Including Katie, there were eight of them. Luke Davies sat at Lawson’s side on a folded edition of a morning paper to keep the mud off his backside. They were on the Embankment, beyond the VBX perimeter. His people, on Russia Desk, would have done the presentation in a darkened auditorium, with maps projected on to a screen and photographs. He had suggested one of those small rooms on the ground floor, where increments were permitted to go under escort, and where the equipment was permanently stored, but the glance had been steely, enough to state that it would be done Lawson’s way, tried and tested disciplines, as in the old days. In the open, Davies understood the thinking, there could be no hidden microphones in walls or ceiling, no hostages given if an inquest was called for.
‘Names first. I am, don’t know why, G for Golf. My young colleague is D for Delta. We have a cuckoo in our midst, foisted on us, but whom we will attempt to welcome, so she will be C for Charlie: you will remember she is not one of us. Our man, of whom we expect great things, is N for November. The targets, the opposition, will be allocated numbers as appropriate. Target One is Josef Goldmann, and so to the rest of you. I gather the names are baggage picked up over the years. We’ll start with Bugsy.’
He was a dapper little man, tidy in appearance, and all that was remarkable about him was the size of his spectacles, the thick weight of the lenses across the bridge of the nose. He was squatted on the grass and seemed hardly to have heard Lawson’s words.
‘He does the electronics, and has been in my teams since he left college. My advice to the rest of you is never to complain of foreign food, or you’ll start him off and wish you hadn’t. He’ll also bore you half to death on the subject of racing pigeons. He will do visual and audio surveillance, bugs and tags, and if November ever gets to wearing a wire it will be under the guidance of Bugsy. Then it’s Adrian and Dennis.’
They sat on the railings with their backs to the river. One would have been late forties and the other was early fifties. They were so similar, could have come from any high-street shopping precinct, any football crowd or any business conference for low-level management. In every respect, they were average — average height, average weight, average build — were dressed in the average clothes that men of their age wore. They sat close, as if they were a partnership.
‘Not the faintest idea where those names come from. You’ll find them rather ordinary, but that’s their trade and they do it well. They represent the mobile and foot surveillance element of our team. They will have particular responsibility for tracking November and reporting on where he leads us. They have the additional responsibility of checking, by counter-surveillance, whether November is under suspicion and tailed — “dry-cleaning”, in their jargon. From my experience of them, they’re seldom satisfied with the resources available, and will bleat they need a dozen operatives, not two. We cut our cloth according to our budget and the practicality of Haystack. There are two of them. Next, Shrinks.’
A man grinned, waved a fist in an airy gesture. Davies thought him only three years or four older than himself. There was a buzz of confidence about him, he didn’t have to talk to demonstrate it. He was squatting easily on his haunches in the walkway. The chill off the river did not seem to affect him: sleeves rolled up, a safari-style waistcoat worn loosely, a wooden imitation of an animal tooth hung from a leather thong at his throat, and his hair was a messy tangle, coming down on to his collar.
‘He’s always been Shrinks since he started to work with us. He tediously protests that a “shrink” is a psychiatrist and that he is a psychologist. Ignore this. It seems standard today that such a profession is regarded as necessary on a field operation … We seemed to manage in the past pretty well without one, but I must live with it. He will evaluate, as best he can, the morale and state of mind of November as Haystack progresses, and whether he is capable of continuing to operate effectively. Whether I take a jot of notice of his opinions remains to be seen. Then, we have Deadeye.’
He was rather small and sat cross-legged on the walkway, eyes roving. Davies had noted the facial wound and the halting way in which he had walked to the Embankment. It had taken him several minutes, well into Lawson’s introduction of the electronics guy, to recall where he had seen him before, where he could place the jacket and the hooded sweatshirt.
‘He’s been Deadeye as long as I’ve known him. He’s responsible for the protection of our backs. We may get to a stage where we believe a solitary individual is inadequate for that purpose. Then we’ll swallow the complaint and make do. He is to be listened to at all times and his word, alongside mine, is law. You will find him at the best of times to be sour and ill-tempered, as he is now. The degree of animosity arises from his injured nose — suffered in Haystack’s cause — and, should he drop his trousers and underpants, you would see that his testicles are quite severely bruised … He is an experienced marksman, shoots straight.’
Davies recalled the charge, the scuffled struggle, the crack of the pistol, the knee going into the groin, the clatter of the weapon into the gutter, and the roar of the car powering away down the street. Saw everything, but struggled to comprehend its meaning … then realized his mouth gaped open at the implication.
‘Now, the Miss in our ranks, C for cuckoo, so she is Charlie.’
She was apart from them and her frown seemed chiselled on her forehead. She had dressed that morning in jeans, layers of sweatshirts, and tough hiking boots. To Davies, it seemed that nothing about her was designed to attract, as if she had forsworn sensuality, and he thought that made her prettier than she intended, but not beautiful. He remembered how her fingers had worked at November’s muscles, to lift him. He thought her stronger than November, and hard.
‘I didn’t ask for Charlie, but her presence with us was a small compromise I felt obliged to make. In gaining control of November, and ditching the people who formerly looked after his case, it was suggested I take her on board. She knows November, his capabilities and weaknesses, and has worked from its inception on the police investigation that deals with the money-launderer — our Target One, Josef Goldmann. If she steps over the line I’ve drawn for her, she’ll be on the plane home without time to blow her nose. That’s it.’
There were no questions. Luke Davies thought these the sort of professional operatives who did not need to hear their own voices. He would have admitted it, Christopher Lawson — prize shit and alpha-grade bully — had done it well and had achieved domination expertly.
‘In conclusion, they fly this morning to Berlin, and we follow. My colleague Delta has dipped into a travel agent’s computer and learned where they have booked accommodation. My assessment is that Berlin is a staging post. Where they, and we, move to, I don’t know. Where an end game may be played out I simply do not know, but wherever it is, I promise we’ll be there.’