The End of the Road, page 15
They had driven north for about five kilometres to the village of Kongsmark and took a left towards Lakolk. The road was now less a highway, more a narrow access road into a thicket of pine trees and sedge. More small low wooden summerhouses peeked out on either side, placing some order on the relatively untamed environment. Here, it was easy for a vehicle, even one the size of a camper, to disappear, but the narrowness of the road meant casual parking without causing an obstruction was out of the question.
The watchers agreed to split up once more; Williams to take the camper back to the main road, Moore to continue, this time on a bicycle that had been locked on the back of their vehicle.
Setting off on her two-wheeled transport, she reflected this was one of her more enjoyable assignments, even if it had involved weekend working. There was an atmosphere of real peace, helped by the fact this place was set back from the coast and the island’s trademark wind. Pedalling forward she was able to enjoy the almost laser-sharp shafts of sunlight creating pools on the ground, illuminating the way ahead, with mayflies cavorting in groups at intervals, enjoying the additional warmth they created. There was the odd car on the move, but it was clear bikes were the main transport in this locality if people chose not to walk. Apart from the vague indistinct lowered tones of conversations of householders coming from individual properties, the real noise was coming from the cacophony of bird song, so many different calls she couldn’t identify them immediately, but neither could she stop to investigate them at this stage. She had a white pick-up to find and that required all her powers of observation. One of the other pleasures of Rømø, from a professional standpoint, was that most roads, especially side roads, were straight. As she came to minor junctions the sightlines left and right were good. It was the fourth junction she encountered which proved significant. She could see what looked like the back of a white pick-up sticking out of a driveway on the right. As she passed, she was able to make a positive identification, not only of the vehicle, but of Westergaard, Kelly and an auburn-haired woman in dungarees having a conversation. Whatever they were talking about appeared to be in earnest. They had no interest in anything in the background. Chemmy dismounted and appeared to be looking at a problem with her rear tyre. From her lowered position she was able to get the picture of the three. Was this the Marisa Kjaer, a fellow director of Terminal Personal Conveyancing? She cycled back to the junction and stopped again to check her phone. Yes, this was Kjaer’s address. What was her connection? There were no apparent physical clues. She headed back to the main road where Williams was waiting.
They paused and waited together for the return of Westergaard’s pick-up, confident in the belief that he, too, would have to retrace his route back to the main road, passing their position.
Two hours later, Williams decided to check the tracker. The pick-up had not moved.
“I thought you said they were just chatting outside and that they weren’t going to be long?”
“That’s what it looked like.”
“Well, I think you had better saddle up and go and take another look.”
Sure enough, when she checked, the Toyota pick-up had not moved, but there was no sign of activity at the house. Chemmy decided to approach directly, ready to play the lost German tourist if required.
Firstly, she was able to confirm she had the right address. The name ‘Kjaer’ had been written on the post box outside. She rang the doorbell, and again, but nobody replied. Secondly, having waited a few minutes, she decided to return to the camper on her bike.
“He’s given us the slip,” she told Williams. “He could be anywhere now.”
“True, but we know he won’t have gone far; all we have to do is wait at the Kro. It seems to me he’s not doing anything sinister. He’s not running drugs or anything. I think we have got Winston all he needs for now. I suggest we take some time out and catch him later. So, if we’re tourists what is there to do here?”
“Enjoy the nature?”
“I see there’s a nudist beach we could try?”
“I think I have already seen enough of your physique on this trip. Besides, where will you keep your mobile? I’m not sure you will have a big enough hiding place. No, let’s do some more birdwatching. Did you know over 280 different species can be found on Rømø as well as huge flocks of migratory birds?”
Williams dodged the question.
“Or see if we can hire a tennis court, go and have a hot dog and beer down at the harbour? We could check out the ferry times to Sylt. I quite fancy taking the long route back to Hamburg. Any word back from London?”
“Not yet, but they said they were on it. Let’s not forget we are on station until Kelly leaves and the chances are we’ll need to get to get back to base soon after. Tell you what, let’s do both. I want to go and get some pics of oystercatchers and lapwings then we’ll go down to the harbour, get that hot dog and talk to some of the locals, and by the time we’ve done that Kelly might have reappeared.”
