Eden stepped up. “The Foreign Secretary doesn’t meet people in hotel rooms unless they’ve been fully vetted,” he said. “He knows who you all are.”
Ryan suddenly looked nervous.
“Don’t worry, Mr Bale,” Eden said, frowning. “We’re not interested in your creative tax situation.”
“Please,” Matheson said. “Do sit down, all of you. We have tea.”
Hawke watched one of guards lay a tray laden with tea cups on the table in front of them and begin to pour. The steam rose up into the air. For a moment in the heavy silence, the only sound was the reassuring chink of silver teaspoons against expensive china. Matheson glanced at Hawke and seemed anxious.
“I haven’t the time to beat around the bush,” Matheson said. “I’ve been apprised of the situation by Sir Richard here, and we’ve taken steps to ensure Hugo Zaugg desists in his attempts to locate the vault of Poseidon and take control of its contents.”
Blunt and to the point, Hawke thought. He sipped his tea and wished it was a whisky. The moment seemed to call for something stronger than Earl Grey. Not too long ago he had been running parkour and looking forward to a new job and a fresh start, but now he was having tea with the British Foreign Secretary and talking about Top Secret threats to international security.
“What’s your take on the situation, Hawke?”
“It's obvious this Zaugg character has serious reach, sir,” Hawke told Matheson. “And you’re frightened of him.”
“What makes you say that?”
Hawke jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the view of Lake Geneva. “Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed that you’ve put the three of us against the window while you sit further inside the room, Mr Matheson. You’re afraid of snipers out on the water.”
“Standard safety protocol,” said one of the guards flatly.
“Yeah, sure. Listen, you obviously need us or we wouldn’t be here, so get on with it.”
Matheson raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to lie to you — we know we need some help on this. There are agencies inside the government who are not convinced Zaugg is a genuine threat, and so it’s going to come down to smaller units to handle the problem. Also HMG is not all that keen on this spilling out into the press.”
Hawke sniffed. “Her Majesty’s Government isn’t that keen on lots of things.”
“Listen, we’re prepared to give you carte blanche to rein Zaugg in, and we can provide some extra assistance if you need it, but you’ll need to work under the radar.”
“I’m not sure…”
Eden spoke up. “Come on, Hawke. I’ve read your file and I know you’re more than capable. Your commando work in the marines and SBS is first class. You really should have been decorated.”
“I was, but I turned it down.”
Eden looked confused, and opened Hawke’s file a second time. “There’s nothing in here about that…”
“There wouldn’t be, and no — I don’t want to talk about it.”
Matheson shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is a discussion for another time? Right now we need to talk about Zaugg. I’ve spoken with some friends at the UN and also Interpol, and amongst us there is consensus that Zaugg is a threat and that he must be stopped. That is where you come in.”
Hawke fixed eyes on Matheson: “Go on.”
“We have some good news. We’ve had some intelligence from a reliable contact in Berne that Heinrich Baumann is the man who tortured Professor Fleetwood, but he sent Kaspar Vetsch to kill her when she escaped and tried to tell Sir Richard here of their plans.”
Eden slipped a new black and white photo of Vetsch across the table.
“That’s the man who tried to kill us in New York,” Ryan said. “I’d remember that face anywhere.”
“This is a new picture, taken in here in Geneva less than three hours ago.”
“He’s in Switzerland?”
Eden nodded sternly. “We can only presume that he was recalled by his handler, Baumann, after his failure to retrieve the golden arc from the Met in Manhattan. I doubt Zaugg would be involved at such a low level.”
“Where was this picture taken?” Hawke asked.
“Outside the airport here in Geneva.”
“You think he’s the type to talk?” Lea said.
“I do wonder if he might be, yes.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“You have to remember Kaspar Vetsch is not only a hitman, but also a complete sadist. Zaugg employs him to get information from nuts that are tough to crack. Whether or not a man like that is more or less susceptible to persuasion, as it were, only time will tell.”
“What do we want to get out of him?” Ryan asked, causing much eye-rolling around the room.
“We need information to lead us either to Baumann or directly to Zaugg if possible. Vetsch could be our way into that particular cesspit.”
Matheson cleared his throat again. He seemed anxious. “I can give you some assistance with this operation,” he said calmly, “but it’s all hush-hush, and if your cover’s blown we never knew you, understand? HMG cannot be seen to be working against a man like Zaugg in this way. He might be a recluse, but he’s also a high-ranking Swiss citizen with considerable influence in the government here. I'm sure you understand. The situation is delicate.”
“That’s very nice,” Hawke said.
“I’m sorry?” Matheson said sharply.
“Get us to do your dirty work and if we get into trouble pull up the drawbridge.”
“We got you out of New York, didn't we?” he replied coolly. “And that wasn't easy. You brought half of Manhattan to a standstill. The CIA were fuming.”
“I’m just along for the ride.” Hawke leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “This is really between Sir Richard and Herr Zaugg as far as I can tell.”
“Well, on that you are quite wrong,” Eden said. “The British Government might not formally recognize the threat to national security if Zaugg gets into Poseidon’s tomb, but I certainly do, and so does the Foreign Secretary as well. So this is not some personal vendetta between Zaugg and me.”
The English politician was clearly fired up by it all, but at the same time Hawke felt in the way he spoke the same reluctance that he sensed in Lea. There was something in their manner that made him feel as if they were keeping something from him — something big, and something he should know.
“So where is Vetsch right now?” Hawke asked.
“We don't know, but we do know the address of this man, Didier Martin.” Eden slid another black and white photo across the table.”
“Who is he?” Hawke asked. “He looks like a slug.”
“Middle-ranking underworld figure who’s made a lot of money selling drugs and so on. He supplies Vetsch with cocaine and is known to sell heroin as well. He should be a reliable lead to Vetsch.”
“Where do we find this Martin?” Hawke asked.
“In the Old Town,” Eden replied, turning to Lea. “The apartment is in the Place du Bourg-de-Four, a very upmarket area, so please refrain from blasting it to pieces when you get there.”
Hawke smiled. “Who, us?”
“I mean it. I want this kept clean and sharp, all right? Here is the address, so get in and get out, preferably with both Didier Martin and Kaspar Vetsch alive and kicking into the bargain. They’re no use to us dead, are they now?” As he said this he frowned and fixed his eyes on Hawke.
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And there’s something else,” Eden said. “I think you’re going to need more help, so I’ve organized a little assistance. She’s former military, but SAS, not SBS.”
“No one’s perfect” Hawke said, smiling.
“But now’s she MI5, so play nice,” Eden added, smiling back.
“Where is she?”