Delivering Caliban Read Free Page A

transfer.’
    ‘ What’s he done?’
    ‘ We’ve no idea.’ Gifford’s voice had taken on an edge, as if to say: that’s your job to find out . ‘But Jablonsky and Taylor clearly know him, and want to keep him under surveillance. They talk about obtaining proof of something, and possibly turning him in.’
    Purkiss understood why he and Vale had been called. For over four years their remit had been to investigate suspected and confirmed rogue elements within British Intelligence, and to deal with them without public fuss as far as that was possible. Set traps for the rats, and spring them.
    Claire. Her face rose without warning in Purkiss’s mind’s eye. He clenched his teeth, stared out the window at the bright morning.
    Now it appeared the Americans, the Company, might themselves have discovered something illicit about a Service agent.
    Vale was watching him in the mirror. As if reading his thoughts he said: ‘We need to deal with this ourselves. Exposure of one of ours by the Cousins would be an enormous embarrassment. God knows there’s enough one-upmanship already.’
    To Gifford, Purkiss said: ‘Have you set up surveillance on Pope yourselves?’
    ‘ That’s the problem.’ This time it was Gifford’s eyes he saw in the glass. ‘Pope’s disappeared.’

Three
     
    Instead of taking Purkiss and Vale to the Service headquarters, Gifford had set up a temporary base in a suite on the fourth floor of a nondescript chain hotel south of the Leidseplein. Purkiss didn’t ask, but assumed his technical status as an outsider meant that he had to be kept away from the ‘official’ Service HQ, which was itself unofficial as its personnel were operating without Embassy protection.
    On the way to the hotel, Purkiss asked, ‘Why did you have this Jablonsky under surveillance?’
    ‘ Routine.’ Gifford sounded surprised. ‘We always have the Cousins tapped. It helps to rotate the targets from time to time, makes it less likely we’ll be discovered.’
    ‘ Presumably they do the same to you.’
    Gifford gave a tight laugh. ‘They try. We catch them at it. We’re too good. Had years of practice before they got in on the game.’
    Or perhaps that was what the Company wanted Gifford and the rest of the Service to think, thought Purkiss.
    In the suite’s living room Gifford seated them before a portable screen on which was amplified the display from a laptop.
    ‘Darius Pope. Born fourth of February, 1981. Grammar school boy in Aylesbury, Bucks – bit of a rebel, came close to expulsion – then political science at Bristol. Bright, but not dazzling. Joined the Service September 2005. Here’s the thing. His father was Geoffrey Pope, a Service veteran. Master interrogator... you might have read some of his writings on the subject?’
    Purkiss hadn’t.
    Gifford went on: ‘All our intel indicates the teenaged Darius hated the old man. Geoffrey was killed in a flying accident when the boy was 17. So perhaps Darius joined the Service to prove a point to his late dad.’
    The rest of Pope’s story was, as Gifford had said earlier, undistinguished. He’d built up a decent reputation as an intel gatherer and later as a patterns analyst. Good looking and with obvious self assurance, he’d been rather too obtrusive for undercover work. His transfer to Amsterdam from Hamburg had been based on nothing more than a personal request, as he said he felt he wanted a change of scene.
    There were no recorded instances of disciplinary action against him, nor any suggestions of infractions that might have been quietly swept under the carpet. He was to all appearances clean. A model agent.
    ‘ I ordered surveillance on his flat starting ten p.m. last night,’ said Gifford. ‘He wasn’t there. He hasn’t returned home since. And he hasn’t contacted anyone in the office, nor has he answered his phone. His phone location isn’t traceable, either, which means he’s probably ditched it. Or someone else