TALLIS didn’t go straight home. He found a back-street pub where his face wasn’t known and ordered a pint. ‘I Will Survive’ was belting out of a sound system. Before he sat down, his mobile rang. It was Crow.
‘Forensics have definitively linked our two poets to Morello’s murder in Turkey,’ she said without preamble.
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘One good turn deserves another.’
Tallis took a pull of his pint. He knew there had to be a catch.
‘Is Johnny Kennedy gold-plated, or what?’ Crow said.
‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘Every avenue to him has a sod-off sign on it.’
‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’m out of the game.’
‘And I’m Jordan.’
Word association conjured up a bizarre image of Crow leaning towards him, exposing a fair expanse of what he imagined would be stretch-marked cleavage. Tallis took a big breath. ‘As far as I know, Kennedy’s turned over a new leaf. He’s got legitimate businesses.’
‘That take him to Turkey.’
‘It’s a nice place for a holiday, Micky.’
Big pause. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’m going to tell you something in confidence.’ She paused again, as if she were suddenly having second thoughts. ‘I really shouldn’t be telling you this.’
‘Go on,’ Tallis encouraged softly, automatically turning away from the bar.
‘In less than seven hours a big operation is getting under way to smash a fairly major Turkish drugs ring.’
‘There are hundreds of established Turkish crime syndicates in London.’ Tallis shrugged.
‘It’s not in London, it’s in Birmingham.’
As soon as Tallis got out of the TT he knew someone was waiting in the shadows. Couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, was unable to smell the presence of another, but some other highly developed sense confirmed the threat was real. He still had the Glock, and took it out, feeling the compact shape mould instantly to his hand.
From out of nowhere, a voice sounded. ‘Long day at the office?’ Then a man Tallis didn’t recognise stepped out onto the path, illuminated by the security light, and introduced himself as Gavin Shaw.
‘I work for West Mids,’ he added, cool and calm, fearless.
‘The building society?’ Tallis said, droll, keeping his gun aimed and steady. He noticed the stocky build, the scar on his forehead similar to one he carried on his own, light brown hair, grey eyes.
‘He’s one of ours,’ another voice said. Although he hadn’t heard it in a long time, and there seemed to be more grain in the tone, Tallis recognised it immediately. He didn’t move a muscle.
‘Shall we go inside?’ Napier said, emerging from the rear of the bungalow into the chill light of the moon. Thin, face lined and older than his years, Napier still cut an imposing figure.
‘Why not?’ Tallis’s curiosity was starting to burn a hole in his head. He threw a set of front-door keys to Shaw, which he caught. Tallis motioned with the gun for Napier to follow his colleague inside.
Nobody sat down. All three men stood in the galley kitchen. Tallis placed the gun carefully on the work surface nearest to him, within hand’s reach. He said nothing, watched them with wary eyes. In spite of an impressive show of confidence, it became clear to him that neither man was happy with either being there or with what he was about to divulge. Shaw, hands folded in front of him, short torso leaning against a cupboard, started the ball rolling.
‘I’m an Organised Crime Officer and Johnny Kennedy’s handler,’ he announced, eyes fixed on Tallis. ‘Your every move has been monitored by Kennedy.’
‘My every move?’ Did he tell you he ordered me to kill a man? Tallis wondered.
‘We’ve had you watched,’ Napier said, smug.
‘I know,’ Tallis said, seeing some of the shine fade from Napier’s expression. ‘Lilac VW Beetle. The driver showed out on my first day’s surveillance. Before you consider using her again, for mobile work I suggest she undergoes a period of retraining.’
‘You arrogant shit,’ Napier spat.
Tallis ignored him. ‘Just remember where you are. This is my home, my territory,’ he said, looking pointedly at the weapon sitting on his work surface. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re telling me all this. An informer’s identity, especially one of Kennedy’s calibre, is supposed to be top secret.’
‘Which is why even our own Organised Crime officers are kept in the dark,’ Shaw concurred.
Including Nick Oxslade, Tallis thought, realising that Oxslade had genuinely been trying to warn him off. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad bloke after all. ‘Let alone someone who’s just returned to civvy street,’ Tallis said with a smile.
‘That might be what you told Kennedy,’ Napier said, mouth twisting. ‘But our intelligence is somewhat better.’
Tallis arched an eyebrow, decided to let it drop. Asim, he thought. That’s what Napier meant. ‘I’m interested to know what pressure you used on Kennedy,’ Tallis said.
Shaw answered. ‘The disappearing man.’
‘Simon Carroll?’ Driver of the car that almost killed Billy.
Shaw nodded.
‘Are we talking disappeared as in disappeared, or dead?’
‘A badly decomposed human head and severed leg were washed up on the beach near Start Point in Devon eighteen months ago. Scientists identified the body parts as Carroll’s.’
