The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(50)

He sat down opposite, eyeing her with interest.

‘How are you?’

She knew his concern for her welfare was genuine, but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

Swallowing her grief, she replied: ‘As well as can be expected – I believe that’s the accepted phrase.’ She looked away. ‘Lovely tree.’ She didn’t intend to hang around. She’d stay long enough to hear what he had to say and then she’d leave. She’d run as fast as her legs would carry her to the sanctuary of her new office. She’d rather be with Ryan. She could tell he’d been gutted when she fled ‘their place’ earlier. He deserved better. She’d never tell him that he’d restored her faith in men, but she had every intention of taking him into her confidence.

When the time was right . . .





29


Saturday, 14 December, 7 a.m. Ryan had the news playing low on the radio. The world was mourning a symbol of peace. Following a memorial ceremony in Johannesburg earlier in the week, world leaders were making themselves ready for the state funeral of Nelson Mandela in his ancestral home of Qunu in South Africa’s Eastern Cape province.

The entry alarm bleeped.

Ryan switched off the radio, expecting O’Neil to emerge. Instead he looked up to see Grace. Newman had made it home in the early hours of the morning, but she hadn’t slept well. Stuff on her mind, she said. Ryan knew the feeling. Despite a couple of beers with Hilary and Caroline, he’d tossed and turned all night, wondering what was eating O’Neil, where she’d disappeared to in such a hurry and who with.

‘You know what was keeping me awake?’ Grace didn’t wait for an answer as she dumped her bag and sat down. ‘In every case, the DVDs arrived on a Tuesday and, in every case, the footage was filmed on a Sunday. I reckon she’s a weekday worker with a sideline in knocking people off at weekends and enough cash to move around at will. Not that it takes us anywhere. Flights are ten a penny these days. We still have integration in this country. The EU is a free-for-all. Mind you, the result of the upcoming referendum might put paid to that.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘Sorry, I promised not to talk politics, so let’s not go there. The point I’m trying and failing to make is that thousands of Brits fly into Copenhagen unchecked every week.’ Her eyes strayed from her desk to O’Neil’s bedroom door. ‘Is Eloise still in her PJs?’

Ryan ignored the question. ‘Where’s Frank?’

‘Expecting a call.’ She was logging on. ‘He’ll be here.’

‘He has news?’ Ryan asked.

‘Yes, but he never told me everything. You know what he’s like. He hates to repeat himself. He’ll feed back when we’re all here and not before. I was hardly awake when he climbed into bed. He was spent, I know that much. I wanted to get an early start this morning. He wanted to eat. A first-class ticket and still no catering on the train last night. To say that he was unhappy would be a gross understatement.’

‘That’s poor service.’

‘Piss-poor. The air was blue. I couldn’t be arsed to cheer him up. I told him to get over it and left before breakfast. He’ll be here, hopefully in a better mood and with something of value to contribute concerning Trevathan’s trial. I’ve been thinking about that too. It must be a security issue. Why else would Ford impose such secrecy?’

‘We’ll know soon enough.’

‘Did you know MI5 has doubled in size in the last fifteen years?’ She made a show of looking over her shoulder checking for eavesdroppers. ‘That’s probably confidential. Keep it to yourself or I’ll have to kill you. I’m under strict orders not to repeat anything Frank tells me – not that he tells me much.’ She hardly stopped for breath. ‘Can you believe it? There are over two and a half thousand staff engaged in counter-terrorism alone. If anyone is in any doubt that the UK is under threat from ISIS, they can think again.’ For the first time since she’d come in and began spouting off, she looked at him, properly looked at him. ‘You’re such a cheerful soul this morning. What’s up, Grumpy? You get out of bed the wrong side too?’

‘I can’t get a word in edgeways—’

‘Conversational intercourse is good for the soul. You should try it sometime. While you’re at it, try the other kind, you’d be far less bloody miserable.’

Ryan didn’t laugh.

He was still thinking about what she’d said about ISIS. The country was under attack. It depressed him, more than he cared to admit, to her or anyone. Earlier in the year, the slaying of Fusilier Lee Rigby on a London street in broad daylight had shocked the nation. Because of his former role in Special Branch, Ryan knew jihadists were plotting many more acts of terrorism. Such threats were taken very seriously and he was under no illusion that worse was to come. MI5 worked closely with GCHQ, the National Crime Intelligence Service, the Serious and Organized Crime Agency and other law enforcement agencies. He could only conclude that their decision to work against his new unit on this occasion meant that there was a plot being hatched somewhere that was an even greater threat to national security than the murder of an ambassador and a high-ranking judge.

‘Coffee’s hot,’ he said.

Grace was staring at O’Neil’s bedroom door. ‘If she has company, she’s not making near enough noise.’