A Sentimental Traitor (42 page)

‘A dangerous weapon,’ Harry whispered, remembering her words.

‘Well put. We’ll sort it, of course we will,’ Usher assured.

‘Sort . . .
what
exactly?’

‘Everything. You, for a start. Get you up and running again. The first safe by-election.’

‘And forgive me if this seems a little like asking coal to come to Newcastle,’ Mowbray weighed in, ‘but I happen to know for a fact that the energy companies involved in the
pipeline project would welcome someone with your experience being brought on board. Very
much
welcome.’

Harry sniffed the air, didn’t much care for the smell of it. He was being bought off. ‘The pipeline? But won’t there have to be a rethink, at least a pause for
consideration?’

‘No one wants delay, Harry, it’s too important, any more than we want the bloody thing running through bandit country,’ Mowbray said.

Harry pushed his plate away, his appetite evaporating in the heat. ‘Forgive me, but you’ve just told me the Russians are hiding a mass murderer.’

‘Speculation – and a short-term situation, I’m sure,’ Mowbray said.

‘There’s a limit to how much pressure we can put on them,’ Usher joined in.

‘After all, this pipeline is important to everyone,’ Mowbray came back. ‘We have to share the bathroom with some pretty unpleasant people; the view is that at least the
Russians are learning to flush.’

‘But the children . . .’

‘I think you can expect total satisfaction on that front,’ Mowbray said. ‘In a few days’ time there will be a joint announcement from Moscow and Brussels that the
Speedbird sabotage wasn’t the responsibility of the Egyptians after all, that Ghazi was acting to sabotage relations between East and West, which isn’t far from the truth. As for the
victims, we’re going to set up an international fund to support the families and it’ll be jolly generous, I can assure you. There’ll have to be a little shading of the details for
a while, no mention of any connection with the pipeline – which in any respect is entirely supposition. Washington will give the whole thing a warm welcome – after all, it rather lets
them off the hook, along with us. Frankly we’re not getting anywhere with all this Egyptian nonsense. There’ll be vague words about an aid package for them, too. So, end result –
everyone happy.’ He smiled like the conjurer he was.

‘How about it, Harry, old friend?’ Usher pressed. ‘Come back on board.’

But Harry shook his head wearily. ‘I need time.’

‘Of course, all the time you want,’ Usher assured him.

‘What’s going to happen about EATA? What’s to stop this happening all over again?’

‘We’re going to watch it like a bloody hawk, that’s what!’ Usher insisted, repeatedly banging the point of his finger into the table. ‘Absolutely disgraceful. Never
again! It’s clearly gone way beyond its brief.’

‘It doesn’t really have a brief, does it?’ Harry said, with conspicuously less enthusiasm. ‘Not one that anyone’s approved.’

‘Well, you know how it is in Europe.’

‘But it’s been engaged in assaults, money laundering, fraud – for pity’s sake, even murder.’

‘It’s
anti-terrorist,’
Mowbray joined in again. ‘Gives the buggers cover for all sorts of mischief.’

‘It’s out of control. Infiltrated by the Russians. You said so yourself,’ Harry protested, growing irritated.

Mowbray responded with an insouciant smile. ‘The truth is, Harry, we’re infiltrating it rather well ourselves. In order to keep an eye on it, you understand. So we can put it back
into its box. Stop all this mission creep.’

‘And we believe Ms Vaine was something of a one-off,’ Usher added.

‘And if not?’

‘Look, we’re going to make sure it’s sorted, Harry, I promise you that.’ Once again Usher’s hand reached out to grasp his sleeve in reassurance. ‘We
can’t rush these things, but have no fear, it will be done! It’s not all over yet, Harry, not by a long chalk.’

‘A long chalk, on an even longer pipeline,’ Mowbray sniffed, returning to his fish.

