ensure that no one's following you who shouldn't be. There'll be someone there to meet you and to stay with you for the first few days — for your peace of mind as much as anything else.

It'll all be okay.'

And what about us, you and I? Do we have a future?'

Of course, if that's what you want. I'll visit you as soon as I can be absolutely sure that the Iraqis have bought the whole story;

She hugged him, quickly. Her body felt cold against his, so he drew her down beneath the covers.

`Will I be able to see my parents, eventually?' she asked. 1 was still trembling, but her composure was returning.

Not for a few months at the very least. Eventually, well arrange a meeting on neutral ground. But for now, they'll have to think you're dead too. For their own safety as much as anything. They'll be given a death certificate, and they'll have to hold a funeral. After a while, as soon as I judge that it's okay, I'll send a message to them.'

She took a deep breath. 'It'll be awful for them. But if you say so, then it has to be. But for how long, Adam? Will I have to live in hiding always? Will it be just like being in prison?'

He smiled. Not unless you insist on seeing it that way. As to how long, we'll move you out of Godalming after a while, possibly to Derbyshire, where I come from. It'll make it easier for me to visit you if you're there. You'll have a new identity too. We'll fix you up with a job . . . a lecturer, maybe . . . to let you build a real new life. After a year or so, you and I can begin thinking long-term . . . if you still want to, that is.'

She frowned. 'But won't people find out then, people from the Ministry, who'll think I'm dead?'

`Love, Swifty and I ain't in the office directories, remember. There are around twenty people in MOD who've ever heard of me. And none of them know my real name, or anything about my private life.'

She smiled, reassured. 'What is your real name?'

Àdam.

The other one, then?'

`What does it say on the doorbell downstairs?'

She wrinkled her brow. 'Feather, isn't it?'

`That'll do then. You can use it, if you like. After tomorrow Shania Mirzana'll be no use to you. I'll get you a new birth certificate, NI number, passport and all that. Just you pick a name.

She thought for a few seconds. 'Feather — yes, I like that. It's nice, even for a brown-skinned girl. As for a forename, do you think that Robin would be a bit cheeky?'

Adam laughed and gave her a quick hug. 'I think it would be perfect. I'll see to it tomorrow. For now let's eat, if you've still got an appetite.'

Ì have,' she murmured, 'but not for food; not just yet.' She bit his nipple, gently.

`Hey,' he gasped. 'Tell me one more thing.'

`What?'

`When you broke into Maurice Noble's house last week, to photograph something that you hadn't had a chance to copy during the day . . .'

`You . . .'

`No, not me. I didn't follow you. Swifty did that. Anyway, when you opened the Red Box, there was nothing, absolutely nothing unusual about it?'

`No, nothing at all.'

`Just as well,' said Arrow. 'Otherwise, right now a street in Putney would be missing one house, you'd be spread all over south London, and I'd be looking for a new girlfriend!'

SEVENTY

She pressed the bell, three times in quick succession, then turned the plastic oval handle and pushed. As usual, the Yale was on the latch, and the dirty door, with great bare patches showing in its black paintwork, swung open before her.

`Hello!' she called out as usual as she climbed the narrow stair which led from the street directly into the small flat. Her ascent was made awkward by a huge nylon hold-all which she lugged by her side, grasped in both hands and held up to avoid it snagging on the wooden steps.

She was breathing hard as she reached the top of the flight and turned into what she imagined would be the living room, were the place occupied and not completely empty of furniture. She dropped the bag, which hit the floor with a thud, sending up a small cloud of dust.

`You're three minutes late,' the man said sharply. He was of medium height, and slim-built, with a complexion much browner than hers, and a thin black moustache. It came to her that after all their meetings, she was taking in these details for the first time.