‘Why aren’t you there?’
‘No point,’ he said. ‘The op is not based on any intel I’ve looked at, and I don’t get involved with planning.’
‘When is the op?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Sorry. I can’t say. It’s a secret.’
I suppose I shouldn’t really have minded. Back in London I’d given Tony rather a hard time for letting too many people know about FACSA operations so I could now hardly expect to be one of them.
Mind you, to my sure knowledge, there were at least eleven at the meeting, which was still far too many for something so secret.
‘Where does most of your intelligence come from?’ I asked the analyst.
‘Information comes from a variety of sources. It is analysis that turns info into intelligence.’ He sounded rather full of his own importance.
‘What sort of sources?’ I asked, ignoring his second comment. ‘In England we have a network of covert informants from within the racing industry.’
He nodded. ‘Us too. But they’re mostly disgruntled grooms who have a score to settle with their employers either for being fired or being overlooked for promotion. Much of the stuff is just malicious lies with no substance. It’s my job to apply contextual knowledge to sort the truth from the trash.’
Perhaps he was important after all.
The operational planning meeting went on and on, and there was a limit to the amount of time I could hang around doing nothing.
The hands on the clock moved slowly round to four-thirty.
‘Tell Frank I’ve gone, will you?’ I said. ‘I’ll see him in the morning.’
The analyst simply waved an acknowledgement and went on studying his computer screen.
After escaping the security cordon, with the photograph on my new shiny identity pass scrutinised at every door and gateway, I walked back to the hotel via a 7-Eleven store, where I picked up a few essential supplies like coffee, milk, cereal and so on, as well as a ready-meal of cheese and pasta for my dinner.
Back in my room, I called Paul Maldini. It was ten in the evening in London but he picked up straight away.
‘You were right,’ he said. ‘There was a call to the office from the US asking about you.’
‘What time?’
‘At five, just as I was leaving.’
Midday in Washington.
‘Man or woman?’
‘Man.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He asked for you by name. I’d had Reception direct any calls for you to my phone.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told him that Jeff Hinkley was away and was not available and could I help him. Then he asked me where you were so I told him you were in the United States.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘He asked what you were doing in the US and how long you’d be away. I told him you were visiting another racing authority and I didn’t know for how long. Just as you told me to. Was that right?’
‘Yes, Paul, it was. Thank you. Did you happen to ask the man for his name?’
‘I did but he said that didn’t matter, then he hung up.’
‘Any clues about his voice?’
‘He had an American accent,’ he said. ‘Other than that I can’t help you. I couldn’t tell you which part. All Yanks sound the same to me.’
Must be his Italian heritage, I thought. Tony Andretti would have been appalled.
I thought back to what I’d been doing at midday.
Even though Norman Gibson had told me to stick to Frank Bannister like glue, I’d been intent on meeting as many of the section staff as I could and, at midday, I had been moving from desk to desk introducing myself as a member of the BHA Integrity Department.
I couldn’t be exactly sure when I’d rejoined Frank to go down to the cafeteria. Probably nearer 12.30. So any of the men in the section could have made the call. And why shouldn’t they? Other than a letter from the US Embassy in London and my passport, I had no documents confirming my bona fides.
Had I called FACSA when Tony had turned up in London to check up on him?
No, I hadn’t. But these guys were attached to the US government and far more security-minded than the BHA.
Maybe the call had been merely an innocent check-up.
But why then had the caller not given his name when asked?
I used my new pay-as-you-go phone to call Tony.
He answered at the second ring.
‘The phone arrived safely then?’ I said.
‘First thing this morning. Where are you now?’
‘Back in my hotel. Where are you? Can you talk?’
‘I’m in my car,’ he said. ‘Still in the parking lot at FACSA. I’m leaving for the day.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Stay and listen. I need a couple of things.’
‘Shoot.’
‘First, someone from here made a call today to the BHA offices asking about me. It may have been an innocent check or it might have been our friend being suspicious. The person declined to give his name. Can you access the section phone records? Can you find out if anyone called London at midday today?’
‘I’ll try,’ he said, not sounding particularly hopeful.
‘But don’t tell anyone else. If it was our friend who made the call, I don’t want to spook him.’
‘What’s the other thing?’ Tony asked.
‘I was excluded from an operational planning meeting today. If this is another operation where the details are likely to be leaked, I need to know what’s going on. I can’t do this job if I’m to be kept in the dark.’
There was a pause from the other end.
‘Tony?’ I said.
‘I’m thinking,’ he said. ‘When Jason Connor first came to me with his suspicions, I sent a memo to all staff reminding them of the need for secrecy and not to let any non-agency personnel be aware of our operations. It would be a bit hypocritical for me to now insist you were brought into the loop.’
‘I agree,’ I said. ‘And it would flag up to our friend that I’m more than just an observer. But I still need the information. You’ll have to get it for me. And Tony, could you make a list for me of everyone who knows about the operation?’
‘No problem,’ Tony said. ‘I was at the meeting today so I already have the details. How shall I get them to you?’
‘Could your wife deliver them? After dark.’
‘No problem,’ he said again. ‘I’ll go back in and make copies of the paperwork.’
‘Tony,’ I said. ‘Be careful. If FACSA is anything like the BHA, you can’t make copies without entering your personal code on the copy machine.’
‘OK,’ he said with a resigned sigh. ‘I’ll use the small copier in my PA’s office.’
As far as I was concerned no precaution was too minor to be ignored. In my experience, it was usually the accumulation of small clues that added up to create the big picture rather than any single dramatic revelation. The fewer traces we generated regarding the true purpose of my visit the better.
‘I also need account details for all the racing section staff, preferably recent bank statements. Whoever is leaking information may be being paid for it. If so, we need to find those deposits.’
‘That’ll need court subpoenas,’ Tony said.
‘Then get them. But will the staff then know their statements are being looked at?’
‘They shouldn’t. I’ll deal with it personally and the banks will get the subpoenas, not the staff. The need for discretion will be emphasised.’
‘Good.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I want to go to the Kentucky Derby this Saturday. Frank Bannister told me the whole racing section is going to Louisville on Wednesday. Can you fix it so that I go with them?’