Defender(69)

CHAPTER 44





London





"With all this business associated with the attempt on President Namakobo, the coup and so on ..."

"Well, you didn't expect me to sit on my bloody hands did you?"

"I gave you a direct lead to assist you in your investigations in Africa, Nobby. Not in England!"

Davenport was on his feet, pacing. Violet Ashcroft-James stood defiantly across from him, arms crossed, anger and regret blazing in her eyes.

"In the absence of formal identification, I was forced to initiate my own inquiries." Davenport noticed Ashcroft-James stiffen, and he held up a conciliatory hand. "In fairness, my dear, I could hardly afford to be idle, waiting for you to offer a name. Now, I'm aware of Mr. Cornell. Sadly, however, it's all too late. You see, as a result of his identity remaining undisclosed, Cornell - by virtue of his role within the Foreign Office - received a personal security briefing from MI5 and the Special Branch regarding the exact details of President Namakobo's arrival and movements while in this country."

"You think I don't know that?"

"And, with respect to recent events," Davenport continued. "Cornell has emerged as the person most likely to have leaked the information which resulted in the assassination attempt against the President. So, perhaps now you'll be good enough to tell me exactly how much you do know about him?"

A long silence followed.

"He was an SIS aspirant," Violet began with a sigh, her head resting in long, slender, immaculately manicured fingers. "Deluded, of course. Never had a hope. Now he's one of those civil service lifers who's hung on long enough at the Foreign Office, and sadly, despite a complete lack of talent or redeeming features of any kind, has finally weaseled his way up into a responsible position. Destined to happen with his kind. They know if they hang around long enough they'll eventually float to the surface. You know the type. The civil service is littered with them, even my own service. And Cornell has the all-too-familiar victim mentality. Continues to be overlooked on the honours list. The world owes him. Perfect material for anyone with a mind to stroke his ego and make him feel that he's important. I couldn't disclose his identity for fear of compromising another investigation. Clearly, that was a mistake."

"I see," Davenport said simply. "Where have these other inquiries led you, Violet? And please, don't waste my time with any more two-stepping. The assassination attempt has taken us beyond that."

"I felt that I had given you enough last time," she snapped. "You're not working for the British Government any more, Nobby. I'm not obliged to provide you with any information, and it's unreasonable to expect me to." She stopped.

She remained silent for some time until Davenport said: "How about I tell you what I know and you fill in the blanks or correct the mistakes or whatever?" She nodded, glad of the respite. 'I'm onto something, Violet, with old fashioned, sleeves rolled up, flat-foot detective work. And the only way we're going to get anywhere is if we start laying our cards on the table."

Ashcroft-James was silent. She was studying Davenport's familiar, handsome features, trying to read two minutes ahead in the conversation. She would have to see just how much the wily old fox had uncovered.

Davenport returned to the laptop on the coffee table, tapped its keys and beckoned her to join him. He swivelled the laptop around so that Ashcroft-James had a clear view of the screen.

"Here's Mr. Cornell out and about in London. You'll note there are a number of places he tends to frequent, in and around Westminster, the Strand, near his home in Richmond, and so on." She nodded. "Unbeknownst to him, Cornell has had company these past few weeks. If you look carefully, you'll see a number of faces appearing with reasonable regularity in the background of some shots. Evidently, someone else is keeping an eye on Cornell."

Ashcroft-James remained glued to the screen as Davenport guided her through the images, pointing out certain faces and profiles as they appeared. Her expression changed. It was the reaction Davenport had expected.

"Recognise anybody?"

"They're mine, Nobby. SIS agents. But, of course, it seems you knew that already." She reproved. Her eyes turned to him. "Christ!"

"Whatever problem you've got, Violet, tell me all of it. You have my word that I'll work day and night with you to sort this bloody mess out. But if you don't play it straight with me, by God, I'll bring you down for using me to sort out your mess and risking the reputation of this organisation and the lives of my people."

"Before I go on," she began. Her voice, her words and manner, calm and measured. "How did you get these images? Who took them? Your people?"