“It’s Dillon. I’m on my way back to London with something I found here in Dorset. It’s in the boot of my car and I’m going to need to leave it somewhere safe for a while. I think the time is right for us to meet openly, and Brendon Morgan should be there too. I’ve just had a little run-in with two of his boys and a big black BMW. Unfortunately their car sprang a leak just outside Dorchester. They’ve no doubt been in contact with him by now, and they almost certainly know about The Old Colonial Club.”
Havelock’s voice sounded tired. “It’s Morgan’s job to know these things, Jake. And so what if he knows? It doesn’t really matter at this late stage in the game anyway.”
“Can we meet at your place? Say eight-thirty this evening. I won’t be going back to the club, just in case they’re waiting for me. And don’t say a word to Morgan about us meeting or he’ll have a team waiting. There’s something very odd about MI5 being involved. I don’t like it. Dunstan, just tell him that you need to have a little chat with him urgently. I’ll give you a call at eight o’clock to make sure he’s going to be there. Oh, and Dunstan, can you make sure there’s parking? I don’t want to waste time driving around trying to locate a space which turns out to be half a mile away.”
He disconnected the call before Havelock could argue and glanced down at his wristwatch — there were a few hours to kill before meeting Havelock, which he decided to fill by going into his office in Docklands. It was the only reasonably safe thing to do with so much cocaine stashed in the boot of the Porsche, and it would give him a chance to catch up with Vince Sharp. He could also check his emails to see if Paddy McNamara had been in touch.
He parked the Porsche out of sight in the Ferran & Cardini car park, walked back down the side of the building and stopped at the side entrance. He placed his hand over the biometric reader pad and waited for the outer doors to open and the lift to arrive. He was thinking what to do with the boot full of drugs, which LJ would raise an eyebrow at if he knew that the class-A was on the firm’s property. As he got out of the lift he was immediately thrown back into the world of Ferran & Cardini International. The noise level within the special projects department was always running at full volume, and today was no exception. Some of the younger members of staff looked up in awe from their monitor screens as he walked through the department on his way to see Vince. They knew who he was and what he did, but very rarely saw him in the building as he was virtually always field-based. Dillon was the most successful field operative that the firm had and because of the high-risk assignments he was given, the other members of the team were always shocked when he turned up. Alive!
LJ had gone off to a high level intelligence meeting in Scotland for two days. Which meant that Dillon wouldn’t have to write up a progress report for him or explain why he had destroyed an MI5 vehicle. He found Vince sitting at one of his workbenches with wires and circuit boards laid out in front of him. He looked up as Dillon entered the brightly lit room, and smiled at him.
“Well, what brings you into the building, chap?”
“Time to kill. And the spooks have discovered that I’ve been staying at The Old Colonial Club.”
“Hell. How on earth did that happen?”
“I reckon that someone who works there told them. Because they haven’t got the savvy to have worked it out by themselves.”
“You could be right there. I’ll dig around in the files at Thames House when I get five minutes. You never know — they might have already logged the details on your file. If they have, we’ll be able to see who received the information and from whom.”
“Thanks, Vince. I’m going to check my emails, and then I’ll be off again.”
“Good hunting,” Vince said, and went straight back to working on the heap of wires laid out on his workbench as soon as Dillon had left the room.
He had plenty to think about, but he needed some answers, and the whole assignment had taken too many directions. He always knew where he stood with men like Trevelyan. Usually they just wanted to kill him and that was pretty clear-cut; sometimes he could face it. But when the security service was involved, nobody ever seemed to know what it was they wanted — even someone like Havelock. They were a law unto themselves and their work; in their eyes always justifiable and, at times, crossing some strange boundaries. Some would say unacceptable. During his army intelligence days he sometimes had to liaise with them, but he was never comfortable working with them. And here they were again.
He left Docklands, giving himself plenty of time to drive across town to Havelock’s home. He had checked to make sure that the cocaine was still in the boot and placed all of the containers into another canvas bag. He took the back roads where possible, finding it comparatively quiet going at that time of the evening. The dim light of dusk was taking hold and he drove steadily towards his destination.
He pulled over in a side road not far from Dunstan Havelock’s home to make his call. This time he would be candid, as there was still a strong possibility that the call would be monitored, and said, “Dunstan, forgive me, I’m calling you a little earlier than I said I would. Everything okay?”
“He said that he’d be here.”
Dillon arrived at Havelock’s house at 7.45 p.m. He parked outside without any trouble, Havelock having placed police cones in the space for him. He suspected that Morgan would make his own arrangements and most likely be driven by one of his junior staff. He went up the path and rang the doorbell.
Rachel opened the door and throwing her arms around him, gave him a big hug as Havelock appeared behind her. Rachel closed the door and the two men shook hands warmly.
“You’re a bit early. He’s not due for another forty-five minutes.”
“I know. But it’ll give me time to check around the outside and offload that stuff I was telling you about earlier.”
Havelock looked horribly shocked. “I can’t have that gear in my house.”
“Well I can’t leave it in the car and I’m certainly not handing it over to Morgan.” Dillon caught Rachel’s quizzical expression out of the corner of his eye.
“Sorry, Rachel.”
“What’ve you got in the boot of your car? Drugs?”
Dillon looked at Havelock and the following silence suddenly made her realise that she was right.
“Oh, my God. What will we do with them?”
“Dunstan will know,” said Dillon. “It’s evidence and the drugs squad will want it.”
“I’m wondering why they’ve not been involved with this investigation, Jake.”
“It just doesn’t feel right. I suggest that you leave it where it is for the time being until we can sort something out.”
Dillon looked from one to the other in some despair.
“You do realise, Dunstan, that this is likely to turn out to be one of the greatest drug ring busts in European history, and all you can say is keep it in the boot of the Porsche? A type of car that the police pull over as a recreational pursuit. That’s absolutely priceless. Well I’m afraid if you won’t take it, I’ll leave it outside your front door. I simply can’t risk keeping it in the boot until this thing is over.”
“But, Jake, surely it’s over now that you’ve cracked the whole affair wide open.”
Dillon felt deflated. They were now standing in the kitchen.
“If I recall, Dunstan, you asked me not to look into drugs, but how Charlie Hart came by a priceless Vermeer painting stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston. We then progressed to looking at the man himself. I suspect that drugs are only one of his interests and certainly not the main one. I feel like I’ve been going around in circles from the minute I embarked on this assignment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check around the outside for any stray spooks. I’ll then bring the stuff in.”