Deception (34 page)

‘And the American?' There had been no mention of Turpowicz.

‘Ah, well there we have some news. He's been taken off the American AWOL list. He walked into Grosvenor Square the day before yesterday and asked to speak to the US Embassy's Army Intelligence liaison. He's probably out of the country by now and on his way to the brig  . . . or whatever they call it over there. Good riddance.'

‘Do we know why he came in?'

‘No, and right now they're not telling. He'll go through a period of questioning, so we might find out later. But I'm not holding my breath.'

‘No problem. We'll keep looking.'

Ballatyne shook his head and looked suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Actually, that's why I called you here.'

Harry waited. He sensed something wrong in the atmosphere.

‘There's no point continuing, I'm afraid. You're being stood down. This operation is now terminated. We've been given other priorities.'

‘Like what?' Harry didn't bother hiding his annoyance. He could guess what it was, in which case he didn't expect Ballatyne to answer. But he was surprised when he did.

‘Blame Osama. Ever since he got himself caught and killed, all agencies have been ordered to focus on watching for a backlash from his supporters. Sorry, but it can't be helped. Our remit just got broader and our budgets still got slashed. We'll have to leave Paulton and Deakin for another time.'

‘Why can't we do both? They're out there preying on deserters and selling secrets, and we have to stand back and let them do it? It doesn't make sense.'

Ballatyne shrugged, his face hardening. ‘It rarely does, Harry, you know that. There's nothing else I can say.'

‘But they'll be vulnerable now. With Nicholls gone and Turpowicz off the board, they'll have to reorganize. And Turpowicz must have jumped for a reason. He was either disillusioned or felt threatened by something – maybe the direction Deakin was taking them in. If we can put the squeeze on him, we stand a good chance of finding out where they are.'

It was like fighting smoke. Ballatyne merely shook his head and repeated what he had said.

‘Fine,' Harry said at last. ‘I'll look for them myself.'

Ballatyne shrugged. ‘I can't stop you doing that, of course. But you'll have to do it without my help. Sorry. Orders.'

‘What about Cullum?'

‘He was threatened with being dropped from a very great height, but he doesn't know anything. They made sure of that.'

Harry gave up. It wasn't Ballatyne's fault. He decided to walk home, hoping to shed his anger by pounding the pavements. It wouldn't do his shoe leather much good, but the exercise might make him feel a little less like wrecking something.

As he rounded a corner on to Euston Road, his phone rang.

‘Harry Tate?' The voice was American. ‘My name's Greg Turpowicz. Is there any chance we could meet? I'd like to talk.'

SIXTY-TWO

‘
H
ave you heard from the Screaming Eagle yet?' Paulton walked into Deakin's room without ceremony, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. He was referring to Turpowicz, using the 101st Airborne's nickname. Dressed in a neat suit and tie, the executive abroad, he strode across to the window overlooking a large expanse of lake and studied the landscape. It looked fresh and clean under the early morning sunlight, inviting a brisk walk. ‘He was supposed to keep in touch, wasn't he?'

Deakin shrugged. ‘He's not a rookie; I don't need to hear from him every couple of hours. What's the problem?'

It had been two days since Ganic had failed to respond; two days since they had received confirmation that both the Bosnians had gone down, apparently without revealing any information. Dead before they hit the ground, according to Paulton's contact in the Met Police.

‘The lack of reassuring information is the problem,' Paulton murmured. ‘He was supposed to get close to Tate and deal with him for good. He has all the information he needs. I'd just relish hearing that he has done that.'

Deakin lifted an eyebrow. For once, he seemed quite calm, while Paulton was the edgy one. They had remained in position, safe in the knowledge that nothing would go wrong, and neither of the Bosnians knew where they were, so could not reveal their location, even if they survived. Turpowicz, on the other hand, did know, although Deakin had professed continued faith in the former American soldier's ability to stay out of trouble and keep his mouth shut even if he was questioned.

‘You need to chill, George,' he said. ‘Turp will do the business.' He grinned malevolently. ‘He has a vested interest in doing things right, anyway. The Yanks are a lot less forgiving of their deserters than the Brits; if they should happen to find out where he is  . . . well, he'll spend a lot of time banged up.'

