FORTY

Chipchase devoted most of the short journey to Didcot to an unconvincing explanation of how he would have extracted more in the way of solid information from Erica before agreeing to meet her. 'You've danced to her tune a sight too long, Harry. She's going to be disappointed if she expects old Chipchase to be as meek and mild as you've been.'

It was futile to point out that Chipchase was in no position to say how meek or mild Harry had been. It was futile, indeed, to speculate what Erica wanted with them — what for that matter she had wanted all along. They would find out soon enough. Shaken by their experiences of the night before, Harry for one was content to wait until they did.

—«»—«»—«»—

It was 12.30 when the train reached Didcot. Harry and Barry got off, trailed through the subway and followed a knot of people obviously bound for the car park as they headed along the main platform, then took a path that led to a footbridge over the lines, beyond which serried ranks of commuter cars filled the tarmacked expanse of what had once been a goods yard.

'How are we going to find her in the middle of that lot?' Chipchase demanded as they crossed the bridge.

'Maybe she'll find us.'

'She could have found us at the Glue Pot. Why we've had to come to this godforsaken hole for the privilege of a chat with Miss High and Bloody Mighty I don't—'

'Neither do I, Barry. OK? Ask her, not me.'

'I will. If I get the chance.'

—«»—«»—«»—

The people ahead of them peeled off to their vehicles. Doors slammed. Engines started. Cars nosed out of parking bays. Harry and Barry wandered towards the farthest, emptiest corner of the car park, drawing ever closer as they did so to the huge, squat, gently steaming chimneys of the nearby power station.

A black four-by-four with reflective windows stood conspicuously alone near the distant boundary fence. Its headlamps flashed once as they approached. The passenger door opened and a tall, barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man dressed in jeans and windcheater climbed out. He lit a cigarette, then wandered slowly away from the car, leaving the door open behind him.

'Who the bloody hell's that?' muttered Chipchase.

'Never seen him before.'

'Looks like a bloody bouncer.'

'Well, just as long as he's not planning to bounce us.'

'Think he'd give me a fag? I could just do with one.'

'You really want to find out?'

Chipchase thought for a moment. 'Maybe not,' he said with a sigh. 'The poor sod's probably only lit up now because Her Nibs told him he couldn't inside the car.'

They covered a few more yards towards the four-by-four in silence. Harry caught sight of Erica, seated behind the wheel, dressed casually in jeans and fleece. She glanced coolly at him, her face expressionless.

'That definitely her?' whispered Chipchase.

'Yup.'

'You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?'

Harry let the remark pass, despite the fact that he had in no sense picked Erica. If anything, she had picked him. He stopped by the open passenger door and looked in at her. 'Hello, Erica,' he said quietly.

'Hello, Harry.' Her reply was neutrally pitched, giving away no more than her calm, unflinching gaze. 'And Barry, I presume.'

'That's right,' growled Chipchase.

'Get in. Please.'

Harry climbed into the seat beside her. Chipchase opened the rear door and clambered in behind him.

'Something wrong with your knee, Harry? You seem to be limping.'

'It's nothing.'

'What he means,' said Chipchase, 'is that it's the least of his problems.'

'Yes. I suppose it must be.'

'Who's your chum?'

'A colleague.'

'What sort of business do you have to be in to get a colleague like him?'

'I'm sorry I had to… misrepresent myself… in Aberdeen. And I'm sorry I can't be specific about what I do for a living. Or the nature of my interest in your… old airmen's reunion. But there it is. Those are the ground rules.'

'A bit bloody limiting, aren't they?'

'Yes. But they are what I'm obliged to operate within. Why don't you shut the doors? It's a little draughty in here.'

The doors closed in a single synchronized clunk. Marlboro Man came into view, prowling the empty parking bays in a slow arc, drawing on his cigarette while never taking his eyes off the four-by-four and its three occupants.

'You didn't need to bring a bodyguard, Erica,' said Harry.

