Going Grey

  "You know that look on your face, Mike? That's why I can only tell close family."

  So Tom had been working at the UK's eavesdropping HQ. Mike really hadn't seen that coming at all. Nor had Rob, obviously. His jaw really did drop a little. Dru was forgotten for the moment.

  "Bloody hell," Rob said at last. "Did you get extra spook points for not telling your poor old dad?"

  Tom took it as a joke, but Mike wasn't too sure. "They're sponsoring my final year," Tom said. "That means I'll probably get a job when I graduate. So I can pay Mike back. Well, eventually. By the next Ice Age."

  Mike tried to salvage the conversation. How could they tell him anything at all about Ian now? Tom wouldn't thank them for sharing. He'd grown up knowing how to keep his mouth shut, but it was one thing having a Marine for a father, and another being told about classified military research that had gotten out of hand.

  "Hey, that was a gift, okay?" Mike said. "I'll just send your boss a note saying that it's a payment from the CIA and that you did a great job with the electrodes."

  Tom laughed. Rob didn't.

  "You're going to do intelligence?" Rob said, as if he still refused to believe it. "Can I even ask that?"

  "No, not an intelligence officer." Tom said it slowly. "Just research. Remember I'm doing computing and linguistics. A boffin. Not a spy."

  "You mean eavesdropping stuff?"

  "Bit of a value judgement there, Dad. I can't say."

  "Never mind, I'm bloody proud of you all the same." Rob seemed to be getting his breath back, but Mike could see he was struggling with the idea. He really didn't like anything to do with spooks. "Well done, kiddo. That means they vetted you, PV'd you, yeah? The full monty."

  "That's one reason why I took so long to tell you."

  "I must have come up clean as well, then."

  "Yeah, you did really well to cover up all that kidnap and industrial espionage."

  Rob didn't even try to laugh that time. Tom couldn't possibly have known how close he'd come to hitting a major artery.

  "Seriously, congratulations, Tom." Mike nodded his approval. "We'll have someone to send our complaints to when the intel comes up as shit again, huh?"

  "I'm just the IT guy. Try switching it off and on again."

  Mike decided to tackle the subject of Ian himself to save Rob from more agonized squirming. "Okay, here's our exciting secret. You'll notice some armoured paranoia when we get back. Security lockdown. Don't lose any sleep over it. Ian has a persistent stalker. Maybe two."

  "Oh."

  "Nothing serious."

  "And there was I thinking you were hiding someone from the Mob." Tom chuckled to himself. "That's a relief. No witness protection, then."

  Rob turned in his seat. "Kiddo, you would not be here now if I thought there was the slightest risk to you."

  "I know, Dad. Do I need to know what this stalker looks like?"

  "I'll show you a picture later. Woman, blonde, about forty."

  "Jesus, Ian's eighteen, isn't he? Okay, I won't knock it until I've tried it."

  Rob managed a smile this time, but the look on his face was still suppressed horror.

  "I've never shown you my scar, have I?" Mike said, doing his best to derail the conversation. "It's a work of art. Your dad's the Picasso of giblets."

  Rob went back to checking out the road around them. "Yeah, there was some offal left over, but I didn't think Mike would need it. Like when I did that self-assembly wardrobe. Remember, Tom? When I had all those screws left? Your mum went ape-shit."

  "Is she armed, this stalker?" Tom just ploughed on with his questions. The banter hadn't distracted him one bit. But he was Rob's son, cut from the same persistent and cautious cloth, and he probably knew that strenuously jokey tone all too well. "I'm including bread knives."

  "Probably not," Rob said, serious again. "But I am."

  "Christ, Dad, are you armed now?"

  "Yes. Don't look at me like that."

  "Sorry. But that stuff never came home before."

  "It's not an artillery piece, for Chrissakes. It's just a Glock."

  "Just. Is it gold plated? Did you give it a name?"

  "Look, I'm a security contractor. It's all legal." Rob checked the GPS receiver again. "It's days like these when I really miss a fifty cal mounted on the back, Zombie."

  "Sorry. The dealership said the option was that or fluffy dice."

  "Okay, if she's lurking outside when we get back, I'll have a little chat with her. How does fuck off sound? Too formal?"

