Ryker had no watch on, and there was no clock on the wall of the room, but he thought he’d been in here, alone now, for coming up on three hours. It was a bland room, all in all. The type of room seen in countless police stations the world over. Four walls, no window, a single door. A basic interior. Though there wasn’t the ubiquitous one-way mirror here. Just a camera near the ceiling, right in front of Ryker, the lens looking down on him as he sat on the chair in front of the table, his hands cuffed together and secured to a metal rod attached to the tabletop.
He hadn’t tried to fight. What was the point? Instead, he’d let the men cuff him outside DI Alessi’s home, and stuff him into the back of one of the cars. He’d been blindfolded, and they’d driven at speed to this place. A nearly thirty-minute drive. The blindfold had only been removed once he’d been placed in this room, on this chair, with his wrists shackled. The men who’d brought him in had promptly left. No words were said. And Ryker hadn’t seen or heard from anyone since.
Curious, all in all. Particularly the drive time to this place, which certainly narrowed down where he could be.
It was three hours and twelve minutes, at least to Ryker’s count, when the metal door to the room finally opened, and in stepped Kaspovich. Alone.
The door was swiftly closed and locked behind him by someone on the outside. Gone now was Kaspovich’s overcoat to reveal a typically smart look. Kaspovich was early forties, and although his hair was thin and receding, he looked younger than he was. He was also full of himself, his role in life, and even though he and Ryker had only ever come across each other once before, Ryker knew the MI5 agent had an intense dislike for him. The feeling was mutual, though that was beside the point. The point wasn’t even how Ryker had been tracked since he’d arrived in England. The point was what on earth did MI5 have to do with any of this?
‘I’d say it’s nice to see you, but…’
Kaspovich plonked himself down opposite Ryker without finishing the sentence.
‘How’s Winter getting on?’ Kaspovich asked. Ryker was sure he saw the slightest of smirks on his face at his question.
Winter, Ryker’s old boss at the JIA, back when Ryker had been an agent there. No, not really an agent. Not in the end. At one time, long ago, yes, he’d been an agent. Had worked for his old mentor Mackie for years, carrying out orders without question. Including in Doha ten years ago. But following Mackie’s death, following more than one time when Ryker had been betrayed, had very nearly lost his life, and had come to question more and more what his life really was, he’d left the JIA behind. Or tried to. Except it had proved impossible to fully escape the clutches of his past. More recently, he’d worked for Winter – Mackie’s successor – on an ad-hoc basis. A helping hand. A freelance consultant. Including last year when Ryker had worked alongside Kaspovich. That job had hardly gone smoothly, and Ryker had since cut all ties for good.
Or so he’d finally hoped.
‘I haven’t seen or spoken to Winter in months,’ Ryker said.
‘Is that so?’ Doubt. ‘You mean, since your careless actions caused such a furor that the JIA basically imploded.’
Such a smug look on his face still.
‘The way I see it, I got the job done. Despite your incompetence.’
A flash of irritation at Ryker’s accusation. ‘Try telling that to all your former colleagues who are out of work now.’
Ryker sighed. ‘I’m pretty sure you didn’t haul me in here just to revel in the misery of others.’
An arrogant laugh. ‘No, of course not. We’re here to talk about your continued screwups.’
‘So where are we, exactly?’
Kaspovich held Ryker’s eye though he didn’t attempt to answer the question.
‘My best guess would be GCHQ,’ Ryker said. ‘Given how long it took to get here from Gloucester.’
No tell on Kaspovich’s face.
Government Communications Headquarters, the UK’s permanent intelligence and security organization, was housed in the awkwardly named Doughnut building, in Cheltenham. The Doughnut was the UK’s ultra-modern and ultra-expensive equivalent to the world-renowned Pentagon building and was shaped like… Well, a giant doughnut.
‘But then, I’m not sure you’re operating quite as officially as that, are you?’ Ryker said. ‘I mean, I haven’t actually been arrested, have I? I haven’t been charged with anything. And this place…’
‘What do you think we should be charging you with, exactly?’
Now it was Ryker’s turn to stay silent.
‘Even disregarding your past,’ Kaspovich said, ‘we caught you today in the act of breaking into the home of a police officer. Yesterday, you were spotted breaking into and then running from a crime scene.’
‘So why aren’t I in the local police station, then?’
‘I think we’re both well aware of why not. The murder of Pavel Grichenko raises issues of significant national security. And you know that, don’t you?’
Ryker shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea why that would be the case.’
Kaspovich sighed. ‘No need to play dumb with me, Ryker. Like you said, you’re not under arrest. This isn’t a police station. We don’t have to give you a phone call. We don’t have to release you in twenty-four hours if we can’t charge you. You’re here for as long as it takes. And we don’t have to be nice. Our place, our rules.’
‘You need to work on your threats. That was pretty pathetic, even for you. Or is it just that you know you really have nothing, and can do nothing.’
Kaspovich’s face creased in anger and he banged his fist on the table. Ryker didn’t bat an eyelid at the outburst.
‘Yes, because you’d know all about threats, wouldn’t you?’ Kaspovich sneered. ‘Know all about the lengths the intelligence services really go to for Queen and country.’ He let those words sit, as though they would have an effect on Ryker. They didn’t. ‘Don’t forget I know about you, Ryker. I know the sort of man you are, the things you’ve done and would do.’
‘You think you know me?’
‘Yeah. I do. You’re pitiful. But let’s not make this personal. Let’s just do what needs to be done. I don’t know where you’ve been these last months, but you came back here. You made a big mistake. Now you’re in my hands. Tell me, because I am curious, why didn’t you just leave the country again?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You went back to the house. What for? What did you miss? What were you trying to cover up?’
‘No, you’ve lost me.’
Kaspovich shook his head. ‘Ryker, don’t take me for a fool, I’m really not in the mood. You went back to Grichenko’s house yesterday. You were seen there. That’s why you’re here now. We were able to use ANPR to track you after you left. It was the most idiotic move imaginable, even for you. I’m just curious as to what made you do such a stupid thing.’
Ryker’s brain whirred. ANPR. Automatic number plate recognition. A clever system, but hardly one that was so widespread that the authorities could use it in real-time to track someone’s every move.
‘Fine. You don’t want to answer that. I get it. No one likes to be made to look stupid. Still, I can’t fathom it at all. I mean, you head in there, do your thing. Your thing is killing people, right? Perhaps you actually think it’s impressive that you’re so experienced at that. But it’s not impressive. It’s obscene. So you killed Grichenko and his wife. But you didn’t make for foreign shores. You went back to the scene two days later for a little look around, in broad daylight, with four police officers on site! Come on…’
‘You think I killed Grichenko?’
Kaspovich reached down to his side, to the satchel by his feet, then plonked a manila folder onto the desk. A few of the papers inside spread out. Ryker’s eyes flicked across what he could see.
‘Think? No, Ryker, I don’t think you killed them. I know you did.’