“Do you want to listen to any of the tapes?” Tillman asked.
“What the hell for?” Scoby shot back furiously.
“I just thought–” Tillman trailed off with a despondent shrug.
Scoby opened the folder and flicked through the photographs. He shook his head in disbelief then glared at Tillman. “I can’t believe you let this happen under your very nose. Christ, Ray, how many meetings did you have with that bastard? Ten? Twelve? And each time he not only managed to get you on film, he also got everything you said on tape. Didn’t you ever suspect anything?”
“Don’t you think I’d have mentioned it if I had?” Tillman retorted angrily.
Scoby threw the photographs onto the desk then got up and moved to the window. “Well, thanks to your incompetence Navarro’s now running the show. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it without incriminating ourselves.”
“We can still make it work, Jack. As Navarro said, the Mafia are going to be taking all the risks once the shipments are cleared through customs.”
“Why don’t I feel reassured?” Scoby closed the folder and looked across at Tillman. “So what happens now?”
“I’m meeting Navarro next Tuesday to give him our answer.”
“You might as well have given it to him this afternoon. It’s not as if we’ve got any say in the matter. We’ve been screwed and that’s all there is to it.” Scoby gestured to the box of tapes. “Burn them.”
“And the folder?”
“No, I want to look at that more carefully. If we are going to be forced to play by Navarro’s rules, then the least we can do is give him a run for his money.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s dealing with Jack Scoby. I’m going to squeeze everything I possibly can out of this deal. It’s not as if I’ve got anything to lose, is it?” Scoby smiled coldly then moved to the door. “Put the folder in my briefcase. I’ll have a look at it once we get to London. I’ll see you in the lounge. We mustn’t forget our guests now, must we?”
“I can’t believe it.”
Maurice Palmer sat behind the desk in his study, his face drawn and pale. In front of him lay the evidence that he had been dreading from the moment he called in the Special Branch to check on Eastman and Marsh. One of them had been working in collusion with the IRA.
“I’m sorry, Maurice, but it’s there in black and white,” replied Commander Richard Carter, head of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch. Carter lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray on the desk. “You thought a lot of him, didn’t you?”
“A future departmental head at the very least. Who knows after that? He could have made it all the way to the top.” Palmer indicated the cigarette in Carter’s mouth. “Give me one of those, will you?”
“I thought you’d given up,” Carter said, tossing the pack onto the desk.
“So did I,” Palmer retorted, helping himself to a cigarette.
Carter lit it for him. “Well, at least he’s been unmasked before he can do any more damage.”
“He’s done enough damage already,” Palmer snapped, his anger showing through for the first time since Carter had broken the news to him. “I trusted him like a son, and this is how he repays that trust. Who knows how much damage he’s caused over the years or how many innocent lives have been lost because of his betrayal?”
“Only he can answer that, Maurice,” Carter replied.
“Oh, he will,” Palmer shot back, stabbing the cigarette at Carter. “You can be damn sure of that.”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to break it to the Commissioner?”
“Very gently,” Palmer replied tersely. “I’ll inform him once they’ve returned from Switzerland. I want as much information as possible before I do speak to him.”
“I don’t envy you,” Carter said grimly. “It’s a pretty horrific breach of security.”
“To say the least.” Palmer tapped the ash from the cigarette into the ashtray and glanced at his watch. Five-seventeen a.m. “You’d better get back home before Phyllis wakes up.”
Carter stifled a yawn and nodded in agreement. He stubbed out the cigarette then got to his feet. “Keep me informed, will you?”
“You’re just after the job, aren’t you?” Palmer said with a forced smile.
“What else?” Carter replied, returning the smile. He reached across the desk and patted Palmer on the arm. “You’ll be OK. These things happen. The Commissioner will make a lot of noise when you tell him but by the time you see him again he’ll have forgotten all about it.”
Palmer walked Carter to the front door. “Thanks for coming round, Richard, I appreciate it.”
“You’d have done the same for me. Give my love to Sheila, will you?”
“Of course. Good night, Richard.”
“Night, Maurice,” Carter said as he strode briskly over to the unmarked police car which was waiting for him.
Palmer closed the door and returned to the study. He gathered up the evidence, replaced it in the folder, then pulled the telephone toward him. He found Kolchinsky’s home number then lifted the receiver and dialed out.
Chapter Nine
Sabrina had been discharged from hospital early that morning so that they could reach Zurich in time to catch the eleven o’clock flight back to London. She looked pale and tired, having refused the offer of sedatives the previous night, and within minutes of taking her seat on the plane she was asleep. Graham gave the stewardess strict instructions that she wasn’t to be disturbed until they reached London.
Eastman and Marsh were also exhausted. They had been up most of the night compiling their reports for Palmer and, with Scoby due to arrive that evening, both were looking forward to catching a few hours’ sleep in the comfort of their own beds once they arrived back in London …
Two members of the anti-terrorist squad were on hand to meet them at Heathrow and it quickly became apparent that sleep would have to wait. Palmer wanted to see them both urgently in his office at New Scotland Yard. Graham and Sabrina were taken in one of the cars to the Grosvenor House Hotel where Scoby would be based for the duration of his stay.
Palmer was on the telephone when Eastman and Marsh entered his office. He pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. “I’ll call back,” he told the caller abruptly before replacing the receiver and reaching for the packet of cigarettes on his desk.
“I thought you’d given up, sir?” Eastman said in surprise as Palmer pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
“I had, until last night,” Palmer retorted sharply. He took a long drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. “It was obvious after the debacle in Switzerland last night that the IRA have a pipeline into the heart of this unit. How else could they have anticipated your every move?”
“It certainly looks that way, sir,” Eastman agreed.
“The Special Branch were brought in last night to find this mole. You were both the first to be investigated. Your offices and your homes were raided simultaneously just after midnight.” Palmer removed a computer disk from his drawer, placing it on the table in front of them. “This is yours I believe, John?”