Should she confront James with it again? He’d shrugged off the one she’d shown him in the gallery yesterday; but then he would, wouldn’t he, if he’d planted it? He’d find it harder to deny the significance of a second such object, though.
But then what? Ought Emma to state her suspicions openly, to ask James directly if he’d been spying on her? He might open up, admit that it was a routine security procedure, and apologise. If that was the case, Emma might be able to understand, and forgive. But what if he continued to deny it? How could she carry on with him, with her doubts about his trustworthiness hanging between them?
A new thought flashed through her mind like a shock.
Sir Guy Strang was her employer. She had a responsibility to go straight to him with this.
But that would blow everything apart. She’d have to admit she was having an affair with his head of security. It would mean the end of her job, and possibly more than that. She might be prosecuted, for putting the security of the Service at risk in some way.
And it would cause irreparable harm to her marriage, and her family, f the truth about her and James came out.
Emma thought about James. Despite her intimacy with him, despite his warmth and his charm, there was something hidden, unknown about him. He had a tendency to clam up at the oddest times, which she’d always taken to be part of the necessarily cautious, secretive character a man in his position had to possess. Overall, she knew relatively little about him. He’d never been married, as far as she knew. He was a former soldier, a veteran of Iraq where he’d been injured, hence his scar. He’d been Sir Guy’s head of security since before Sir Guy assumed the top job three years earlier. And that was about it.
Emma felt unable to get up from the sofa, as though its fat leather embrace was pulling her down. She’d always hated passivity, indecision; hadn’t been able to afford either in her work as a doctor. But now she felt utterly helpless, trapped by her sunlit suburban surroundings, with no course of action open to her that wouldn’t lead to disaster one way or another.
The hell with it. She set her jaw.
If she didn’t bring the subject up with James again, she still wouldn’t be able to continue with him. Her mistrust of him would corrode what they had between them.
She’d confront him, and this time not allow herself to be fobbed off.
Emma considered reaching for her phone, but she was due to meet him that afternoon anyway. It could wait.
With the relief of a decision having been taken, she began to busy herself.
Forty-five
‘It’s pretty thin.’
Kasabian had insisted on meeting Purkiss and Vale at the Covent Garden flat rather than talking on the phone. She looked more haggard than usual, Purkiss thought.
Purkiss had boarded a flight at an airstrip east of Riyadh which looked like it was used by visiting nouveau riche. It had taken Vale an hour to procure it, and by the time the plane touched down at Heathrow it was after eight in the evening. Monday evening, Purkiss had to remind himself. The back-and-forth across time zones and the erratic sleep were confusing him slightly. He’d gone straight to the flat.
‘It’s the best lead we’ve got,’ said Purkiss.
Kasabian blew air out slowly, closed her eyes.
‘Let me get it straight. Hannah Holley is working with Strang.’
‘Yes.’
‘Your evidence being…’
Patiently, Purkiss ticked off the points on his fingers. ‘She conveniently had Morrow’s notebook, with Al-Bayati’s and Arkwright’s names in it. She was conveniently on the scene when the car bomb that killed Al-Bayati went off. She was there with me when Arkwright revealed Strang’s involvement in organising the torture of prisoners, and a few moments later we came under attack. I’m assuming she signalled the attacker somehow. She conveniently missed the flight to Riyadh, because she’d tipped off Scipio Rand that I was coming, and she knew I’d be walking into a death trap.’
Kasabian stared intently at a point Purkiss couldn’t see, as if she was trying the statements out for size. Then she shook her head.
‘Doesn’t fit. Why would she lead you to Arkwright if she knew he might implicate Strang?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Purkiss. ‘Perhaps she didn’t know he’d do that. Perhaps she was supposed to monitor the information he was giving me, and when he went too far, she signalled the gunman.’
‘But if she knows you’re on the trail of her boss, Strang, then why was she enacting this charade of helping you? Why did she appear just at the right time and save you from the bomb blast? Why not just let you die, or kill you herself, and have done with it?’
‘Again, I don’t know,’ Purkiss said. ‘She might have been trying to mislead me in some way, divert me down the wrong path. Or she might have been assigned to find out just how much I, and by association you, knew about Strang’s activities. When it became apparent that I was getting too close, she threw me to the wolves. Hence the ambush by the Scipio Rand people.’
Vale said, ‘Is there any record of this Holley being linked to Strang?’
‘No,’ said Kasabian distractedly. ‘Nothing direct. I don’t know her, personally, but naturally I’ve looked into her records since you called. She’s good. Top-notch work. Too young to have made a huge impact in the Service yet, but she’d have gone far. If it wasn’t for this.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘I’ve tried a GPS trace on her phone, but of course she’s destroyed it. She’s a professional. Finding her is going to be difficult.’
‘I have to do it,’ said Purkiss.
Kasabian, who’d been sprawled in an armchair, stood up abruptly. She held up both hands in a theatrical gesture of despair.
‘Jesus Christ, Purkiss. Why the hell did you fall in with her? And why didn’t you tell me? I could have vetted her. We might have found something.’
‘Hey.’ Purkiss was standing now, too, his anger a tone lower than hers. ‘You told me to find Morrow’s killer. You didn’t tell me how to do it, or whom I could or couldn’t work with. If you had, I wouldn’t have taken the job on. So a little less of the high-and-mighty attitude.’
She stared up into his face, her eyes wide. The moment hung between them, razor-keen, until Kasabian blinked and tipped her head.
‘So what do you propose?’
‘I was going to start by visiting her flat,’ Purkiss said. ‘I don’t know the address, but you’ll have it. There might be a clue there.’
‘Doubtful,’ said Kasabian. ‘She’s hardly likely to have left anything lying around that’ll tell you her whereabouts.’
‘But she might have left a trap there for me,’ said Purkiss. ‘She’ll assume I’ll search her place. And springing traps when you know they’re there can sometimes reveal things about the people who set them.’
He waited a moment, then: ‘Unless you can think of something else.’
Kasabian sighed. ‘Worth a try, I suppose.’
From his corner of the room, Vale said, ‘Is there any news on the official investigation into Morrow’s death?’
Kasabian shook her head. ‘No. They’re looking into cases he was currently involved with, but so far nothing’s come up. It’s creating a bit of a panic within the Service, to be honest. But Strang will be sitting pretty. All this flap just keeps the focus away from him.’
She and Vale left together, Purkiss remaining behind in the flat. As soon as they were out the door, Purkiss went over to the armchair Vale had been sitting in. Beneath a cushion, he found the memory stick left there.
Vale could have emailed the information, but emails might be intercepted.
Purkiss opened a laptop computer he’d bought on the way to the flat. He booted it up and inserted the memory stick into the port. A single file popped up.
Purkiss opened it. It was a Ministry of Defence document, which Vale had obtained with relatively ease, or so he’d said, through his SIS links. It listed all the personnel of the Parachute Regiment who’d served in Iraq during Operation Telic, the British campaign in the country which had lasted from the beginning of the invasion in March 2003 until the last troops had left in May 2011.