Closer, page 15
“An agent acting in the field can easily end up isolated. We have to fall back on our judgment and experience.”
“So it’s not necessarily a case of slavishly following the last order given, but interpreting how that applies to changed circumstances?”
“Yes.”
“So...?”
“The last order I was given was to kill Stewart Napier.”
“And yet you’ve saved his life twice now. That was the judgment you made. Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do, on each occasion.”
“Does that make you a renegade, or a good agent?”
“I wish I knew.”
We fell silent for a time. I could only imagine the turmoil Cassie was feeling. It must take a particularly extreme form of commitment and faith to commit oneself to the kind of life she had, and now the foundations had been removed.
“Why do we have people like you? A department like yours?” A security service operating on the fringes of what was both legal and moral.
“For national security.” No hesitation.
“And why were you given the orders you were?”
“For national security. Or at least, that’s what I believed.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m wondering if Section Eight has been caught up in something far bigger...”
“When the government itself is hiring hitmen to take out opponents like Napier...” I let that sink in for a moment, then went on. “I spoke to Napier yesterday evening. He gave me some assurances.”
She waited for me to go on.
“He said that if you proved to be on the side of what was right, then he would do everything in his power to protect you against those who are trying to frame you. He’s a powerful man. I think we should go to him, tell him what we know. Put ourselves in his protection.”
I could see how hard that was. Another line crossed on the route from good agent to renegade.
“Use your judgment and experience,” I told her. “What’s the right thing to do in extraordinary circumstances like these?”
She was struggling.
“Napier’s a good man. I trust him.”
Finally, her shoulders slumped a little.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to him and try to work this out.” And she had finally crossed that line: renegade.
§
From the vantage point on the scree slope above the bothy, the two figures looked tiny.
Vulnerable.
A sniper could have taken them out easily. Two swift shots in rapid succession.
Louise Palmer-Layne didn’t have a sniper’s rifle, though. All she carried was her G43 ‘Baby’ Glock subcompact handgun.
She squatted behind a boulder, peering around it to minimize her visible profile, because less of your head shows if you look around rather than over something.
She’d watched Scullery’s arrival, his ineffectual search for Deane – completely oblivious to Cassie even as she cowered in the bracken only meters from the bothy. She’d watched Deane emerge and join him on the clifftop.
Sensible. Deane had no way of knowing Scullery hadn’t been accompanied by police, security service operatives, or even Napier’s security team, come to take her down.
Even if he hadn’t done so deliberately, he could easily have been followed.
Followed by more than just Louise Palmer-Layne.
He’d been easy to tail.
She’d been waiting in the trees on the edge of the Auldbrigg Haw estate. When he drove past she’d given him a few seconds, then pulled out and tucked in behind him on the road into the village, hanging back a safe distance.
Now the two sat on boulders in the shadow of the bothy. Out of sight of the path that led up from the road, but sitting targets to anyone secreted higher up the slope.
Even with the little G43, at this distance they were easy targets.
Patient, Louise watched them, her handgun still tucked into its shoulder holster.
The only concern she had was that it shouldn’t be so god-damned easy.
Then, just as she was trying to decide which course of action to take, Scullery stood, taking his cellphone from a pocket. She watched as he took the call, and then Scullery and Deane kissed, clinging to each other for far too long, before parting.
Now, all Louise had to do was decide which of them to go after first.
16. The Half of It
Napier called.
I felt the buzzing in my pocket, stood, took the cellphone out and saw his name on the screen. Before answering I showed the phone to Cassie, so she’d know who it was. Instantly, she gestured, pointing at herself and then drawing an imaginary zipper across her mouth.
It made sense not to say I was with her – not that we didn’t trust Napier, but the line could be tapped, or he might simply be with someone who would pick something up from what he said. I wasn’t going to do anything to endanger her.
“Napier,” I said, when I’d pressed ‘Accept call’. “How’re you feeling now?”
“Fine, fine,” he said, but his voice sounded weak – worryingly so.
“You sure? You sound like shit.”
“I can always rely on you to call a spade a spade, laddie.” A pause, then: “So how’re things with you, Mattie? Have you found that errant girlfriend of yours?”
“No. Not a thing.” The only guilt I felt was that I didn’t feel bad about lying so easily.
“Listen, Mattie, things are moving on. It’s all a wee bit... frenetic. I sure could use a familiar face, you know? A voice of reason.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve discharged myself. I’m fine – it just hurts a wee bit, is all, and I can just as easily take painkillers at home as I can in some badly decorated hospital suite. Macpherson will be driving me back out to Auldbrigg Haw, but I’d surely appreciate it if you could come along for the ride. Can you meet me at the hospital? You’re the closest I have to family, you know.”
“Of course. I could be there in, what, an hour, maybe?”
When I hung up, I explained briefly to Cassie. “He really did sound bad. I don’t think he should be discharging himself so soon after a wound like that, but I know what he’s like. He has to put himself at the center of things. He’ll hate being shut away in a secure military hospital while the world moves on without him.”
