The Balance of Guilt (30 page)

‘I never said I had any revelation,’ Dan interrupted. ‘So what could it possibly be that you’re worried about me knowing? It’s an interesting choice of word that.
Revelation
. It’s biblical stuff, isn’t it, all about an astonishing disclosure? And that, I would say, just about sums it up. Your last little secret. The one you’re so obviously scared of us knowing.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about man?’ Oscar sneered. ‘What planet are you on?’

‘One you’ve clearly never visited. It’s called – Planet Truth.’

‘Fuck off, you arsehole.’

‘Shut your foul mouth,’ Adam growled at him. ‘Come on, Dan, get on with it. I don’t want to be spending any more time with these two than I have to.’

Dan closed his eyes and swung a leg back and forth. At last, he said simply, ‘John Tanton is alive, isn’t he?’

Sierra leaned forwards and peered at him. ‘What?’

‘There’s no need to carry on with the act. It’s wearing thin. Tanton’s alive and being held by you, in London I suspect, well away from his home and his mother.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about now?’ Oscar jeered. ‘I don’t know if you missed this, but Tanton was a suicide bomber. It’s in the job description that they don’t tend to get out alive.’

‘Yes,’ Dan nodded. ‘He was supposed to be a suicide bomber. And a state-sponsored one at that, courtesy of you two. But he lost his nerve at the last minute, didn’t he? That was where your precious plan nearly went wrong. He dumped the rucksack and ran. And he was injured in the explosion.’

‘And then died later in hospital,’ Sierra said softly.

‘Yes, of course he did. And his funeral was to be today. A funny coincidence, that you two should be here in Plymouth as it’s happening?’

Sierra replied, ‘We’re just sorting out some loose ends in the investigation.’

‘And not keeping an eye on the funeral? Checking that the last bit of evidence which could reveal your secret is safely buried.’

‘Whatever might make you think that?’

‘Just the obvious reason. The simple one.’

Dan let his gaze run over the watching faces, waited and then said, ‘That it’s not John Tanton’s body in the coffin.’

The room stopped. No one moved. A bird flew past the window, a black, flitting shadow. In the distance, a horn sounded, a long, angry blare.

Adam folded his arms, stared at the spies and said quietly, ‘So, what have you got to say to that?’

‘What do you expect?’ Oscar spat. ‘It’s bollocks. Tanton died from his injuries.’

Dan shook his head. ‘In which case, it was quite a bomb, wasn’t it? Half of Tanton’s face was injured in the explosion, when he couldn’t resist looking back. But it’s strange how that grew. To mutilation beyond recognition. It gave you a bit of a problem. You had to obliterate the body’s face, so his mum wouldn’t know it wasn’t him. You could put Tanton’s clothes on it – and you did – but there was still that little issue. So you – well, shall we say, “enhanced” the injuries. What truly lovely people you are. You’ll stop at nothing, will you?’

Sierra said dangerously, ‘You’re suggesting we got ourselves a corpse and put it in the coffin to back up our story that Tanton was dead? And where are we supposed to get a body from?’

Dan grimaced. ‘That I don’t want to think about. But I don’t doubt you have your ways. There are lots of down and outs who die and have no family, no one to claim their bodies. And that’s being generous to you. I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of creative ways to get hold of a corpse. Not to mention creating one.’

She ignored the jibe. ‘And why would we do this extraordinary thing?’

‘For the reasons you told us about yesterday. You needed this terrorist ring you’re hunting to conclude Ahmed was safe to recruit. When he walks free, as you’d originally planned, having made the bombing happen, that should do nicely for his credentials. He’s proved himself. But what about Tanton? He’s a problem, isn’t he? If he’s still alive, in prison somewhere, your jihadists will always be worried about him talking. Telling the authorities about Ahmed’s role and so leading the police to them. The only way to be certain Tanton can’t talk is if he’s dead. You thought he would be after the attack, but it didn’t work out that way. And so you had to arrange it. You spirited him away and announced his death, expecting Ahmed to be released a few days later. Everything was working beautifully – until we screwed it all up by finding Ahmed’s phone, of course.’

‘Yeah, so sorry about that,’ Adam muttered.

‘And what evidence do you have of this bizarre plot?’ Sierra asked.

‘You know, I thought you might ask that. So we filmed the body in the coffin, and then – well, you’ll hardly believe this, what I had to do, but it seemed the only option. I can still scarcely believe it myself.’

‘What? What did you do?’

Dan’s mouth felt dry at the memory.

‘I took some nail and hair clippings from the corpse. Ali Tanton is perfectly prepared to give us a sample of her hair. We’ll DNA-test both sets and compare the results. It should be interesting, don’t you think?’

Silence. Sierra was staring at Dan, her face set. The scar on Oscar’s neck was throbbing.

