‘Yeah I’m aware of that thanks. Go on.’
‘Then when I was in Algiers I managed to check out who you are. There’s some pretty slack security in our local office there. I saw your picture on file and then I recognised Emily Stevens from Frankfurt airport.’ He paused, and then asked ‘Listen, did Philip mention it, or had you heard of Gilgamesh?’
Gerry stared at him for a moment thinking about the documents that Mansour was carrying on the flight back to Kuwait and her talk with Rashid Hamsin before she sent him on his way to Ireland. ‘Well of course I have,’ she replied. ‘I’ve studied a lot of Middle East history. Gilgamesh was a Mesopotamian king who ruled in the area that is now Iraq er… about four thousand years ago, I think. What the hell has he got to do with anything?’
‘Look I need to speak to you again,’ he said, ‘but now I need to make sure my tracks are covered and I’ll be grateful if you don’t mention my name.’
‘Why did you come to see me then?’ Gerry asked.
‘I figured you might want to find out who was responsible for Phil’s death.’ He shook his head ‘I guess I thought you might care a bit more than it seems you do.’
‘Listen, I care very much, but you’re some man who appears from nowhere, just like this Jasper White guy, and you start going on about some semi-mythological king named Gilgamesh. What do you expect me to say?’
‘Gilgamesh is the code name for that operation that seemed to begin with that meeting in Frankfurt. There were six people there that day: General Robert Bruckner, your guy Fielding, Hakim Mansour, Ali Hamsin, you and me.’
‘It’s a crappy sort of code name, I can’t believe it would ever get approved,’ Gerry said.
‘I know but Mansour insisted upon it. Maybe he was a romantic at heart.’
‘Was?’
‘Yeah he’s dead now.’ Furness stared at her for a moment. ‘Hey, didn’t you just say that Jasper White came to see you?’
‘White told me he wanted to find out what had happened to you.’
‘Okay, he’s one of the good guys; you can trust him.’
‘Oh really? I don’t trust anyone.’
‘Look Gerry, Phil was a friend. I feel real bad about what happened to him.’ He suddenly stood up and ground his cigarette out under his toe. ‘I’m gonna get in touch with Jasper, then I’ll come and see you again. I’ve also kept a copy of the tapes of Ahwadi and the translations Phil made and the info that Hamsin gave us. I’ll bring them along and you can listen for yourself. Tomorrow evening after sunset, ok? I’ll arrange where we can meet up, Jasper too probably.’
Gerry watched him walk off. For a moment she considered trailing him but she felt an overwhelming weariness so she walked slowly back towards her flat whilst mulling over their short meeting. She sat down in front of her computer and tried to log on to the Service intranet but found that her access had been suspended whilst she was on leave. She slumped down on to her bed and fell asleep.
Suddenly she was awake. A high pitched warble told her that someone was outside her apartment. She switched the television on and selected the remote camera input. A man was standing outside her front door and gazing around. Evidently he had no problem getting through the security of the main access door into the building. He looked up at the camera and Gerry recognised Neil Samms.
‘Well, this is a hell of a coincidence or you’ve been sent to ask me about Dean Furness or Jasper White,’ Gerry muttered to herself. She saw him reach up to the bell push and then heard the bell sound out in the entrance hall. Gerry glanced in the mirror as she walked out of her bedroom. As she expected she looked a mess.
She drew a breath and spoke into the intercom. ‘Hello, who are you and what do you want?’
‘It’s Neil Samms. I’d like to talk to you about your meeting with Dean Furness this afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry Samms,’ Gerry replied, ‘I’ve no idea who he is or what you’re talking about, and I don’t feel like chatting right now.’
Gerry saw Samms reach into a back pocket and pull out a piece of paper and unfold it. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ve recognised me. Is that your CCTV camera up there Miss Tate? Focus on this.’
He held up a photograph of her talking to Dean Furness at the cafe.
‘Oh, I’ve no idea who that was,’ said Gerry. ‘I thought he was just some tourist… did you take that photo? It’s not very good.’
‘No it isn’t, and no I didn’t take it. Are you gonna let me in?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Gerry. ‘I’m going to call the police and tell them that there’s an armed intruder in the building.’
‘Dean Furness worked with Philip Barrett in Nigeria, Miss Tate. And then he killed him. He had his car rammed off the road by a truck.’
Gerry flinched, then slumped back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position. She thought for a minute and then looked up at the man on the screen. With something of an effort she got to her feet and said ‘Hold on I’ll let you in.’
Samms heard a clunk as the door lock released and the door swung open. Before he could gather his wits the bitch grabbed his arm, twisted it and before he could think about reacting his feet were swept from under him and then he was face down on the floor with her heel grinding into his back with his arm wrenched painfully up into the air.
‘Jesus… shit,’ he gasped out. She relaxed her grip a little.
‘Put your hands behind your arse and then roll over on top of them,’ she ordered.
As he carried out this order, her face came into view and then a Beretta automatic in her hand. He contemplated trying to kick the gun from her grasp but another look at her ferocious glare convinced him not to try anything. He lay meekly while she patted him down the front and took his own gun from its holster. Then she stepped back.
‘Can I get you a coffee or a drink perhaps?’ she asked as he clambered to his feet.
‘A diet coke, please… and unopened if you don’t mind.’
‘Ok, sit there.’ She gestured towards an armchair with her Beretta and he sat down in it and remained very still.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with a bottle and watched him ostentatiously inspect the plastic seal before twisting off the cap.
‘Now you’d better tell me your version of what happened,’ Gerry said.
‘It was a car crash as you probably know; Philip Barrett and his driver Myers, who was an American Marine sergeant out there, were run off the road and rammed by a truck. Dean Furness set it up. It was no accident. It was a hit.’ Gerry kept quiet as he related the story, partly to contain her emotions and partly to make sure the voice recording she had set up when she was in the kitchen was clear.
‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why would anyone want to kill Philip?’
‘Listen, Gerry. You help us find Furness and we’ll get some answers from him. That’s for certain!’
She stared at him for a moment. ‘Well I don’t know why he came to see me. He told me he knew Philip in Abuja, and told me he’d been lucky not to be taken out too. Then he rambled on about this ancient king in Mesopotamia, Gilgamesh.’
‘And have you any idea what he was talking about?’ Samms asked.
‘Not a bloody clue. Do you?’ Gerry replied.
‘Did he say he’d get in touch with you again?’
Gerry shook her head. ‘Actually he seemed a bit pissed off with me; said I was a complete waste of space and that he was going back to the States. Between you and me he seemed a bit of a nutter. I certainly wouldn’t trust him.’