“Even when he’s just been shot a few inches from the heart?”
“Especially when he’s just been shot a few inches from the heart! He wants me to go and join him. A bit of moral support, a familiar face.” Then in answer to Cassie’s questioning look, I explained. “He gets like this. He puts himself out there, but he’s a very private man, too. It’s happened once or twice before when the world has just become too much for him. One time when he was a student he called me down from Scotland to Oxford when he was heartbroken over one or other of the pretty boys he used to fall in love with. He was fine once I got there, but I found out from others just how bad he’d been until that point.”
“You think all this has got too much?”
I shrugged. “Assassination attempts, the whirl of the press all around him, being in the thick of international political wheeling and dealing...? Aye, I think it has.” As soon as I’d explained it to Cassie it made perfect sense. I’d often wondered what it was that had made my friendship with Napier so strong through the years, and I think it was that absolute mutual support that made it so different. We could turn to each other at a moment’s notice, and we knew each other’s foibles and vulnerabilities better than any other person could do.
“He wants me to drive down and meet him, so I’m with him when he comes back up to Auldbrigg Haw and faces the world again.”
“Do it,” Cassie said. She knew how my friendship with Napier had been the one steady thing in my life for the past two decades. She knew how much it mattered.
“Will you be okay?” I asked her.
She smiled. “I’m a secret agent, remember? Like James Bond, only my lingerie’s better.”
She tucked into my arms and we kissed again, lingering. How could I be so intensely aroused in such circumstances?
“Go to your friend,” she said. “Make sure he’s okay.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll be careful. I’ll make my own way to Auldbrigg Haw. There’s a folly in the grounds, a small stone tower – I’ll wait for you there.”
“Stay safe, Cassie.”
She nodded. “And you. Remember I’m the pro – you’re the one who’s not used to all this.”
We were both trying to make light of things, but somehow that brought the gravity of the situation home even more forcefully.
I kissed her again.
“If anything happens,” I said. “It won’t. But if...”
“Yes?”
“If we’re separated, or if I’m delayed anywhere... Well, remember what I told you: Napier has promised to protect you. Go to him. Tell him what you can. His word is good.”
“I will. I promise.”
I didn’t want to let go of her.
“Can I drive you there? I could drop you off somewhere safe?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re much safer without me. I’ll make my own way there, and I’ll be sure to keep myself out of sight.”
I stepped back until our only point of contact was our entwined fingers, and then we let our hands fall away.
“I love you, whoever the hell you are,” I said.
She smiled at that. “I love you, Matthew. Now go.”
I turned, and made my way along the rough track that led down the hill’s flank to the road, leaving her alone, watching me go.
I didn’t let myself look back until the path had doubled back to wrap around the cliff-face, and by then she was lost to sight above the crags.
§
I was stuck forever, it seemed, at security on the perimeter of the naval base where Napier had been hospitalized.
“Would you just call the medical facility?” I asked one of the guards, for the hundredth time. “I was there last night. It’s not as if they don’t already know me. Talk to Stewart Napier, or one of his people. I’m expected.”
The guy had stopped even answering me, and simply stood impassively. I understood his position. I was a stranger, turning up unannounced without any security clearance. Given the press interest in events of the last few days, I doubted I was the first to try to get into the base to find Napier.
But still...
I just wanted to be there with my old pal. I’d had an hour to dwell on things as I drove here. I knew what he was like. Napier operated on adrenaline. He put up a good public face, a suave and confident front, and swept through events like a force of nature, but there was always the risk he would hit overload – Icarus, flying too close to the sun.
I still remembered that night I’d raced down to Oxford, sensing from his calls that he’d hit crisis point. At the time he was an undergraduate, living the high life, while I’d gone back to the Borders after school to learn the family business.
When I found him in his room, he’d worked his way through most of a bottle of ridiculously expensive single malt, and he had a bottle of pills within easy reach. I couldn’t work out if he was planning to take them, or taunting himself in some way with the knowledge that he easily could.
Since then, there had been a couple of other occasions when the pressures of life had become too much – when I’d sensed this from a call or a message, and rushed to him to help get him through.
I didn’t think he’d reached that point quite yet, but the fact that I was thinking along these lines indicated that many of the warning signs were there.
My old friend needed support, a familiar face, as he’d put it.
I tried calling him direct from the base perimeter, but only reached his voicemail.
I parked up by the gates, despite the disapproving glower of the two guards.
Even as I climbed out of my car, another vehicle pulled up behind mine, not even trying to get inside the base.
“Matt Scullery? We must stop meeting like this. Have you come to visit your old mate, Stewart Napier?”
I vaguely recognized the lanky guy who emerged as one of the journalists from the gathering at Auldbrigg Haw.
“I didn’t think you fellows were supposed to know where he was?”
The man gave a short laugh. “Officially, no, we have no idea.”
“But unofficially?”
