Rik was reading his mind. ‘Spain would be good. All those creaky old expats to hide among. Modern, sophisticated, good transport, fleshpots. Everything.’
Harry shook his head. ‘It’s a retirement community; probably crawling with ex-cops, former spooks and civil servants, all bored out of their skulls and looking for excitement. Paulton may have been secretive and with a mania for different names, but he wasn’t faceless. Someone would recognize him sooner or later. They’d want to grill him, chill him or turn him in for the reward.’
‘Good point, Holmes.’ Rik glanced at the screen and did a double take. ‘Well, that’s another one accounted for. Staff Sergeant Pollock’s turned up alive and well.’
Harry looked. It was an email from Ballatyne. Pollock had walked into a police station in Ripon, Yorkshire, accompanied by his former wife, and handed himself in. He’d been hiding near Bournemouth for the past seven weeks after skipping from Germany and had run out of money. And he was homesick.
It proved one thing: the Protectory didn’t get to everyone. Or maybe they were being extra choosy about the talent they went after. He noticed one common factor: all the people listed were single, widowed or divorced. Pollock, although divorced, was the only one with a significant other who still seemed to care about him.
He went back to the records. Home addresses and telephone numbers were listed and were being monitored around the clock. Harry assumed that meant in person by the Royal Military Police and electronically by GCHQ. There was always a chance they might call without thinking, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath. Interestingly, there was a note that Sgt Barrow’s was the only mobile still active, although no fix had been made on it so far.
He thought about it for a few seconds, trying to decide who to focus on first. If Rik came up with anything, that was a bonus. In the meantime, he hated inaction and needed to get on with something concrete. He decided to get on Lt Tan’s case. Whatever Ballatyne thought about the other men and their equipment and technical knowledge, the Protectory might well have other views. Signals, Intelligence Corps and other personnel were relatively plentiful, and they would be counting on more coming along sooner or later. But someone from a central command position was a rarity, and that alone would command a good price to the right taker. If he could get a line on Tan’s movements, then the Protectory — and Paulton — wouldn’t be far away.
It was a few minutes before he noticed that Rik was unusually quiet, and scratching absent-mindedly at his shoulder beneath the bandage. He had said little on the long return journey from Iraq, and Harry wondered when he would reach the tipping point; when it would become too urgent for him to hold in any longer what was surely bothering him. Shooting someone for the first time was bad enough, no doubt about it. Not that the second time was any better. And Rik had done it just a few days ago. Worse, he thought he’d killed a woman.
‘Would you have shot him if things had gone bad?’
Harry guessed Rik was referring to Rafa’i. There had never been anything explicit said about dealing with the former cleric once they arrived at the delivery point in west Baghdad; and he had taken it as read that being seen to shoot the Iraqi, no matter that his own people probably wanted him dead before long, would be the worst possible action to take. It had been a simple drop-and-leave mission, and what Rafa’i’s former friends wanted to do with him once they’d heard of his deception and betrayal was up to them. But Harry wasn’t naive; if it had all kicked off the moment they touched down and they’d found themselves under fire from supporters still loyal to Rafa’i, he knew he would have been expected to ensure that there was no comeback.
‘We’ll never know. Probably.’
‘So it does get easier.’
Harry kept his head down, eyes on the papers. It was a question with no easy answer and one he didn’t think he could tackle right now. But he knew this was the tipping point he’d been waiting for.
‘You didn’t kill her.’
A short silence. ‘What?’ Rik’s voice was hoarse. It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. On the surface, he appeared ready for anything, but Harry knew it wasn’t that simple. He was human. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘Your shot didn’t kill her. It went high and to your left. Hit her in the right shoulder.’ Rik had been sitting on the ground, hands already shaking with the adrenalin rush of being in a firefight and the trauma of a gunshot wound from Joanne Archer’s pistol. He’d been calm enough, aiming, then shouting a warning, but it would have been amazing if he’d been able to pull off an accurate kill under those conditions. It had been Harry who’d fired the fatal shots.
‘But I saw her. She fell.’
Harry nodded and looked at him, saw his confusion. . and the beginnings of what might have been relief. ‘Ballistics confirmed it,’ he continued, keeping it casual. ‘I can show you a copy if you like.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
Harry shrugged. ‘There was no point. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway. That kind of thing, after what you’d been through. . you have to be ready to hear it.’ He grinned deliberately. ‘Don’t worry, when your shoulder’s better I’ll take you down the range and teach you how to shoot properly.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’
‘What else do you want me to tell you?’ Harry reached for the summaries again, then stopped and turned back to face Rik. ‘Actually, there is one other thing: no, it doesn’t get any easier.’
Rik didn’t respond, so Harry picked out a summary at random; it was Sgt Barrow. That would do. There was an active mobile number, so he picked up the phone and dialled. It rang out six times before going to a standard robot voicemail. He decided to leave a message. It seemed too simple, somehow, but he wondered if anyone else had thought of it. ‘Graham, my name’s Harry Tate,’ he said carefully. ‘I want to help you. I work in conjunction with the MOD, but I imagine you’re not sure who to trust right now, so I won’t waste time trying to sell you a deal. Call me and we’ll talk. This isn’t as bad as you think.’ He added Rik’s landline number, with the overseas dialling prefix for the UK, then cut the connection. If Barrow was out there and listening, and became desperate enough, he might call back.
Rik was looking at him. ‘What am I — a call centre?’
‘No, you’re walking wounded. If he rings back and I’m not here, I’ll need you to talk to him and find out where he is. Then let me know.’ He paused, remembering Ballatyne’s cold-as-permafrost warning for Rik to keep his nose clean. If he was going to get Rik to help, he needed his understanding of the background to the job, and that included the dangers involved. ‘If we get into this, there’s no straying into official files. Ballatyne knows your history and he’ll be watching.’
Rik had held up a hand. ‘No problem, boss,’ he promised with a sly grin. ‘I’ll be as good as gold.’
‘You’d better. Otherwise I’ll save Ballatyne the trouble and shoot you myself.’
ELEVEN
Anglesey was shrouded by a squally curtain of drizzle as Harry drove along the coast road and turned into a small lane leading to the bungalow where Vanessa Tan’s parents had lived for many years. It was set on a slope, an extended building in mature grounds overlooking the Menai Strait. At any other time he would have enjoyed the scenery and tranquillity away from the city, but right now he had other things on his mind.