‘Yes I have actually.’
‘That will get you into the Republic of Ireland. Then you must use your own passport to go home.’
He stared at her for a moment and then realised the implications. ‘How long have I got?’
‘If you’re lucky they won’t put out a ports and airports on you until tomorrow evening; however they might have done so already, but this is your best, your only chance.’
‘Why are you doing this for me?’
She gave him a sad smile. ‘I’m really not sure. I think I’m just rebelling because someone who I was close to has just died on duty, and I think the bastards are lying to me about it. Maybe because a creep called Neil Samms is involved. Now get the hell out of here.’
Later that same evening, a month before the summer solstice, it was barely dark as Gerry waited in the van outside Rashid Hamsin’s apartment. Neil Samms shifted in his seat and began to hum tunelessly. Since the previous occasion, he had added a drooping moustache to his pony tail which Gerry thought did little to improve his appearance. She had taken an instant dislike to him when they had last met and she liked him no better now.
‘So a pregnant broad, huh?’ he had said with his gold toothed grin when they had met to discuss the operation. ‘Mind if I get Mike to tag along too?’ Gerry knew that in her loose fitting coat her condition would be hidden from a casual observer and she wondered who the hell had told Samms and she had struggled to hide her irritation.
Mike turned out to be a twenty stone giant who now occupied the driver’s seat of the van reading the latest edition of Playboy magazine, every so often turning the pages sideways to gain a better appreciation of the delights on view. The three of them waited in silence for Rashid Hamsin to come home. Samms passed the time by listening to music on his I Pod while Gerry mourned Philip and considered her future whilst gazing at the monitoring screens fed by the discrete roof mounted cameras.
‘Where the hell is he?’ Samms complained.
‘Maybe he’s at a party,’ said Gerry, ‘he might not be home until late.’ She wondered how far Rashid would have travelled by now. ‘We’ll just have to wait. Try and be patient Neil.’
Shortly after midnight Samms groaned. ‘I don’t think he’s coming back here. Maybe he’s shacked up somewhere else. Maybe he’s too pissed to come home.’
‘He doesn’t drink,’ said Gerry, ‘let’s give him a bit longer.’
‘Well ok.’
An hour and a half later Gerry called Cornwall and admitted that they had not found Hamsin.
‘Where the hell is he, then?’ he demanded.
‘I’ve no idea; we’ve just had a look round his flat; there are clothes strewn about on his bed and the place looks empty. No suitcases anywhere. I think we should keep the place under observation in case he turns up, but I rather suspect he’s left the country.’
‘Without leaving any trace? I rather doubt that, but maybe he’s holed up somewhere, staying with friends perhaps. Anyway, why the hell should he suddenly disappear?’
‘Perhaps it’s something got to do with the fact that he’s already been abducted once and we’ve invaded his country,’ Gerry had been on the point of suggesting. Instead she said ‘Maybe he left some time ago. I’ve copied the hard drive from the desk top computer here. I could bring that in tomorrow morning and maybe we’ll learn something from it.’
Having slept for only five hours, Gerry was yawning as she checked through security and took the elevator up to her floor. As she approached her desk a colleague she knew vaguely named Vincent Parker came up to her.
‘Miss Tate? Jarvis would like to see you in his office, straightaway.’
Gerry gazed at him. ‘What… Jarvis? Not Richard Cornwall!’
She was somewhat nonplussed. She wondered why Don Jarvis, Director of Operations, Richard Cornwall’s immediate superior, wanted to see her and why had he not merely left a note in her electronic ‘in’ tray for her to pick up when she signed in. She was more surprised when Parker followed her along the corridor. ‘I do know the way, actually,’ she said with some asperity.
‘Yeah I get that, but Jarvis told me to come with you,’ he insisted. Rather than expressing further curiosity Gerry nodded briefly as if she found this a satisfactory explanation.
Another surprise awaited her when she entered the office and found that Sir Hugh Fielding himself was sitting in a chair to one side of the desk. He carried on reading through a brief and did not bother to acknowledge her entrance, but Jarvis stood up and greeted her.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Tate. Please sit down.’ This time the chair in front of the desk was indicated. Gerry sat on it, aware that Parker had sat down behind her at the conference table.
‘Please could you give a verbal report about what happened yesterday?’ Jarvis requested. Sir Hugh stared at her over his reading glasses then closed the report and slapped it down on the desk; Gerry realised it was her operational briefing. Gerry paused for a moment while she marshalled her thoughts.
‘The operation proceeded according to plan, except that Rashid Hamsin turned out not to be there.’ She recounted a heavily censored version of the day’s events up until the time that she had called Cornwall. ‘I left the Americans on watch and then I went home. I’ve slept for five hours or so and now here I am. Oh and here’s the copy of Hamsin’s hard drive.’ She reached forward and dropped it defiantly on the desk and sat back in her chair.
In the silence that followed she saw Donald Jarvis look at Sir Hugh Fielding who shifted slightly and seemed minded to say something. Before either man could speak she continued ‘Shall I get on with filing my report now?’
Jarvis and Sir Hugh exchanged glances.
‘Don and I have discussed the matter of your maternity leave and we have decided it is effective immediately.’
Gerry stared at them both for a moment. ‘But I’m not meant to be on maternity leave for weeks.’
‘Nevertheless, in view of your recent physical injury, we have decided that it is fair to grant you extra leave.’
Gerry looked from one to the other and she realised any further protests would be useless. ‘Very well sir. Shall I go and file the report?’
‘We have just recorded your verbal report; a written one is not required.’ He looked at his watch. ‘This meeting concludes at 1433 on May 21st 2003.’ Jarvis reached for a hidden switch to turn off the recorder and smiled at Gerry, an artificial smile which did nothing to convey any warmth. ‘It only remains for us all to wish you every comfort and happiness for your forthcoming arrival.’
‘Thank you sir,’ Gerry replied with as much sincerity as she could muster, but nevertheless she felt as if she was being dismissed rather than going on leave. There was a knock and Fielding’s personal assistant looked round the door.
‘Sir, there’s a call from General Bruckner in Washington; priority and personal.’
‘Thanks, I’ll take it in my den.’ Fielding left without giving Gerry a further glance and walked to his office.
CHAPTER NINE
Following her apparent suspension disguised as maternity leave at the instigation of Donald Jarvis and Sir Hugh Fielding, Gerry left the building and walked across to the wall overlooking the river. She gazed at a Thames barge as it negotiated a passage between the piers of Vauxhall Bridge, the fast running tide sending waves slapping against the prow. She derived some satisfaction from the inference that Rashid Hamsin had escaped his pursuers. She could safely assumed that if he had been taken then he would inevitably, if reluctantly, have revealed her role in his flight.