As he stepped gingerly forward in the shadows he could see the flattened grass at his feet and then, as he searched the ground ahead of him there was suddenly a loud sound of sliding, scraping and a shifting of stones and then a brief silence.
And then he heard a short cry from below him, full of terror and desperation
And then a thick, crunching, thud that sent a feeling through Campbell like there was ice in his veins and he thought he was going to vomit.
Eyes wide and chest heaving he dropped to his knees and stared blankly at the cliff edge. Then he crawled to it and looked over.
III
43
Monday. 11am.
The cold, pale light of the day outside told of approaching winter and he could almost feel the chill as he stood in his warm, comfortable office.
On his desk lay that morning’s newspaper. The lead story was about a terrorist atrocity in a tourist resort in Turkey, which had been blamed on Kurdish extremists.
There was a small column about the possibility of the Government’s opponents lowering income tax as an election pledge. There was also a banner across the top about the colour photos that could be found on pages 4 and 5 from the wedding of a leading British actor.
Geoffrey Asquith’s name was nowhere to be found but he worried all the same. If not today, then perhaps tomorrow or sometime soon.
Days were passing in agonising silence with no word from anyone about who was behind the break in at Griffin Holdings or what their intentions were. Andrew Griffin had come to see him and told him all about the evidence of Horner’s activities in the early 1990’s, how the paper trail had remained hidden deep in the company’s records for long years.
Horner had admitted this to him without too much of a fight. Once it was apparent what Asquith already knew, Horner had surrendered any pretence of innocence and admitted to it all. Initially flippant and dismissive, Horner had seemed gradually to lose his nerve and the tables had turned almost completely now. More than once Asquith had angrily hung up the phone on the man, telling him not to panic, to wait and see what would happen. Until then he had other things on his mind, things that he could deal with, that were within his control.
By the end of the week Asquith would have to deliver his verdict on a proposed Dam building project in Malaysia. The project would be part funded by the British Department for International Development, which existed with the official mandate to help eradicate poverty and hunger in the poorer countries of the world. Most often this came in the form of aid packages and grants to the countries in question which would often go to large infrastructure projects; gas and electricity supplies, schools and hospitals, roads and bridges.
As a matter of course however, such projects, which were often on a massive scale, requiring expertise, experience and sophistication in order to implement them, the contracts for their construction went to companies outside the recipient country. Usually, in fact, to companies within the donor country.
This was nothing new and Geoffrey Asquith knew it. He did feel more than a little guilty and hypocritical that ‘aid’ packages for these poor countries often amounted to little more than back-door investment in British industry. But he still believed that in most cases, if the execution might leave something to be desired, the end results still benefited the people they were supposed to.
If a dam helped provide electricity to the homes of many thousands of families who might otherwise be without it, what did they care whether a British company built it instead of a local one? What matter that a foreign firm was paid to construct much needed municipal facilities in a poor and run-down city?
This Malaysian project was not without its critics though. Thousands of acres of land would be flooded as a result of the dam and many thousands of local people displaced. An ancient religious site would also be lost beneath the reservoir as well as the breeding sites of rare birds that existed in only a few other places in the region now.
But the hydroelectric power plant would need to be manned and run and that would create employment. Also, with the power it provided to the local area, industry could flourish and more jobs would be created, helping improve the economy and the quality of life for tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of people.
Asquith’s task was firstly to decide whether it would go ahead in the face of the opposition it had received and then to decide which of the firms that had tendered for the multi-million pound contracts would get them. The first point he knew was a formality. The opposition could not stand in the way of the project, the fate of which had long ago been decided. It was the latter job that would occupy his time now and he would need to meet with the last of various committees and interest groups and non-governmental organisations before presenting his final decision.
That his professional reputation and political future might be in jeopardy was something that he had no control over at present and this work needed to be finished either way. The livelihoods of many people depended on it, and on him.
44
Monday. 12.30pm.
The strain was clear on Gresham’s face and he turned away from the reflection in the glass and stared at the floor. He knew the others in the room could see it too and he didn’t like them to see him weak or scared.
And right now he was both.
He had not been able to sleep in the two nights that she had been gone. When finally exhaustion overtook him, the dreams that he’d seen in sleep were too awful to bear and he had woken shouting her name more than once.
He had sent Slater and the others to see what they could find out, see what people knew about Walker. But no-one would talk even if they did know anything and Gresham was well aware that he would find out where she was only when Walker told him.
But the waiting was worse. The inactivity and the feeling of impotence as he stared at the phone were more than he could take. At least if he was doing something to find her, however futile, it was better than the waiting.
‘Have we heard anything about Campbell? Did Drennan’s man get to him yet?’ Gresham asked them.
Nobody spoke. Slater shrugged. Keane and Warren exchanged a brief look.
‘I want somebody watching Campbell’s flat. All the time. If he even pops in to get his post I want the fucker. We get him, we get the stick, we get the money and then we get Angie back,’ he said quietly, his eyes still cast down.
Nobody wanted to suggest that there might be no Angie to get back. Or Campbell. They all knew that Gresham was already all too aware of that thought anyway. Now was the time to say the right thing and do what the boss said and find some way out of this. Ever since that fateful night the fabric of their world had started to tear and it got worse at every turn, not better.
‘We’ll do shifts then. Me and Keano will take first shift,’ offered Warren.
They all murmured their agreement and the two men shuffled out the door, Warren patting a hand on Gresham’s shoulder as he passed.
45
Monday. 2pm.
Tyler looked no less like a doorman whether he wore a suit and tie or the jeans and black leather jacket that he favoured. Drennan tried to make more of an effort over his own appearance and was a vain and self-important man. He made no effort to encourage Tyler to improve his own hair and clothes though, preferring the impression of menace that Tyler’s unkempt appearance tended to convey and the often unsettling contrast it presented with his own.
They had heard from their paymaster only once since the end of the previous week and been told to wait. The young man who had got himself embroiled in this situation was soon to be eliminated. Drennan thought this more than over-cautious behaviour on his employer’s behalf but was in no position to question or influence the decision.