On the third floor Fane found Blakey waiting for him, looking little changed from when they had worked together.
‘Geoffrey. How very good to see you,’ Blakey said, offering his hand. ‘Let’s go into my office and I’ll tell you what it’s all about.’
They walked through a large, brightly lit open-plan floor where young people dressed in jeans and T-shirts sat working at computers or stood talking together. The atmosphere seemed busy and cheerful.
Blakey led the way into a small ante-room in one corner of the floor. ‘My PA’s off ill,’ he explained, as they passed the empty desk. He shut the door behind them and led Fane into his own office, a large room with a view over the little courtyard below. The walls were decorated with Chinese prints, and a carved African mask hung behind the large glass desk. Another door leading straight out to the open-plan area was already closed.
‘This is all very smart,’ said Fane as Blakey gestured to a leather armchair in front of his desk.
‘Yes. We’re lucky. The rent’s not too bad, actually,’ he said, sitting down. ‘We managed to negotiate a long lease when the building first opened. But it’s always a delicate balance,’ he added with a smile that seemed slightly defensive. ‘Too poor an appearance and you look amateurish; anything too smart, and people think you’re spending their donations on overheads.’
Then he got down to business. ‘Thanks for coming over so promptly, Geoffrey, and I hope I’m not wasting your time. But I really feel I need some advice and I couldn’t think of anyone better to give me it than you.’
Fane sat back in his chair, crossed one long leg over the other and watched and waited. Blakey had always had a certain charm, he reflected, which had served him well as an agent runner and no doubt helped a lot in the charity world. Fane had no objection to its being exercised on him. It would have no effect whatsoever on what he decided to do.
Blakey went on: ‘You’ll have to judge what it means for yourself – all I can say is, it worries me. I’m sure you know what we do in UCSO?’ Fane nodded. ‘Our cargoes are assembled and shipped by our office in Athens. In the last nine months two shipments we’ve made have been hijacked off the Somalian coast. The shipping line’s insurers and our own broker negotiated, and the ship’s crew were returned. Last week a third attempt was made, but fortunately this time it was foiled by the French Navy.’
Fane nodded. ‘Yes, I heard something about it,’ he said. ‘Dangerous sailing through those seas.’
‘Unfortunately, we haven’t got any choice. Kenya is our major destination. We use it as a safe base from which to supply the Congo, and Rwanda, and Burundi. Air cargo rates are prohibitively high, and any other route by sea would be out of the question.’
That checked out, thought Fane. The alternative would be to sail west the length of the Mediterranean to the Straits of Gibraltar, then down to the Cape, and up past Madagascar to Kenya. Four, maybe five times as long, and probably four or five times more expensive.
Blakey went on, ‘To make things worse, the two shipments that were hijacked were unusually valuable. As was the third.’
‘Valuable? What does that mean? And why should one aid shipment be more valuable than another?’
‘I mean the black-market value of the drugs and equipment on board was unusually high. And what’s more, the last two cargoes included a good deal of cash – for emergencies.’ He avoided Fane’s questioning look. ‘We’ve had half a dozen other shipments go right through the same shipping lanes unscathed, but none of them was worth nearly as much.’
‘Hmm,’ said Fane. ‘What are you saying? That you think the pirates know which ships to target?’
Blakey didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m beginning to think they must. It beggars belief that it’s simply coincidence that the three ships with the richest pickings were the only ones they’ve gone for.’
Fane uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘What about the cash?’ he asked. ‘What sort of sums are we talking about?’
‘High thousands, not millions. In dollar bills usually, but this last time it was gold.’
‘I see what you’re getting at,’ said Fane. ‘But how could the pirates know what’s on board? Are the manifests published? Is there some way they could tell from the appearance of the ships?’ Fane’s maritime experience was confined to a day’s sailing with friends each year during Cowes Week.
Blakey shook his head. ‘We keep the detailed manifests in our Athens office. And for published accounts the cargo is described in broad terms as “aid supplies”; there’s no mention anywhere of the cash, and nothing to distinguish one of our shipments from another. No more than I could tell whether the wallet in your jacket held fifty pounds or five thousand.’
‘So therefore…?’
Blakey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘This is where it seems to be getting ridiculous. I’m almost embarrassed to say this, but I’m wondering if information about the cargoes could be getting to the pirates from inside UCSO.’
He looked straight at Fane, who said nothing for a moment. He was surprised; this was more interesting than he’d expected. His mind was working rapidly. If what Blakey was thinking was true and there was a thread leading from UCSO into a pirate group, it was a thread well worth tugging.
‘Let me be quite clear what you’re saying. You think there might be some connection between UCSO and Somalia.’