“Ask Napier’s press officer.”
I should have guessed Napier would be milking this, even when he was clearly feeling so fragile.
“Go easy on him, eh?” I said. “The man’s just had a close brush with death.”
“You tell him that. I’m just here for the story.”
Another car pulled up, then, and it was clear news of Napier discharging himself had got out. I was starting to feel like a bit-part player in some kind of circus.
By the time Napier emerged, half a dozen press cars had pulled up outside the gates, including a TV film crew.
“Here we go,” said one of the photographers, as two dark cars approached the gates from inside the base, slowing as the gates swung open. For a moment I thought they were going to sweep right past, then the second car slowed and came to a halt.
I could see nothing through the dark, mirrored windows, but then one of the rear doors opened and I saw Napier in jeans and a sweater.
He made as if to get out then paused, and I saw the pain etched onto his features.
Instantly, the reporters had closed in, and I’d been jostled to one side.
“Fellows, fellows,” Napier said, holding one hand up, the other in a sling. “Go easy, would you? Listen, I’m not up to saying much, right now. I’m sure you’ll understand. I’m just heading back to my home to continue my recovery. I’d like to thank everyone for the flood of well wishes, and I promise I’ll be back to normal activities as soon as I’m able. No – no questions. Now: Mattie? Are you there? Will you get in?”
I pushed my way to the front, then worked my way around to the other side of Napier’s car, where a door was being held open for me.
I glanced across to where I’d parked the car I’d borrowed from the estate, then shrugged and climbed into Napier’s vehicle. He’d send someone for it, I was sure.
“Mattie, my old pal. I’m so glad you’re here.”
We embraced clumsily, doors shut with heavy thuds, and the car eased away again.
I studied Napier closely.
“Are you sure leaving hospital is a sensible thing? You really do look like shit, you know.”
“I look a wee bit better than I feel, then,” he said with a wry smile.
“Are you okay?”
He gazed out of the window on his side. He knew he didn’t have to hide anything for me, and that I’d see straight through it if he tried.
“It’s a shock to the system, you know.”
“I bet!”
“No, not just the physical.” He touched his wounded shoulder gingerly with his free hand. “Och, it hurts like fuck, of course, but that’s just pain.” He tapped the side of his head now. “Up here. That’s where the hurt is hardest to deal with.”
I couldn’t even begin to put myself in his shoes. To understand how it must feel to have come so close to death. As far as I was aware, it hadn’t been established yet who the target had been, but even if Napier had been hit by accident as he saved Sutherland or Prince Khaled, he was the one who had taken the bullet.
And if he had been the target... To know that someone out there had been willing to take aim and fire, with the intention of killing him... And that someone else had been prepared to give that order.
How must that feel?
We lapsed into silence for a while. Ten or twenty years ago I’d have felt the need to talk, struggling to find something meaningful to say, but now I understood that shared silence said just as much.
And I understood why he wanted me here at his side: one element of long-standing stability when all around him was in turmoil.
Outside, the scenery was spectacular as ever. I loved the gentle rolling hills of my home in the Borders, but it was no match for the grandeur of these mountains, their flanks still dusted purple with heather even this late in the summer.
At my side, Napier had his eyes closed. I suspected he was still at least partly sedated, and the gentle motion of the car had been all it took to send him off to sleep.
Surreptitiously, I glanced at my cellphone but there were no messages. I didn’t even know if Cassie still had a phone she could use.
I hoped desperately that she was okay.
Was she already at Auldbrigg Haw, waiting for me in that folly? I had no idea how she had been planning to make her way there, and deliberately had not asked. I guessed she had planned to hike there, avoiding the roads, which would probably be her best chance of avoiding detection. A trek like that would probably take about three hours, so she could easily have completed it by now.
Napier stirred as we turned onto the estate’s long driveway, and briefly I wondered if he’d been feigning sleep to avoid conversation. It said a lot if even talking with me was a prospect too much for him.
I helped him out of the car, and kept a hold of his elbow as we walked slowly across the graveled area to the front of the house and up the steps to the main entrance.
“You’re a good lad, Mattie,” he said, his voice heavy with tiredness. Napier was only a couple of years older than me, but sometimes it felt as if there was a generation between us – uncle and nephew, rather than brothers.
Once inside, I let go of his arm and said, “Shall I help you up to your room? You must be exhausted.”
“Och no, Mattie. Let’s away to the library. I have a rather good Glenlivet tucked away in there.”
It was only mid-afternoon, but that wasn’t my main concern. “With all the meds you’re full of?” I asked him. “Really?”
“All the better, I reckon, don’t you?”
It was good to see that twinkle back in his eye, even if it was only briefly there and then gone again, as he winced once more at the pain from his shoulder.
The first thing Napier did when we were in the library was produce the whisky bottle and two glasses from a cabinet by the door. The second was point a remote control at the big TV screen that was suspended from the only dark paneled wall not covered with books, and find a rolling news channel.
