The Vengeance Man (39 page)

THINGS ARE LOOKING UP?

London 

Nothing happened.

But about a month after I'd seen Charlie Bremner, Mallalieu and I shared a taxi over to a client call off King William Street in the City. We didn't say much,  but at one point I couldn't resist asking pointedly if he had any news. He'd looked blankly at the passing traffic and shook his head. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"How about your Bank of England associate? You know; Mr Lamaison?"

He glanced warningly at the taxi driver's back. "No, it's all gone back to normal. I think we just carry on as before, yes?"

And that was that. Fortunately my stars said that I would enjoy a break. Perceptive, these astrologers. And just before a bank holiday, too. Amazing!   How do they get it so right? I decided to take them up on it.

Joy and I had a good weekend. It was one of those five day breaks that pass as public holidays these days. We loaded up her little car and took an English Tourist Board trip up to the Lake District, to a little hotel that looked good on the brochures. Usually they're full of tourists, but we were lucky.

We spent the days tramping the bare hills under an
unseasonably
blazing sun. For lunch we washed down slabs of local cheese with local beer. In the evenings we either retired to bed or once, spectacularly, to the local pub, where Joy spent a hilarious hour fending off the attentions of a geriatric and bucolic Lothario in the corner of the bar.

"I don't mind men trying to seduce me," she'd grumbled later, "But I'd prefer them to be under seventy."

I nuzzled in to the warm hollow between her ear and her shoulder.   "Oooh, Eh oop, missus,  will you let me sedyuce you when I'm seventy? Mi dook."

She bit my nose, playfully.
"You don’t sound a bit like amorous Archie. Anyway, I  think I'll have trouble stopping you.  But the way you're going on there'll be noth
ing left when you're seventy. 
Mind you, I don't expect I'll last that long, either: if I climb another hill, my legs will fall off."

Next morning it poured with rain as the weather broke. Joy's legs were saved for her old age. We stayed in bed late - it was our last day, anyway - and drove slowly back to London that afternoon. Although nothing formal had been said, we both knew that our relationship had changed. After all, you don't discuss the idea of buying a house together without intending to have a more permanent relationship, do you?

Next morning, whistling like an errand boy, I climbed the stairs to the office. Young Neil Macariewicz was baby-sitting behind the security door and beamed with pleasure at seeing me. "Good holiday?"

"Great " I stretched massively. "And you?"

His face brightened even more, if that was possible.

"Nah, terrible. I've been on duty security, turn on, turn off,
the
whole
break. Good overtime but boring.  But now I get a week off. Great, innit?"

I couldn't help grinning. "And time and a half, as well?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "Only for four days; but double time for Sunday." He laughed, pleased with his windfall.

I signed for my keys and headed towards the office, off the Ops room. "Oh, by the way," he called after me. "Colonel Mallalieu asked to see you first thing."

That was odd. Mallalieu normally didn't surface until nine o'clock, and I was deliberately in early. Still whistling,  I let myself into my own office before going through to the Chief of Staff.

Mallalieu greeted me with a frown. He came straight to the point. "What are you doing at 10 o'clock?"

"Nothing vital. Why?"

"Because a chap called, er ..." he consulted a card on his desk, "Paddy Croft asked to see you. Know him?"

"Yes, of course' Paddy's an old friend of mi ... " My voice trailed off. Mallalieu's face was unsmiling, grim.

"You know that he's with the Home Office, don't you? One of their special investigators?”

"Of course." Suddenly I realised the connection and the reason for Mallalieu's frown. Then I relaxed as I thought it through. I hastened to reassure him.  "No, no. Paddy's not real Home Office.   He's C
ombined Interrogation Team, CIT
- has been for ye
ars. No, I wouldn't worry about
...
“I
was suddenly conscious of the bugged office, "About anything, er, out of the ordinary, just because the Home Office
pays
a call," I ended lamely.