'I know. But he insisted.'

'You're not a psychologist, are you?'

'An amateur one, maybe. But no. For your purposes, I'm not'

'And you're not with the police.'

'No.'

'Some other branch of the forces of law and order, then?'

'Not exactly.'

'Secret bloody Service,' put in Chipchase. 'That's what it is, isn't it? MI bleeding five.'

'You're jumping to conclusions, Barry.'

'Yeah? Well, it beats jumping for your life from a burning house, I can tell you. From personal bloody experience.'

'You had a lucky escape.'

'Too true we did, darlin'. So, how about making our day and laying on a lucky escape for us from all our recent troubles?'

'What exactly did you have in mind?'

'Who's been killing our old comrades, Erica?' Harry asked. 'And trying to kill us?'

'I don't know.'

'Why would anyone want to?'

'I don't know.'

'What makes Operation Clean Sheet so important all these years after the event?'

'I can't say.'

'Significant change of tone there, Harry old cock. Did you notice?' Chipchase leaned forward between the seats. 'Some things she doesn't know. Others she can't say.'

'Exactly,' said Erica softly.

'You invited me to call you if I needed help, Erica,' said Harry. 'Well, I called. Because I do need help. We both do. Badly.'

'I know. But my freedom of movement's become… limited.'

'What the bloody hell's that supposed to mean?' snapped Chipchase.

'It means I can't help you as much as I'd like to.' She glanced round at Harry and he held her gaze.

'How about at all?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

'How much you know. How much you've learned. How much you've… deduced.'

'That's easily answered,' said Chipchase. 'Sweet FA.'

'For your sakes, I hope not.'

'We've figured out a few things,' said Harry. 'But not enough to understand what's going on.'

'The fire at Askew's flat in Cardiff suggests the murderer feared there might be evidence to be found there pointing to his identity. Could the fire at your house in Swindon have been started for the same reason?'

'Maybe.'

'Do you mean you have such evidence?'

'Sort of.'

'If you can lead us to the killer, I can do something for you. Get the police off your backs. Arrange safe passage… wherever you want to go. We looked after Starkie. We can look after you.'

'What did Starkie do for you?'

'What we asked him to.'

'And Dangerfield?'

'What have you got for me, Harry? What's the evidence? It has to be quid pro quo. I'm not authorized to operate any other way. Tell me you have something to trade.' She looked intently at him, eager, it seemed, to be told a deal could be done. 'Please.'

'Askew sent me a computer disk. We've been trying to decrypt it. Without success.'

'Where is it?'

Harry shook his head.

'It wasn't… destroyed in the fire?'

He nodded.

'Oh dear.' She sighed. 'How sad.'

'Is that sad for you, darlin'?' Chipchase asked. 'Or us?'

'Principally you, I'm afraid. There's nothing I can do without it. Or something like it. My hands are tied.'

'No chance you could untie them?'

'None.'

'So, where does that leave us?'

She did not answer directly. Her gaze shifted. She pursed her lips and stared into the middle distance. Harry exchanged a helpless glance with Chipchase. A silent minute slowly elapsed. Then, at last, she spoke. But all she said was: 'I'm sorry. I really am.' Then she started the engine.

'Are we going for a spin, darlin'?' asked Chipchase.

'No, Barry. I'm afraid it's time to say goodbye. Would you mind getting out? I need to be on my way.'

'Tell us what's going on, Erica,' said Harry, no longer trying to conceal his desperation. 'Please. I'm begging you.'

'I can't.'

'Rules were made to be broken,' said Chipchase.

'Not these rules.'

'Our lives could be on the line,' said Harry, the pitch of his voice rising. 'You realize that, don't you?'

'Yes.' She closed her eyes briefly. 'I do.'

'Then—'

'It's no good, Harry.' She raised her hand. It was a prearranged signal to Marlboro Man. He tossed away his cigarette and started towards them. 'You're on your own.'