‘You’re saying Kennedy issued orders from prison?’
‘Wouldn’t be the first.’
‘But how did you know it was him?’
Shaw glanced at Napier who answered. ‘We were tipped off.’
By whom? Tallis wondered. ‘And what of the person who carried out the killing?’
‘Never found.’
Probably bumped off, Tallis thought.
‘So you gave Kennedy a choice?’
Shaw gave a slow nod.
‘But I thought the judiciary had clamped down on all that.’
‘Depends,’ Napier chipped in.
‘On what?’
‘The level of information.’
Tallis met Napier’s eye and reeled back to 1991, recalling a conceited man with an image to uphold, who hated competition, who, even when he’d made the most appalling mistake, blamed others for it. Had Kennedy led Napier to believe that he could give him something so momentous that his reputation would be secure for ever? Somehow Tallis didn’t think it was the whereabouts of the unrecovered gold from of the Brink’s-Mat bullion robbery. ‘Is that supposed to explain why you’ve given the man such a free hand? How do you know Kennedy’s not running rings around the lot of you? Business as usual.’
‘Desperate times require desperate measures,’ Shaw said.
‘Sprat to catch a mackerel.’ Napier broke into an unlovely smile. Tallis noticed he had several molars missing. His breathing was noticeably fast and shallow. Excitement, not nerves, he deduced. One thing was clear: they were letting Kennedy run.
‘Kennedy’s no sprat,’ Tallis said, remembering Kennedy describing himself as a great white. ‘Expect you want to know my involvement.’
‘We know.’ Napier’s voice was a snarl. Sweat broke out across his brow, even though it wasn’t particularly cold in the room. Shaw flashed him an anxious look.
‘Thing is,’ Shaw said, clearly trying to run the conversation in a different direction, ‘Kennedy isn’t your average informer. He is the best of the best. He’s put his life on the line over and over again.’
Yes, Tallis thought, Kennedy had. Why would he give so much for so little? All he had to do was serve the time. This way he’d always be running, always looking over his shoulder, waiting for that knock at the door, the bullet in the head.
Shaw was still speaking. ‘You only have to look at the fount of high-grade information involving drugs and huge amounts of money…’
‘Like the drug bust going down in the city in a little under five hours’ time.’
‘How the hell—?’ Shaw began.
‘Which we’re hopeful might lead to other criminal activities,’ Napier butted in, ignoring another warning look from Shaw. Tallis realised just how rare and valuable Kennedy was to Napier, indeed to the Serious and Organised Crime Agency. The track record for nailing anyone higher than a tea-boy was not a particularly good one. When they’d stumbled across Kennedy, a veritable Mr Big, they’d believed they’d struck gold. ‘Including possible terrorist plots,’ Napier added. Bingo! Tallis thought. Kennedy would prove even more valuable to the security services.
From the cold light in Napier’s eye, Tallis knew that Asim had been stamping all over them, that whatever they had accomplished, whatever they were about to achieve, was about to be snatched away and they both resented it like hell. Then another thought struck him. ‘Does Kennedy know about me?’
Once more Shaw and Napier exchanged glances. ‘Gabriel does,’ Shaw offered.
‘Gabriel?’ Tallis said, astounded.
‘He’s our man on the inside.’
‘To shadow Kennedy?’ Jesus, was that why Kennedy wanted him dead? Tallis thought.
‘To protect him.’
‘But Gabriel’s dead.’
‘What?’ Shaw said, eyes narrowing.
Tallis told them both what happened. Shock, then anger registered in both men. And fear—of losing an officer, of screwing up an operation, of receiving a bollocking and possible demotion. Oh, he understood only too well and was glad to be outside that kind of gladiatorial arena.
Tallis rewound Kennedy’s more recent history with the police, imagined and went through the operational moves in his head. First, Kennedy comes under the spotlight of West Midlands Organised Crime Officers on the ground. Pressure applied, he turns informer and moves into a slightly different circle, coming under another chain of command headed by Shaw. Second, and because of Kennedy’s high-profile status, SOCA start sniffing around in the form of Napier who in turn takes over operational command, although Shaw remains in place as Napier’s handler. Third, and because of a whiff of terrorism, Asim, under the auspices of MI5, assumes overall responsibility, cutting out any number of other agencies on the way. In effect, Napier and Shaw were receiving a kiss-off. Thanks, chaps. Go back to what you’re used to and let the experts take over. That added up to an awful lot of egos being bruised, an awful lot of individuals pissed off. And he was bang slap in the middle of it.
‘Something you should be aware of,’ Tallis finished up, ‘Kennedy ordered me to kill Gabriel.’
Shaw shook his head. ‘No. Doesn’t add up.’
‘It’s not the sort of thing I’d get wrong.’ He also told them about Kennedy’s extensive armoury.
Napier, who’d been listening intently, suddenly spoke. ‘He’s testing your loyalty.’
