Devil in the Wires by Tim Lees Page B

I got this one.”
    He drank, said nothing.
    â€œ ‘They,’ ” I said again.
    â€œWell.” He pursed his lips, wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t suppose it matters now. It was the US office, Special Projects. They wanted you, mentioned you by name. I wasn’t meant to tell you.” He looked sheepish. “But it can’t do any harm now, can it? And we’re old friends.”
    â€œSpecial . . . Projects?”
    â€œThat’s right. Why?”
    So I said a name.
    I said, “Shailer.”
    Dayling said, “I didn’t like the secrecy, I must admit. When it’s a question of security, that’s fine. But not between ourselves, eh?”
    â€œDid you deal with him directly? Shailer?”
    â€œOnly once. He said he knew you, but they wanted me to deal with it. I realized then that’s the only reason they’d called me. Because I knew you. They thought it would help.” He looked down at his plate. “I wasn’t important at all, you see? Except for that.”
    The rest of the meal was long and awkward. I kept trying to question him and wound up pretty much convinced he was as ignorant as he claimed. What bothered me the most, though, was that I’d got the job the usual way, through Seddon’s office, without even a hint of subterfuge or outside involvement of any kind. I asked repeatedly, “Was Seddon in on this?” But all he’d say was, “Seddon wasn’t mentioned.” We finished with two tiny cups of thick black coffee, which pretty much disposed of any hopes I’d had for decent sleep. I tossed and turned in my hotel bed, and in the morning, checked my flight time, swallowed a quick breakfast, then went to Dayling’s office to collect the flask. He wasn’t at work. He wasn’t answering his phone, or, so I was told, his door.
    It took a while to find someone who knew the combination for the safe room, but presently a plump young man appeared, fussing with a bunch of keys. He wore jeans and carpet slippers. He dialed the combination lock, then tried a variety of keys upon the other two until he got it open. He was very apologetic about the delays, though nobody was listening by then in any case.
    The flask, of course, was gone.
    And so was Dayling.

 
    Chapter 14
    Flight and Pursuit
    I ’ve seen the Registry try to cover up its messes and mistakes at several junctures in my life. There’s usually a lot of running about and some frantic phone calling and e-­mails and invariably some major official whose authorization is required and who fails to respond in time. Everybody squawks and frets like turkeys before Christmas, not sure what to do.
    This time, at least, we found out what had happened very early on. There was hardly any mystery at all—­except for why.
    It seems Dayling had risen early, as was his habit, and attended to some morning chores, all as normal. He’d even booked a lunch appointment at his usual restaurant. Then, he’d visited the safe room, removed the flask, taken a Registry car to the airport, and booked himself a Turkish Airlines flight to Paris, France, leaving within thirty minutes. The flask went with him—­he had a Registry pass, top level, and used it to dodge his way round customs, but apart from that, there had been no attempt to hide his tracks. He didn’t even seem to have been in any hurry about it.
    Seddon, my boss, is a tall, gangly man with eyebrows of a startling whiteness, and sees himself as very pro-­active, very hands-­on. Unfortunately, in a case like this, the hands in question aren’t likely to be his own. I spoke to him from Dayling’s office, as it happened. The phone line was as sharp and clear as if he sat across the desk from me. Astonishing technology. So far away, yet I could hear each indrawn breath, each tut and dear and vexed oh heavens as I carefully explained the situation. After that,