fifty-two

“That’s not even funny,” the man countered mildly. “We asked them, but the Americans say they have no connection with the operation.”

“And you believe them?”

“Of course. There are some individuals in the various agencies that I will never get to, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Whoever they are, agency or private, American or Israeli, they won’t stop now they’ve started; they’re operating in isolation for security reasons and have a simple objective: to draw Hardman out of cover. They’re counting on him coming back to London once he hears about his daughter.”

“He knows by now—his wife’s been texting him.”

He looked sceptical. “Yes, we heard about that. For good measure we also spread the word among some back channels his wife wouldn’t have been able to reach. It was worth a try; anything to get him to come in.”

“Do you believe he will?”

“No, I don’t. If he’s as committed as he seems—as others are—his family is part of his cover. In fact, given what Nancy Hardman told you about their first encounter in Paris, it’s possible even then that he was looking for a European woman to get close to—to groom as cover and provide him with a legend. Nancy happened along at the right moment.”

Andy had suggested something similar—that Nancy and Michael being together had seemed almost deliberate. “So,” she said, “they’re a means to an end, nothing more.”

“Correct. She’s collateral damage in the greater cause, I’m afraid. Threatening her and Beth will have no effect other than to harden him in his aims.”

If this was true, Ruth had to face an awful thought: she’d been taken in by Nancy all along and that it had all been part of an act. “Is it possible she knows what Michael does?”

“We simply don’t know. Nothing’s certain in this business, but I wouldn’t bet either way. We don’t have anything worth a mention to hold against her. Anyway, I thought you might have a better take on that than I.” He looked at her for a response, and she was surprised he actually seemed interested in her answer.

“I don’t know, either. I don’t want to believe that she does, but it’s possible.” Ruth couldn’t imagine any mother being capable of living with the knowledge that she was part of a situation that had led to her daughter being kidnapped. It defied belief. And yet she knew there were women, mothers, sisters, who had done just that in various parts of the world, in the belief that almost any loss was worth the cause. “She loves Beth, I know that.”

“I’m sure she does. I just don’t think Hardman feels the same; he’d be here otherwise.”

“So you think Beth’s expendable in his eyes.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. All I can judge is the reality of the situation.” His tone was almost indifferent. “I wouldn’t concern yourself about the daughter. I understand she’s perfectly safe, being looked after by the nanny.”

“What?” Ruth wanted to slug him, to jolt him into her vision of what was real. Then she realised the awful truth: he didn’t know. He obviously hadn’t yet heard about Tiggi Sgornik’s murder. She wondered what he did know and gritted her teeth to hide her anger. She decided to test him. “Is she American, too?”

“I have no idea. I doubt it. Probably Israeli. Their female operatives are particularly adept at this kind of assignment.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to be going.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm to stop him. It was stringy and lean, all sinew and bone. “Why are you telling me all this? Why this …” She swept her other arm out, indicating the park and the two of them. “ … this charade?”

He shrugged her hand away. “Because I don’t believe they will get him—at least, not today or tomorrow. But they will soon. It’s inevitable. Somebody close to Mrs. Hardman should know. I’m hoping you can prepare her for what she will undoubtedly hear one day.”

“What—so I get to break the bad news: that her loving, albeit distant husband is not a charity worker after all, but a slush-fund pal of al Qaeda? Is that going to be on top of telling her that her daughter’s nanny, Tiggi Sgornik, in whose care she was, in your words, perfectly safe, was found beaten to death near Putney Bridge last night?”

He said nothing, but she was rewarded with noticing a slight tic in his cheek as the news hit home. Perhaps it would serve as a reminder to him that he and whoever he worked for were not as all-knowing as they might think.

When he finally spoke, it was with an air of sadness. “I’m sorry to hear that, truly. But it changes nothing. In fact it should serve as an additional warning. Don’t make the mistake of starting a crusade and don’t ask questions when this is all over; any over-interest could be detrimental to your future.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Of course I am.” His voice had gone flat. “Never forget, Miss Gonzales, that terrorist money has a two-way movement. It buys weapons and resources to build IEDs in far-off places, to blow up buildings and tear the limbs from soldiers and innocent civilians alike. Syria is a recent case in point, where we believe Hardman’s been assisting in arming various factions. These things happen in the main away from this green and pleasant land, but some of the cash and valuables that pay for it originate right here. There’s also a risk—a substantial risk—that some part of the arsenal Hardman is helping finance by his activities may be used to train and equip terrorists who might one day end up here in London. On your doorstep. So don’t waste your emotions or energy feeling too discomfited by what might happen to Michael Hardman. Rest assured in the coming days he won’t be thinking about you … or his family.”

Ruth watched as he walked away and climbed into the car waiting at the side of the road. Then she reached inside her blouse and took out the cell phone nestling just inside her bra.

She held it to her ear. “Did you get all that?”