“That’s possible,” Melissa said.
“What do we know about the informer?” I said.
“Not enough,” Melissa said. “I’ll do some digging.”
“We should find out more about the group he was embedded in,” I said. “And I’d like to know more about Leckie’s history with him.”
“I’ll find out,” Melissa said. “The Deputy DG’s called an emergency briefing for first thing tomorrow. I’ll try to have something by then.”
No one spoke much for a while after that. The afternoon’s excitement had left everyone irritable and out of sorts. There wasn’t much evidence of the interdependence Melissa had told me about, instinctive or otherwise. I wondered how much truth there was in everything else she’d said. I began to sift her words, starting from when our paths first crossed, and just as we were approaching the vehicle entrance to Thames House something triggered a connection in my head. It was in an unanswered question from earlier. I didn’t say anything straight away, though. Because what I what I wanted her to do would definitely be outside the scope of normal behaviour. The more people that knew, the less chance she’d agree. Specially because there was a good chance it would leave us both barking up the wrong tree.
Melissa was less resistant than I’d anticipated, but looking back I suspect that had more to do with taking the path of least resistance than having any expectation of my being right. She couldn’t help right away, though. Her boss had asked for a follow-up briefing, and she wanted to ferret out some of the information we’d talked about. Plus it would take her a while to lay her hands on the things we’d need. A couple of hours in all, she reckoned, so we agreed to meet at the hospital at seven o’clock.
My clothes and hair were dirty from the workhouse so I used the time to head home, shower and grab some clean clothes. I found a taxi easily and had the driver drop me half a mile from St Joseph’s. I strolled the rest of the way, and had just passed through the arch at the main entrance when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. It was a text from Melissa:
On my way, but running late... M.
I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by leaving and coming back an extra time, so I kept on going and made my way to the hospital cafeteria instead. The tables had been rearranged since my last visit. There were fewer of them near the windows, and none of these were free. I didn’t want to sit in the middle of the room, so I bought my coffee to go and carried it down to the garden. All the benches were available, out there. Maybe it was too chilly for people to spend much time outside. Or maybe they thought the place looked less picturesque in the wash of the faux Victorian street lights that had been planted at random intervals in the flower beds. At least it had been cleaned, though. There was no more sign of storm damage, and the plants and bushes looked like they’d recently been trimmed.
I was nursing the final drops of my drink and waiting for Melissa to let me know she’d arrived when the door at the far end of the garden swung open. Three people came through. They were male. In their early twenties. Scruffily dressed. And I was half way to my feet before I realised they weren’t the same ones who’d called the police on me after our encounter, last time.
One of the guys lay down on the nearest bench and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, but the other two seemed to be in the middle of an argument. They stayed on their feet, glaring, muttering, and occasionally pushing each other. It was pretty half-hearted stuff, but I kept an eye on them anyway, just in case. The dispute continued for another five minutes without coming to the boil, and just when I thought it was going to peter out altogether I felt my phone buzz:
I’m here! Where are you? M.
Coming... I replied, and stood up to leave.
The guys didn’t seem to notice me, even when I moved. I took one final look at them as the door closed behind me, amazed that people could be so unaware of their surroundings, and saw that their attention had been taken by something else. Movement. At the far end, near them. Someone else was entering the garden. It was a man, in the security company’s uniform. I reached out for the door handle, remembering how the last security guard had been faced down so easily. But I didn’t go back through. There was something about the way this guy moved that made him seem less helpless. He was taller. Broader. More assured. The two lads who’d been arguing stepped back, away from him, and the other one jumped up from the bench and joined them. The guard took a radio from his belt and spoke into it, looking over at the wall to his right. He waited for twenty seconds, still holding the radio to his ear, then clipped it back in place and turned to face the yobs. I could see the smile on his face, and before his fist had even connected with the first lad’s jaw I would have bet money this was the part of his job he enjoyed the most.
I didn’t want to keep Melissa waiting so I thought it was better not to waste time hanging around to see what he did with the lads’ unconscious bodies. It had taken him less than thirty seconds to put them all on the ground, and even walking quickly it took me ten times that long to reach the room in the basement where we’d agreed to meet.
“I washed my hair this morning,” she said as I opened the door. “Now it smells of smoke. I’m not happy.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “Do you want to move to another room?”
“No,” she said, pointing to a large black holdall with her foot. “Not after I’ve dragged this thing all the way down here.”
The bag was about five feet long, two wide, and two tall. There was a logo in the centre of the long side. From one angle it looked like a bird with its wings spread. From the opposite angle, it looked like a fist. A row of letters was printed underneath, but a fold in the fabric made them hard to read.
“They’re initials,” she said. “LASSKC. London All Style Sport Karate Club.”
“I didn’t know you were in a karate club,” I said.
“I’m not, anymore. When would I ever find the time?”
“Good point. And that explains the fist. But why’s there a bird on your bag?”
“It doesn’t look like a real bird, so it doesn’t bother me. And it’s a dove. It represents peace. That’s probably why you didn’t recognise it.”
“That could explain it. Is the hazmat suit in there?”
“Yes. I didn’t have anything else big enough to carry it in, and I didn’t want to attract attention, lugging it around.”
“Good thinking. Thanks for bringing it.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure I don’t. Let’s check the video first, and see if I really need to. Did you get hold of a copy?”
Melissa nodded, pulled out her phone, hit a few keys, then handed it to me. The screen was filled with a black and white image of the hospital garden. It was deserted. A timecode across the bottom showed the early hours of the morning, two days ago. Five seconds rolled past, then a figure appeared at the left-hand side of the screen. He was followed by three others. They were pushing a steel trolley. It held four caesium containers, and the men were making no attempt to rush or disguise what they were doing. There was no need. Their faces and any possible identifying features were completely covered by the hazmat suits they were wearing. I wasn’t surprised by what I saw. Because even though it had been shot from a different angle, it matched exactly what I remembered watching through the window on my way back from the cafe that night.