There was a short silence, broken by Shirley. ‘Am I missing something?’
‘He’s saying these aren’t random acts of terrorism,’ said River, not taking his eyes off Coe. ‘It’s a destabilisation strategy.’
‘A bunch of penguins get shredded?’ said Shirley. ‘Who’s that supposed to destabilise? David Attenborough?’
‘It’s not the penguins,’ said Catherine. ‘It’s the name. Is that what you’re saying?’
Coe nodded.
‘The Watering Hole,’ said River. ‘Why is that significant?’
‘Think about it,’ said Lamb.
They thought about it; all except Coe, who seemed to have withdrawn into his private universe again.
At length, Emma Flyte said, ‘Well, if it’s a destabilisation plan, it’s not working, is it? Because whatever grand plan they’re working to, the effects still look random. Which is bad enough, but hardly world-shattering. I mean, Abbotsfield? It’s a tragedy, but nobody had heard of the place last week.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Lamb. ‘You’re now an honorary slow horse.’
‘Because I contributed?’
‘No, because you missed the fucking point.’
‘But she’s right,’ said Louisa. ‘If this goes on, people’ll get nervy about public spaces, worried what might happen. But it’s not like they’ll think some supervillain has a strategy. I mean, if this was happening in a tiny state somewhere …’
She broke off.
‘There you go,’ said Lamb. ‘Penny drops.’ He looked at Coe. ‘They’re operating to a plan that might pacify a local population. Because it’s all singular, isn’t it? The village. The watering hole.’
Coe nodded.
‘It was never meant for a state the size of Britain.’
‘So why,’ River began, then stopped. Then said: ‘If the strategy’s not going to achieve its original aim, why is it being deployed?’
‘And as long as we’re playing twenty questions,’ said Lamb, ‘anyone want to hazard a guess as to how come our mad monk here recognises it?’
‘Oh Christ,’ said River. ‘It’s one of ours, isn’t it?’
Coe nodded.
The others stared at each other in incomprehension. Only Lamb, who had closed his eyes, and Catherine, who was shaking her head, seemed to grasp the implications.
Lamb said, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. He might be simple, but compared to you lot he’s a walking Sudoku. The plan they’re working to isn’t a foreign plot to destabilise Britain, it’s a British plot devised to destabilise some troublesome tin-pot nation. And no, murdering penguins and failing to blow up trains isn’t going to bring the country to its knees, but when these jokers, whoever they are, reveal that they’re operating to a strategy developed by British Intelligence to undermine developing nations, well … Anybody want to join the dots?’
‘It’ll be an omnifuckingshambles,’ offered Shirley.
‘For once, you have a point.’
River said, ‘Poison the watering hole? How old is this plan?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Catherine said. ‘It may not be state of the art, but it’s still a black op. People have died.’
‘And penguins,’ Shirley added.
Louisa said, ‘It could have been a lot worse. How many wine bars are called the Watering Hole?’
‘How sure are we any of this is true?’ said Emma Flyte. ‘I mean, forgive my scepticism. But – it’s Coe, isn’t it? Mr Coe here mumbles something about this being a British plot, and just like that you’re all convinced. I’d need to hear more, personally. And you’re not going to smoke,’ she added, as a cigarette appeared in Lamb’s fist.
‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Lamb. ‘But it’s the only thing keeps my upset stomach in check.’
Before Emma could reply, Catherine said, ‘Seriously. Don’t call his bluff.’
Lamb inhaled, blew smoke everywhere, then said to Coe: ‘Well, you going to tell us the origins of this plot? Or is that your party piece done?’
Coe glanced at Lamb, then looked down at the desk in front of him. ‘It’s from a working paper the weasels produced post-war. A strategy for destabilising a developing region, should the need arise.’
‘Before he was a fuck-up,’ Lamb explained to Emma Flyte, ‘he used to be a dickhead. Unless I mean egghead. I get them mixed up.’
‘You worked across the river?’ said Flyte.
Coe nodded.
‘Psych Eval,’ Shirley said. ‘He knows about the history of black ops.’
‘Maybe so,’ said Flyte. ‘It still sounds like a reach to me.’
‘Except for the watering hole bit,’ said Catherine quietly. ‘Because Louisa’s right. There are plenty of bars called the Watering Hole. But if they’d chosen one of them, nobody would have said hey, watering hole! They’d have said, they bombed a bar.’
‘And this paper, it was dug out of its drawer a while ago,’ Coe said. ‘Some bright spark suggested it had value as a template. You take the basic principles and apply them on a larger scale. Or replicate them across a wider region, so the same events happen in more than one location at the same time.’ He paused, then said, ‘It was one of those games that gets played over there. Never likely to be put into operation. Except some of them are.’
‘But this one wasn’t.’
He shrugged. ‘Is now.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ said Flyte.
‘Yeah, well, the thing is, fuck off,’ Lamb told her. ‘Because you’re overlooking the clincher.’
‘Which is?’
‘Which is where whoever’s doing this got the Watering Hole paper from in the first place.’
‘Ho,’ said River, Louisa and Shirley in unison.
‘Poor Roddy,’ Catherine murmured.
‘And Kim—’ Louisa began.
‘—his girlfriend—’ inserted River.
‘—must be the point of contact between him and the bad actors.’
‘Which explains why someone tried to whack him.’
‘Twice.’
‘And why Ho’s got a girlfriend,’ finished Shirley.
Flyte looked like someone had just clapped her round the head with a bedpan.
‘Someone tried to kill our resident tech-head,’ explained Lamb. ‘His colleagues here are suggesting that that’s because he was honey-trapped into handing over this destabilisation template. And whoever he handed it over to didn’t want him spilling the beans before they were ready.’
‘So why didn’t Ho say he’d done that?’ Flyte objected. ‘Once he realised people were trying to kill him?’
‘Well, there’s a strong chance he hasn’t yet noticed that that’s what’s going on,’ said Louisa.
‘There’s a reason you lot are all here, isn’t there?’ said Flyte after a while. ‘I keep forgetting that.’
‘Whereas your own brilliant career,’ Louisa reminded her, ‘hangs by a thread that’s dangling from Claude Whelan’s thumb.’
Louisa quite liked Emma, but didn’t see that she had to take any crap from her.
‘Careful,’ Lamb said. ‘She bites. Meanwhile, there’s a simple way we can find out whether Coe’s talking through his arse. Anyone want to hazard a guess?’
There was a pause.
‘We could torture him,’ Shirley suggested.
Coe flicked her a glance she could have sharpened her buzz cut with.
River said, ‘He’s only counted to three.’
‘It’s nearly a shame you’re an idiot,’ Lamb said. ‘When with a bit of application, you might have amounted to a halfwit. Because yes, in this rare instance, you’re right. Coe’s only counted to three.’ He tipped the neck of his wine bottle in Coe’s direction, and took a drag on his cigarette before saying, ‘Okay, Mr PMT, or PTSD, or whatever it is you’ve got. Do enlighten us. What are the nasty mans going to do next?’