Mallalieu looked unconvinced. "Well, I hope you're right. Anyway, if you'd come in at about five to ten, we'll find out what he wants." He lifted a stack of multi-coloured files from his out-tray and handed them to me. I looked down in surprise.
The pink file on top was marked 'ABACUS' and stamped
'COMMERCIAL IN CONFIDENCE'
.

"What's this? Looks like work."

"This, as you so rightly surmise, D Ops, is work." His thin smile appeared briefly. "This place is getting fat and  idle." He waved a hand at the door. "Everyone sitting around - long lunches - rumours flying - people
gossiping
about the future. Well, this pile of excitement should bring people back to reality."

"Why? What's in it?"

Mallalieu's smile became genuine. "It's a five year option to provide security for a group of the big oil firms. Pipelines, refineries. Mainly based in southern Russia, the Caucasus. Places like that. It covers all our areas; insurance, high-risk protection, security surveys, special personnel, covert action. It's worth a fortune. It's going to be the making of this company. Our long term future."

I looked back at the stack of files. Some of them were the colours of other departments. "We're in with a chance?"

"Absolutely. No-one else can match our tender."  His nod was emphatic. "Now, I want an assessment of the specialist services needed, with a breakdown of personnel and outline costs by ... " the thin fingers drummed the desk, " By Friday. Then we can talk to the Director next Monday."

That didn't give me a lot of time, but we could make it. I was just glad to see that we were back on the road again. "All right, I'll see it's done. One side of a sheet of paper and all the details on annexes - right?"

"Right." Mallalieu and I both knew the limitations of  Sellers' attention span. He held the door open for me.

All those files needed both hands.

*
             
*
             
*

I got so engrossed in the project that I nearly forgot the ten o'clock appointment with Paddy Croft. I dashed into Mallalieu's office with seconds to spare, just before Jan showed Paddy's round form, tightly wrapped in a blue suit, through the door. A badly knotted, garish club tie and scruffy brown suede shoes showed his determination to impress sartorially.    I had just started forward to introduce him to
Mallalieu
when Harry Plummer followed
him into
the room. For a second we stood awkwardly while an alarm note sounded in the recesses of my mind. What the hell was Harry Plummer doing here? Then the moment passed and all was a confusion of chairs and handshaking  and passing coffee cups round.

When we had settled, Mallalieu leaned back in his armchair and said, a fraction too casually, "Well, what can Specialist Insurance Services Ltd.  do for the Home Office, Mr Croft?"

Paddy smiled and sat forward, slopping coffee into his saucer. "Call me Paddy, Colonel. Well, it's a delicate matter, and we've been asked to talk to you and your Operations Director," he nodded at me, "In strict confidence..."

"We?" Mallalieu jumped in.

"Yes. I'm really here representing Queen Anne's Gate. You see the Assistant  Commissioner raised a problem with the Junior Minister, so it's really a police matter. That's why D.I. Plummer's along, too." We all looked at Harry, impassively watching Paddy Croft.  So, Harry Plummer had been promoted to Detective Inspector, had he? I wondered when that had happened; and why?

Paddy pulled out a small, black notebook. "The fact is, Colonel, the Metropolitan Police have been investigating a number of serious crimes for some time now. Maybe it's better if DI Plummer explains the background. As a police matter, it's really his side of the house. Harry?"

Harry took out a black notebook, identical to Paddy's. I noticed that they both had numbered pages. He laid a pen across the book to keep it open, cleared his throat and waited before speaking with a stolid deliberation that was maddening. "Following a number of serious crimes, one of which I spoke to you about earlier this year - you remember - the CID approached my Branch with a specific theory." His eyes stayed on the notebook.

He cleared his throat and continued, "Essentially, they believed that these - ah -serious assaults by this so-called Vengeance Gang were in fact were the work of one or more highly trained servicemen, ex-serviceman or member of the security forces, including the intelligence services or related industry. The pattern of the available evidence, the modus operandi', suggested a link with what I understand are called 'special forces.'"     He looked up at me.