Paulton looked at him. ‘Tom, if I didn't know you better, I'd say that sounds as if you've applied a little undue pressure on our American friend. That's a bit risky with a man of his background, isn't it?'

‘Not really. Turp knows which side his bread is buttered.'

‘I'll take your word for that. Only I would like to hear that he's still in the game  . . . merely for my own peace of mind, you understand?' He waited, eyebrows lifted, until the other man nodded with a sigh.

‘OK. I'll call him.' Deakin took out his mobile and touched speed dial. It rang several times before being picked up. ‘Turp? How's it going? Have you completed the transaction yet?' He listened, eyes on Paulton, then said, ‘Sounds good to me. You know where to meet up once you're done? Good.' He switched off the phone and smiled. ‘He knows where Tate is going to be tomorrow morning. He'll do it then. Believe me, I've seen his work before. Tate's dead meat. Satisfied?'

SIXTY-THREE

‘
O
ne of these days I'll have a proper meeting in an office with an appointment and everything,' Harry said, as a tall, thin man sat down beside him. ‘Who are the flat tops?' He was referring to the men he'd spotted trying to blend in with the tourist crowd in Kensington Gardens. They were not doing too well, and were too fit and smart, in an overtly military kind of way.

‘They work for US Army Intelligence. Don't worry about them, Mr Tate – they're pretty harmless.' The man smiled. ‘As a matter of interest, how many can you see?'

Harry didn't need to look. One was stationed under the trees against the backdrop of moving traffic along the Bayswater Road; a second was standing by the Round Pond watching two swans; and two more were on the move along the Broad Walk in front of Kensington Palace, but never straying too far and trying not to look directly at Harry and his new companion. ‘Four.'

The smile dropped. ‘Four it is.' The man held out a hand. ‘Greg Turpowicz. It's good of you to meet with me.' He sounded relaxed and genial, a man with time on his side. His hand was dry, the grip firm but with the underlying power of a man who kept himself in good physical shape.

‘Good's got nothing to do with it, Master Sergeant. I need information.'

The American looked stunned. ‘You know my background?'

‘It wasn't difficult. The accent couldn't have been Deakin, Nicholls has had a brainstorm and turned himself in, and I'd know Paulton's voice anywhere. You were the only one left. And,' he continued, waving a finger in a circular motion, ‘there are a few of our own flat top equivalents in the neighbourhood, too. Just to see that you play nice.'

Turpowicz couldn't help it; he glanced around the park. ‘I don't see 'em.' One of the watchers picked up on the look and started to move, but the American shook his head to warn him off.

‘They're here, take my word for it. If this was a film, you'd be able to see at least three red dots dancing on the front of your shirt.'

Turpowicz struggled not to glance down, and gave a nervous laugh. ‘I'm impressed. You must have connections.' He watched two heavily built men in tracksuits walking a string of large dogs, and a small Asian woman almost being pulled off her feet by another pack. ‘Is it true that this place is crowded with Russian agents? I hear this is where they come to do their drops and stuff.'

‘Only in books. What do you want?' Harry didn't want to exchange small talk about this place; he'd been forced to shoot dead the last person he'd been here with. Joanne Archer, a rogue Special Forces soldier, had shot Rik Ferris and turned her gun on Harry while attempting to kill a former Iraqi cleric in St James's Park. He'd been left with no choice.

‘You off my back would be good, although,' Turpowicz waggled a hand, ‘it's kind of academic, now I'm back inside, so to speak.' He added quickly, ‘Uh  . . . what'll happen if I reach into my pocket?'

‘Do you need to?'

‘Just asking.'

‘Well, then, nothing  . . . as long as you do it slowly.' He waited but Turpowicz had changed his mind. ‘You did a deal with the military, didn't you?'

‘Yeah, sort of. How'd you know?'

‘I checked with Fort Knox and got blanked. And the US military wouldn't assign a four-man protection team if you were still out there and running.'