The weather had turned. Some celestial hand had brushed across the landscape and washed new life into it. A few days of spectacular thunderstorms that had left midday skies as
dark as night and sent children scurrying into the arms of their mothers had passed away into gentle breezes that brought softer air and lighter spirits. But not, it seemed, to Harry. He and Jemma
lay amongst the sand dunes of Embleton Bay, listening to the rustling of marram grass and the breaking of waves along this spectacular stretch of Northumberland coast. It was their second day, they
hadn’t spoken much except for trivialities, she had known he wasn’t ready, lost somewhere inside himself, hurting. Long, silent walks, fingers touching, but no more. She knew he
hadn’t slept.

‘It must have been like this for those early explorers,’ she said, as much in an attempt to fill the space rather than follow a line of thought. ‘You know, gazing up at the
clouds, watching them pass, wondering where they were headed.’

It was a little time before he replied, and his words came slowly. ‘My mum and dad split up one summer like this. Don’t remember too much, I was thirteen. Spent the summer lying in a
corner of the school sports field, listening to the grass being cut, making pictures in the sky. Wishing the clouds would take me away with them. Perhaps that’s what drove men like Shackleton
and Columbus. Pain.’

‘You’ll be all right, Harry.’

He turned to look at her. ‘I know I will. It just takes time, Jem. I’m so bloody angry inside, it’s burning me up.’

It was time to ask. ‘What’s going to happen?’

‘Happen?’ He rolled onto his back once more, gazing into the sky. ‘To EATA and what lies behind it? Very little. Probably nothing at all. Usher and Mowbray promised to do
everything they could, short of actual help. The same endless crap.’

‘I was thinking of you. Are they going to charge you with anything?’

He laughed for the first time in days. It lacked passion and died quickly, but it was better than the endless anger. ‘You should have seen Arkwright’s face, could have fired a
thousand cannon. We were sitting in that same old interview room with him just about to start the next round when a WPC pops her head around the door and says he’s got a phone call. He was
just about to suggest something very rude to her when she tells him with one of those deeply theatrical whispers that it’s the Commissioner’s office. From the look on her face I suspect
it might even have been the Commissioner himself. Anyway, he disappears for several minutes, and when he comes back he’s a changed man. Absolutely livid, shaking with it. He’s already
told me that I had both opportunity and motive, not just for the attack on Emily but for Felix, too, and as for Patricia . . . In it up to my neck, he knows that, but he’s had his feet nailed
to the floor. Told not to pursue it. Another Establishment stitch-up. The fact is he’s a good copper and hates it.’

‘As much as you.’

‘They’re not charging Emily, either,’ he said bitterly, snatching at a blade of waving grass.

‘But she was attacked,’ Jemma said in mitigation.

‘Then perhaps there is a God.’

‘Harry!’ she protested. ‘Her hand was slashed.’

‘And it’ll heal. Compared with what she tried to do to me, I think she’s got off lightly.’

The grass had disappeared inside a clenched fist; the pain was back. His breath was coming in short bursts of anger, the chin was set stubborn, the eyes burning and fixed. She had to draw it all
out.

‘What about Sloppy?’ she asked. And even as she watched, she saw the anger dissolve and the eyes, still fixed on the clouds, turned to pools of sadness that threatened to
overflow.

‘Silly bugger,’ he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. And he could say no more for a few moments. ‘Apparently the autopsy found a brain tumour. I like to think
that’s what made him . . . Anyway, they’ll never be able to connect him with Felix’s death, not now. And he wrote two letters before he died. One to his wife and the girls, and
the other to his solicitor. About me. Admitting that he’d defrauded me, falsified the paperwork, stolen the money. Silly,
silly
bugger!’

‘It was a little late for that.’

‘Perhaps not. Gives me a fighting chance, Jem. The bankruptcy petition’s been stayed – apparently old man Maundy came back from his extended holiday and gave his son hell. And
since the money was taken from my accounts by fraud, my lawyer is arguing it should be the bank’s responsibility, not mine.’

Yet he seemed to find no joy in it, and she thought she knew why.

‘What about Sloppy’s folks?’

