Bad Actors (Slough House, #8)(18)

Meaning, Whelan knew, that it was subject to the thirty-year rule.

He said, and was self-consciously mild of tone in doing so: “But we both know that Waterproof was used.”

“Not during my tenure. But are you about to make a confession? Josie’s somewhere about, if we need a witness.”

The idea that he might have implemented something like Waterproof without Diana having been aware of it was almost amusing.

His poker face clearly wasn’t doing its job. Diana shook her head. “Claude, whatever Oliver’s playing at, or whatever he’s been instructed to look like he’s playing at, it’s mischief-making, that’s all. Waterproof’s history, it’s less than history. Remember the NH file? And before that, before it never happened, it was Charles Partner’s brainchild, and only Dame Ingrid ever made full use of it. Charles, of course, is unavailable for comment. Ingrid’s in North Carolina. Rumour has it she’s taken up quilting. So if you’re planning on hauling her before a truth and reconciliation committee, you’d better get a wiggle on, because I assume she’s at death’s door. No one would take up quilting if they expected to be doing it for long.”

“I’m not sure the budget will sustain a long-distance trip.”

“Welcome to my world. I have to go on bended knee if I want the shredder serviced.” She mock-grimaced. “You should be thankful you didn’t need coffee. We’re buying a supermarket-brand, in bulk.”

Whelan said, “None of which gets us nearer the point at issue, which is the whereabouts of Dr. de Greer. I’m operating on goodwill, obviously, but bear in mind it’s a goodwill requested by Oliver. And one of the suggestions he’s made is that I verify there’s been no contact between the Service and Dr. de Greer during the time she’s been stationed in London.”

“Of course. Perhaps we could find you an office? You could hold court while I have my staff wade through half a year’s worth of comms data on the off-chance we’ll turn up something that helps. It might get in the way of any actual work, but listen, what’s national security compared to your convenience?”

“Diana—”

“Or I could simply reiterate what I’ve already said. Wherever the woman’s got to, it has nothing to do with us. Think about it. Why would the Service be involved? She’s a Swiss citizen, haven’t they got their own way of dealing with their misshapes? Dip her in chocolate and wrap her in foil or whatever. Because all this, this favour Oliver’s got you doing, it’s pretty clear he’s having his leash tugged by Number Ten, by which I mean Anthony Sparrow. Who presumably has de Greer hidden in his basement while he sets the dogs on us. Waterproof’s his way in, that’s all. The leverage he hopes to bring the walls down with, so he can walk in and take charge. But not while I’m First Desk, Claude. Maybe you could let Oliver know? And I think that brings this meeting to a close.”

She could, he knew, breathe fire, and there was a moment there when she came pretty close. But not while I’m First Desk, Claude. There was a reason she’d always considered herself right for this job, and watching her seethe in her office, it was hard to deny she made a convincing argument. But Whelan, even while marking this, was noticing something else: that he didn’t much care. He had his own problems. While watching Diana Taverner work her way towards fury might once have had him checking the exits, right now, he felt little more than an interested detachment. And the continuing resolve to do what he’d come here to do.

He said, “Glad you’ve got that off your chest. Could we get down to practicalities? I think phone records to start with. Let’s assume she had actual numbers to ring rather than just the switchboard. So we’ll begin on the hub and move out from there.” He smiled. “Just official lines for now, but I’m not ruling out checking personal mobiles.”

Diana studied him for a long moment, an unfamiliar glint in her eye. She looked like her lunch had just moved. But that went, and she spoke again. “All right. We’ll do it your way. But you’re not getting an office. You can wait in Briefing Two, I think that’s free. I’ll have someone bring you the paperwork once we’ve run a search.”

“On a disk, if you don’t mind.” Whelan was maintaining that smile: it was beginning to feel painted on. “More searchable.”

He wasn’t so detached he didn’t wonder if he’d gone a little far there, but Diana didn’t even twitch. “As you say.”

Whelan remembered full well where Briefing Two was, but even so he remained seated while Diana sent for someone to escort him. He spent the interval running the scoring in his head, and was pretty sure Diana had been out in front for most of the conversation. But was equally confident he’d won the only point that counted: the one that finished the match.

There was a game you could play, if you were into childish shit. Roddy wasn’t—a surefire way to tell a busy dude from a lightweight: no time for pissing about—but he’d heard the others at it, and what you did was, you saw a yellow car, and you mentioned it. End of. It beggared belief, what entertained the hard of thought.

Went without saying, though, that if Roddy cared, he’d be world-beating—it never happened that he saw a car without noticing what colour it was. No wonder the others never asked him to play.

Anyway, the reason that came to mind was, he’d spent half the day staring at images of cars; video footage of the front of the Russian Embassy—Bayswater Road, as if he’d needed telling. There’d been a steady stream of arrivals: catering for the reception, plus taxis and limos delivering early guests, shuttled from airports with cases and suit carriers. He captured screenshots, and sent them to Louisa to run through face-recog. His own program was faster and better, but she didn’t know that, and it would give her an excuse to come and hang out with him.