Once he was out of the equation they could proceed with the plan as agreed. In the meantime he had been in contact with Gresham once more to tell the man to sit tight and to keep hold of the memory stick he had stolen and keep it safe. Drennan had felt that the further removed it was for the time being from himself and his employer the better. There would be no call for it yet.
Gresham had struck him as edgy and ill-tempered but gave no reason why. Bad night’s sleep Drennan thought, or maybe he was just a belligerent bastard all the time. Maybe he was getting nervous keeping hold of the memory stick, which had, after all, got one of his men killed. Never mind, he’d just have to be patient if he wanted his money.
The phone rang and Drennan noted the caller on the screen of his mobile.
‘Sir?’
‘Afternoon.’
‘Are we ready to move?’
A pause. ‘It seems that our young friend is a more resilient man than we gave him credit for.’
‘Sir?’ Drennan thought he knew what he was getting at but knew better than to say so.
‘My man failed Matthew. I have heard nothing in two days. I can only presume that something has gone gravely wrong. He was due to report in yesterday evening but has yet to do so and cannot be reached.’
Drennan remained silent, aware that they were both probably thinking the same thing: that there was more to Campbell than they had thought, or perhaps he had finally gone to the police despite Gresham’s best attempts to threaten him into silence. What was clear was that Drennan’s paymaster had sent someone to kill him but that Campbell had evidently escaped that fate as well. Which meant that he was still out there somewhere, still in a position to ruin everything for them.
‘Do we wait?’
Another pause. ‘No. No more waiting. There’s no more time. We make our play now.’
‘Very good. You would like me to make contact?’
‘Yes. Today.’
‘I’ll make the call.’
‘And Drennan, do me another favour.’
Drennan waited for it but knew what was coming.
‘Get rid of Campbell for me. As soon as you can.’
46
Monday. 2.30pm.
Two hours after leaving Gresham’s house and Warren was getting bored and uncomfortable. They had found a parking spot a few hundred yards short of Campbell’s flat and sat drinking hot coffee and listening to the radio quietly. Nudging at his colleague to get out and take a walk past the flat he turned down the stereo and watched as Keane zipped up his jacket against the chill and strolled nonchalantly off down the road.
Soon bored with the radio station Warren began sifting through the cds in the glove compartment and slid one in. Looking up again as the bass kicked in through the speakers in the doors he saw Keane walking briskly back towards the car and then the door popped open.
‘Lights are on,’ he said.
‘He’s back?’
The telephone ring sounded like an alarm bell and sent a surge of shock ripping through him. His hand trembled as he picked up the receiver and he had to fight to control his voice before he spoke. Slater stared at him eager for a sign.
‘Looks like we got a break George.’ Warren’s voice.
Gresham felt something sink again when he didn’t hear his daughter on the end of the phone but then the words began to register.
‘Do what?’
‘Looks like he’s home. Lights are on.’
Feeling a rush of elation Gresham gripped his empty hand into a fist. ‘About time. Right, now let’s be careful. One of you ring the bell and the other go round the back make sure he doesn’t get scared and do a runner again right?’ Gresham ordered and noted that already he felt more in control, less helpless.
‘No worries George. We’re moving,’ said Warren and then he passed the instructions on to Keane. He came back on the line. ‘I’ll call you back in a tick boss.’
‘Alright son. Give me good news Jools.’
He dropped the phone and then sank into a chair as Slater began asking questions.
It rang again and he had the receiver up in half a ring.
‘Jools?’
‘Try again.’
Walker. Gresham’s head dropped.
‘Frank. How is she?’
‘Lovely George. Just lovely.’
‘You fucking lay one finger on her Frank-’
‘Now, now George. Lets be professional. I find that insulting.’
Gresham seethed silently.
‘OK. Now listen. I’ve been having a little natter with the young lady and I must say I am mighty intrigued George. Seems like you had some sort of scam going to get my money back. Something of value to be sold off, no?’
‘Sort of,’ he replied apprehensively.
‘Hmm. Sort of. I see. Well here’s what I think George. I think if you have something of value and I have something of value then we might be able to make some sort of swap. I know you’re a big cheese and all that but I rather think I might be able to negotiate a better deal than you have and… well… you aren’t too worried about making yourself any money right now are you George? Mind on other things?’
‘Fine. I don’t care if its cash or not Frank. Just leave her the fuck alone and you can have the thing,’ snapped Gresham.
‘Excellent decision George. I’ll be in touch.’
And he was gone.
On the third ring Slater picked up the receiver as he noted that Gresham, now slumped in a chair, eyes closed, looked broken. The memory stick would have got them the cash they needed but there may have been other ways to get cash if that had failed. Now his boss had cut their options down to one in his desperation and he looked like he was beginning to question the wisdom of his rash decision.
‘Jools?’ he said into the phone.
‘Keith? Where’s George?’
Slater held the phone out to his boss who took it from him almost hesitantly, as if afraid of what it might do to him this time.
‘George here.’
‘George. Nobody home.’
‘Shit,’ he murmured and raised a hand over his eyes. After a pause he spoke again. ‘Stay there until he gets back then alright? Lights are on aren’t they? Then he’s probably just popped out.’
‘No, I don’t think he’s coming home any time soon George.’
‘What?’
‘He’s left you a note.’
‘He’s what?! What does it say?’
‘Says “George. Call zero, seven, seven, eight, nine…”’ but the words trailed off as Gresham stared off into space.
The little bastard.
What the fuck did he think he was playing at?
47
Monday. 3pm.
His schedule was a busy one and allowed little time for relaxation. His working day began when most people were waking up and ended after they had all gone home again. Unless there were some meeting or function to attend he would snatch a quick lunch to eat in his office or between appointments.
Today he had few actual engagements booked in to his diary and he was trying to make headway with the Malaysian project. Two junior ministers from the Department for International Development sat on the other side of the table from him in the corner of his office poring over files and schematics, columns of figures and graphs. Asquith was starting to get the feeling that the more he looked the less he saw.
The ringing phone was a welcome distraction.
His secretary greeted him. ‘Sorry to disturb you Minister but I have a personal call on line three. Insists that it’s important. Name of Griffin.’
The call was patched through and Asquith put his back to the two men in the corner. ‘Andrew?’
‘Not quite but that should serve as a clue. Are you alone?’
Asquith turned around. ‘Gentlemen would you give me a moment? I’m most terribly sorry. Take a ten-minute breather shall we? This is all getting a bit much.’