Several moments went by, during which Rik signalled for more coffees. The waitress brought them and left them alone.
‘I don’t know how to contact her,’ Clare said at last, stirring a generous portion of sugar into her coffee. ‘I knew her mobile number once, but I still can’t remember it.’ She made a winding motion with a finger to the side of her head. ‘It’s all mixed up. Funny how I remembered your number, though.’
‘And mine?’ said Rik.
‘I never had yours. Anyway, why would I bother?’ She gave him a hard stare.
He blushed, although they all knew it wasn’t out of any romantic notion. ‘I put it in the compact. . on a slip of paper under the powder.’ He looked mortified. ‘You mean you didn’t even look? I’m hurt.’
A hint of a smile touched her mouth and hovered for a fleeting second before disappearing. ‘No. I didn’t look. Now that bloody Russian thug’s got it. He said he was going to give it to his girlfriend. Bastard.’
‘Hey, it was only cheap.’ Rik waved it away. ‘If you liked it that much I’ll get you another one.’
Now it was her turn to blush, but accompanied by a feigned look of disgust. ‘Are you kidding? It was vile.’ She dropped her spoon into her cup. ‘But I want it back. Can we go now? I need some new clothes. I feel like a bag lady.’
They were about to board their flight for Vienna at Northolt when Harry’s mobile rang. It was Ballatyne, his voice like a flat tyre. He was in the secure room again.
Harry dropped back and signalled for the other two to carry on.
‘Tell me Ferris hasn’t been letting his fingers walk where he shouldn’t.’ Ballatyne threw himself straight into the conversation without preamble. He sounded peeved and ready for a fight.
Harry was cautious. Ballatyne must know that Rik would have been accessing files somewhere; he’d even given them the nod to do so. ‘Where specifically?’
‘Specifically? Six, of course. The bowels of Vauxhall Cross. Forbidden bloody territory on pain of castration.’
A quick tug of relief. ‘In that case, no. Why?’
‘Because somebody’s been trying to access our HR records — the section housing personnel details of former operatives no longer active.’
‘You mean Clare Jardine?’ It had to be; hers was the only name in play at the moment.
‘Yes.’
‘It wasn’t Rik. You have my word on that.’
‘Good. Glad to hear it.’
‘What brought this on?’ At the exit door to the tarmac, a member of the ground crew was signalling to Harry and a couple of other latecomers that it was time to roll. Harry avoided his eye. This was too important and he doubted he would get a signal once on board the flight, which would be basic and noisy.
Ballatyne muttered something beneath his breath. ‘Ever since Bellingham and Paulton. . and some other security-related issues, new systems have been put in place across Five, Six, GCHQ and other selected agencies. Anybody trawling for information outside their remit, or attempting to use insider channels to do the same from one agency to another without the proper codes and passwords, which are changed frequently, sets off an alarm. It happens every now and then when somebody new tries to access a file without the current passes. Mostly it’s an officer or analyst searching the databases to cross-ferment files and gets careless.’
‘And this wasn’t?’
‘Not this time. He was blocked automatically first time round by the system lock-outs. Then he got creative and got into the guts of her file.’
‘And you don’t know who it was?’
‘Not yet. He or she was clever enough to use an access log-in code belonging to an officer on sick leave.’
‘That’s pretty crude.’ It indicated somebody without the specialist knowledge to by-pass the systems. . or someone brazen enough to care little about using a fellow-officer’s code.
‘Maybe. Or they might have been doing a quick and dirty one-time trawl and didn’t care for subtlety. There was a time it would have worked, but not now.’
‘How long will it take you to track them down?’ Harry didn’t know what the current levels of visual security were at MI6. They probably had CCTV on every floor, in strategic flow areas such as stairwells and general corridors, and Restricted Access points where security was at its most severe. What it might not cover were staff or officers using individual workstations.
‘If it was somebody within the building, it will be a process of elimination: who was present on that floor, who wasn’t where they should have been, who had visitor access, who had a bad annual assessment last time round.’
‘And if it’s somebody outside?’
‘Actually, that might be easier. If it’s an outsider with access through a common server, they’ll leave a trail that can’t be erased. And there are only so many points of origin they could have used.’
A whistle came from the departure door, and Harry said, ‘I’ve got to go. The flight’s leaving.’
‘OK. I’ll call later with any news.’
FORTY
Votrukhin and Serkhov were beginning to get rattled. None of this was going the way they wanted. The girl had escaped — twice. And now they had failed to get the two men helping her. Worse, they had only just missed them, the knowledge of how close they had come to regaining some credit with Gorelkin taunting them like a dying laugh. Serkhov had picked the lock to Ferris’s flat within seconds, and it was immediately apparent by the condensation from the shower and the remains of breakfast that the flat had been vacated in a rush not long before.
‘They had a warning,’ he muttered sourly as they hurried along the street. For the present they were without a car until a replacement was sourced, and having to rely on public transport and taxis to get around. Yet another reason to be anxious; every second they spent on buses, in taxis and on the Underground, quite apart from using the streets on foot, risked them being spotted and recorded. By now their descriptions would have been issued city-wide, and only luck would continue to keep them out of the hands of the British security authorities.
‘Who else would have known, though?’ Serkhov shouldered through a group of immigrant workers waiting for a work bus, oblivious to their protests. ‘Nobody but us knew we were going there.’
‘The Englishman. He knew.’
‘Sure. But why would he risk playing games with us? Gorelkin has him by the nuts.’ He mimed crushing something with a powerful fist. ‘One phone call and he goes to prison for treason, or whatever it is they charge them with here.’ He spotted a cafe and nodded at the steamy window. ‘Wait. I need some tea. Even the vile mixture they serve here is more than we’ll get from the colonel. And I don’t think I can face his temper on an empty belly.’ He swerved across the street, reaching for some money.
Votrukhin was forced to follow. The last thing he wanted was an argument with the sergeant; right now they needed to be acting as one and focussing on what to do next, not squabbling over food and drink.
They sat inside and sipped strong tea and ate a sandwich each, surrounded by a mixed clientele of building workers and student types. Accustomed to short, sharp breaks and no guarantees when the next one would come along, they knew the value of keeping their physical energy levels high. Eating also kept their mental faculties alert, especially when in the field as they were now and having to rely on split-second decisions to cope with an ever-changing situation.
Votrukhin stared out at the passing traffic. His expression was grim. For the first time in a long while he was feeling uncertain of himself. And Serkhov’s touch of insubordination wasn’t helping. In fact he should have slapped him down for it, but he hadn’t the heart.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Serkhov had tuned into him, the way close colleagues do in operational situations. He took a large bite of his sandwich and fished out a segment of gristle, flicking it onto his plate.