The Walking Dead

'No, Mr Hegner, he's singing. That'll be the shock. We did what you suggested last time you were over when you drew this scenario, put a woman interrogator with a kind motherly voice alongside him. He's from the Saudi town of Dammam, a university-grade economics student, and he was brought across the border about — we reckon from what he says — half-way between Hafr Al-Bain and Arar. That was thirty-six hours ago. You want to go face to face with him?'

'Not for me to break the lady's stride. But there's some questions I'd like to get answered.'

'Not a problem, Mr Hegner.'

He was driven to the holding cages. Cindy had done well. Within fifteen minutes of the first flash reaching Hegner's territory — a suicide fouled up — she'd tracked down an air-force executive jet that was lifting two senators from Riyadh to Baghdad on the next leg of their inspection tour, and the limousine had taken him from the embassy with no qualms about speed and stop lights. He was led, a loose hand on his arm, from the jeep to the outer gate, then keys clanked and he could smell the stench of the interrogation cage — same as it was anywhere — body odour and urine and pungent disinfectant. But she wore scent.

The intelligence officer had been brought to him. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hegner. I feel privileged.'

'What I want to know, Captain, is whether he has met with two individuals. I hear whispers of them, murmurs on the wind. You see, the Saudi route he was brought through is one used by these two. The facilitator is known to me as The Scorpion, what the whisper calls him. The Engineer — more whispers and murmurs — makes the devices, and it's unlike his to fail. What I need to know, did he pass through their hands? If he did, where and when?'

'I'll do my best.'

Another coffee was brought him, and a chair into which he sank heavily. He heard the sounds of the cage around him. Men moaned, and there was the clatter of the guards' boots, the rattle of keys. His mind drifted. A young man, probably identical in background, dedication and motivation to the one now being interrogated, had walked into the garrison camp mess hall in Mosul. Joe Hegner, fresh from a speech to the division's officers on combating the newly flourishing weapon of suicide-bombing, had been queueing with intelligence analysts and had just asked for tuna hash, baked beans and grape juice, when the flash had come, the pain and the darkness…Everything afterwards had been — was — personal.

He heard the soft footfall of a woman.

'It was a good question, Mr Hegner. He met neither the facilitator nor the bomb-maker. He says he heard men talking last night. They were fearful, both about the target reconnaissance and the makeup of the device. What he heard, was not supposed to but did, the Scorpion and the Engineer would have returned next week or the week after. I suppose that means they're out of the country. Does that help you, Mr Hegner? Is it enough to justify your trip?'

'Thank you, Captain, you done good.'

On the drive out to the runway where the small jet was parked, he phoned Cindy in Riyadh and told her what he wanted. He apologized to the senators and their staffers, already strapped in their seats, for having caused the delay in their schedule, and nestled down to doze.

* * *

They chewed it, dogs with a dry, meatless bone.

In Riverside Villas, Dickie Naylor shuffled between meetings. The building's lights now blazed down on the Embankment and spread far enough to glimmer on the river. All day, he had stood his ground firmly enough to dictate that it was he who ran the section, not Mary Reakes, and would run it for one further week.

He hustled along a gloomy upper-floor corridor and she was in his wake.

He rapped on the door of the assistant director, Tristram, to whom he reported. It would be the last meeting of the day, and his age wearied him. He had been up since six, out of his front door by seven and in his office by eight. Tiredness seeped through him. He had met with the surveillance people, the immigration teams who watched over ferry and airports, the duty liaison man from Special Branch, the Anti-Terrorist unit and, last, the security official from the Dutch embassy. The assistant director had driven back from a family christening in the north-west.

Naylor was called inside. He gave a résumé of what he knew, precious little.

Maybe he'd stumbled over his words too many times.