Dark Winter ns-6 Page 12

  21

  We wandered back down to Farringdon station and got ourselves a brew from a soup and sandwich bar. As we leant against the wall outside and took the odd sip we did a casual scan of the general area. Suzy bit gently into the rim of the polystyrene cup, her teeth leaving a pattern much like the scar an Alsatian had once left on my arm. She kept her eyes on the road while turning the cup a little for a fresh site to chew. ‘Can’t see a thing to worry us. You? Seen anyone standing about with peepholes in their Evening Standard ?’

  She was right: no one was concentrating too hard on looking normal. Most people had their heads down, thinking of getting home.

  ‘Nope, but I hate source meets all the same. In fact, I hate sources, period. No matter what side you’re on, they’re betraying someone, and that gives me a prickly feeling between my shoulder-blades.’

  She took another sip, her eyes never straying from the street. ‘We can’t do without them, though, can we? And it’s not as if we have to invite them back for dinner, is it?’ She glanced at her watch, and I checked mine. ‘Twenty to go. You’d better make a move, otherwise you’re not going to get that drink, are you?’

  She turned and smiled at me while she put in her hands-free earpiece. I hit the moan-phone’s speed dial, pressed the hash key twice and put it to my ear. She answered before the end of the first ring. ‘We have comms.’

  I listened and heard the reassuring bleeping in the background. ‘See you later, then. And don’t go making any improper suggestions to strange men.’ I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked away.

  I threw the rest of my coffee into a bin, crossed the road and ambled towards the Castle, inserting my earpiece when I got to the door. Suzy overtook me on the opposite pavement, on her way to Starbucks.

  Cigarette smoke curled towards the ceiling inside the pub, which was full of happy, raucous people unwinding after a week’s work. The men’s ties were undone and the women’s lipstick mostly on their glasses. I queued at the bar to order my Coke, then wormed my way through the crowd towards the windows overlooking the Turnmill junction. The music was loud, and the sounds of laughter and chat drowned the background noise in my earpiece, but I had a fantastic view down the road to the station, then all the way to Farringdon Road.

  I heard the screech and squelch of espresso machines. ‘Hello, have you got me?’ I pressed my earpiece in deeper. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Oh, hi, yes, I’m in Starbucks.’ She spoke gently, as if talking to her boyfriend. ‘I’ll wait here for you if you want.’

  ‘Yeah, I have the trigger.’

  I sipped my Coke and watched the world go by, eyes peeled for a man in a blue suit and white shirt, with a black raincoat over his left arm. A guy came down from the direction of Starbucks, on the opposite side of the road. He was early thirties, skin very dark brown, Indian, maybe Sri Lankan. His side-parted short-back-and-sides had a thick streak of grey at the temple. He was wearing a brown suede bomber jacket over a black pullover and jeans – not the kit I was looking for but he attracted my attention all the same. He was checking out the street, turning to look back the way he’d come before crossing as he checked down Turnmill. Once over the road he headed towards the station, and disappeared inside.

  It wasn’t long before I got a possible coming out. He looked to be South East Asian, and had a blue suit and a black raincoat, but he was wearing it. He stepped over to the stand and bought himself a paper.

  I lifted the mike on the hands-free to my mouth. ‘Hey, guess what – I have a possible, and he may have brought a mate.’

  I watched as he turned back into the station entrance. ‘He’s disappeared.’

  ‘OK, fine.’ I pictured Suzy sitting in Starbucks with a nice big frothy cappuccino, holding up her own mike and smiling away like an idiot as we exchanged sweet-nothings. She left a few seconds’ pause. ‘Yes, I understand that. That’s good. I’ll talk to you soon, then.’

  He reappeared. ‘Here we go, he’s got his coat over his left arm, and the paper folded in his right. Might just be three of us for coffee. No sign of his friend.’

  He looked familiar. I let him pass the pub window. ‘It’s the Standard .’ I looked at his face and felt my pulse start to race. ‘It’s the fucking taxi driver from our holiday.’ I tried to keep sounding casual. ‘He’s on his way . . . he’s past me . . . towards you now. The taxi driver . . .’

