He was having them followed.
Harry’s phone buzzed. It was the dispatcher from the cab firm.
‘The driver’s here,’ said the man without preamble. ‘His name is Nasir. But don’t hold him up — it’s mental here and I’ve got drivers off sick. I need him on the road.’ There was a rumble of conversation at the other end and another man’s voice came on.
‘I help you?’ he said warily. His voice was heavily accented, but with an overlay of London vowels on certain words. ‘Is no problems, right?’
‘No. No problems,’ Harry assured him. He turned on the mobile’s loudspeaker. ‘We’re trying to trace a man who has gone missing, Mr Nasir. You picked up two men from Heathrow’s Terminal Two on the twenty-seventh, at around two thirty. It was a pre-booked collection. Do you remember that?’
There was a short silence, then, ‘Two men? Yes, I remember.’ In the background, someone shouted and a door slammed. ‘Was a booking. I pick up two passengers.’
‘Good. Where did you take them?’
‘I collect from terminal as arranged, on time. But passenger was impatient. First he say go to Slough. Not a problem for me. But then later he change his mind and say Southall, then he say Hillingdon. Also not a problem. I am flexible.’
‘Where in Hillingdon? It’s important.’
‘Sure. You know ski centre? I drop them off in car park and they get into a Suzuki four-wheel drive. Nice car. Very strong. I am thinking of buying one for my son when he graduates.’
Harry knew the place. Hillingdon Ski Centre was a short hop from the Western Avenue, the main route into the city from the M40. ‘OK, that’s good, Mr Nasir. Did you see the driver of the Suzuki?’
‘No. I did not notice. Sorry.’
‘What was the colour of the car?’
‘Yellow. Like canary. You want the registration?’
Harry wondered for a second if Mr Nasir was being sarcastic. Then he realized the cab driver was serious.
‘You’ve got it?’ He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen.
‘Sure. I have a memory for all numbers like this,’ Nasir explained proudly, and carefully recited the number. ‘My son also — he is going to be a systems analyst.’
‘What name did they use for the pick-up? I forgot to ask the dispatcher.’
‘Ah, of course. Moment, please.’ There was a clunk as Nasir put down the phone and spoke to someone in the background. Then he came back. ‘OK. I have it. The pick-up was in the name of a Mr Barrett. The younger man, I think. But that not his real name.’ Nasir gave a knowing chuckle. ‘No, sir.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because Barrett is very English name, no? But the man who spoke to me. . the young man, he is not English.’
‘What language did he speak?’
‘At first, always English. But after, until I drop them off, he does not speak at all.’
‘What about the other man?’
‘Not him either. No words. They sit like strangers, yet they are together like brothers. Even when I speak to them, to engage in small chit-chat, you know, they do not answer except with noises. But, as they walk away, I hear them speak. First the older man, I hear him ask the other where they are going and how much longer it will be as he is tired after his journey. The younger man tells him — seriously but most respectfully — that he must not speak and soon all will become clear.’
Harry experienced the sinking of disappointment. He’d been hoping for something more definite. Then something occurred to him. ‘Was this in English?’
Mr Nasir sounded surprised. ‘No, sir. Not speaking English now. They are speaking my language. Very normal for them, I can tell.’
‘I don’t follow. Your language?’
‘Yes, sir. These two men come from my country, my province. From Karbala, south of Baghdad.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, sir. Men are native-born Iraqis.’
EIGHTEEN
The atmosphere in the car was tense as they headed towards Paddington, both men trying to come to grips with the revelation about Silverman’s nationality, and the fact that they had either been fooled along with Jennings or had been lied to by him.
Harry was fast coming to believe it was the latter.
‘You think Nasir was mistaken?’ said Rik finally.
‘What? No, I don’t,’ said Harry. ‘Unless Silverman’s fluent in Nasir’s local dialect.’ It was a possibility, yet instinct told Harry that a man like Nasir was unlikely to make such a mistake. Whatever Silverman’s words had been, they had plainly convinced the taxi driver that he was listening to one of his own countrymen.
‘Great. So our absent-bodied professor moves like Action Man, and instead of Hebrew, he speaks like an Iraqi.’
Harry stared out at the passing traffic. ‘I think because he is one. We can forget anything Jennings told us. He’s got some explaining to do.’
‘Unless we screwed up.’ Rik looked worried at the prospect. ‘Could we have latched on to the wrong man coming through the airport?’
Harry had no such doubts. ‘If we’re going by the description, it was Silverman — we’re not that careless. He had the bandage and the facial marking. And it’s Arabic, by the way.’
‘Huh?’
‘The Iraqis speak Arabic. And some Kurdish.’
‘So now you’re a linguist?’
‘I’m all manner of things.’ He chewed his lip. ‘It would help if we could get a line on who owns the Suzuki.’
‘No problem. I can do that. But I’ll have to stop — unless you want to drive?’
‘No. We’ve got time.’ Harry still hadn’t thought about what to do next. He needed a few moments to make a decision.
Rik pulled to the side of the road and retrieved his laptop from the boot. He switched it on and connected via his mobile to the Internet. Harry didn’t bother watching — he’d seen it all before and it still left him cold.
Minutes later Rik scribbled a note on the slip of paper with the Suzuki’s registration. ‘It’s listed to a B. Templeton, South Acres, near Kensworth, Luton. No known recent sale.’
Harry nodded. Unless the car had been stolen or sold without paperwork, it was a start. ‘Sounds like a farm.’
‘Or a caravan site. My auntie had a mobile home at a place called South Acres. Down at Highcliffe, near Bournemouth. We used to go there for summer holidays. . until it fell over the cliff in a high wind.’ He glanced across and closed the laptop. ‘Are we going to take a look?’
‘Not we. Me. Drop me at my place and I’ll get my car. I need you to be on standby back here. And just in case we get the call to find Yvonne Michaels, you can start researching her background.’
Harry took the piece of paper and studied it. It would be easy to drop the assignment here and now; to forget about Silverman and go find other work. There was plenty out there if you knew where to look. But would it really be that simple? Quite apart from the fact that he and Rik were now linked by proximity to two murders, he was intrigued by what they had so far unravelled. Could he really put aside what he knew and forget it?
They travelled in silence for a while until Harry said quietly, ‘There’s something seriously off about this.’
‘What?’ Rik glanced at him.
‘All of it. Two runners die right after we find them, and an Iraqi comes into the country on a false ticket and goes into a covert huddle. What the hell has Jennings got us involved in?’
‘You think they’re linked?’ Rik looked nervous. ‘Terrorists? An Al-Qaeda cell?’ He let out a long breath at the possibility. ‘Sounds a bit wild. I can’t see Param as a pal of Osama.’