‘I notice you haven’t denied any of this,’ Dan observed.

The spies didn’t reply. Adam adjusted his tie and then folded his arms again.

‘So,’ Sierra said quietly. ‘What are you planning to do now?’

‘Now?’ Dan managed to sound surprised. ‘Now I’m going to do what journalists do of course, and I’m going to delight in it. I’m going to blow the story. I’m going to expose you for what you are.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You really think you’ll be allowed to?’

‘Well, I’m going to have a damn good try. I think the moment I get it broadcast it should be picked up by all the national and then international media. TV, radio, newspapers, websites, the works. I suspect by tomorrow there won’t be many people on the planet who haven’t heard it.’

Dan waited, but there was still no reaction. ‘There is one thing I need to ask you first though, before I splash it,’ he added.

‘Which is?’

‘I’d like an interview please. I need to formally put all those points to you, to get your response.’

For the first time, Sierra looked surprised. ‘An interview?’

‘Yes.’

‘An interview?’

‘Still yes.’

‘The intelligence services aren’t known for giving them.’

‘I’m aware of that. But nonetheless, I have to ask. For fairness and balance and all that.’

‘And you really need me to answer?’

The trap was set. Dan took out his notebook and a pen.

‘Yes, please. I’d like to formally request an interview about the security services claiming John Tanton was dead when he was very much alive and putting an unknown body into a coffin to pretend it was his. Oh, and the rest of the scandal too – you knowing about the bombing, not stopping it and all that.’

‘No one will be interviewed and no comment will be made,’ she replied emphatically.

Dan smiled. ‘Fine, thanks then.’ He turned for the door. ‘Right, I have to be off to write the story. You know, I’m rather looking forward to it.’

‘It’s not the end of this,’ Sierra called after him.

‘I don’t doubt that in the slightest,’ Dan replied.

A
ND SO THE ARMIES
readied for battle; in the modern way, not with massed ranks of warriors and the incessant beat of a drum, but more subtly, albeit just as certainly.

Of the spies’ preparations they could know nothing except that they were surely afoot. Behind the inscrutable walls of Charles Cross, in that small office once dedicated to child welfare, even before Dan had left the great concrete block of a building, he knew they would be set in discussion and then on to the phones. Calling powerful people in secret places, rushing through briefings, working over scenarios and marshalling their plans. Oscar, loud and with sentences laced with profanities and abuse, Sierra calm but redoubtable.

The faceless forces of the unseen state were being arrayed. It felt like a mighty boot slowly materialising in the sky, ready to stamp down and crush the irritant of a tiny, insignificant insect which had the temerity to crawl out from cover, the very action an intolerable challenge to the unquestionable hegemony.

And standing in the way? Dan noticed he didn’t want to think too hard about that.

He sat on the grassy knoll, leant back against one of the trees and began the work of his own. First, he borrowed Nigel’s phone – just in case his was being bugged – and rang El and the Geeks. Nigel and Ali watched, listened, and nodded approvingly as the skeleton of the plan formed.

Then it was a more difficult prospect. A call to Lizzie, to outline the story. She listened in silence – a rare enough phenomenon – before saying simply, ‘Shit.’

Despite her messianic pursuit of news and continual hectoring of her staff, Lizzie Riley was of the Adam school of attitude when it came to swearing. She was quite able to communicate urgency, intensity and insanity without obscenity.

Dan waited, then prompted, ‘Good story, eh?’

‘Stratospheric,’ she sighed. ‘And you’re absolutely sure of all this? Not just copper-bottomed, but copper-entombed?’

‘Yep.’

‘And you’ve got the evidence?’

‘Yep.’

‘So we can back it all up, one hundred per cent?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s an exclusive?’

‘Naturally.’

‘It’s going to cause all sorts of problems with the government.’

‘Yep.’

‘But it’s all true?’

‘Yep.’

She didn’t sound at all daunted. ‘Then let’s do it. I’ve always wanted to say this – publish and be damned!’

Dan thanked her and was about to hang up, when she added, ‘Oh, and one more thing.’

‘Yes?’ he said warily.

‘Very good work.’

She cut the call before he could react. Dan stared at the phone in amazement. His editor had issued warm praise, for once free of all clauses, provisos and caveats.

It was truly a seminal day.

Dan turned his mind to the Editorial Guidelines and the section on
Doorstepping
. It was summarised as a rarely used, but powerful technique, only to be employed when a journalist has evidence of serious wrongdoing and the person responsible refuses to be interviewed. In such a situation, the surprise appearance of a television crew and reporter to put the important questions is deemed justified.

In layman’s terms, it is an ambush.

But there was a problem.

‘There are two exits from Charles Cross,’ Dan had said to Adam, as he walked out of the police station. ‘And we can only cover one.’

