Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
Cunningham hesitated.
A dead agent in London? How the hell did he know that already?
‘You’re wondering how I know about Agent Hart.’ It was not a question. ‘The organisation has a lot more reach than you seem to think. If you had just come to me earlier, this could have been fixed immediately. It isn’t like you haven’t had the opportunity.’
‘But—’
‘Instead you have taken the chance of a lifetime and converted it into a noose around your own neck.’
Cunningham felt a chill at Dupart’s choice of words. The organisation did not make idle threats.
‘This has all gone too far, Kelvin. It needs to be over.’
‘It will be. It—’
‘I don’t need blind reassurance. I need results. Clean up your mess. And if you don’t, it will be cleaned for you. A process which you will not enjoy. Understood?’
Cunningham said nothing. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was literally speechless.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
The phone went dead.
SIXTY-SEVEN
The roar of Will Duffy’s car engine was deafening as he took the left-hand turn from Old Church Street to the Fulham Road and accelerated west.
Sarah Truman barely heard a thing.
She had been in a state of shock for almost an hour, the time it had taken Duffy to cover the distance from Belmarsh to Chelsea. Fifty-six minutes, to be exact. During which Sarah had just one thought in her mind and one aching fear in her gut.
Michael.
It had been Duffy who had taken the call, and so it had been Duffy who had broken the news to Sarah.
He’d been at Woolwich Crown Court waiting for Michael. They were due to conduct the short hearing where Michael would explain Nizar Mansour’s condition to the judge. An essential stage of case management, where future dates would be set when Mansour would be well enough to attend court and enter his plea.
The case was listed for 9.45 a.m., but the time came and went with no sign of Michael. Duffy made call after call, all unanswered. Eventually – and unusually – the judge allowed the hearing to go ahead in Michael’s absence, with the prosecutor explaining the facts of Mansour’s assault and Duffy present to answer any questions the judge might have for the defence.
Even with the delay, the hearing was done by 10.30 a.m. It left Duffy to spend the next two hours trying to find his barrister.
He called Michael again. No answer.
He called Sarah. No answer.
He called Michael’s chambers. An answer, but no clue.
And so he finally called Bruce Bull. In the hope that the Detective Chief Inspector could make enquiries no one else could. By now Duffy was worried. A concern fuelled by the attack on Mansour. Danger and violence seemed to surround this case.
Bull, as always, had taken the request seriously. He promised to make all possible enquiries and come back with any news.