“Did you know that he owns a derelict theatre in the West End?” Cooper was most pleased to see the obvious irritation that Morgan was feeling at that precise moment.
Morgan leant back and threw his pen on the desk.
“If you’ve come here to tell me something I’ve known all along, you can piss off, Toby. I’m under a lot of pressure and do not need you barging in here and wasting my time. Now what else is there to know that I don’t already have in his file?”
“I was told that you’ve been looking for him. Well, I’ve found out where he’s been staying. His secret bolthole.”
“So where is it?”
Morgan was now fed up with the way Cooper had to always make such a song and dance about this sort of thing. He was nothing short of a silly little pratt who had been passed over on numerous occasions for promotions, and now had an enormous chip the size of a mountain on his right shoulder. Morgan made a mental note to have him reassigned to other duties. He smiled at this thought.
Cooper looked smug knowing that he was telling Morgan something that he did not know but might have tried to discover himself.
“The Old Colonial Club.”
“Well someone would have had to pull out a few stops for him to become a member of that particular establishment.”
“Havelock. He proposed him somehow, and because of that he, or whoever he’s pretending to be, was allowed to become a member. When he’s there though, he keeps to himself and always has room service bring up meals to his suite.”
Morgan gazed across the desk. He did not like Cooper and the feeling was mutual.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?”
“It’s been confirmed. All expense invoices are paid in full immediately.”
“I see.”
Morgan clasped his hands together contemplatively, as if he were going to pray. “Well, it’s something for the file, isn’t it? But of no importance to us now, since I flushed him out of hiding and persuaded him to work with us on this assignment. That’s why I sanctioned his little jaunt to Delhi. Now, be a good chap and make sure the information is placed on file, will you?”
Morgan dismissed the junior officer and sat for a while, thinking about what he’d just been told and smiling smugly to himself. The question was, what should he do with this information, and after another moment he lifted the phone.
“Paddy? How are you, mate? Do you know that we haven’t spoken since that little excursion into Uruguay back in 2007? Speaking of which, I hope you’ve still got Mendez safely tucked away somewhere uncomfortable?” Dillon said.
“Last I heard, former El Presidente Mendez was extremely uncomfortable. Apparently he’s taken to ice cold showers three times a day. I’ve absolutely no sympathy. Anyway, what’s so important that makes you contact me?”
“How’s your security clearance rating these days?”
“You know exactly what my rating is. What is it you need to know and what’s the aggro factor if I’m caught?”
“The CIA central computer archives at Langley. You’ll be looking for a classified file, most likely named Hell Fire.”
“Just where did you get that from? If it’s classified I doubt whether I’ll get anywhere near it.”
“Hell Fire is short for The Hell Fire Club, which MI5, MI6 and the CIA are all fully aware of. My guess though is that it’s linked indirectly to various terrorist funding activities, both here in the UK and abroad. I won’t bore you with how I got involved. Suffice to say I’m working, albeit loosely, with MI5 on a matter that concerns a threat to our national security, which I believe is also linked with other agencies around the world. What worries me, though, is that as an outsider, they’ve only told me what they want me to know. Do you think that you could take a peek for me when you’re next able to?”
“I’m attending a NATO conference in a day or two. If I get the opportunity I’ll do my best, but that might not be possible. I don’t rate my chances, mate.”
“Okay. If I give you one single item to look for, would that help?”
“I’d still have to dig around for the main directory file and then find the sub-files that any particular information was stored in. You know what the Americans are like, Jake. Paranoid about this kind of thing, so they bury it deep. There’s never anything bloody simple with you.”
“Okay. What if you could get someone at Langley to do it for you? It would cause less suspicion and they’d most likely be able to find it immediately by being inside the building. For England, Paddy.”
“Bullshit.”
“For the greater good of mankind, then?”
McNamara laughed.
“You don’t change, do you? I’ll give it my best shot for you, Jake. But I can’t promise anything. I suppose you want it yesterday?”
“Sooner, if possible.”
“Life and death, I suppose. I’ll do what I can. Now give me the item.”
When Dillon hung up he had an idea of why Morgan wanted to keep a close watch over him. It was all starting to make sense.
On impulse, he jumped into the Porsche and drove down to Bournemouth. He managed to get out of London before rush hour and before the motorways had started to clog up. By the time he’d arrived in Bournemouth it was just starting to get dark. He parked his car in a side street and walked around the corner to the café where Charlie Hart had sat at a window watching for Rosie Poulter to come out from the old rundown building opposite.
Dillon wondered if he was doing the right thing. The temptation was to cross the almost deserted street and ring the bell. But when it came to it, he found he could not do it and the reason centred round Hart himself. He felt the timing was wrong and convinced himself that he had come down to Dorset merely because he had nothing better to do until the next day. And yet he knew it was likely that some of the answers he sought were behind that door.
With the shops closed and far fewer people about he felt isolated and, for a brief moment, thought this was how Hart must feel most of the time. He continued to sit in the café drinking coffee and realised that his reluctance to call on Rosie Poulter was in some indefinable way an attempt to protect Charlie Hart. It was a ludicrous thought and one he pushed out of his mind as he walked back to the Porsche to drive away. He was so wrapped up with his own thoughts that he’d dropped his guard and his awareness of being followed.
He couldn’t be sure. It had started to rain and as the wipers swished in front of him he looked into the rear-view mirror to see a blurred vision of nothing more than dazzling car headlights. Yet his gut feeling told him that there was someone back there, keeping a safe distance so as not to be spotted. What now worried him was whether he had been followed down from London and had been lax enough to miss them.
There was nothing he could do about it on the way to the apartment in Lilliput, and he was not sure that he wanted to. There were so many loose ends to this assignment that it might be more productive to let something happen to him. He knew that he could easily outrun any other car, even around town, but took no evasive action at all on the way back. When he drove into the parking space at the Salterns apartment building he was less sure about the situation he now found himself in. No car had followed him in and when he went to the entrance he could see no one obviously lurking in the shadows. He went straight up to the apartment, thinking that he was becoming more paranoid by the day. That recent events were starting to take their toll on him mentally and that the thought of taking a long holiday with Issy was looking more attractive than ever.
He felt restless and tense. Sleeping was something he never looked forward to at the best of times — tossing and turning fitfully throughout the small hours until morning came. After showering, he considered ringing Hart again but decided against it. The weather had settled with the break of dawn and he decided to have breakfast outside on the balcony. He then drove into Poole to spend some time making a few necessary purchases before driving back down to Lyme Regis. The drive down to the west Dorset seaside town was uneventful and he managed to park in roughly the same spot as before. He camouflaged his car in the same way and when he was satisfied that it couldn’t be seen from the road or the driveway, slipped on a bulletproof vest under his walking jacket. He looked just like any other innocent hiker right down to the lightweight rucksack on his back.