His words came slowly. ‘Jem, he was one of my dearest friends. Like a brother. Family. That also goes for his wife and kids. If I get through this, they will, too. I’ll make sure of
it.’ It was as though he was swearing an oath. Then the passion was spent. He lay back in the sand, exhausted, the breeze soothing away the pain from his face as his attention wandered to a
seagull that was hovering above them, inspecting their nest in the dunes.

‘We could go see the puffins on Farne Island tomorrow, if you’d like,’ she said, hesitant, not sure what was within him.

‘Sure,’ he replied as if he couldn’t care one way or the other. ‘You got any other plans for this summer?’

‘A few. I thought I’d find myself a new job.’

‘They fired you?’ he said, turning his head sharply to look at her.

‘I was harbouring a dangerous man, the police battered down my door and dragged me off to custody. Not the finest recommendation for a woman who’s supposed to be in charge of the
moral welfare of five-year-olds.’

‘Damn. Will that be difficult, finding a new job?’

‘No, I’m a very good teacher.’

‘Jem, I’m sorry. My fault.’

It was her turn to show passion. ‘Will you stop trying to pretend you dragged me into this against my will?’ she snapped. ‘The truth is I wouldn’t have missed out on this
for the world. I – I just haven’t worked out how to explain it all to my parents yet.’

He smiled, thinly, no great joy. ‘I’ve spent so long on my own that sometimes I forget to say thank you. You didn’t just put your job on the line but your neck, too. Risked
everything. I never meant for any of that to happen.’

‘You can make it up to me.’

‘How?’

‘You can help me redecorate Caitlin’s apartment.’

‘Was there a lot of damage?’

‘What, apart from the smashed door, ruined sofa and all the scratched paintwork, you mean?’

‘She must have been bloody furious.’

‘Not at all. She says she’s over the ashram phase. Came back from her holiday with a new boyfriend, someone very cool and Swedish, lucky thing.’ She tried to sound wistful, but
failed. ‘Anyway, she wants everything white and bare wood. You can sand a few floors.’

‘I am your slave.’

‘Get paint in your beard.’

‘What do you think, Jem, should I shave it off?’

She stared at him, and her mood changed. ‘No, not yet.’ The words were whispered, her voice pensive, no longer trying to shrug off what had happened to them. They had both been hurt. She stroked his chin lightly with the tips of her fingers.
‘Right now, Harry, right this very second, I think your beard is the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. Perhaps you’d like to take outrageous advantage of that fact before I
come to my senses.’

‘What, here? In the dunes?’

‘Only seagulls watching.’

He levered himself up onto an elbow. ‘I’ll try not to hurry.’

‘Why, what else do you have to do?’

‘Our table’s booked at the Ship in a couple of hours.’

‘It’s only a ten-minute walk.’

She kissed him, but he drew back.

‘And I’ve got a phone call to make.’

‘Jones!’

‘To McDeath. I promised him an interview. I think between us we might just stir things up a little.’

‘Then start here,’ she insisted.

‘But what about the interview?’

‘Too bad,’ she said, moving much closer. ‘No signal. I checked. Anyway, you’re going to be pretty breathless for the next couple of hours. I don’t expect you to
have anything coherent to say for some considerable time.’

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I was on the point of writing a rather different book until one of my oldest friends, Andrei Vandoros, made some comment about the European Union. I was sitting on his sofa at
the time, we were engaged in one of our endless debates, and something he said lit a fire in my mind. Patricia Vaine was the result. But, I hear you say, fireside chats are all very well, yet the
book begs the question of whether an organization like EATA could ever exist. Well, it already does. Its name is SitCen – the Joint Situation Centre, to give it its full title. It is an EU
intelligence body based in Brussels, in its relative infancy and staffed, so far as I can tell, by entirely charming and well-meaning people. But if it turns out to be like every other European
institution, it will grow larger and more powerful than most of us ever imagined, while if it ends up like all other intelligence agencies, it will eventually find itself mired in controversy for
acting beyond its authorized powers. It is the First Law of Bureaucracy: I am, therefore I grow.