Williams was resigned to the fact that if he wasn’t going birdwatching, reading was the only hobby on offer for passing the time. Surveillance jobs were just so dull. As his mind idled, he had wondered if Chemmy had fancied finding a quiet clearing in the nearby pine woods for a quick fuck. After all, he had observed, she was perhaps a bit better-looking than he had first thought and maybe she could be persuaded to go up to the nudist beach to find her precious oystercatchers?
He stopped himself pursuing the thought, which, he recognised, was itself a sign of boredom.
“So where to?”
“We can leave the camper here in the central park and walk up over there, to a seat on the coastal path. It’s about ten minutes away and from there you can look out on the mudflats.”
Williams climbed out of the camper. It was pointless to argue.
Chemmy Moore had really got into the birdwatching business, which wasn’t such a surprise as it utilised her professional skills as an observer in a recreational setting. She kept records, took pictures and provided a commentary for others, who didn’t appreciate the finer points of the hobby. Time had moved on – it was now late afternoon. According to her phone, there was still no movement from the pick-up, which Chemmy reported to Williams.
“That means we need to get back to the Kro – now. He must be there.”
Williams’ faith was not proven by the evidence. Kelly was not there, neither was the Fiat.
“Fuck. Do a trace on his mobile. He must be close by.”
Chemmy took the instruction, sharing Williams’s nervousness.
“He’s left Rømø. I have him now on the A7 near Flensburg.”
“But he’s booked to stay here tonight and go back tomorrow. Has he taken any calls?”
“He had the phone on briefly two and a half hours ago.”
“Who has he called?”
“As far as I can tell, only his message service. His call lasted about four minutes, then he switched it off again.”
“Shit, we’ve got to get after him. Let’s see if we can catch up with him before we must break the news to Winston. We should have enough diesel to get us back across the border.”
*
Bannan was less than impressed with Moore’s message when it came in. She had been late with the news. What had she and Williams been up to? He would speak to them directly when they were back on station. For now, he had to assimilate what they had learned from Kelly’s German and Danish adventures. Firstly, Kelly had dinner with a high-profile Russian government official in Berlin and subsequently made the acquaintance of a rather obscure Danish businessman and at least one other from a company that specialised in ‘lifestyle experiences’. It wasn’t much to go on. There were too many loose ends. His referral to the Danish authorities had drawn a blank, and there wasn’t much to glean about Rustanova, that he didn’t know already. He assumed the reason for Kelly’s abrupt departure was that he had got the messages about the trouble at home and there was another question. The disappearance of the daughter, no ransom demand and a suspect vehicle with false plates. There was still a lot of digging to do on this.
The first thought was to interview Kelly himself, but it would need to be done in the right context. He would get Laidlaw to do that initially, brief him on the latest and request feedback once Kelly had returned to Oxford. Next, he would reach out to Willoughby to understand how far the Met’s enquiries had progressed. Thirdly, he would conduct his own enquiries into Mr Westergaard and his Danish friends and finally he would look more closely into Rustanova’s recently submitted visa application ahead of her planned visit to the UK at the end of the month.
Laidlaw seemed well informed on the situation, acknowledging he had been in touch with Sue Kelly and the police, and clear there had to be changes in the way Des was running the HCCVD project.
“My general impression is that in recent months the quality of his communication has slipped. I will be setting down new administrative arrangements to safeguard the work. I am promoting his assistant, Dr Jakeman Roberts, to be joint head of the HCCVD team. Kelly will be obliged to be more collaborative, but it will also send the right signals to prospective funding partners in the US whose help we are going to need in the future.”
“I also want one of my own seconded into the team,” Bannan announced. “He’s no scientist but pretty smart. I think you should design a new administrative role for a document controller. I will have a CV prepared and sent over to you – he’s a Welsh chap called Ifor Williams. I will have him make contact with your office next week, but his background should not be shared with anyone on the team, not Kelly, not Roberts – no one.”
