‘I have some news for you,’ said David Blakey, leaning forward in his chair and putting his elbows on the desk. There was a self-satisfied air to the man which surprised Liz, since she had come to his office after getting back from Paris, expecting to be the one who did the talking. But she let him speak first, knowing that nothing he was going to say would alter the facts that had come to light.
He went on: ‘Mitchell Berger in Athens has been doing a little investigating of his own. He’s grown suspicious of the man who arranges the leasing of our ships there. His name is Mo Miandad and it turns out he isn’t entirely what he seems. Berger has discovered that he’s been meeting a woman who works in the UCSO office. Her name’s Claude Rameau – she’s been with us a long time. Quite senior; she’s a roving co-ordinator for our local aid supplies. Travels all the time, mainly in Africa.’
‘Why is she based in Athens?’
‘There’s no real reason – I inherited her, she’d got a routine, and frankly, I didn’t see any reason to change it.’
‘Why does this mean that Miandad is the source of the leak?’
Blakey seemed a little taken aback. ‘Well, we haven’t got any hard evidence, if that’s what you’re driving at. But Rameau has always been a bit of an anarchist – she’s very anti-American, for one thing. And of course it means Miandad has a secret life.’
‘Cheating on his wife doesn’t make him an Al Qaeda agent.’ Liz sighed at Blakey’s reasoning. None of this would stand up in court; none of it, in fact, was standing up with her.
‘I think you’re missing my point. It’s not his choice of bedmate that’s at issue here.’ Blakey looked at her resentfully. ‘I thought you’d be interested in this. Berger’s convinced Miandad’s up to no good. Remember, you don’t know the people we’re talking about.’
‘That’s true,’ said Liz. ‘But there are some other things I’ve discovered which you ought to hear.’
‘About the Athens office?’
‘Actually, no. A bit closer to home.’
Blakey looked uncomfortable for the first time. Liz said, ‘There’s another woman we’ve had under surveillance. Not Rameau, though this one’s also blonde. She attended a mosque in North London that we’ve been investigating for some time.’
‘What’s that got to do with the leak from UCSO?’ asked Blakey.
Liz ignored him. ‘Radical Islamists have taken this mosque over; we suspect they’ve been recruiting young British Muslims and sending them to Pakistan for training in their camps. This woman addressed some of the recruits, and a week later, bingo, off they went to learn how to wage jihad.’
Blakey was listening intently.
‘Then the scene shifts to Athens. I don’t think the woman seeing Mo Miandad is Claude Rameau.’
‘You don’t?’ It was impossible to tell if Blakey’s surprise was genuine.
‘No. I think it’s the same woman who was seen at the North London mosque. Which disqualifies Rameau.’
‘So who is it then?’ But Blakey’s question seemed rhetorical. The expression on his face had changed from scepticism to curiosity to alarm – he was clearly starting to draw his own conclusions. And not enjoying them.
‘I’m pretty sure you have as good an idea as I do.’
‘What do you mean?’ Blakey looked shaken.
‘Katherine Ball.’ Liz let the words hang between them.
‘You think…’ Blakey started to say, his voice rising, and then the possibility that she might be right seemed to stop him short.
‘I know that she has visited a North London mosque. I know that she’s addressed recruits there. And I know that she’s been your lover for some time.’
Blakey wanted to speak: his lips moved; a croaking sound came out of his mouth but there were no words. He was staring at Liz without really seeing her. Suddenly he dropped his head into his hands. Liz thought for a moment that he was going to burst into tears, but when he lifted his head again his eyes were dry, and he seemed to have pulled himself together. He said quietly, ‘What a fool I’ve been.’
‘How much does she know?’
‘Katherine? What about?’ Then, seeing Liz’s cold gaze, he said, ‘She knows the lot.’
‘That won’t do. You need to be more specific.’
Blakey threw his hands up in the air, almost in despair. ‘She knew I asked Geoffrey for help, and she knew when you came to see me.’
So the MI6 and MI5 operations had been blown from the beginning. Liz sighed, and Blakey seemed to sense her disgust. He protested, ‘I don’t see what use that would be to Islamic militants in Birmingham.’
Liz shrugged. ‘I wasn’t thinking of Birmingham; I was thinking of Athens. Did she know about that?’
Blakey flushed. ‘You mean, the girl?’
‘I do. Let’s give her a name,’ Liz said icily. ‘Maria Galanos.’
Blakey wouldn’t look at her, which gave Liz her answer. At last he said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, ‘Oh, God.’ He was rubbing his hands together now, as if trying to wash everything away. ‘But Katherine couldn’t have killed her,’ he said, almost hopefully. ‘She wasn’t in Greece when Maria was murdered. She was here.’
‘Enter Mo Miandad,’ said Liz.
Blakey’s hands stopped moving, and he stared at them as if they had been stained again by her words. Then he spoke without looking at Liz, averting his face, as if it would somehow make the horror less. ‘You have to believe me, I had no idea. She never gave the slightest indication of sympathising with Islam – I’d have bet you anything that she’d never set foot in a mosque in her life. Her husband was Middle Eastern, but from everything she ever said he was thoroughly Westernised – educated in the States, enlightened, liberal. And the information she got from me – well, I’ll be honest, it was me telling her; I wasn’t being pumped.’
Pillow talk, thought Liz bitterly, which had cost Maria Galanos her life. Blakey seemed to sense this, for he continued, ‘I have no excuse, I understand that. I’m just trying to explain things. Even now that I know, I find it hard to believe. If she was trying to entrap me, she did a miraculous job of disguising it. I made all the running,’ he said emphatically.
Yes, thought Liz. An attractive intelligent blonde woman who works in the same office didn’t have to do a lot to catch the interest of a known womaniser whose wife had left him. The smallest signs would do – the chance arrival at the lift when her target was leaving for the day, perhaps turning down the first invitation for a drink but making it clear a second offer would receive a different reception; a few sympathetic words about his personal troubles, a suggestion that she knew ‘how it was’ since she was lonely too. She’d played him very cleverly, you had to give the woman that – even now Blakey was thinking he had seduced her, that he had made all the running.
Blakey was waiting anxiously for her to say more. ‘When are you due to see Katherine next?’ she asked.
‘This evening. She’s at a meeting away from the office today; a get-together of other similar charities – it happens twice a year. She said she’d come round to my flat at seven or so. I can give you the address.’
‘We’ve got that already,’ said Liz. It was somehow worse having Blakey trying to be helpful.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to face her,’ he said plaintively.
‘I don’t think you’ll find it’s much of a problem.’