The distant chimes of Big Ben marked 7 a.m. as Joe Dempsey strode through the entrance of MI6 Headquarters. He flashed his DDS credentials and made straight for the elevators.
Dempsey stepped through the open lift doors. He ran his security pass through the scanner that sat just inside and pressed his left index finger to the biometric reader above it. The building’s computerised ‘brain’ immediately kicked in. It sifted through personnel files at unimaginable speeds and immediately granted him entry to the DDS department on the third floor. A destination that required the highest security clearance. Thanks to Callum McGregor, that was something Dempsey still enjoyed.
The short vertical distance was covered in a heartbeat. Used to the sensation, in barely moments Dempsey was striding along a corridor towards Callum McGregor’s occupied office. He entered without knocking. A habit.
He was met by the surprised glance of his director. McGregor had not expected the interruption.
‘Jesus, Callum, you look like shit!’
Dempsey was taken aback by the first sight of McGregor. The toll the past days had taken upon the man was unmistakable.
‘When was the last time you slept?’
‘Thanks a lot,’ McGregor replied. The heavy bags under his eyes were unusually prominent. ‘Some of us have been busy.’
‘Bugger busy, Callum. You’ve got to sleep. You’re making yourself ill.’
‘I haven’t got time for ill, Joe. Or sleep. What do you need?’
Dempsey could detect a strange tone in McGregor’s voice. He couldn’t place it. On any other man he would describe it as defeat, but not on Callum McGregor. Never on him.
Dempsey pushed the thought from his mind.
‘I don’t need anything. I’ve come to update you.’
McGregor’s eyes narrowed.
‘This couldn’t have waited until the rest of the world’s awake?’
‘Only if you want to waste more time chasing shadows.’
McGregor leaned back into a large leather chair that he somehow made look undersized. He took off his glasses and stared Dempsey in the eye.
‘OK. Tell me.’
McGregor’s debrief took over ten minutes.
He had insisted that Dempsey left out no detail and, with one key exception, Dempsey did just as ordered. The existence of Stanton, however, he held back. It was Dempsey’s nature to play his cards close to his chest. To keep key information to himself. Kept even from McGregor, a man he trusted with his life. But on this occasion Dempsey had another reason, too. Because if he shared the existence of Stanton then McGregor would be obliged to disclose the information to Britain’s other intelligence agencies. And to the Americans. This would surely take matters from the director’s hands, and that in turn could lead to Dempsey’s actual removal from the hunt for Sam Regis’ killer. Dempsey could not allow that to happen, and so he chose to assist McGregor in his duty by not burdening him with the information.
By the time Dempsey was through, he had told McGregor everything else. That – contrary to the official line – Eamon McGale had seen a lawyer while in custody, and that the two men had spent almost two hours together. That the lawyer was now dead, killed in a car accident within an hour of leaving Paddington Green. That the same lawyer’s family were now missing. And that someone had tried to kill the lawyer’s closest friend – the one person to whom he’d spoken after leaving the cell – just hours later, first with a car bomb and then with a gun.
For the second time in as many days, Dempsey had made McGregor’s jaw drop.
‘You’re telling me that Eamon McGale saw Daniel Lawrence? And now Lawrence is dead? How was it kept quiet? And how the hell do you know about it when I don’t?’
The defeat in McGregor’s voice was replaced by indignation. It was no great improvement.
‘The same answer to both, Callum. It was kept quiet because the custody sergeant was bought. Trevor Henry was the only one who knew the solicitor was there. He didn’t even tell our agents on scene. I stumbled on a lead that took me to him and he told me everything.’
‘With only the slightest persuasion, I’m sure,’ commented McGregor. ‘Where is he now?’
‘In his own cells back at Paddington Green. I took him straight there. Someone is going to want him very dead very soon. He’ll be best protected by his own.’
McGregor nodded in agreement.
‘Safest place for him. Tell me more about the friend.’
‘That one’s messy. His name’s Michael Devlin. A barrister, worked with Lawrence on most of his big cases. Lawrence spoke to him last night after leaving Paddington Green. I checked his phone records. There’s a single outgoing call after he left McGale, from his phone to Devlin’s. Eighteen hours later there’s a car bomb, followed by a shoot-out at Devlin’s address. Someone wanted the guy dead, Callum. Do you think that might be a coincidence too?’
McGregor shook his head.
‘Of course it bloody isn’t. So what happened to him?’
‘No idea, except that Devlin wasn’t in the car when the bomb went off. It made a mess of the poor bastard’s house, though. Someone else was moving the thing for him, I believe a CNN cameraman called Jack Maguire. The car explodes, Devlin rushes outside with the reporter he was talking to, then someone on a motorbike tries to shoot them both in a ride-by.’
‘I take it this is the Islington bombing from earlier tonight?’
‘It is, yeah.’
‘Then why wasn’t I fully briefed on that earlier? If it’s related to McGale?’
‘Because no one connected the dots and put them together, I guess.’
‘You mean no one else connected the dots. What about the reporters you mentioned?’
‘Sarah Truman and Jack Maguire. Both from CNN. They were at Devlin’s at the time of the attack. Following up a lead, it seems. They came across the custody sergeant before I did and ended up getting dragged into all this. I believe Maguire died in the car bomb, and that Truman left the scene with Devlin on the gunman’s motorcycle.’
‘What? They left on his bike? Is this the most incompetent assassin on the bloody planet or something?’
McGregor’s incredulity was visibly rising.
‘Far from it,’ Dempsey replied. ‘From what I was told by some of the witnesses, the gunman seems to have been highly skilled. I have a feeling that Devlin and Truman got incredibly lucky. I have a feeling they somehow got away from James Turner.’
McGregor did not respond immediately. He seemed to take his time. To consider what he had been told. For once he did so without standing or pacing around the room. Dempsey found the change a little unnerving. He put it down to tiredness.
When he spoke again the subject had moved on.
‘OK. So you’ve no idea where the lawyer or reporter are now?’
‘None at all. They’ll have gone to ground if they have any sense. Same is true of Lawrence’s family. They’ve just disappeared. Hopefully with Devlin.’
The room fell silent once again. A silence only broken when McGregor placed his oversized hands on his desk and propelled his wheel-mounted chair backwards, forcibly exhaling as he did so.
‘My God, Joe, this is one hell of a mess.’
‘It’s more than a mess, Callum,’ Dempsey replied. ‘This department is potentially compromised. All the agencies are. There are things going on which someone in intelligence must know about. Turner being placed on the SO19 team. The lawyer meeting McGale without any of us being told. The check on his phone records that must have led them to Devlin. Intelligence has to be involved in all of that. This is a full-on conspiracy, Callum. And we’re ten yards behind the pace.’
McGregor looked towards the ceiling as Dempsey spoke. He leaned back in his chair, covering both his mouth and chin with a single enormous hand. He stared into space as Dempsey’s words sank in. He was considering how he could best regain control of the situation, Dempsey thought.
Finally he took his hand from his mouth and looked back at his agent.
‘You’re right. Someone in the department has got to be in on this. Maybe more than one. Which means we don’t know who we can trust.’
‘And?’
‘And that makes you the right man at the right time, doesn’t it? Everyone else thinks I’ve kicked you off of this, Joe. So no one is going to question where you are while the main team gets on with the investigation.’
‘Makes sense.’
Both Dempsey and McGregor knew that the agent was getting precisely what he wanted.
‘But if I’m off the books,’ Dempsey asked, ‘what are my parameters?’
‘At your discretion. We need this cleared up, Joe. And cleared up quick. Do whatever you have to. Just make sure it happens.’
Dempsey nodded and without another word he turned and left the room.