  Tom laughed, then started making tapping noises in the back. He was checking something on his cell or tablet. "You're really worried about this woman, aren't you?"

  "You Brits might be catching up on us with serial killers, but we're still the proud champions of the crazy stranger league." Mike needed to tell Tom as much as he could to head off questions later. "Just joking. She's not a psycho. More the private investigator variety. Anyway, we put a GPS tracker on her car, so we know where she is."

  "Oh, my God, it's a movie." Tom chuckled. "I didn't know you did all this underhand stuff, Dad. Now who's being sneaky?"

  "It just happened." Rob hated deceiving his boy. He was obviously searching for some way to square his conscience. "I was going to give you some background, but you'll have to trust me that you're better off not knowing. Yes, we're keeping someone off Ian's back. He's done nothing wrong. Mike and I might need to step outside while you're here to give some twat a serious picturizing, though. That's about it, really. All legal."

  "Understood, Dad."

  "And I might ask you to wear a ballistic vest. Humour me."

  Tom burst out laughing this time. Rob seemed instantly more relaxed for telling him. He'd done it in a way that hadn't involved any lies or sensitive information, but he'd also let Tom know that things weren't being kept from him for a trivial reason. Honour and loyalty seemed satisfied.

  "Okay, Dad, I'll follow your dress code," Tom said. "Do you know where she lives?"

  "No," Rob said. "Other than Lansing."

  "Detail always comes in handy. Have you got a name?"

  Mike wished he'd run searches on her from the start, but they'd never needed to find her. She'd found them fast enough.

  "Dru, short for Drusilla, I think, Lloyd," Mike said. "Two Ls. Lansing, Michigan. Might also be under Wilson."

  "You know plenty, then. Hang on." There was a rip of Velcro as Tom rummaged in his messenger bag and started tapping again. "Here you go. Drusilla Lloyd. Five-seven-seven Ridgeway Drive. Her home number, too. Not much data, but enough to make life less comfortable."

  Rob wrote it down in his notebook. "Any family?"

  "Kids put all sorts of insane stuff on social media. They post stuff about other kids, too." Tom tapped again. He took no more than a couple of minutes. "Several Lloyds in the area, so I'm guessing now, but this looks likely – Clare. Fourteen. Birthday – December twelfth. Posted about falling off her bike on Ridgeway Drive three years ago." He paused. "Looks like Dru's divorced. Clare says she's spending Thanksgiving at her dad's place because her mum's away on business in Maine. Aww, bless. Don't you just love kids? Her dad bought her the coolest purse, apparently. Twenty minutes ago. And people worry about government surveillance?"

  "God made idiots so that people like you always have a job, kiddo," Rob said.

  Mike wondered if Dru checked what her daughter was posting. "Wow, your kids really can hang you, can't they?"

  Tom leaned forward to show Rob something on the tablet. From a snatched glance, it looked to Mike like a picture of Clare.

  "People know it's a risk," Tom said. "But life's not worth living if you have to worry who's watching every harmless thing you do."

  "Like GCHQ, you mean?" Rob asked.

  "It's really not like that, Dad." Tom went back to his task, apparently unoffended. "Mike, do you know how many pictures there are of you online? National Guard news release. Some really old photos from your Oxford college. See what
I mean? Even if you don't post it, other people do it for you, years later sometimes. You'd have to spend your whole life in a cave to avoid it."

  Maggie Dunlop and Ian had tried to do just that. Maggie would have had her issues with Tom, Mike decided. "Where's the car now, Rob?"

  "Still near the house." Rob looked back at Tom again. "Keep your head down as we drive in, kiddo."

  Tom seemed to be taking it in his stride and wrapping it all in a joke. He slid down in the back seat. "Wow, tinted glass and stalkers. It's just like being a celeb. Can I punch a photographer, please?"

  Mike thought he saw the Sonic as he drove past the visitor centre, but that didn't tell him where Dru was. When he parked in the garage, he made sure the automatic doors had closed fully before he let Rob and Tom get out. It was like being back on patrol again, alert to threats when dismounting. It reignited his anger from the day before.

  Reduced to this. In my own goddamn home.

