‘No, they’re not. You look about five years younger than you did. Your hair’s longer, you’re dressed differently, and you’re walking taller than you did.’
‘That’s just the heels,’ she replied. ‘As for the rest, I’ve changed the dress code, found a new hairdresser and. . it’s amazing what a little makeup can do.’
‘Oh, yes? And what did you spray in your eyes to make them sparkle?’
Amanda Dennis smiled. ‘There’s no fooling you detectives. Very well, I admit it. I have a new interest in my life, apart from the job. He’s the father of one of my son’s friends. . Oh, shit, let me abandon all subterfuge, he’s the older brother of one of my son’s friends.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘About three months.’
‘Good for you, Mandy. Does he know what you do?’
‘My son’s been describing me as a civil servant for years and getting away with it, because we do still remain largely anonymous within our department, but these days, when you rise to the top job, even if it’s only on an acting basis, you become visible. So I told him, before he looked me up on the Internet and found out for himself.’
‘And he came though his vetting with flying colours, I take it.’
‘Before our first dinner date. It’s nice to go out with someone who has nothing to do with the department,’ she confessed. ‘It’s the first time I have since I joined.’
‘What does he do?’ As Skinner asked the question he was aware that they were walking towards a black Vauxhall, parked on a yellow line.
‘He’s a jeweller. This is us,’ she said, her tone suddenly brisker. ‘Your dinner’s postponed, I’m afraid. I’d like a chat back at the office. Did you tell your colleagues where you were going when you left them?’
‘Why? Am I not coming back?’
‘Don’t be silly. I meant are they expecting you?’
‘Not any time soon. But they understood what was happening this afternoon, in Boras’s building. They know my departure is related.’ He paused, as the car pulled away from the kerb. ‘So you’re not denying it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘How did you know where we were? Have you been tailing us since Heathrow?’
‘No. We traced you through Stallings’s office,’ Dennis replied, as they turned into the Strand, heading for Trafalgar Square.
‘God, this place is never quiet,’ Skinner exclaimed as the car cruised along Whitehall.
‘You get used to it.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Is that why you turned the job down?’
‘No, I turned it down because it didn’t suit a guy with three young children and a high-profile relationship.’
‘Plus, you knew you’d be too hard for our Establishment to handle.’
He grinned. ‘There is that.’
They reached their destination in less than ten minutes. The car stopped in front of Thames House, the headquarters of MI5, the security service, and Dennis led the way inside. Skinner knew the building welclass="underline" he had spent some time there, brought in to conduct an internal investigation. He said nothing as the lift rose up to the director general’s floor, as the doors opened and as he followed his escort into her office. They sat at a small conference table, and once again, she was all business, the woman he had always known.
He took the box from his pocket, laid it on the table, activated it and watched it vibrate. Dennis shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘they’re all ours.’
He was about to remark that that made a change, but he held it back: some wounds were still recent and raw.
‘I’m sorry I had to bring you back here,’ the acting director general began. ‘What I have to tell you is too sensitive for my driver to overhear.’
‘I know.’
She allowed him a small smile. ‘Indeed. Well, Bob, as you see, your grandstanding performance with Boras has paid off. You had barely left the building before I had a visitation from two people who knew of our acquaintance and of your recent history with Five. They’ve asked me to explain things.’
‘They don’t have to. I don’t care about the detail, I just want to get my hands on the man who killed my officer. He and Boras could have hung Ballester up by the nuts and I wouldn’t care; they could have taken out Spicer and his mate after the event and I wouldn’t care. But there’s a widow up in Edinburgh, and I do care about her, oh, God, do I care.’
‘Nevertheless, let me tell you about Boras.’
‘If you insist.’
‘Thank you. It is widely believed, even by his own son, that Davor Boras left Sarajevo because he foresaw the chaos that the sundering of Yugoslavia would bring, and that he wanted no part of it. It’s true that he wanted to get his children out of there, and that he was ambitious in his business life, but in fact he is a patriot.
‘By the time the Bosnian war started in 1992, Boras’s first business in the UK was successful and he was a wealthy man. Not only that, but he had retained many contacts in Sarajevo, Belgrade and other cities; he had continued to do business there, and was a regular visitor. He cared about the place, for emotional and commercial reasons. A year before hostilities erupted, Boras contacted the Central Intelligence Agency through the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. He offered his services in any way they thought fit.’
‘Why didn’t he go to our intelligence service?’ Skinner asked.
‘He wasn’t sure whose side they’d be on, simple as that. The Americans, on the other hand, had caught on to Milošević at an early stage, and knew what he was capable of. He was also a Communist, and that crystallised their view of him.
‘When Boras came to them, the CIA people rolled out the red carpet; they had actually been considering trying to recruit him. Ever since then, he’s been their guy. If you were to look at the records of Bolec, his company at that time, you’d find people listed as employees whose jobs were never phoney but who had other functions. Throughout the war he infiltrated personnel into the region, intelligence-gatherers, saboteurs, assassins. They were very effective, and never detected. Several Serbian paramilitary figures were eliminated by people who were officially employees of Bolec plc.’
‘The war’s been over for a long time,’ Skinner pointed out.
‘Not for some people, including the CIA. Boras has continued to be an asset of theirs. When he sold Bolec it was with their approval. They felt that they had run enough through it and that, sooner or later, the increasingly effective intelligence services in the new countries would catch on.
‘So Boras allowed himself to be bought out, and promptly started another business, Continental IT, in a slightly different sector, but still with a presence in the region, albeit lower profile. Its principal use to the CIA lies in the apprehension and, where necessary, elimination of war criminals. Several people on trial at The Hague have Davor Boras to thank for it, or rather Continental IT; several others have simply disappeared, including one or two alleged criminals on his side, who have been given safe haven in the US.’
‘And he’s still active?’
‘Whenever necessary; that was why there was a small alarm when Ballester first surfaced. Boras’s first thought was that he was a Serbian spy, but the Americans, through their UK front organisation Aeron, soon established the truth, that he was a radical, slightly crackpot journalist, with a penchant for bringing down big names.
‘He wasn’t after Boras the spy; he was after Boras the businessman, whose dealings in that sector were not always kosher, as witness Mr Barker’s “Jack Frost” account and his dealings with the man Dailey, and several others. When this was uncovered, Ballester was set up by CIA operatives in Paris, with the assistance of MI6, who owed somebody a favour at the time.
‘After his public humiliation, he dropped out of sight for much of the time. In truth, he was almost forgotten, until Dominic Padstow’s real name came out, through your investigation. The CIA believe that his involvement with Zrinka, and finally, vicariously, through her friend, was a last attempt to get to Boras. When it failed. . well. The man had a kink, and a history of violence; poor girls, poor lad, poor Stevie.’ She looked across the table. ‘There’s no doubt that he did it?’ she asked.