‘Testing it?’ Tallis said, his voice a howl of frustration. ‘He wanted me to kill the man.’
Nobody spoke. Eventually Shaw broke the deadlock. ‘Aren’t we forgetting something? Someone got to Gabriel first.’
Napier shrugged, in a shit happens fashion.
‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,’ Tallis said, beginning to feel the discussion sliding off course.
‘We want you, Paul, to take Gabriel’s place,’ Asim said.
Three pairs of eyes swivelled to the doorway where Asim, sleek and composed, was standing.
Tallis raised his gaze to the poorly painted ceiling. Ten steps ahead, Asim, he thought. ‘They’ve known all along?’ he said, casting Asim a reproving look.
‘Not exactly.’ The dissembling expression on Asim’s face was one Tallis instantly recognised.
‘Would have been simpler if we had,’ Napier said, curt and pale.
Too bad, Tallis thought. Napier was pissed off to be missing out on his moment of glory; he, however, remained more concerned about his personal safety. Without realising it, he and Gabriel had been working on the same side. His back had been protected. But now Gabriel was dead and the Organised Crime team had been shown the door, he was, in effect, completely on his own. ‘How can I possibly take Gabriel’s place?’
‘Because you’re already in so now we can change the rules,’ Asim explained smoothly.
Tallis stared at Asim with incomprehension.
‘Let’s just say as of…’ Asim broke off to glance at his watch ‘…an hour ago, Kennedy’s agreed to work with us.’ The us meaning the security service. No more Shaw, no more Napier. Goodbye, SOCA.
‘Not much of a stretch,’ Napier muttered. ‘He’d already crossed over months before.’
Yeah, to your side, Tallis thought, so that you could take the credit. ‘More importantly,’ Tallis said, looking at Asim, ‘has he agreed to work with me?’
‘Absolutely.’ Tallis wondered who had delivered the news and how Kennedy had taken it. He imagined the conversation had gone something like this. You know that guy you’ve taken a shine to, Johnny? Well, really he’s one of ours. You’re going to let him look after you, make sure you and your family are protected. In return, every scrap of information, any link, however tenuous, between organised crime and terrorism, we want to know about it, and you’re going to use Paul Tallis as your conduit. Got that?
‘You’re both on the same side now,’ Asim confirmed.
To do what exactly, bar the obvious? Tallis thought. It seemed to him that some nugget of information was being withheld. Deciding to bide his time, he thought he’d let the conversation roll, see where it led. He glanced at Shaw, who appeared to be taking an avid interest in a scuffmark on the kitchen floor. Napier, by contrast, couldn’t prise his dead-eyed gaze from Asim. Christ, the sound of conflict in his ears was deafening.
‘Our threat level is about to be raised from severe to critical,’ Asim explained. ‘We’ve notified airports so they can step up security.’
Bet they’ll be thrilled, Tallis thought. For some time now airports had borne the financial brunt of extra protection, the government, apparently, not keen on footing the bill. Tallis wondered what specific intelligence had been received to warrant such a move, or, after the wilder accusations of turning a blind eye levelled after 7/7, was it simply a case of nobody wanting to slip up, nobody wishing to be the person to ignore a potential warning?
‘We’ve received a tape,’ Asim continued, ‘ allegedly from al-Qaeda, which is currently being looked at.’
Meant nothing, Tallis thought. Threats of violence were a-Q’s stock in trade. The publicity it generated kept them in business even when they were too strapped for cash to operate. Conversely, Tallis was aware that while some thought al-Qaeda was a spent force financially, plenty believed the organisation to be well funded. Whatever the truth, there was no such thing as bad PR.
‘We have other concerns, partially based on intelligence gathered abroad,’ Asim continued, glancing in Napier’s direction as if to give him the credit, although Tallis suspected the information was more likely to have been sourced by the Secret Intelligence Service. ‘Some of the details cross-match with information supplied by Kennedy.’
‘What information?’
‘As we thought, there’s to be a change of tactics.’
‘Bombers coming in from abroad?’ Tallis said, stony.
Asim nodded. ‘Plenty of young malcontents willing to blow themselves and innocent members of the public into eternity.’
Yes, but, my God, it takes planning, Tallis thought. Simply smuggling a bomber into the UK via circuitous routes across European capitals, the forged papers, the securing of safe houses, procurement and transportation of explosives, the cultivation and nurturing of a faceless, anonymous network of movers and shakers and all the little people in between, the whole thing was a logistical and, from the enemy’s point of view, security nightmare. At any point the threat could be leaked and busted wide open. Unless, he contemplated, you have Organised Crime on your side to provide a direct, helping hand?
‘The bombers, from which countries exactly?’ Tallis said.
‘The usual suspects,’ Napier answered.