Despite my frozen, contracted stomach, I nodded. Satisfied, he returned to his notebook. "Following routine enquiries, we believe that we can narrow it down to one of a few people; probably working in the security world for one of the private security firms." He closed the book with a snap and looked back at Paddy. "When I say 'private', Colonel Mallalieu, I would say that I'm limiting it to two or three companies at the most."

Mallalieu looked tense, but puzzled. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, obviously. He looked blankly at  Paddy. "Well, yes, of course. I mean, if you think we can help in any way, we'll be delighted to; won't we?"   He looked across at me.

"Yes," I agreed without enthusiasm, "Of course. But how..?"

That's where I come in," interrupted Paddy. "Because the Criminal Investigation Department think it might be a rogue member of the Intelligence Community, they've passed it to Special Branch. Now, the Branch feel that it is too sensitive for a straightforward police investigation, so they’ve asked for specialist Home Office assistance. That’s where I come in. The Minister suggested that the CIT might be able to help the Met directly. As we might be looking for one of our own, so to speak"

Mallalieu's brow was furrowed. "Fine, fine. Well, as I say, we'll help you all we can. I'm just not sure what you're looking for, or quite what you want us to do."

"Oh, it's just straightforward stuff, Colonel." Paddy was bland, reassuring. I was suspicious as hell. Why was
he
  leading? Paddy was an
interrogator
. He was a spook, not a policeman.  While it was true that the CIT was under the theoretical control of the Home Secretary, everyone knew that it answered direct to the Coordinator of Intelligence and Security in the Cabinet Office.  Paddy didn't get involved with the Metropolitan Police, and especially the CID. This wasn't a cosy little criminal enquiry for the Met at all.  They were bullshitting us.   It stank. Was this the mysterious HSSIG, I wondered?

" ... we'd just like to interview a few people, take statements, if necessary. Stuff like that. D.I. Plummer will do the talking. I'm just here to make sure that we don't put our foot into any sensitive areas. After all, as a rated List X company you have handled a number of fairly important contracts for HMG, haven't you?" He beamed; I half expected the tricky bastard to wink conspiratorially. I wasn’t sure whether he looked like Captain Pugwash or Captain Birdseye.

Mallalieu looked relieved. "Yes, of course. How do you want to go about it?"

Paddy nodded cheerfully at me. "What I'd like to do, for starters, is go through the personnel lists with your Ops  chief here. I think he's the best man to give us a good steer on who to talk to. You know - their movements, whether they were in the country, what jobs they've been on, stuff like that."

He looked enquiringly at Plummer. "Then, when we've got the background, Harry will talk to each of the individuals in turn. Probably not today, though," he added, hastily. "We've got a couple of other List X firms to see, as well."

Mallalieu's relief was now clear. "Well, that's easy enough. OK with you?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Good.  What do you want from me?"

Harry Plummer replied. "Just lists at this stage. It’s mainly a process of elimination. Your Ops team will have the details we're after?"

"Yes, of course." Mallalieu was expansive. He was happy.  I was not.  We all rose and headed for the door.  I stopped and went back in to Mallalieu's office.

"Well, well, well," grinned Mallalieu. "There's a turn up, eh? I'll bet it was that idiot Briggs. What do you think?"

I nodded warningly at the bugged window frame. He gave a 'so what?' gesture and repeated himself, loudly, talking to the unseen listeners. "Yes, I'll bet it’s all about that idiot Briggs. Oh, well, a pity about him, but if he had gone  private and was some kind of crook, then maybe it's the best thing that could have happened - eh? Don't you agree?  I wonder what Briggs was really up to...?"

I was appalled, but what could I say?   Mallalieu jangled his spoon loudly against the cup, cheerful as a schoolboy. I'll bet the listeners were ripping off the earphones and grabbing for the volume level when they heard that.