Gray Vengeance Read Free

resumed her seat and interlaced her fingers atop her desk, looking Harvey in the eye. ‘As I said, this is politically sensitive, so we can’t go broadcasting this to every agency in the world. If word leaks, the PM isn’t going to be happy with us. We have to do this in-house.’
    ‘So no Interpol and no extra-agency support. Do I get extra resources to work it up?’ Harvey asked, but he already knew the answer.
    ‘Not at this time. Once we have something to go on, we might be able to borrow a couple of people from Six, but that’s about it.’
    Harvey stood suddenly to leave, his frustration showing. ‘I’ll get things moving and have the first report ready for you in the morning.’
    Back in the main office, he returned to Farsi’s desk and delivered the bad news.
    ‘If he skipped the country, he won’t be anywhere friendly. Dig up a list of countries that we don’t have extradition treaties with, then get all flight departures to those destinations for the last six weeks. Once you have the passenger lists, screen each person against the passport database. Farrar was using a fake, so we’ll be looking for close matches on the photo, first-time use or anything else out of the ordinary. If that doesn’t give us anything, expand it to seaports and the Channel Tunnel.’
    With the orders relayed, Harvey went back to his office and locked the door, hoping to keep the world at bay lest it throw any more crap at him.

SPRING

Chapter 2
    11 March 2014
    Paul Roberts powered down the ancient Dell laptop and packed it into his dishevelled backpack. After ensuring all the office lights were off, he closed the door and locked it before descending the stairs to the street, passing the Chapter Nine logo plastered on t he wa ll. The elements had taken their toll on his poster, its clenched fist with razor wire around the wrist barely distinguishable from the faded sepia background.
    At the bottom of the stairs he turned into the alley and exited onto the main road. A Chinese takeaway and a small grocery store were the only businesses still open at seven in the evening, and the area had a desolate, depressing feel to it. With his shoulders hunched against the early spring breeze, he set off for the ten-minute walk to the bedsit he called home.
    Twenty yards into his stroll, a black saloon pulled up beside him. The rear window glided down and Roberts found himself looking at a dark-haired man of medium complexion who looked to be in his mid-forties.
    ‘Paul Roberts? Can I have a word with you about this?’
    The man held out a leaflet, and Roberts immediately recognised it as one of his own.
    He eyed the man warily. ‘What about it?’
    ‘I work for someone who would like to fund your organisation .’ The man swung the door open, inviting Roberts inside, but he hesitated. The only people who had shown any interest in Chapter Ni ne— apart from its members—were the police, whom he loathed with a passion.
    The man reached into his jacket pocket, and Roberts tensed, expecting him to pull out a weapon, but all that appeared in the gloved hand was a thick, white envelope.
    ‘I can understand your reticence. Here’s a grand in cash. All I ask is that you take a short ride while I explain the proposition.’
    ‘What if I don’t like your offer?’
    The man shrugged. ‘Then I’ll drop you off at your place and you’ll be a thousand pounds richer.’
    Roberts considered the proposal. The money would be extremely helpful to his organisation, covering his latest printing costs at the very least, not to mention the arrears on the rent for the tiny office. Risk versus reward . . . . Always the calculus . . . . All he had planned for the evening was a trip to the laundrette, and as his clothes had been festering in a black bin liner for nearly three weeks, another half an hour wasn’t going to make much of a difference.
    He took the envelope, climbed into the car and closed the door, and the driver pulled away.
    ‘Are