That could wait though, for the time being. He’d talk about that with Drennan once the data was handed over. Horner was fed up waiting and once Drennan had paid the useless rabble — something he’d had to think twice about approving given their incompetence — he would set about upping the pressure on Asquith a little, just as a reminder.
The old man was principled but he would not be stupid enough to risk everything for those principles. Standing up to Horner’s ‘blackmailers’ would be precisely the sort of thing he’d want to do but faced with this sort of leverage the old man would buckle, not least because he wouldn’t want to betray an old friend despite what mistakes that old friend might have made.
Horner tipped the glass up to his nose and took in a deep breath though his nostrils. It was almost done now, he though to himself, almost finished. Two years in planning and execution and once Asquith announced the contracts Horner would reap what he had sown.
67
Thursday. 5 pm.
The two men sat on either side of a dark stained wooden table with a nondescript glass ashtray in the centre and two cardboard beer mats with the pictures half peeled off.
Slater was hunched over his pint of lager, arms folded, jacket still on. His face was blank and his expression did not betray the crackling rage he felt underneath. He had been given a real run around in the past week and a half, made a fool of at every turn and he had probably dropped in his boss’s estimation as a result. It was, in all honesty, attributable to the man sitting opposite him.
Well dressed and looking faintly self-satisfied for reasons not apparent to Slater, Drennan sat rolling the long neck of a beer bottle between thumb and forefinger. Even his choice of drink riled Slater. Fucking poncy Italian lager, why couldn't the prick just have a pint? But he knew he had to play nice. He was here for a simple job and once it was done they could all relax again, in the clear and in the cash.
That was, of course, provided Campbell was right. Gresham had been reluctant to trust him at first although the man clearly seemed to know what he was talking about. But in the end the promise of further riches, not to mention the debt of gratitude for getting Angie back had swung it. Slater himself was far more cynical. The guy was as slippery as soap and Slater thought it was madness to listen to him, although his own pride had been wounded more than the others by Campbell’s best efforts. Though he had begun to feel a grudging respect for Campbell as a worthy opponent, a stubborn, determined and resilient man, he still wanted to knock his lights out.
But sat here looking at Drennan trying to catch his own reflection, or self-consciously watching every other passer by with theatrical suspicion, Slater had a new target for his fury. When this was done, he thought, Drennan might come after them. Drennan and his boss and whoever else they could muster.
For all Campbell’s tales of shadowy figures and men of great wealth and long reach, Slater didn’t feel in the slightest bit perturbed now. With Walker gone he feared no-one and the prospect of being able to vent some of the brewing frustration was delicious.
He was picturing Drennan’s nose broken and blood gushing from his shattered gums when the other man spoke.
‘You know for a while we thought you lot had fucked the whole thing. I mean, you only had to follow instructions and Tony made a right mess of that. And I had my suspicions you’d lost the stick too. This Campbell bloke, wherever the hell he’s vanished to, I thought he had it. Couldn’t figure out why you lot were so keen to follow him around when we said that we’d sort it out. I mean, Tony probably told him nothing after Keano got at him but still.’
Slater’s face didn’t shift. He shrugged.
‘What got me though wasn’t all that. I suppose you wanted to tidy up after yourselves after what happened but it was that other lot. The ones that dragged him off the other night…’
Slater stared back at him for long moments. Drennan was fishing. After a while, Slater dropped his gaze to the table and picked up his pint, taking a long, deep drink.
‘You got what I want?’ he said as he set down the glass.
Drennan stayed silent, trying to play Slater at his own game, but failed. Giving up quickly he said ‘No flirting Keith?’
Slater went back to staring through Drennan.
‘Please yourself big man. I have it. You?’
Slater reached into the pocket of his jacket and slipped a small, plain memory stick across the table. Drennan looked at it and picked it up.
‘It has been such a pleasure,’ Drennan said with a smug wink and then he stood up, placed a hand on Slater’s shoulder as he passed, and walked away.
Slater had been sorely tempted to grab the hand on his shoulder, to twist it round and up Drennan’s back but he sat still, his eyes fixed on the spot where Drennan’s face had been as Slater had pictured smashing the beer bottle into it a few times.
Distracted by a young girl asking if the other seat was free Slater looked at her, nodded and then finished his beer. Then he reached under the table for the small backpack that had been left there and, swinging it onto his shoulder, he made for the door, smiling at the doorman on the way out.
68
Thursday. 7pm.
As Campbell approached his front door he noticed that Warren’s car had gone. Without even bothering to feign nonchalance he looked up and down the road and he kept walking, right past the flat and to the end of the street. At the corner he looked along the roads branching left and right and then he turned and walked back to his front door again. Nope. Definitely gone.
Smiling, he twisted his key in the lock and moved inside. It looked different in his flat, cleaner and fresher than it had looked in weeks. He could feel the approaching return to normality — not that he was out of the woods yet. Campbell was pessimistic enough after what he had been through to realise that everything could still come totally unstitched, could yet come smashing down again.
Not out of the woods yet then, but the trees were thinning now.
There remained only one more thing for him to do to set himself back on track, to be rid of all that had happened. Everything else was in place. Gresham and Slater had followed his instructions to the letter, grumbling at the last minute adjustment he had made but then silenced when he told them how much better it would actually work out for them all.
He too had ensured that in addition to the insurance he had put in place to ensure his own safety that there would be compensation as well. His own reward was less lucrative than the others could expect but it was untainted and that felt more important than anything else.
‘Ten per cent?’ Gresham had said to him down the phone, his tone too surprised and disbelieving to be angry. ‘You really are pushing it now sunshine.’
‘Look George, if you do everything I’ve told you you’ll all be even better off than I when I explained it to you the other day.’
‘Then do the same as us with your own cash. That’s my money.’
‘No. I was nearly killed because of that stick George and I deserve a share. Ten per cent. That’s all. You’ll have the ninety left.’
Gresham had been stubborn at first but eventually relented and agreed. Campbell had stopped short of telling him what he really thought. The idea that he could put his savings into buying shares that he knew would rocket in price had never really crossed his mind as a realistic prospect. When he thought about it he couldn’t get past the fact the that not only was it illegal, that he would be knowingly breaking the law to make money, but worse; that it would make him the same as Horner.
Horner’s whole plan had been to make a bundle of cash by manipulating the market and the share price. How could Campbell do the same? How could he even think about doing anything remotely similar in nature to Horner? As much as he might have told himself that he could get away with it, make a lot of money and leave no trace, he could not escape the fact that his conscience would never allow it. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.