It was 5 in the morning when the phone rang but Liz wasn’t asleep. She’d done no more than doze all night. She’d got back to her flat at midnight feeling intensely frustrated. Dave Armstrong hadn’t been able to raise Boatman on his mobile; he’d finally rung the landline at his house and got his wife, who turned out not to have heard from her husband either and was worried sick. As was Liz.
Now it was Dave again, and Liz heard the urgency in his voice. ‘Liz, it’s me. I’ve located Boatman. He’s had an accident.’
‘How bad?’
‘Bad, but not terminal. The hospital thought he’d fractured his skull but the X-ray’s come back negative. He’s got a broken arm and jaw and another hairline fracture, but he’s conscious again, and the doctor says he’ll recover fully in time.’
‘What happened?’
‘He fell off the back of a bus. Literally.’
‘Fell?’
‘The hospital’s choice of words.There were plenty of witnesses – the bus was packed. Apparently, he’d come down the stairs at the back and was standing on the platform, waiting for his stop. Somehow he lost his footing – he was lucky not to get run over.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday evening on his way home from work. He’s been in hospital ever since. Luckily there was a policeman nearby in the street when it happened, and he must have had some doubts about how Boatman came to fall off the bus. He made some inquiries, word got back to DI Fontana, and he rang me. That was an hour ago.’
‘Is Boatman safe there?’
‘Fontana’s had him moved to a private room on the pretext that he needs quiet, and he’s put a Special Branch officer in plain clothes, who’s pretending to be a relative, inside with him. I don’t think we’ve any worries on that score. It’s when he gets out that I’ll be concerned.’
‘Me too.’ Liz was fully awake now. ‘Listen, I’m going to drive up. I’ll come straight to the hospital. Can you meet me there in two hours or so?’
‘That’s where I am now. I’ll wait here unless something else crops up.’
‘What about his wife? We can’t leave her out there. She may not be safe.’
‘Fontana’s gone to pick her up. He’s told her to pack a few things in a suitcase but he’s leaving the detailed explanations to us. He’s told her not to tell anyone else what’s happened for the time being.’
‘Good. Let’s hope that holds the situation for now. Any media interest?’
‘Not so far. The hospital press office has been told to play it low-key – just a straightforward accident.’
‘OK, Dave. Thanks. I’ll talk to Mrs Boatman when I get there but it looks like a full-scale exfiltration job. I’ll get Peggy to alert the team to expect a hospital case and a shell-shocked wife. That’ll give them something to think about!’
The ward was in a small two-storey wing, tucked away behind the enormous main block of the hospital. From reception Liz could see Dave standing by the nurse’s station, and he came down the corridor to greet her, saying, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘Well, Boatman’s parents have been and gone. They’ve just been told that he had an accident. They thought I was a plain-clothes policeman waiting to take a statement, in case the van driver who almost ran him over was going to be charged with dangerous driving. His wife’s with him now; Fontana brought her here. She’s very upset, but seems a sensible sort of girl and she’s not panicking. Fontana told her there was a security issue, to explain why we’re looking after her husband, and that someone was coming up from London to explain things further. That’s you.’
‘OK. I’ll talk to her in a moment. What else?’
‘His brother wanted to see him.’
There was something odd in Dave’s tone. Liz stared at him. ‘So?’
‘The problem with that is he doesn’t have a brother.’
‘Christ. Who was he?’
‘Don’t know. One of the nurses thought the guy was acting oddly. When she asked him a few questions, he got spooked. By the time she called me he’d run off. Sorry, Liz.’
She waved Dave’s apology aside. ‘It just means we’re going to have to move a little sooner than I thought. I’d better see his wife now. Can you round up whoever’s in charge of the ward while I do? I’ll see them after her.’
What a stunning woman, thought Liz, as Boatman’s wife joined her in the ward’s small interview room. Jamila was tall, with fine regular features and big eyes, sad and tear-stained at present. Her raven hair was long and straight, held back by a large comb. Liz was surprised to see she was wearing white jeans and a silk shirt, which came down over her hips. She wasn’t at all the demure, traditional spouse Liz had been expecting.
Liz introduced herself as Jane Forrester from the Security Service and they sat down side by side on a hard sofa.
‘The doctors say your husband will be fine. They expect him to make a complete recovery.’
Jamila nodded and Liz said tentatively, ‘I need to talk to you about what happens next.’
The younger woman’s eyes widened involuntarily as Liz continued, ‘The policeman who brought you here explained there was a security issue, didn’t he?’
Jamila nodded, almost mechanically, and it was clear that she was in shock still, hardly able to take in the revelations of the last few hours. ‘He said Salim had been helping the… authorities.’ She looked uncertainly at Liz, then her face creased into the hint of a smile. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Liz said simply. ‘Your husband has been helping us to find out what some very dangerous people may be doing.’
‘He didn’t fall off that bus, did he?’
‘I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. We think there are people who want to harm him. It’s possible that they caused his accident tonight.’
‘Can you protect him now?’ There was the first note of fear in Jamila’s voice.
‘Yes.’ Liz was emphatic. ‘But only if we get him out of here. If he stays in Birmingham, there’s every chance these people will try again.’
