“But I thought their brief was working outside the country?”
“It is. Usually. But I’d imagine they’d want to investigate the murder of one of their own, wherever it happened. They certainly wouldn’t want MI5 to do it for them. Just a suggestion. Not that it really matters. They’re all pretty good at dirty tricks. The result is the same.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“If you want my opinion, and it’s only an opinion based on what little I know of them and the way they operate, I’d say they’d don’t reason; they react. They’re not really interested in your girlfriend. Or the private detective. Though I must admit that if she went around photographing an MI6 agent, retired or not, meeting people secretly in Regent’s Park, then they might have a justifiable concern for questioning her. But mostly it’s just a way of getting a message to you. Look at it this way. One of their own has been killed. There’s blood in the water. They’re circling. What do you expect?”
“But why not come directly after me?”
“Well, they did, didn’t they? This Mr. Browne you were asking about.”
“Bloody lot of use he was. He came once, got pissed off when I wouldn’t cooperate, and left.”
Burgess started to laugh. “Oh, Banksy, you’re priceless, you are. Did you expect more? Another polite visit, perhaps? ‘Please, Mr. Banks, do cease and desist.’ They don’t mess around, these buggers. Five or six. They don’t have time. Patience isn’t a virtue with them. Don’t you get it? This is the new breed. They’re a lot nastier than the old boys and they’ve got a lot of new toys. They’re not gentlemen. More like city traders. But they can erase your past and rewrite your life in the blink of an eye. They’ve got software that makes your HOLMES system look like a Rolodex. Don’t piss them off. I tell you in all seriousness, Banksy, do not fuck with them.”
“A bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“Then back off. They’ll lose interest in time. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty to occupy them elsewhere.” He paused and scratched the side of his nose. “I did talk to someone in the know after I got your message, just to see if I could find out what was going on. He was very cagey, but he told me a couple of things. For a start, they’re just not sure about Wyman, that’s all, and they don’t like to be not sure.”
“Why haven’t they questioned him?”
“Surely even you can work that out for yourself? When this Mr. Browne paid you a visit, and when those people entered your girlfriend’s house and broke a few of her things, they were trying to warn you off. They wanted you to shut down the investigation. It’s instinct with them, secrecy, second nature. Then they get the photos from the private detective woman, and they start to wonder about this Wyman character. What he might have been up to. Who he might have been working for. What he might know. And more important still, what he might tell. Now they’re letting you do their job for them, up to a point, watching you from a distance. You could still just let it drop and walk away. Nothing will happen to you or your girlfriend. There’ll be no consequences. That’s another thing, Banksy. People rarely murder each other in this business. They’re professionals. If it happens, you can be damn sure there’s a good political or security reason, not a personal one. Drop it. There’s nothing to be gained by antagonizing them any further.”
“But there are still a few things I need to know.”
Burgess sighed. “It’s like talking to a fucking brick wall, isn’t it?” he said. “What will it take to get you off my back?”
“I want to know about Silbert’s background, what he did, what they think he might have been up to.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe Wyman knows. Maybe Silbert let something slip, pillow talk, perhaps, and Hardcastle passed it on to Wyman in one of their intimate boozy get-togethers.”
“But how does that give Wyman a motive to do whatever it is you think he did?”
“I don’t know,” said Banks. “But that brings me to my next request. Wyman had a brother called Rick. SAS. He was killed in Afghanistan on the fifteenth of October, 2002. According to the press, it was a helicopter crash on maneuvers, but according to other sources I’ve spoken to, Rick Wyman was killed on active duty, on a secret mission.”
“So what? It’s standard procedure to downplay your casualties in a war. That’s one way of doing it. That and friendly fire.”
“I’m not interested in the propaganda angle,” said Banks. “What concerns me is that Silbert might have had something to do with the intelligence behind the mission. He was still employed by MI6 in 2002. He and Hardcastle had dinner with the Wymans a couple of times and he mentioned that he’d been to Afghanistan. I’d guess the SAS was after Bin Laden or some important terrorist encampment or cell leader—this wasn’t too long after 9/11—and somehow or other, they’d got information on its whereabouts that turned out to be inaccurate, they got lost, or it was better protected than the agent thought. Maybe Wyman blames Silbert. I need to know when Silbert was in Afghanistan and why. I want to know if Silbert could have been involved in any of this, and if there’s a terrorist connection.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you? Even if Silbert was responsible for Rick Wyman’s death, how on earth could Derek Wyman know about it if it was a secret mission?”
“I don’t know. Pillow talk again? Silbert lets something slip to Hardcastle in bed after one of those dinners, and Hardcastle passes it on.”
“Crap, Banks. Silbert and his kind are better trained than that.”
“But it could have happened somehow.”
“You’re clutching at straws, mate.”
“Will you find out for me? You’re counterterrorism, you should have an in.”
“I don’t know if I can,” said Burgess. “And if I could, I’m not sure that I would.”
“I’m not asking you to break the Official Secrets Act.”
“You probably are, but that’s the least of my worries. What you are asking could possibly bring a whole lot more grief on the intelligence services, including me, who really don’t need that right now, thank you very much, as well as on you and all your friends and family. I’m not sure I want to be the one responsible for all that.”
“You won’t be. It’s my responsibility. Derek Wyman set in motion a chain of events that ended in the violent deaths of two men. It was a cruel trick he played, if that’s all it was, and I want to know why he did it. If it’s something to do with his brother’s death, if there’s a terrorist connection, I want to know.”
“Why does it matter? Why don’t you just beat a confession out of him and leave it at that?”
“Because I want to know what it takes to drive a man to a coldblooded act like that, something that, while he couldn’t be expected to be certain it would end in death, he had to know would at least bring a lot of unnecessary grief and pain into two people’s lives. Can’t you understand that? You of all people. And don’t try to tell me you’ve never suffered from copper’s curiosity. It’s what separates the men from the boys in this job. You can have a perfectly good career in the force without giving a damn about why who did what to whom. But if you want to learn about the world, if you want to know about people and what makes them what they are, you have to see beyond that, you have to dig deeper. You have to know.”
Burgess stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “Well, seeing as you put it like that, Banksy, how can I refuse?”
“You’ll do it?”
“I was joking. Look, it’s easy enough to find out about Silbert’s background—in general terms, without going into any incriminating details, of course—but it might be a bit harder to find any connection with a specific mission. If he was in Afghanistan ages ago, nobody’s likely to care about that now, but if it was more recent, that’s another matter. They don’t talk about things like that, and I don’t have unlimited access to files. They’d skin me alive if they knew I was even contemplating something like this. I’m not going to put myself in a position of risk, not even for you.”