Rob’s voice: ‘You there, Katie?’
A torchbeam scudded past the porthole. Maybe it was what they all needed, an ego massage. Rob, the cover officer, was expert at lifting the bloody dark clouds of an undercover’s doubts. George, the controller, could lift a level one’s self-esteem. Carrick wasn’t the first, wouldn’t be the last, to need them. He cursed himself that he had wounded Katie, had treated her like a tart.
‘I’m here. Come aboard.’
Then George’s voice, ‘Half Oxfordshire’s bloody cattle seem to be in this field, and I’ve walked in three heaps of their shit. What’s wrong with the marina?’
‘Marina’s full. Exercise does you good, sir.’
He had never worked alongside Katie on a plot. She’d had two runs as an undercover. She’d played at being a prostitute in an investigation of the call-girl trade in the Kings Cross area of London, had had her face scratched by rivals for the pitch, and had learned to accept volleys of abuse each time she found an excuse not to get into a punter’s car. Armed back-up had never been more than a hundred yards down the street. She had played the role of an undercover’s girlfriend up in Manchester, tracking the import of Croatian firearms, to give the officer his get-out excuse for refusing to screw girls and drink all night. She’d given evidence in the Manchester case, at the Crown Court, and it was thought she was compromised. She hadn’t wanted to go back to uniform routines and had been taken on as a desk worker in the Pimlico office George used. Carrick thought her the best girl he’d known — natural, easy, without ceremony, honest and, most of all, with a bucketful of loyalty — and that evening he’d failed her. He swung his legs off the bed.
And heard a voice he didn’t know: ‘Don’t mind me saying it, but a pretty stupid place to choose. I wouldn’t have.’
Feet hit the deck, then the steps down. Carrick smoothed his hair, tucked his shirt into the waist of his trousers, pushed on his shoes and knotted the laces.
Rob’s voice, chuckling: ‘Nice flowers, Katie — rather grander than my lady’s used to.’
‘He brought them.’
George’s voice, serious: ‘In my experience, the more lavish the expenditure on flowers, the more abject the apology it’s intended to cover. You got a problem with him?’
‘Just that he’s knackered, hasn’t talked much. It’s the biggest armful I’ve ever had.’
The voice of an unknown: ‘Very pretty, very charming. My colleague and I have not travelled to listen to your little soap opera. Can we get down to business? And I’d like coffee.’
He slid the door back, came out, pushed it shut behind him, walked past the kitchenette and into the living area.
Carrick nodded to George, took Rob’s hand and held it tightly for a moment, then saw the other two. One was older and suited, had neat grey hair, the other was younger than himself, wore a loose anorak over a crumpled checked shirt, faded jeans, and had tousled red hair. The flowers he had brought for Katie were still in the wrapping-paper but filled a plastic bucket on the screwed-down table.
The older man said briskly, ‘I haven’t yet worked out my name, or my colleague’s, but you’re N for November. Of course, I know your correct name, but it will no longer be used. You’re November.’
George said, ‘I’m afraid things have moved a bit quickly, and—’
Rob said, ‘Just what I’m looking at, sorry, but you seem shattered. Everything all right, old boy?’
Carrick grimaced. ‘Yes, I’m all right — not by much. Two things. First, Rawlings is done for drink-driving last night, and as far as I’ve ever known is teetotal, like a priest’s celibate, and is sacked. I get to drive the Bossman. Second, a hood tries to kill the Bossman down in the City today, two shots fired — God knows how they missed him and me. It’s not been reported. I’m now the Bossman’s flavour, and we’re travelling in the morning — don’t know where to. Shattered, yes. Dead, no. Otherwise, everything’s all right. Who are these gentlemen?’
George looked down, evasive. ‘Don’t know much more than I said. What I said was that things have moved a bit quickly.’
‘Meaning?’
Rob said, ‘These gentlemen are from the intelligence services.’
‘What? Dirty raincoats in the shadows? Spooks?’
George said, ‘I am hardly, as has been made clear to me, inside the need-to-know loop. Josef Goldmann is now of interest in a matter of national security.’
‘Nothing I’ve seen adds up to that.’ Carrick shrugged theatrically.
The older man rasped, ‘Then perhaps you haven’t been looking, November, where you should have.’
He bridled. ‘That’s rubbish. If it was there, I would have—’
‘And haven’t been listening. I’d appreciate coffee, soonest, but appreciate more that we conclude the preamble.’
‘Excuse me, I was damn nearly killed. If you didn’t hear me, two shots, bloody near on a slab — so don’t, whoever you are, tell me I’m not doing my job. Got me?’
‘These “gentlemen”, and it has authority from on high, require you to be seconded to their control.’ George looked at the carpet on the floor and the mud and shit he had brought on to it.
‘It’s out of our hands — sorry and all that.’ Rob fidgeted his fingertips aimlessly against his palms.
‘You washing your hands of me?’
Neither answered. Neither George nor Rob met Carrick’s gaze.
‘Right. Can we now get to work?’ the older man said, with a studied calmness. ‘Matinée performance over — and the coffee, please.’
‘Might just be premature, going to work …’
The older man sighed, not from exasperation or annoyance but from a reckoning that time was being wasted and it was a commodity of value.
‘What if I refuse? What if I tell you to look elsewhere? What if I say I’m not interested in your invitation?’ Carrick felt a chill around him, not the heat of anger, and it settled on his skin.
The older man beaded his eyes on him. ‘Three very fair questions, November, and deserving of very brief answers. Do I have to make that coffee myself?’
Katie caved. As she went past Carrick she gave his hand a momentary squeeze — but she couldn’t help him and he knew it.
‘To the point. Refusal is not an option. Do I want you? Not particularly. Would I prefer to substitute for you an officer from my own organization? Most certainly. You alone have the access I need … Just pause for a moment, November, and think. Having thought, I imagine you wouldn’t believe I come lightly. It is not for some minimal personal amusement … I’m taking you over, and into an area that I predict will be of maximum danger, in the clear knowledge that national security may be involved. I will have a team with me, behind you, whose job will be to ensure — if possible — your personal safety … I tend to find morale-boosting speeches boring and usually irrelevant to the matter at hand. At last. Thank you.’
He was given by Katie, who glowered at him, a mug of instant coffee.
‘I’m not in the business of concessions, but the role of the young lady has been explained to me, and her detailed knowledge of the files associated with Josef Goldmann. She, too, I am co-opting. I suggest we sit down. Oh, gentlemen, goodnight.’
He had dismissed Rob and George. He saw the senior bite his lip, the junior shrug, as if this was a force beyond their remit. Embarrassment wreathed them, as if neither knew of anything apposite to add. Carrick realized that the transfer of an undercover, mid-investigation, to different masters was beyond their experience, would conventionally be regarded as disastrous and unprofessional. They left, tramped out and up the steps, and the narrowboat shook as they jumped off.