Tallis imagined Asim liaising with the SIS who’d then tip off those co-operative foreign security services whose countries might provide a route through which a bomber might travel.
Napier was still talking. ‘The point is, Kennedy thinks he’s found a link via someone in Turkey.’
Tallis could hardly believe it. If it was true, the man was suddenly a hero. This was the missing piece of info he’d been waiting for. Then again…‘Thinks or knows?’
‘Knows is too strong a word,’ Napier said, surly.
Now he understood Napier’s frustration and rage. Napier had hoped to keep this under SOCA’s remit. He’d wanted to be the one to follow the investigation, to establish the evidence, to be the first to crack the news and foil the plot. Think of the accolades. ‘Not that it matters,’ Tallis said. ‘The operation is already compromised.’
‘Are you saying Gabriel talked?’ Napier glared accusingly.
‘I’d have talked,’ Tallis said, spreading his hands. By now, everyone probably knew that Johnny Kennedy was a grass. ‘You didn’t see what was done to him.’
‘I’ll need to come up with a cover story for the family,’ Shaw said, morose.
What an interesting conversation that should prove to be, Tallis thought grimly.
Nobody said anything for a moment or two. Tallis looked at Asim for guidance. Would he pull the plug or go ahead? ‘Napier’s right,’ Asim said. ‘We don’t know Gabriel talked.’
Tallis shrugged. High-risk gamble. ‘So Kennedy’s real reason for being in Turkey was an attempt to establish the evidence?’ Nothing to do with drugs at all.
‘He was trying to check out a contact,’ Napier said, deadpan.
Tallis exchanged glances with Asim. Faraj Tardarti, the Moroccan with a-Q connections Tallis had killed in Turkey. Christ, was it possible Napier had tried to shut Garry up? Then, remembering Asim’s obvious disinterest in Garry’s death, was it possible that MI5 were behind the hit? Or what about Kennedy? Men who he’d had associations with had carried out the killing. He was getting a very bad vibe about all this.
‘Right, then,’ Asim said, indicating that it was time for Shaw and Napier to make tracks. ‘Thanks for all your hard work, guys. Really appreciate it. Like I’ve said before, your role in this is now officially over, but we’re still all in this together.’ He smiled with the supreme confidence of a man who knew they weren’t.
‘Not happy,’ Tallis said as the front door slammed shut.
‘They’ll get over it.’ Asim grinned.
‘So I’m supposed to waltz into Kennedy’s pad tomorrow as if nothing has happened.’
‘As if nothing has changed,’ Asim corrected him. ‘You won’t be entirely alone.’
Tallis resisted the temptation to raise an eyebrow. Please, let it be Lavender, not some faceless bod from the security service, counter-terrorism, Special Branch, or any one of the other myriad wings of law enforcement. ‘And what am I to do exactly?’
‘Kennedy, as you’ve already discovered, has many important British contacts.’
‘Local villains.’
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ Asim warned.
Tallis didn’t. He never had. Something in Asim’s hard expression brought him up short. ‘What is it?’ Tallis asked.
‘Valuable though Kennedy is, you are probably wondering why we are focusing all our attention on him.’
Tallis said nothing. He didn’t need to. He only wondered why he hadn’t been kept in the loop before now.
‘We’ve received uncorroborated intelligence suggesting that Kennedy has direct involvement in terrorism.’
‘When? Today, or weeks ago?’ Tallis flushed with irritation. ‘While I’ve been boxing in the dark, busting a gut, you’ve been in receipt of this rather important fact.’ He wondered who the source was.
Asim shook his head. ‘Not fact. That’s my point. It may be an entirely false allegation.’
Tallis wondered if this was American-led intelligence. Either way, he felt unappeased. ‘What about Napier’s claim that Kennedy’s found a link in Turkey? You said yourself that information Kennedy supplied cross-references with info from the SIS.’ Jesus, was Kennedy that daring, that cunning? And why was it that a part of him was shrieking yes?
‘Look, Paul, Kennedy may well be useful to us in the way you originally suggested.’
By leading us to the criminal organisation involved in terrorism, Tallis recalled. He felt flat, inert. He wanted to believe it, but…
‘And, as such, your role, ostensibly, is to protect him,’ Asim said evenly.
‘While trying to uncover any direct evidence that he’s playing a dirty game.’
‘That’s right. Ever heard of the old Mafia-style Commission?’ Asim said.
Tallis shook his head.
‘Set up by Lucky Luciano in the 1930s as a means to create links between all the major Mafia families and ensure co-operation for criminal ventures,’ Asim said. ‘With incredible skill, Kennedy has created his own version.’
‘And the first meeting is tomorrow afternoon,’ said Tallis, rallying. For the first time in a while he had the drop on Asim. The pleasure of seeing an expression of complete surprise on Asim’s face was marvellous. ‘It’s all right. I’ve already received my invite to the party,’ Tallis said, smiling.