The Secret

‘Good question.’

The question was answered minutes later when a chief superintendent from Special Branch arrived accompanied by another man in plain clothes who didn’t introduce himself. He didn’t need to as far as Steven was concerned: he knew him. It was John Ricksen, an MI5 officer.

Ricksen did a double take when he saw Steven and came over. The two men shook hands but felt uneasy about each other’s presence. They had crossed paths before on assignment, and although not friends had a civilised relationship and had done each other small favours in the past. MI5 didn’t care much for Sci-Med, seeing them as a loose cannon, while Sci-Med people tended to believe that MI5 weren’t overly blessed with imagination.

‘What brings you to City College?’ Ricksen asked.

‘I had an appointment to speak to the deceased.’

‘Not much chance of that now. Dare I ask what about?’

‘Polio in Afghanistan.’

‘Right...’ replied Ricksen slowly as if wondering if this were a wind-up. ‘Not exactly Sci-Med territory.’

Knowing that his presence here and his continuing interest in the situation in Pakistan and Afghanistan would be all over Whitehall in a couple of hours, Steven said, ‘North was collaborating with a friend of mine, Simone Ricard. She died in an “accident”. Looks like North had one too.’

‘Hardly an accident... Oh, I see. You don’t think that...’

Steven shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve told you what I’m doing here. What’s your interest?

‘North was on our list.’

‘Of what?’

‘Possible terrorist targets.’

Steven raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I take it you know about the fake aid teams the Yanks used in their hunt for Bin Laden?’

Steven nodded. ‘I know.’

‘It caused quite a lot of bad feeling in the region. The extremists saw their chance to tar everyone with the same brush and have been doing their best to have everyone believe that the genuine polio eradication people were complicit in the whole sorry business.’

‘Were they?’

‘Good God, no. It was purely a CIA operation. Looks like North has just become collateral damage, as our colleagues across the pond are wont to call it.’

Steven said, ‘Look at his left hand.’

Ricksen did so and returned with a frown on his face. ‘Not quite straightforward revenge then. Someone wanted something from the good doctor. I wonder what.’

As they waited for the medical examiner to attend they were joined by the Special Branch man, who’d been in conversation with the Met inspector. Ricksen introduced him to Steven and drew his attention to what was lying on the floor of the car.

The Special Branch man picked up the severed finger with tweezers he took from his inside pocket and examined it from several angles before dropping it into a plastic bag and saying, ‘Well, bang goes the obvious explanation, and it probably wasn’t a terrorist attack either. They prefer blowing things to kingdom come: a single shot just ain’t their style. That just leaves us the little matter of figuring out who did it and why... starting with no bloody idea.’

Steven sought out Liam Kelly, who was sitting with some colleagues, still clearly upset as was Jenny who dabbed at her eyes with a scrunched-up tissue. ‘Could I have a word?’ Steven asked softly.

Liam detached himself and Steven said, ‘I’m sorry, this is obviously not the time, but I need to speak to someone about blood samples sent to Tom’s lab from one of the polio teams in Afghanistan.’

‘Dan’s your man,’ said Liam. ‘We all do bits and pieces when required but Dan is in charge of who does what unless there’s some specific problem and then Tom decides... decided what happens to them.’

‘I can’t see Dan around at the moment,’ said Steven. ‘Maybe you could tell him when you see him that I’ll call by the lab tomorrow morning about eleven?’

‘Of course.’

Steven called Tally to tell her about Tom North’s murder and say that he would be staying at the London flat for the time being, but the call went straight to voicemail, restricting him to minimum detail. He then called John Macmillan to say he was on his way to the Home Office.

‘What kind of a mood is he in?’ he asked Jean Roberts when he arrived.

‘Foul. I’d wear a flak jacket if I were you,’ she replied.

Steven raised his eyes heavenwards as the intercom sparked into life. ‘Is he here yet?’

‘Yes, Sir John, just arrived. I’ll send him in.’

Macmillan didn’t turn to acknowledge Steven’s entry. Instead, he continued to stare at the window across the room, drumming his fingers rapidly but lightly on his desk. Steven stood in silence until a slight turn of the head and a nod indicated that he should sit.

‘I’ve just had the Foreign Secretary on the phone.’

‘Really? Is he well?’

Macmillan’s look would have curdled milk. ‘This is not the time, Steven. I’m not in the mood.’

Steven believed him.