The Hidden Man - Charles Cumming [12]
Taploe tooka long, deep breath, as if the effort of summing up the Libra case with such clarity and precision had left him briefly exhausted. He was on the point of elaborating further when a squat, thick-set man wearing a pin-striped suit emerged from a nearby house and turned towards them. He was well within earshot and Taploe immediately assumed cover.
‘So you’ll be away all weekend?’ he said quickly. ‘Why don’t you leave me your number and I’ll try to get hold of you then.’
The switch, a very basic precaution, was also second nature to Keen. Given that many of Divisar’s employees were drawn from the secret world, the company operated on much the same basis as the intelligence services. If, for example, Keen happened to be discussing an operation at headquarters and was interrupted by another member of staff entering the room, he would quickly drop into small talk until that person had left the area. There were pockets of expertise within the company, and very little crossover due to the requirements of secrecy; many employees were strangers to one another. Nevertheless, he felt that Taploe had overplayed it, and enjoyed delaying his response for as long as possible.
‘Or you could just call my mobile,’ he replied slowly. ‘Do you have the number?’ His voice was deliberately bored. ‘It’s printed on my card.’
The man was now thirty metres behind them, standing beside a two-door BMW. Keen heard the double sonics of central locking and registered amber hazard lights flaring briefly in the backwindow of a nearby van. Then he heard the driver’s door clunk shut as the man climbed inside.
It was safe to continue.
‘The answer to your question, Mr Taploe, is that I cannot tell you very much.’ Keen sounded assured, imperial. ‘I have neither seen nor spoken to Thomas Macklin in over two months. Whom he chooses to hold meetings with in Moscow, London or Timbuktu is his business, not mine. Ditto any strange bankac-counts. Obviously you suspect money laundering…’
‘Obviously,’ Taploe said quickly. ‘The thing is, we can’t make an arrest until we know the source of the cash. Macklin could realistically claim that he had no knowledge of handling dirty money, or say that he was acting as a lawyer for Viktor Kukushkin and planned to use the funds to buy real estate. But we’d be interested in what you could tell us about your early contact with Libra.’
Keen noted the use of the plural pronoun: making it a point of honour, a duty to the old firm. However, rather than answer immediately, he asked a question of his own.
‘How did you find me?’
Taploe was looking down Augustine Road towards Brook Green. He rubbed his cheek.
‘Your name was recognized when it came up during preliminary research into Divisar.’
Keen sounded a sarcastic note.
‘So - what? - you found out I was in the Office, thought it was your lucky day and ran me as a trace request through the ND? Is that how it still works over there?’
Taploe hesitated. ‘Something like that.’
‘Was there anything Recorded Against?’ Keen asked, employing the Service euphemism. ‘I’d love to know.’
Taploe ignored the question.
‘Why don’t we just talkabout your initial contact with Libra?’
Keen sighed, loathing the dryness of bureaucracy.
‘Very well. This is what I know, although I can’t thinkwhy it will be of any use to you. Thomas Macklin approached Divisar about six months ago. I’d have to checkthe file to be more precise. He was sharp and efficient and he came as Roth’s representative, which is often the way in our business. If push comes to shove, those boys want as much distance between us and them as they can manage. It was a simple job, of the sort I do all the time. Libra were interested in setting up operations in Russia and Macklin had a lot of very sensible questions that needed answering.