‘Well, we have had problems with the electronic locking system on the back door,’ the detective replied. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to get back to my paperwork. And as it’s a fine day, I think I’ll have a walk around and go in the back way.’

Dan left the building, but made a point of standing on the steps, pretending to take a phone call. A few minutes later, a couple of uniformed police officers walked out to begin a patrol, moaning loudly about the back door jamming again.

Ali was sitting on the grass, her arms wrapped around her knees. ‘I still can’t believe what they’ve done,’ she said. ‘I feel like going in there and demanding to see John.’

‘You will see him,’ Dan reassured her. ‘But he’s not in there. They wouldn’t be that daft. Play it my way and I think it’ll work out.’

‘I want to get them. I want to go in there and tell them what I think of them.’

‘And you will,’ Dan soothed. ‘But trust me. If it doesn’t work my way, you can go charging in there and we’ll film it all.’

She nodded. ‘OK. But can we do my interview now? There’s so much I want to say.’

It was coming up for half past twelve. All was set. The only nagging problem was that they had no idea when the spooks would emerge from the police station. And time was against them. With a story of such sensitivity, Lizzie would have to sit in on much of the edit and the programme lawyers would need to be consulted. It all took time.

If the spies didn’t emerge until later in the day, maybe even five o’clock, or worse, Dan would stand little chance of getting the report on air.

But such was the way with an ambush. Timings were out of their control. All they could do was be ready. They would only get one chance. If they recorded Ali’s contribution and Sierra and Oscar emerged, it would simply be a question of stopping and running after them, a matter of a couple of seconds.

Nigel adjusted the tripod, slotted the camera onto the top and checked the focus and exposure. ‘Ready,’ he said. ‘I’m going for quite a tight shot, to emphasise the power of Ali’s words.’

The sunshine through the trees made for a moody, dappled light. Ali brushed away a lock of hair, the determination strong in her face.

‘There are really only a couple of questions for you,’ Dan began. ‘Firstly, what do you think of what the spies have done?’

As he had expected the words came fast; the full force of a flood unleashed.

‘I think it’s despicable. John may have done a dreadful thing, but the point of our society is that he’s dealt with fairly and decently. I accept he’ll have to be punished and sent to prison. But to go through this charade of pretending he’s dead, it’s worse than some evil old Soviet state. People don’t just disappear, not in Britain in the 21st century. And as for putting someone else’s body in the coffin and pretending it’s John, being prepared to see me bury it as my son – well, words could never communicate my anger and contempt.’

She shook her head hard, the shimmer of loathing in her eyes. ‘What else can I call it but utterly sick, depraved and despicable? In my view, what they’ve done makes our security services as bad as the people they’re fighting, if not worse.’

Dan paused to frame his next question. ‘And what effect has all this had on you?’

‘It’s a damned torment. Can you imagine it? I was preparing to bury what I thought was my son. It was the morning of his funeral. I’d been up all night crying. I hadn’t slept. And then I find out it isn’t John’s body and I have to call the funeral off – it’s twisted and tortured my emotions. I thought he was dead, but now I hear that he’s alive. What the hell are they doing? Who do they think they are? I was so upset I thought I would never stop crying. But now – I’m so angry I want to fight. And I won’t stop fighting, until I get the truth revealed.’

Nigel stopped recording. Ali stared up at the sky, then reached out and gave Dan a hug. She was breathing hard.

‘Was that OK?’

‘A bit more than that. It was one of the strongest interviews I’ve ever heard.’

‘They deserve it. All that I’ve said. And more.’

They sat back down on the grass, Nigel with the camera between his legs, Dan holding the microphone.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ Ali asked.

‘Confront them. Get the lens right in their faces. See if I can rile them into saying something. Then put it all together, along with your interview, into a great big exposé.’

‘Can I come with you when you film them?’

Dan put a hand on her shoulder and said gently. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. These things can get nasty. Nigel and I have done them before. It’s better if you sit here and leave it to us.’

Ali held his look, then turned away, but said nothing.

The traffic queues around the roundabout were growing. Lunchtime, people going about errands in their break time, or just picking up some food. Most of the car windows were open. It was still remarkably warm for September.

Nigel leaned forward and peered through the sunshine. A man and woman were walking out of the police station. Dan gripped the microphone and started to get up.

‘False alarm,’ Nigel said. ‘Too young.’

Dan eased back against a tree. ‘It should be an easy job, getting paid for just sitting around. But stake-outs always make me tense.’

‘Me too,’ Nigel agreed.

‘You get tense before any decent story.’

‘No, just keyed up. And that’s only professional,’ came the huffy reply.

Across the city, a distant clock rang out a single chime.

‘If they’re coming out it’ll be soon,’ Nigel said.

Dan’s mobile rang. Dirty El. He held a brief, hushed conversation and hung up.