Willoughby would be a tougher nut to crack. There was a natural ambivalence between the secret services and the Met in particular, their fundamental relationship undermined by the issue of accountability or, in Bannan’s case, the perceived lack of it. The strains were there at the beginning. Bannan was an untitled senior officer in MI6 and there was not an equivalent role in the Met, meaning his request for co-operation had to be made via the Commissioner, who in turn needed to instruct Willoughby to engage. In order to understand the status of the police case, he had to see Willoughby face to face, so a meeting at Barton Street was hastily arranged. For this encounter, Bannan would use another identity, Winston Carter-Jones of the Ministry of Defence.
Willoughby was experienced enough to understand the situation he was in. He had worked out from contacts with the Lauriston that Kelly was involved in state-sensitive research and that would be a factor likely to play out in his investigations. Maybe this Carter-Jones would shed some the light of some of his own knowledge that may have a bearing on the Kelly girl’s disappearance. He would be obliged to share what he knew, but relieved that in reality, he didn’t know that much.
Seven
“Why are you treating this as an abduction, Detective Chief Inspector?”
“Whatever happened, this was a very quick, clean operation. In my experience, foul play tends to be messy in one way or another and there is usually a forensic trail to follow.”
“But not in this case.”
“No. So far we have one not altogether reliable eyewitness who observed some sort of disturbance to the side of a van near the Kellys’ home at the time. Around fifteen minutes after we think the incident took place, an ANPR camera at the M4 junction picked up a van matching the witness’s description turning onto the London carriageway. That vehicle had false plates. We are still checking other camera positions to determine whether the van got as far as London or went elsewhere. Not only is the family angle worrying us, but the fact is she is a relatively attractive young woman who might be a target for other criminal actions. I am expecting a ransom demand to be made and have positioned a support officer at the Kellys’ home to report any incidents that may occur. The only other suspicious thing we have is from a couple of weeks earlier when the Kellys reported an attempted break-in.”
“Yes, well never mind that. What else are you investigating?”
“We are unpacking her life story, mapping flatmates, friends, work stuff – the usual, but nothing to bite on yet. I’m also talking to some of our contacts in the underworld who specialise in this sort of operation, trying to identify anyone who has been a bit busier than normal in the past week. There are a couple of Albanian gangs who’ve got form on this. Finally, I understand Dr Kelly himself will be home from a European business trip tomorrow. I will be there to welcome him back. And you, Mr Carter-Jones? What was Dr Kelly working on that makes him of interest to you?”
“I think you already understand as much as I can tell you. But you will be pleased to know I don’t propose to involve myself in your enquiries more than necessary, Detective Chief Inspector. Here is my card. Please keep me informed, so that I don’t have cause to think I’m not being kept in the picture.”
“I agree with your sentiments entirely, Mr Carter-Jones. This is my card. Upon reflection, if you think you may be able to assist us, I would be pleased to hear from you.”
Willoughby had exhausted his reserves of diplomacy and knew it was time to depart. There was no doubt the situation was becoming ever more complicated.
*
His next step was the debrief of Williams and Moore, who were summoned to the more austere surroundings of the office south of the river.
Bannan’s frustration regarding their surveillance activities had dissipated, especially as he had crafted some new duties that would give them the chance to redeem themselves in his eyes; but before then there was the inevitable inquest.
“Let me get this right, you are briefed to travel to a small island with a total population of 700 people and one hotel, to monitor a target for two days, and you lost him after a day and a half. What happened?”
The two operatives exchanged glances.
Williams went first.
“We don’t know. We tracked him to a holiday cottage in a wood, where he seemed to be settling in for a chat with Westergaard and a woman, we believe to be Kjaer. We had a tracker on Westergaard’s car and could trace the signal on Kelly’s silent mobile. The immediate location was compromised for viewing and so we withdrew a short distance to avoid attracting attention. As it was clear Kelly was dependent on Westergaard in the locality we concentrated on the vehicle tracker, which did not move for over three hours.”
Chemmy Moore spoke up.