  ‘Oh, lovely. It’ll be just like old times.’

  I eyeballed the street, looking at everyone and everything who might be following our guy, and sure enough Grey Streak reappeared at the station entrance, and he wasn’t alone. ‘I reckon there are two others with him. Brown suede on blue, and navy on blue. Both Indian. Be careful.’

  ‘He’s here now. See you in a minute. ’Bye.’

  They crossed Turnmill and passed my window, eyes peeled, concentrating too hard to talk. They both had very dark, smooth skin, and looked as though they shared a barber: their hair was cut square, and their neck shaves hadn’t grown back yet. I waited a bit longer, then left the pub and crossed the road to get a better view of the coffee shop.

  I couldn’t see them, but heard an educated South East Asian voice in my earpiece. ‘Excuse me, do you know the way to the Golden Lane estate?’

  Suzy came over loud and clear. ‘No, sorry, but I’ve got an A–Z if you want to have a look.’

  I cut in. ‘You OK? Can’t see the other two.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘OK, that’s me now moving in.’

  I walked up the road, listening to her establish his cover. My heart was pounding, but she sounded cool as a cucumber. ‘The reason you’re here is that you’ve just asked me the way to Golden Lane estate. I’m now going to get the A–Z out of my bag and put it on the table, and we’ve got talking because my boyfriend and I went on holiday to Malaysia over Easter. Do you understand?’

  I could hear him agreeing.

  Since Suzy was sponsoring the RV [rendezvous], she was responsible for the cover story. ‘OK, my boyfriend is going to join us any minute. We all know Penang and we’re going to meet up and have a little chat over a nice cup of coffee.’

  Again, I heard him agree.

  ‘If anything happens, my boyfriend and I are going to go out the back door. You go out the front, the way you came in. Do you understand?’

  As I entered the coffee shop I spotted the two of them sitting in the far left-hand corner. Suzy had the commanding position, with her back against the wall so she could see both exits. I waved to her, and he looked round. Her A–Z was sitting on the table.

  I went over and kissed her. ‘Hang on, let me turn this thing off.’

  She turned hers off too. ‘This gentleman is trying to find his way to Golden Lane estate. Can you believe it? He was in Penang the same time we were.’

  Everyone else around us was doing their own little thing, and no one took the slightest notice. I gave him a nod and a smile. ‘We had the best holiday ever. I’d love to go back.’

  We all sat down. Cover and escape routes were established: we could carry on with the meet.

  There was silence as he sat and waited for us to start, which was strange because it should have been the other way round. I smiled at him – maybe he was nervous. ‘What have you got for us, then?’

  He was in his late forties, slim, about the same height as Suzy. He wore a simple stainless-steel watch but no rings or other jewellery. He had lost the moustache and had a few dark brown freckles over his cheeks, and a lot of lines everywhere else. They complemented his bloodshot eyes, which made him look as if he’d been up all week, or was just fucked in general. What was most noticeable, though, were his hands – maybe even bigger than Sundance’s, with nails that were perfectly manicured yet knuckles so rough they were almost white. He must have been a Jap slapper, into martial arts and all that kit, doing press-ups on them and punching through lumps of wood. I was certainly glad not to be a lump of wood. ‘What do you people expect from me?’
/>   Suzy and I exchanged a glance.

  ‘You people have to realize that finding this ASU will be extremely difficult.’

  Suzy leant closer. ‘So, what’s the point of meeting if you haven’t got anything?’

  ‘But I told your people I have nothing yet, it was they who wanted this meeting. We are fighting people who want to be martyrs. These are serious people and their successes depend on concealment. They do not make mistakes. All you people keep saying is where are—’

  I raised my hands. ‘Hey, listen, whatever you’re pissed off about doesn’t mean a thing at our level, all right?’

  He stared at me for a few seconds, as if weighing me up. ‘It may take a little while. These are not your boy terrorists in Northern Ireland . . .’

  Suzy’s eyes flashed. ‘People have died fighting those “boy” terrorists.’

  I put my hand on her arm. ‘OK, what now?’

