Yet a part of him was intrigued by the possibilities Deane had to offer. Working undercover was dangerous, lonely and in the end no guarantee of good health if you stuck at it too long. But this wasn’t strictly undercover. And it wasn’t for ever.
‘What about the other KFOR units over there?’ he asked. ‘We weren’t the only ones.’
‘No incident reports have come in — I checked.’ Deane had a smile in his voice, like a dog suddenly presented with a juicy bone. ‘Not one single death among ex-UN or KFOR personnel that wasn’t a certified accident.’
Harry relented, as he’d known he would. This wasn’t going away, and he’d rather face up to the situation than let it come and find him. ‘All right.’
‘Good man. I’ve booked you a seat on board a US Coast Guard flight out of Northolt tomorrow. It took some doing, but it’ll save a lot of hassle.’
‘That was a hell of an assumption.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t have time to hang around. We need to find the source of this rumour and whether it’s connected with Orti or Broms. And to safeguard the other men you need to track them down and talk to them — hard if needs be.’
‘Is that what you want me to do — protect them? Or find the guilty man?’
Deane didn’t hesitate. ‘Do what you have to, Harry. It’s all the same in the end.’
Harry wondered how much of his life they had gone through in the last few days; how much detail they had sifted through, how many people they’d talked to. This business was snowballing fast, and some influential strings must have been pulled to get all this organized. If Deane had already spoken to Ballatyne, it was likely that MI6 had provided a full briefing on Harry’s background. But to do that and sign it off, they must have had complete confidence in his record in Kosovo. ‘Fine. When’s the briefing?’
‘You just had it. A file with the addresses of each man and their current or last known whereabouts will be delivered with a UN security clearance to your hotel in New York.’
‘I haven’t told you where I’m staying yet.’
‘No need. I arranged that, too. Oh, and I’m arranging for a sidearm and permit to be delivered, too. Just don’t go waving the gun around in public. The cops in New York are a little sensitive these days.’
This was outside anything Harry had heard about non-US law enforcement agency or military personnel being allowed to carry weapons in the country. It was a measure of how seriously Deane was taking the issue. ‘Is it really necessary?’
‘I think so. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. He’s taken Orti and Broms, so everyone else is at risk including you.’
‘In that case, you’d better throw in a spare.’
If Deane wondered why he wanted a second weapon, he saw no reason to argue. ‘Will do. You OK with this?’
‘I’m fine.’ Harry didn’t mind being a sacrificial goat — as long as the goat could show some teeth. ‘How many people can you throw at this on the research side?’
‘As many as I’ve got. Why?’
‘You’re going to need them. Get them trawling through airline schedules. Look for single male travellers coming out of Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, and moving on across to Europe.’
‘Why not two? It would look more natural. And how do we know it’s a man?’
‘Two would stand out and increase the likelihood of mistakes. This person took out two experienced soldiers; a woman wouldn’t have the strength.’ The exception, he thought, was Clare Jardine, who had guile and speed instead. ‘A woman would have to get close first, to gain their confidence. He’s not doing that — he’s going for it.’
‘OK, so one man. He could have a change of ID for each flight.’
‘He may well have. But changes of documentation take more planning and increase the risk of getting caught. I think he’ll keep it to the minimum.’
‘Shit. Thanks a bunch, Harry. You’ve just made this thing ten times — pardon my French — fucking worse.’
‘It’s a crunching exercise. You might get lucky.’
‘Yeah, I can hope. Maybe if he’s an Afghan, he’ll stand out.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on that. Look at Hamid Karzai: take away his cloak and hat and he’d pass as French, Italian or Spanish.’
‘Ah, shit, Harry, do you give lectures in this kind of stuff?’ Deane sounded depressed.
‘It’s elementary. Hear a man’s name and you stop thinking about what he looks like.’
‘Thanks, Sherlock. Anything else you want to hit me with?’
‘Just one thing. Assuming this business is connected with Kosovo, neither Orti nor Broms was still assigned to the UN.’
‘Right. So?’
‘So how did the killer know where to find them?’
It was a second or two before Deane grasped the implications. When he spoke, it was softly, a realization that there was a leak in the bucket. ‘Oh, shit.’
At Brussels airport, Kassim boarded his flight at the earliest opportunity, to avoid being too long under the scrutiny of the other passengers, and took his seat at a window. He buckled himself in and pulled down the blind, then closed his eyes and settled back. He had no desire to engage in pointless conversation, as his English was sufficient but not fluent. People noticed and remembered accents, his trainers had pointed out. Especially around international flights.
There had been no element of irony in the speaker’s voice at this statement.
The rucksack was on the floor behind his legs. He’d regretted having to get rid of the gun and hunting knife, but he could replace both and more on arrival in New York. Until then, he had to remain as unobtrusive as possible. He’d made a point of eating beforehand, so he would not need to be disturbed by the flight attendants.
He thought momentarily about the Swede. Another one who had appeared not to know what was happening. It puzzled him. Unless the man’s mind had rejected all memory of the past. In any event, he had died well, if too quickly. Kassim shook off the image and tried to focus on the next task ahead. But he couldn’t help the thoughts crowding in, as they always did. He had seen too much over the years.
It was going to be a long flight.
FOURTEEN
Harry rolled out of bed in response to a repeated knocking, only recognizing where he was by the hotel room decor. His head felt stuffed with cotton wool after the flight from Northolt, and his talk with Deane at Marble Arch seemed a long time ago. The security chief had booked him into a small hotel on East 36th Street, just a few blocks from the UN headquarters.
The visitor was a suited messenger holding up a UN pass for Harry to check, and a black canvas bag with a combination lock. Harry signed an electronic receipt pad and thanked the messenger, then called for an all-day breakfast to be sent up to his room. He functioned better on a full stomach.
After a quick shower he got dressed and opened the bag. It contained several sheets of printed paper and a typed note from Deane, two 9mm Ruger SR9 semi-automatics with four magazines, and two electronic swipe cards.
The note was brief.
Details of the team members. Broms and Orti are included for background. Don’t waste time with the Foreign Legion — they’ll probably nail you to a door and let the ants eat you. Any problems with US military, let me know. Use the passes with discretion and ring me when you can.
KD
The passes carried a small square on one side. Harry’s name and photo was on one, Rik Ferris’s photo on the other, but with the name James Morrison. Deane showing his age and a liking for dead rock stars, Harry decided. The shots were official — culled, he guessed, courtesy of someone in Thames House, the headquarters of MI5 in London. The passes described them as representatives of the United Nations Field Security Office, and requested all help be given to the bearer, followed by a 24-hour international telephone number for verification.