The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(51)

Ryan didn’t laugh. ‘She’s not in. Went out last night. Never came back.’

‘Party girl! Good for her.’ Grace poured herself a brew and got to work.

So their guv’nor had a private life. It was none of Ryan’s business. The fact that he wasn’t Porsche man was probably for the best. It hadn’t done him any good getting involved with a colleague – not that he was comparing Eloise to Roz Cornell. They were very different women.

He tried not to sulk.

He was pleased for O’Neil.

The hell he was.

Frank had given Grace the digital stick his London informant had left behind. By nine thirty, she’d uploaded the image of Judith Hill and sent it to Mrs Forbes. The housekeeper was on the phone in seconds. She’d taken one look at the photograph and confirmed that Hill was indeed the woman who’d collected the briefcase from Trevathan’s home. This was unequivocal corroboration of the best kind.

‘Great,’ Ryan said. ‘Though I doubt it’s going to get the enquiry moving.’

‘You said that with a lot less conviction than the news deserved. This is progress, another piece of the puzzle in place. Stop stressing. O’Neil will be here.’

Ryan looked away, unable to hide his disappointment that she still hadn’t surfaced, an emotion that was eating away at his gut like a parasite. He couldn’t make up his mind whether he was worried about Eloise or cross with her. She hadn’t made contact to explain her delay.

It wasn’t like her.

Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he was about to give her a call when Grace’s phone began to vibrate on her desk. He breathed a sigh of relief as she answered, assuming that it might be O’Neil.

It wasn’t.

‘That must be some breakfast,’ Grace said. There was a short pause as she listened. ‘Apparently not . . . we’re expecting her soon . . . um hmm . . . he is . . .’ Ryan saw the look of intrigue before she could hide it. She smiled at him, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Yeah . . . OK, I’ll ask him . . . I’m sure he can slip away. Yeah, yeah, see you later.’

She hung up.

‘What’s going on?’ Ryan asked.

‘Frank wants to see you.’

‘Well, I’m sitting right here.’

‘Out of the office,’ she said.

‘Did he say why?’

‘No, but I’m sure he has a reason,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Can you make the Centurion at eleven o’clock?’

‘If I must.’

‘Great! That’s what I told him.’

‘I’ll square it with the guv’nor,’ he said.

Grace shook her head ever so slightly as they heard the entry alarm. Ryan understood it to mean that Newman had something to say he wasn’t yet ready to share with O’Neil.





30


The Centurion used to be a first-class passenger lounge at the city’s central railway station. It was now a busy public house. Newman was leaning against the bar, a pint in his hand and one on the counter lined up for Ryan. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a drink here. Then and now, Ryan was nervous of going behind O’Neil’s back.

The spook showed no emotion as Ryan joined him at the bar. He kept his voice low, his sole focus on what he’d come to say.

He never wasted words.

‘Trevathan’s trial was linked to terrorism. Three Muslim brothers: a conspiracy to blow up the Royal Naval Armaments Depot at Coulport.’

‘There are easier targets,’ Ryan said. RNAD Coulport was the storage and loading facility for UK nuclear warheads, part of the Trident programme. ‘That place is locked down so tight they’d never get in without a private army. The intent alone will get them life.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. Civilians were at greater risk from radicalized Europeans now than ever before, including women and young boys prepared to die in order to destroy a way of life they disagreed with. Many were British. ‘Aren’t they a bit behind the times?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘I thought they were getting ready to switch focus, attacking soft targets, rather than the police or military.’

‘Correct,’ Newman said. ‘The mob due to stand trial in Scotland have been planning this for years.’

‘MI5 had someone undercover?’

Newman nodded. ‘A real pro. He’s been monitoring subversives his whole career, surveilling this particular crew for almost three years, tapping their comms, infiltrating their cell, building a dossier so damning I’m told there’s now a price on his head.’

‘Jesus.’

‘They won’t kill him. They won’t need to. Word is, they’re well connected, with your lot in their pocket – not foot soldiers, either, but senior ranks. Suffice to say, they’re ruthless bastards, capable of doing a job on him.’

‘Any link to Ambassador Dean?’

‘None. For that reason alone, I think we’re coming at this from the wrong direction. The nature of the trial is skewing our thoughts. I’d bet my pension that our case is unrelated.’

‘Well, if it’s not terrorism, what’s with the cloak and dagger, Frank?’ Ryan glanced at other drinkers at the bar. ‘And why here and not in front of O’Neil? I deceived her once before. I won’t do it again. Things are different now. She’s my guv’nor—’