“That’s when I went round to check and found the house where they had been was deserted, even though Westergaard’s car remained. That was when we checked on Kelly and found he was en route for Germany.”
“We didn’t miss him on Rømø,” added Williams.
“If he had gone back to the hotel, we would have seen him. He left in a hurry, settled his bill remotely by phone and I assume Westergaard cleared his room.”
Bannan looked at them almost mockingly for a moment before replying.
“You two are some of my best people. This wasn’t your finest hour. I half wonder if the sleepy atmosphere of the place got to you. No matter. There is nothing to be gained by going over it again. The pictures and the positive ID on Westergaard and Kjaer were useful but I’ve got nothing yet on Glistrup or Triore. The Danish authorities reckon they’re all clean, regular folks but I think there must be something going on there to attract a big hitter like Kelly. We’re going to keep going on this. So this is what we’re going to do. Ifor, you are going to join Kelly’s research team at the Lauriston Foundation. They have a vacancy for a document controller and I’m delighted to tell you you’ve got the job. You will have sight of all project documentation which you will register and store. In a few weeks you will be an expert on Kelly and HCCVD. Your other job will be to watch him closely – who he interacts with. We need to get a clearer idea of his network of associates and how he engages with them. You have a new background which you will be tested on here at the end of the week and next Monday you will move to Oxford. A flat is being arranged for you and you will remain embedded until further notice. Usual communication disciplines will apply.
“Chemmy, you are going undercover, too, as Carrie Moore, divorcee of Otto Moore, a recently deceased German industrialist, living in Duhnen, near Cuxhaven. You have inherited some experimental gas drilling rights in the North Sea, south-east of Helgoland, and need expert advice about what to do with them. Documents have been prepared to support your story and an estate on the north German coast has been transferred into your name. Details are in the file. Again, learn it before you go. Your flight to Copenhagen will leave on Saturday morning. You have been recommended to consult with Henning Triore, a lawyer trained by Shell Nigeria who used to manage the Jutland Gas Field for Flogaz, the Danish energy co-operative based in Esbjerg. The connection is his late father, a Nigerian who married his mother (Danish). Triore moved back to Copenhagen after his death. Triore has his own small legal practice, which he runs alongside this Terminal Personal Conveyancing ‘lifestyle’ business with Westergaard. We will worry about Kjaer and Glistrup later, but on paper Triore looks as if he is the brains behind this operation, as he is the only city figure involved. You need to find out what he does for this TPC company and how they are involved with Kelly. We must understand how much of a security risk Kelly is.”
Once Williams and Moore had left, Bannan ordered tea and turned his attention to Dr Galina Rustanova. He recalled he had met her once at some event or other on the social circuit in Washington DC, when she had been on secondment in San Francisco. He remembered forming a good impression of her at the time, thinking she would take the opportunity to defect once she had a taste of the Californian lifestyle. He had been wrong. Despite some not-so-subtle efforts on the part of the US administration, she had elected to return to Moscow and had been rewarded for her loyalty by promotion in the Russian Academy of Sciences. This woman was no party apparatchik but a serious scientist with a global reputation. He wasn’t surprised she was acquainted with Kelly but reports of their intimate dinner in Berlin suggested more. Both were married with family commitments, so the prospect of illicit sex could not be a driver, but were they really spending an evening discussing nuclear physics? He doubted it. But at least he thought it more than a coincidence that she intended coming to London relatively soon after their meeting in Berlin, and to Chatham House in St James Square, of all places, to speak at a seminar on the benefits of international scientific collaboration. She used the London embassy as her address during the visit and had not expressed a wish to travel outside the capital. It was going to be a straightforward recommendation for approval to the Foreign Office. Looking at his screen of queried visa applications submitted by the FCO he hesitated over the green authorisation icon, opting for the yellow ‘subject to’ and typed ‘observation’. In such cases, these duties were passed to the diplomatic protection team at Special Branch, but on this occassion, he made a mental note to offer one of his own people for this task. The event itself would certainly go in his diary and he would be a member of the audience. He wanted a closer look at Ms Rustanova.