‘I know it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that. But, yes, that’s what I’m worried about. It’s not necessarily from here,’ said Blakey, waving his arm vaguely at the office outside. ‘The Athens office handles all the logistics, and leases the ships. The cargo is assembled and loaded in Greece as well.’
‘Who runs your Athens office?’
‘Chap named Berger. He’s American.’
‘What’s his background?’
‘A bit of this, a bit of that – journalism, import/export. He’s worked all over the world. It was his idea that there might be a leak.’
‘And the staff?’
Blakey shrugged. ‘Usual mix of local recruits – an accountant, secretaries – and a couple of people from other countries. Ten or eleven employees in all. Berger runs a tight operation; I’m sure he keeps a pretty sharp eye on what goes on.’
Even if he does, thought Fane, you’d need a professional to unravel something as sophisticated as the connection Blakey was proposing. He started to say, ‘I have a thought-’ when suddenly the door to the open-plan floor opened, and a voice said excitedly, ‘David, the bastards have done it again! I can’t believe those wretched people -’
The door was now fully open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway, clutching some papers. The look on her face showed she was as startled to find Fane sitting there as he was by her interruption. She was forty-ish, elegantly dressed in a smart, dark grey suit, sheer tights and shiny maroon high-heeled shoes. This was not Blakey’s PA, Fane concluded without much difficulty.
‘I’m so sorry, David,’ she said. ‘I thought you were alone.’
‘Let me introduce you. This is Geoffrey Fane,’ said Blakey. ‘An old friend.’
‘Katherine Ball,’ the woman said, offering her hand.
‘Katherine’s my deputy,’ said Blakey. ‘The place wouldn’t function without her. She’s got a desk in Athens too – I know they’d say the same about her.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But I’m not sure it’s true.’ She had a deep smoky voice. ‘But don’t let me interrupt,’ she continued.
‘Anything urgent?’ asked Blakey.
‘More annoying than urgent,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch you later.’ She looked at Fane appraisingly. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, and left the room.
‘You were saying?’ Blakey reminded him.
‘I was wondering how we could help you. I might ask the Athens Station if they have anyone on their books that we could put into your office there to do a bit of quiet investigation. We have a new Head of Station and I could ring him this afternoon. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ Blakey said, looking relieved that Fane was willing to help.
‘I take it this man Berger can be trusted? An American, you say?’
‘I trust him absolutely. As I said, he’s the one who first pointed out that we might have a problem.’
‘Good. Tell him someone will be in touch. They can talk over a cover story.’
‘What should I do about the London end?’
Fane smiled benignly. ‘Why don’t we focus on Athens for now? I’d say that’s a much more likely source of any leak. But keep an eye out here; if anything strikes you, let me know and we’ll take it from there. What about your deputy – Katherine, was it? Is she in on the picture?’
‘No, not at present.’
‘I’d keep it that way,’ said Fane. ‘“Need to know” is always best in this sort of operation. We can widen the net later if we have to. There’s one other thing: when is your next big shipment going past the Horn?’
‘Berger and I discussed that. It’s not due for six weeks.’
‘I might suggest that we put someone on board, but I’ll discuss it with Athens Station. Tempting though it is, I’m not going to run this operation myself.’
‘You see it as worthwhile then?’ asked Blakey. ‘You don’t think I’m wasting your time.’
‘Oh, no, old chap,’ said Fane, standing up. ‘This could give us a much-needed lead into these pirate gangs.’ And that would be a great coup for the Service, he thought. It would also provide good bargaining chips to use with the allies.
He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting back at Vauxhall. Let me ring you after I’ve talked things through with the Athens Head.’
The two men rose, and Blakey ushered Fane out through his own door into the corridor. As they headed towards the lift, Fane noticed that the door to the ante-room, where Blakey’s PA normally sat, was ajar, even though Blakey had closed it firmly when they’d first come through.
It was going to be difficult to keep anything secret in an environment where most work was done in an open-plan floor and people wandered in and out of offices without knocking. Of course, it only mattered if Blakey was right to think there was a link between UCSO and a group of pirates. It would have seemed improbable a week ago, but so would the presence of a British Pakistani in a pirate’s skiff.
Returning to Vauxhall Cross, Fane’s mind was pulling together the strands of information that all seemed connected to UCSO. He decided the next thing was to find out what Liz Carlyle had discovered in Paris.
As he walked into his outer office, his PA said, ‘Liz Carlyle rang. She’d like a word ASAP.’
Great minds think alike, thought Fane. He admired Liz Carlyle. Pity she didn’t reciprocate.