Purkiss wasn’t particularly surprised. Some people identified him and his role. Others didn’t.
‘Therefore,’ said Motruk, ‘it is something that interests you. And you are expert at it, yes? The identification of treacherous agents. So I decided, what the hell, I could use your help.’
Purkiss watched Motruk, his thoughts turning over. He said, ‘Do you have a plan in mind?’
‘Yes. I have a plan.’
Motruk was scheduled to meet his chief contact in the Andreotti family the following night. At the meeting he would demand that the man reveal the identity of the other agent working with the Sicilians, otherwise the deal would be off. There would be no major transaction next month.
‘It is a highly risky strategy,’ said Motruk. ‘They will be very angry. They do not like demands made of them. But they will agree. It is too late, events have moved too far, for them to withdraw now over something so trivial.’
Motruk would say he’d heard rumours that a colleague was involved, and would feign his own anger that he’d been kept out of the picture. He’d insist that his role was being put in jeopardy by not knowing which of his fellow agents was in fact on the Sicilians’ payroll, because if he did know he’d be especially careful around that person.
Once the Sicilians revealed the identity of the agent, Motruk would find a way to communicate this to Purkiss. In the mean time, Purkiss would contrive a rendezvous between himself and the two agents. He’d ring Cass and ask her and Silverman to meet him as a matter of urgency, as he had crucial new information about Motruk and the Sicilians. As soon as Motruk told Purkiss which of the agents was the Andreotti link, Purkiss would take him — or her — down.
Motruk said, ‘Here is my number.’
Purkiss entered it into his phone. ‘Won’t the Sicilians have tapped it?’
Motruk shook his head. ‘In the beginning, Cass and Silverman gave me a phone. The Sicilians swapped it for one of their own. They thought I did not notice, and they changed the memory card in case it had a tracking device. They keep that old phone in case somebody rings me and leaves an incriminating message. They do not trust me, you see. Now I use this different one for private calls. I use still another one to speak to the Sicilians, one they gave me themselves.’ He laughed again, shark-like. ‘It is complicated, yes?’
‘Where will you be tomorrow evening?’ said Purkiss.
‘I do not know. The Andreotti people reveal the location of the rendezvous only a short while before it happens. One can see their logic.’
Purkiss left soon afterwards. In the lamplit street outside, he looked up at Motruk’s window, half expecting to see the man’s silhouette. But the room was dark once more.
The phone trilled in his hand. Purkiss killed the noise. ‘Yes.’
‘Purkiss.’ Motruk’s voice was even lower than before, with a harsh note to it. ‘I have our answer.’
‘And?’
‘Are they with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is both of them. Both Cass and Silverman are in the pay of the Sicilians.’
Purkiss stared at them in turn, at their eyes.
‘Understood.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Valletta.’
‘Are you able — ’
‘I can take care of it.’ Purkiss rang off.
He said, ‘Let’s move.’
Outside the hut the wind had risen and snaked around the promontory, bathing them in warm sea air. The hut was some sort of lifeguard’s shelter, desultorily locked; Purkiss had gained access with ease. Sloping away before it was a grassy vergewhich terminated in a low concrete wall, beyond which an abrupt drop plummeted to the rocks.
They stood at the edge, peering down and to the right. The cliff sloped downwards so that it was lower above the cove in the near distance. The inlet seethed with movement, men moving back and forth, heaving crates off the back of the gargantuan lorry that had lumbered down the cliff path and was parked awkwardly with its rear facing the cove.
Purkiss had watched it arrive while he was waiting for Cass and Silverman.
Fatigue threatened to smother him like wet canvas. He’d had Motruk under near constant surveillance ever since leaving the guest house the previous night. Instead of returning to his hotel in Valletta, Purkiss parked in a side street from which the guest house entrance was just visible, and settled low down in the driver’s seat to wait. At times he’d dozed, so there was always a risk Motruk would slip out unnoticed; but in the morning, as the first heat began to settle on the village, Purkiss saw Motruk emerge, with as confident a stride as ever.
It had been one of the most concentrated and prolonged surveillance jobs Purkiss had ever undertaken. He crossed the island, east to west and back again, changing rental cars at times to break the pattern, finding the expansive terrain between towns and villages a nightmare to traverse without Motruk Taking note of him. Motruk had done nothing obviously suspicious, shopping in Valletta’s mall at one point, meeting a local-looking couple for lunch at another. He’d taken a few phone calls during the day but Purkiss had been unable to catch anything that was said.
At five p.m., four hours ago, Motruk had phoned Purkiss to say his meeting with the Sicilians was scheduled for eight thirty. Purkiss confirmed that he’d set up his own rendezvous with Cass and Silverman for that time. At seven thirty Motruk had set off from the guest house in Marsaxlokk once more and arrived in this spot on the north coast, some distance from human habitation, it seemed. Purkiss took up position on the cliff and watched Motruk in the cove below, meeting a group of men. The truck arrived soon afterwards.
And after that, the container ship crept into view on the horizon.
While sitting in the car the night before and watching the guest house, Purkiss had phoned the High Commission. He’d argued with the night switchboard operator that yes, he did indeed need to speak to Ms Amanda Cass urgently about a matter of the utmost importance, even if she had gone home, and no, it couldn’t wait until morning. After fifteen minutes Cass had rung him back.
She’d been silent for a few seconds after Purkiss finished his piece. Then she said: ‘And you don’t believe him.’
‘That you or Silverman are working with the Sicilians? Not for a moment. And it’s not because you’ve got such honest faces or anything.’
‘Then why —’
‘Because sniffing out bent agents is my job. They wouldn’t have sent Motruk to investigate you. They’d have sent me.’
The soft chug of well-maintained outboard motors echoed up from the sheer walls of the cove as the first of the boats began to move out towards the container ship, carrying the first of the crates.
Purkiss and Cass and Silverman crouched by the ridge, peering down. There were perhaps twenty men down below, most of them involved in unloading the lorry and transferring the boxes to the waiting boats, of which there were four. The rest of the men weren’t dressed for physical labour and stood with Motruk, overseeing.
Cass took out her phone. ‘I’m calling the police,’ she murmured.
Purkiss held up a hand. ‘We need to find out what’s in those crates first. Give the police a reason to come in force.’
‘I’m calling them anyway. It’ll take them time to get here.’
Purkiss looked down the cliff face. It was a hundred-foot vertical drop to the rocks below. The cliff path sloped away to the right but led directly to the cove and he’d be seen if he took it.