‘You mean, he has to go away? But what about me? Can I go with him?’
‘Yes. Of course you can.’ They could also stay put, for the couple might simply refuse to relocate, but that would be a fatal decision in Liz’s view. It was much better for Jamila to think there was no choice.
‘When do we have to go?’
‘Straight away.’
‘You mean, now?’ she asked in disbelief.
‘Yes. You’ve brought a bag?’
‘The man said to bring the things that mattered most – my jewellery, family photographs, that sort of thing. But I haven’t brought much else,’ she added plaintively.
‘We can buy any clothes you need.’ It was best to be matter-of-fact, to deal with the small things and avoid discussing the sheer enormity of what was going to happen to this woman. That would all come later; one of Liz’s colleagues was trained to deal with the inevitable emotional crisis that would follow when Jamila realised that her life was about to undergo a complete cataclysm. She would never see her home again; from now on she would have a different place to live, in a different city, and she would even have a different name. But Liz’s first priority was to get her out of danger. Discussing anything else would only upset Jamila and make things even more difficult for them both.
‘Where are you taking us to?’ asked the young woman. Inwardly Liz sighed with relief that at least she’d accepted that she had to leave.
‘We need to get you far away right now. There’s a place in London we’ll take you to, and a private hospital where your husband will stay until he’s discharged. Our priority is to make sure you’re both safe. And that’s not possible for you in Birmingham.’
Jamila nodded, but Liz could see she still hadn’t taken it all in. Suddenly she put her face in her hands, and her shoulders shuddered. Liz said gently, ‘I know it’s hard. Believe me, we wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t necessary.’
Jamila took her hands from her eyes and slowly lifted her face. Behind her tears she looked bewildered. Liz put one hand on her shoulder as Jamila wiped the tears from her cheeks and said, ‘I am sorry, but you have to understand… five months ago I was in Pakistan, preparing for my wedding. To a man I had never met, about to go and live in a country I had never even visited. But I agreed to do it because… because I had no choice. All through my childhood I did well at school, and I was determined to continue my education. But my parents would not allow me to go to university. I wanted to read law,’ she added, half-proudly, half-hesitantly, as if Liz would not believe her. ‘But it was out of the question if I stayed in Pakistan. So I let my parents arrange my marriage, and it turned out they chose well. Salim is a good man, a thoughtful man. I even had hopes of restarting my education.’
‘That is still possible, Jamila.’
The other woman’s eyes widened, and for the first time Liz saw hope in her them. ‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. But first I need to get you both out of here.’
Forty-five minutes later long strips of the yellow plastic tape used to secure crime scenes were being strung across the entrance to Ward 6, where in room 37B Salim lay half-conscious, his wife in a chair beside his hospital bed, and a ‘friend’ (the armed Special Branch officer) seated close to the door. Once the OK had been given by the hospital administrator, things had moved fast.
But that ‘OK’ had not been immediately forthcoming; the administrator, a fierce-looking woman called Albright, seemed to have a pre-existing low opinion of the police that she extended towards the Security Service also. Liz had listened patiently as the woman explained all the difficulties inherent in doing what they asked. Then, suddenly running out of patience, Liz snapped that if the hospital administrator didn’t co-operate immediately, she would find herself being telephoned by the Home Secretary personally; furthermore, if anything happened to the patient in room 37b, it would be the sole responsibility of Ms Albright. After that, the OK had been forthcoming pretty sharply.
Liz overheard a nurse talking to a prospective visitor on the other side of the tape. ‘I’m sorry but the ward’s closed temporarily. One of the cleaners has spilled some chemicals, and we need to clean them up thoroughly before we can let anyone in.’
‘How long do I have to wait, then?’ asked a woman’s petulant voice, uninterested in the reason for the delay.
‘Won’t be long now,’ said the nurse briskly. ‘No more than half an hour.’
And twenty minutes later Liz watched as a trolley was wheeled out through the rear door of the hospital by two orderlies, with a vigilant Fontana and his Special Branch colleague walking alongside. The ambulance was waiting, with Jamila and Dave Armstrong inside. As Boatman was gently stretchered into the rear of it, Jamila climbed out and ran across to where Liz was standing watching. Her eyes were wide and anxious. She reached out and touched Liz’s arm, as though needing the reassurance of something solid in her rapidly shifting world.
‘Will I see you again?’
Liz hesitated. Ordinarily, the answer would be no. Jamila and Salim would have a designated team to look after them and help them in their choice of new identities and location. Then a handler would be assigned to them, someone whose full-time responsibility it was to look after people like the pair of them. Liz would not normally be part of this equation.
But as she looked into Jamila’s doleful eyes, she realised this young woman was desperately in need of continuity – any kind of continuity. Her life had already been subject to so much upheaval: marriage to a man she barely knew, and a new life in a strange, foreign country, all in the space of not much more than six months; then to have that life stripped from her again, by people she didn’t know, with her husband too badly injured to help and advise her… It was too much to expect most people to cope with, but Liz sensed an underlying resilience in Jamila and wanted to help her.
‘Of course you will,’ she said.