A couple of cops emerged from the police station, both carrying notepads. A young man swaggered in, a baseball cap low over his eyes. Above them, a plane droned across the blue sky.

‘I hate waiting,’ Nigel whispered. ‘Action I can do. Waiting I can’t.’

‘Ditto,’ Dan replied.

‘You two are making me even more edgy,’ Ali said. ‘Shall I get us some coffees?’

She got up, slipped through the trees and across the road. As she reached the café Ali must have dropped something. She knelt down, fumbled around and placed some objects in her bag.

‘She’s been through a hell of a time,’ Nigel observed. ‘And she’s handled it with such dignity. A very decent, not to mention attractive woman. Is she – err …’

‘Is she what?’

‘You know. Is she …’

Dan grinned at his friend’s discomfort. ‘Is she single? Is that what you’re trying to say? Do you fancy her?’

Nigel was blushing. ‘Maybe.’

‘Do you want me to put in a good word for you?’

‘Don’t you dare. Is she single?’

‘I think so. But can you leave it until we’re done here to apply your charm?’

Ali was walking back, balancing three plastic cups. ‘Don’t you say anything,’ Nigel hissed.

‘Any news?’ she asked, as she sat back down.

‘Nothing. Well, not about the stake-out, anyway,’ Dan replied knowingly.

‘Meaning?’

Nigel was blushing harder now. ‘Nothing,’ Dan said. ‘Just a call from a friend of mine about a project we’re working on.’

They slipped back into silence and sipped at their coffees. Dan managed to spill some on his hand, making him yelp.

‘Serves you right,’ Nigel said quietly.

They waited. A pigeon landed in the tree above them, puffed out its chest and began a rhythmic cooing. A line of ants crawled across a patch of baked mud. They were amongst that sizeable set of creatures who are permanently in a hurry.

The police station wasn’t busy, just an intermittent passage of people, coming and going. Nigel’s eyes didn’t shift from the door.

‘Young man, no go. Older man, no go. Middle-aged woman, no. Hang on, couple of people coming out.’

Dan rose, then crouched and peered at the door. ‘No. Too old.’

Ali let out a groan. ‘This is really tense.’

‘You should try doing it for a living,’ Dan replied.

‘And without this doorstep thing, you can’t run the story?’

‘Well, we could. I’d just say the spies refused to comment. But this is the fun part. Doorsteps always make great TV. The audience love them. It’s the thrill of the hunt for the villain.’

Dan began picking at a thread on his jacket. Ali kept flicking her hair. Only Nigel was still, intent on the doors.

Half past one. An ice cream van pulled up over the road, its familiar tune jingling out.

‘I thought they didn’t exist any more,’ Dan mused.

‘There are still a few,’ Nigel replied. ‘And they make the best ice cream going. Much better than anything you’ll get in a supermarket.’

Ali nodded her agreement. ‘John always loved them. Have you got kids?’ she asked Nigel.

‘Two, in theory. But they’re more like young men now.’

She smiled. ‘You mean – full of adolescent troubles?’

‘To say the least. And precocious with it.’

‘It’s always been the way. And always will.’

‘Yep, you’re right. It’s just not easy to remember it. I reckon …’

‘Hey, hey,’ Dan interrupted. ‘Man and woman coming out the doors.’

He was on his feet again, squinting through the trees. The sun glared hard from the glass of the police station’s frontage. Dan could see two silhouettes walking out of the station. They looked familiar, he was sure of it.

‘I reckon this is it,’ he whispered. ‘Stand by.’

Nigel was next to him. ‘Ready to rock.’

‘Just hold it a sec. Let’s make sure it is them before we break cover.’

Dan gripped the microphone. Ali was standing too, blinking in the sunlight. ‘I want to see them,’ she whispered. ‘I want to know who the bastards are.’

A woman walked past, pushing a pram, briefly blocked their view. Nigel hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. He took a step forwards. Dan reached out and grabbed his arm.

‘Hold your nerve. Just wait a sec. We need to be sure. We’ll only get one chance.’

A motorbike roared past, the engine gunning loud.

‘Come on, come on, come on,’ Dan mouthed to himself.

The two figures emerged onto the steps. It was Sierra and Oscar.

‘Let’s go,’ Dan said.

Nigel was already away, striding towards the spies. Dan broke into a jog to catch up. They were approaching from behind, their feet silent on the soft grass.

Perfect tactics.

The two spooks were walking side by side, whispering to each other. Oscar was holding the briefcase under his arm. The scar on his neck shone in the sunlight.

Nigel was covering the ground fast, Dan right beside him. They were twenty yards away.

Sierra and Oscar were heading for the subway under the roundabout, still whispering, oblivious to the onrushing ambush.

Fifteen yards now.

Dan kept rehearsing what he would say. The questions he had to ask. What he would do if Oscar attacked them. How to react.