  The source looked grave. ‘They are here, they are in the UK. What are my contact details, who am I dealing with?’

  I pointed at Suzy. ‘Her. Give him your number.’

  Suzy looked at me but didn’t object: we had to show unity, even if he was dicking us about. She told him and he closed his eyes as he loaded it into the software inside his head.

  When he opened them again, they seemed even more bloodshot. ‘I will call if and when I have something.’ He stood up to leave.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to locate the ASU?’ I said. ‘Have you got any help?’

  ‘I do not need any. I am perfectly fine on my own.’

  He got up and left through the back doors.

  22

  ‘Stay put, Suzy. Watch.’

  Outside, the street-lights had come on. Less than thirty seconds later Grey Streak passed the front window, heading back towards the station.

  ‘That’s the first one I saw.’ The source also walked past as she sat back in her chair and picked up her brew. He didn’t bother looking in. Finally, as she took a sip, Navy followed suit. I powered up my cell. ‘He’s lying. Let’s take ’em. You start.’

  She did the same with hers, then her bag went over her left shoulder as she stood up, making sure that her leather jacket covered the Browning on her right hip as we kissed goodbye. I hit redial as she stepped out of the front door and disappeared. ‘Hello? Do you have me?’

  ‘Yep, good. That’s Navy on the right . . . approaching the station . . . into the station now. All three unsighted.’

  I was on my feet and out on Cowcross. Suzy was maybe twenty metres ahead of me on the right-hand pavement, just short of the pub.

  ‘I’ll go complete the station.’ I could hear the PA system and the noise of the ticket hall before she spoke. ‘All three still unsighted, still checking.’

  There was a lot of rustling as she checked the area. ‘Wait, wait, wait. Yes . . . I have all three down on the platform, can’t make out what direction. They’re still split up, but on the same platform. I’ll get the tickets.’

  I joined her a minute later. She greeted me with a smile and ‘Nice to see you’, as we walked arm in arm towards the turnstiles. CCTV cameras were everywhere.

  ‘Look down the stairs.’

  A flight of wide wrought-iron steps led down to the platforms. I could make out the top third of the source’s head above the billboards, and further along the platform a tell-tale streak of grey. Navy was nearer to us, sitting on a bench between a middle-aged black woman with two Tesco bags and a white man with a leather bag at his feet.

  Suzy moved into me and laid her head on my chest, nodding as I whispered lovingly into her ear. ‘We’ll just have to wait for—’ A train roared in immediately below us. People shuffled to the platform edge. Navy and the two on the bench got up to join the shuffle. ‘Fuck the other two, they don’t know us. We take the source. You take the far carriage and I’ll do this one.’

  She handed me my all-zone ticket and pushed hers into the turnstile. The gate flapped open as the train doors did the same below us. I followed her through, and down the stairs. She walked briskly on to the opposite platform, using the billboards as cover. My eyes didn’t leave the back of the source’s head. I needed to be as close as possible, which meant taking the carriage immediately to his right. I moved behind her, head down, losing myself among the waiting passengers until she’d overtaken him. Then I ducked back as the source boarded the train.

  Shit. Navy was heading for the same carriage as me. No time to change direction: I was committed. The woman took a seat with her back to the platform, and so did Navy. I sat opposite her, trying not to get my feet tangled in her bags.

  The carriage was only about half full. A couple of kids stayed standing because they wanted to look cool, but everyone else sat. I looked to my right, through the connecting door, but couldn’t see the source. Half standing, I leant across to pick up a discarded Guardian supplement a few seats to the left of the woman. As the PA told us all to mind the gap, I caught a glimpse of him on my side of the next carriage, seated about half-way along. I couldn’t tell if he was aware or not. Navy certainly wasn’t. He stared blankly ahead, his hands resting on his legs. That was it now, no more looking. I couldn’t afford eye to eye: I didn’t want to be someone he remembered later.

  The doors closed and the train rumbled off, still above ground, although the grimy brickwork ran very close on either side. I checked the route card above the woman’s head and discovered we were on the Circle line. I felt myself rock from side to side as the train speeded up, then slowed. I played with the phone as if I was dialling, and brought the mike closer to my mouth. I smiled as if I’d just got through. ‘Hi, how are you?’