  Livvie intercepted them in the rear hall as they brought in Tom's luggage. She did a credible job of behaving as if nothing serious had happened.

  "Tom, sweetheart, you look terrific." She hugged him. "Come and meet Ian."

  She whisked Tom away in a flurry of hospitality, leaving Mike and Rob to decompress. They stood in the hall with the bags and looked at each other as if a good idea would materialize any moment now if they stared long enough.

  "GCHQ." Rob rubbed his hands over his face and shut his eyes. "Oh, fuck."

  "I know you're not crazy about it, but it does prove that Tom's very smart."

  "Okay. I'll just have to accept that we'll have blank spots we can't talk about." Rob held his arms out in submission. "All that matters is that he's happy and he's here. Let's crack on. We can still stay vigilant without fucking up the holiday."

  "No, I stay vigilant. You have quality time with your son."

  "Yeah. Let's go and see how Ian's getting on"

  Tom and Ian were chatting as if they were old buddies. It was quite something to see Ian at ease in a social situation, but he probably felt he knew Tom by proxy, and they had something extra in common now – a lot they needed to keep to themselves. The conversation drifted to Mike and Rob's business plans, building the kill house, and why greyhounds sat on their asses all day. Tom never said a word about Dru Lloyd, though. After lunch, the jet lag took its toll and he drifted off to sleep on the sofa next to Rob, gradually sinking into the upholstery with his head resting against his father's shoulder like a small child.

  Rob tidied his hair. Eventually he eased a cushion under Tom's head like a builder propping up a collapsing wall and slid out from under. Oatie crept in and curled up in the warm space Rob had vacated.

  "I'll keep an eye on Tom," Livvie whispered. "Go do what you need to."

  Mike gestured to Ian to stay put and went out to the hall with Rob. The GPS still showed Dru's car at the top of the scenic trail. She had to collect it sooner or later.

  "Better check it out," Mike said.

  Rob slid his pistol into his belt and put on his cap. "I'm never going to forgive her for dragging me out in this bloody cold. I don't look irresistible in a beanie."

  They made their way through the trees and reached the western boundary of Mike's property just as the sun broke through a heavy layer of cloud. Mike held down the top wire of the half-hearted fence and climbed over.

  Now they were on public land, five hundred yards from the trail. They stuck to the tree line until Mike saw the low roof of the visitor centre and a few cars parked nearby. He wouldn't have been surprised to find a discarded GPS unit and an empty space, but the Sonic was still there. Dru still hadn't found the tag.

  Rob shivered. "She's persistent, I'll give her that. I'm glad I'm not married to her."

  "By the way, Ian wanted to leave this morning to spare us the hassle."

  "I thought he might." Rob didn't seem at all surprised. "He always blames himself."

  "It'd break my heart to lose him. And Livvie's."

  "Yeah, he's an easy kid to get attached to. Don't worry. He's not going anywhere."

  Mike checked the camera feeds via his phone again to make sure the Chrysler van wasn't watching the house while they were distracted here. He didn't know if Dru would recognise him from photos, especially wearing a cap, but she wouldn't have been able to run a search for Rob, and she couldn't have gotten a good look at him through the Merc's tinted glass.

  They still couldn't confront her yet. If she was burned, she'd just get replaced and they'd have to start over to work out who was watching. Mike had to give her the chance to do something dumb. That wasn't going to be easy, though. She was clearly no fool.

  "I'm going in," Rob said.

  Mike sat on the bench near the parking area to keep an eye on the other vehicles while Rob went into the visitor centre. Next time, they'd bring Oatie. A dog was an easy way to justify being pretty well anywhere. Rob ambled back a few minutes later with a handful of leaflets.

  "She's not in there," he said.

  Mike was watching the entrance to the parking area. "Heads up."

  The blue Chrysler van pulled in and crawled along the row of cars before parking nose in. Rob squinted as if he was taking a look at the driver.

  "Same plate," he said. "Male, white, fortyish, on his own. If that's her backup, they're a getting a bit sloppy. We shouldn't even notice them."

  "It's not like tailing someone in a city. There's not enough bodies to hide behind. " Mike waited for the Chrysler to get close enough to the Sonic for him to grab pictures. "I'm just collecting what I can to rule out coincidence. Is he meeting her, or looking for her?"