‘Blanked?' He frowned at the word. ‘Oh, you mean the runaround.' He smiled. ‘All this time with Deakin and I still don't get British slang. But “blanked” I like. Says what it means.' He crossed his legs. ‘Yeah, it's true, I did a deal. I also heard you'd been checking up on me. How did you pick up my name?'

‘McCreath heard the abbreviation. When Fort Knox got tricky about telling us who it might refer to, I knew there had to be something to it.'

‘But they didn't give you my full details, right?'

‘Not directly.' Harry wasn't about to dump Garcia in the pan. She had done what she thought was right, for her own reasons. ‘We bugged Major Dundas's desk. He talks as he types. Very sloppy security.'

Turpowicz made a noise with his mouth. ‘Seriously?'

‘What do you want? You want to trade with us, too?'

‘Not exactly. I want to give you Deakin. Interested?'

‘Why? His activities are nothing to do with the US military. The nearest he came to US army personnel was you.'

‘That's correct. Let's just say that I have my orders.'

‘Go on  . . .'

Turpowicz shifted in his seat. ‘You're right, I made a deal with the military. Full disclosure for a light sentence. I tell them – and you – what you want to know, and I get my life back in maybe ten months' time.' His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, a recital. He might seem relaxed, but there was a tension about him like a ripple in the air.

‘How did they make contact?'

‘I got careless one night in Germany several moons back and ran into a couple of undercover military cops. I was already having doubts about Deakin, so I told them I was in contact with the Protectory and suggested I could be of use. They made some calls. The answer came back to let me run as long as I stayed in touch. I had no choice – I said yes.'

‘Interesting,' said Harry. ‘So to get this straight, even though you stood by while Deakin and his two bulldogs murdered at least two British army personnel, made an armed raid on a British police station and killed three police officers, tried to kidnap a close friend of mine, actually abducted and beat a colleague of mine and shot a woman, you get to walk away for being a good boy?'

‘Hey – that wasn't any of my doing,' Turpowicz protested heatedly. Then he dropped his voice. ‘I had no control over what Deakin was using those two psychos for. Most of the time he never said what they were doing until it was done.' He pounded his knee angrily. ‘I reported what I knew as soon as I could, every time.'

‘What was the response?'

Turpowicz said nothing, so Harry said, ‘They told you to play along, didn't they?'

‘I couldn't help it, man!' For the first time, the American sounded passionate, his voice low. ‘I didn't trust Deakin not to get suspicious and set Zubac and Ganic on me. And I wasn't exactly in the clear with the military, either. The message was simple: I either stuck with it or they picked me up and I'd be doing serious time in the military stockade at Leavenworth. So I agreed to go along with it.'

‘Nice people you work for.' It was easy to condemn the man, although Harry could see his dilemma. A rock and a hard place. ‘Was that the deal – a lighter sentence?'

‘Pretty much. It was all I had worth asking for. I figured they were worried about US military personnel being sucked in and used to trade military secrets. I had to look out to make sure it didn't happen.'

‘How?'

‘Easy. The moment anyone showed up, I had to report it in. They'd have been lifted immediately. Fact is, no one did. Our runners all bug out for different places and keep their heads down. Deakin and Nicholls were strictly after their own, although I reckon Deakin would've got round to trading US personnel some day. He doesn't like to let the grass grow – and he's impatient to make a big score.'

‘Who were his clients?'

‘I only ever met one. The rest he kept close to his chest, did all his own trading. When I first met up with them, Nicholls was the one who found the people and Deakin did the selling. Then gradually it changed, and Nicholls became less involved, especially after Paulton showed up. I liked Nicholls but he was a sick man. I wasn't surprised when he cut and run.'

‘What was Paulton's position in the Protectory?'

‘A partner, I guess. He showed up one day, and he was in. Deakin claimed he had the inside track on contacts of foreign governments where they could sell stuff, and that made him the golden boy. Personally, I reckon he was aiming to stage a takeover.' He shook his head. ‘He was a manipulative son of a bitch, I know that. Subtle, though, so you didn't notice. He never came at anything head on, know what I mean?'