  I could hardly hear her above the rattle of the tracks, so I lifted the phone right to my ear and pulled out the hands-free.

  ‘I’m fine. Are you seeing him today?’

  My lips were touching the phone. ‘Yes, I’m seeing two. I’m going to lose you soon.’

  She gave a girlish giggle. ‘Me, too. That sounds really great.’ I guessed there was somebody sitting right next to her. Maybe it was Grey. She went quiet and I checked the phone signal. It disappeared as the train was swallowed by a tunnel. I glanced around at my fellow passengers. They were all in their own worlds, reading books and newspapers, or avoiding eye-contact with the people opposite. Some, like Navy, just sat there letting their heads wobble from side to side. To my left, the man with the leather bag at his feet picked fluff obsessively from his corduroy trousers.

  The woman bent down and rustled about in one of her bags, produced a copy of Hello! and started to flick through the pages. I played with the idea of Corduroy Man walking along crowded platforms in the rush-hour with his bag, letting its deadly cargo of Dark Winter leak from a small hole in the bottom of it. No one would give him a second thought as he moved about the Underground. He could walk as far as he liked until he needed to refill and start all over again.

  Like thousands of others, the woman wouldn’t have seen, heard or smelt DW as it floated about her to be breathed in. She would go home tonight, and in a couple of days think she had a bit of flu and almost certainly infect her husband and kids. The husband would give the good news to everyone he passed on the way to work, then once there, he’d keep on going. The kids would go to school or college and do exactly the same. You didn’t need to be Kelly’s maths teacher to work out how quickly it added up to what Simon had called a biblical event.

  The train’s PA system crackled and a female voice from Suzy’s neck of the estuary told us the next station was King’s Cross. The platform lights rushed in from the opposite side of the carriage, and long blurs gradually became Greek holiday posters. The train stopped with a gentle squeal of brakes and the doors lumbered open.

  Navy got up. I looked through the interconnecting door. The source was on his feet too, overcoat on. I waited where I was, not knowing which end of the platform was the exit. Would he turn left or right? If I went too early and got it wrong, I might walk straight into h
im. If I waited too long, the doors would close.

  Most of the people disembarking from my carriage turned to the right, and Navy followed them. If the source did too, Suzy would pick him up for sure.

  I waited a while before falling in with the rear of the herd. I couldn’t see any of them, even Suzy, as the crowd followed the way-out signs. We were still all heading in the same direction, but I kept an eye out for other exits: King’s Cross was a major tube interchange, and there were two rail stations at street level.

  I still had no signal on my phone as I pushed my way through a group of dithering foreign teenagers and joined the stream of business people hurrying for their trains.

  I spotted Navy about half-way up the escalator – static, not aware. He glanced at the odd poster now and again, as everybody did. One signal bar flickered on the mobile’s display. ‘Hello, Suzy?’ Nothing.

  By the time I’d got maybe half-way up he’d reached the top and disappeared. I started taking the stairs two at a time, barging past people when I had to, muttering apologies.

  The escalator spilled us into an area from where maybe five or six tunnels led off in different directions. Navy could have gone down any of them, but he didn’t matter. The source did. I took the first option left, with only a one-in-five chance of being right, and made about a hundred metres.

  ‘Hello, Nick, hello?’

  ‘Suzy, you’re weak, you’re weak.’

  ‘He’s out of the tube. He’s in the main-line station, I have all three.’

  ‘Nearly there.’ I turned and moved against the flow, back to the top of the escalators and followed the sign for King’s Cross main-line station. More pushing, more apologies.

  Suzy kept up her commentary: ‘All three heading out of the station towards the main, they’re taking the main exit, they’re still separate. You getting this?’

  ‘Yeah – nearly there. Excuse me, sorry, sorry.’ I pounded up the final flight of stairs and into the enormous high-roofed concourse. A large digital display showed the times of departing trains, most of them delayed. Pissed-off commuters stood around drinking hot stuff from paper cups and muttering into cell phones.