  "We're assuming he's on her side."

  "Rival company Kinnery forgot to mention?"

  "Are you sure you don't want to run this past your dad? Identify the plate?"

  "Deniability, Rob. If it all goes to hell, he's linked to the plate query."

  Rob sat down again, head turned to Mike but looking sideways at the Chrysler. "Let's grip this. We keep talking about entrapping her, but all I'm seeing now is a two-vehicle operation. She flushes us out and the bloke or blokes in the Chrysler go after Ian."

  Mike hadn't seen a second guy. Nobody on the professional food chain would send one man to do a snatch, though, so there had to be at least one other, or maybe even a third vehicle.

  "We can sit tight for as long as it takes," Mike said. "They've got to get Ian outside and separate us from him. How about reversing that?"

  Rob was now looking straight at the parked vehicles. "You mean invite her in for tea, whether she wants any or not?"

  "If we've got her, they have to abort. KWA doesn't keep guys like us on staff. They'd hire them. What would we do if we knew we were compromised on an illegal job?"

  "Thin out bloody fast," Rob said. "Or take a huge risk to pull it off and get paid. But we're good boys."

  Mike realised he'd walked himself step by step across the line he didn't want to cross. This was about the way he'd chosen to live his life, his decision that he wasn't above the law or exempt from duty and morality simply because he was rich enough to do as he pleased. The guys he'd been with at prep school would have laughed in disbelief. Laws were for the poor dumb masses, not for the elite.

  The law wasn't there for Ian, was it? Is it going to protect him now?

  It became instantly clear. Mike could either do good, or be good, but not both.

  "Let's do it," he said.

  SIXTEEN

  Mom's not getting any younger, Mike. You hardly visited before, but where the hell have you been all this year? What can possibly be more important than your own mother? Okay, we've all accepted how you want to live your life. Dad lets you play soldiers and he's bought you your very own little friend to play with. The least you could do is show up and be family occasionally.

  Charlotte Brayne Aird, in a call to her brother about his Thanksgiving plans.

  BYWAY HOTEL, NEAR WESTERHAM FALLS

  THANKSGIVING.

&nbsp
; Dru stood looking down at her laptop, fuming.

  She checked her mail once a day, but she'd taken her eye off the ball when it came to monitoring what Clare was doing online. Part of the daily routine at home was checking Clare's public pages to make sure she wasn't posting too much personal information or getting into conversations that made Dru uneasy. Dru's biggest fear was that Clare would hand out her phone number to the world and all the perverts within it. She hadn't expected her to hand out information on her mother's activities instead.

  Checking more frequently wouldn't have shut this stable door in the wake of the bolting horse, but Dru really wished she'd spotted it sooner.

  'Mom's on a business trip to Maine.' Terrific. Thanks. Tell everybody.

  It wasn't Clare's fault, though. It was wholly Larry's. He was the only one with the information, and he should have known Dru wanted to keep it quiet or else she'd have told Clare herself. Besides, he had her goddamn hotel number, so why did he need to add detail? He knew where to get hold of her if he needed to.

  You still think I'm with some guy, don't you? Because that's how you live your life, and of course everyone lies like you do.

  Even Clare understood that Mom couldn't discuss employee information, regardless of whether it was the dull routine stuff or building a legal case. If Dru had levelled with Larry about why this job was sensitive and exactly what she planned to do, it would only have opened the floodgates of accusations of being irresponsible and a bad mother. He didn't need to know.

  As if I knew exactly what I was going to do when I got here anyway. Stop panicking. Weaver doesn't hang out on teen sites. He'll probably never see it.

  In the scheme of things it was harmless, but that was the trouble with information. It was all about context and how it locked into place with other fragments in the mosaic. Dru shut the laptop. Maybe it didn't matter if Weaver found out where she'd gone. It had taken months of grinding, repetitive drudgery for her to make the Brayne connection, and Weaver definitely didn't have the time and inclination to pick the fly shit from the pepper on the granular scale that she did. That was why he'd chosen her to do this job. She was thorough and security-conscious, or, as Larry usually translated it, obsessive, sneaky, and secretive. She dug up long-dead things.