She’d been focused on the buildings on the far bank, but now turned to face him. ‘Don’t for a moment imagine we’re having a conversation. When I ask for information, you give it. You don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, and you don’t dream about telling anything but the truth. Or you’ll find there are colder, deeper things than this river, and I’ll take pleasure in burying you in one of them. Clear?’
‘So far.’
‘Good. Now, I gave Lamb a specific instruction about a specific job. I don’t remember telling him to let you know about it. So, how did you find out?’
He said, ‘There’s a bug.’
‘There’s. A. Bug.’
It wasn’t exactly a question. So Moody didn’t exactly answer. He just swallowed, hard.
‘Are you seriously telling me you planted a
‘Yes.’
‘Sweet Jesus.’ She threw back her head and laughed. Then stopped. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ she said again.
‘It wasn’t …’
‘Wasn’t what? Wasn’t something that could get you, what, thirty years? Given the climate?’
‘Have you any idea what it’s like?’
But she was shaking her head: not interested in his prepared outburst. He might be frustrated, thwarted, feel he’d been made to carry the can for a Service balls-up. But the fact was, he’d never have made it out of his current pay grade. If you needed a walking definition of foot soldier, a glance at Jed Moody’s file would do it.
‘I don’t care. All I want to know is, how come the sweeps didn’t pick it up? Oh, no. Don’t tell me.’
So he didn’t.
‘You do the sweeping.’
He nodded.
‘Set a thief to catch a … Christ. What else do you lot get up to over there? No, don’t even start. I don’t want to know.’
True to her earlier forebodings, Diana Taverner fished her cigarettes out again. She offered the pack to Moody. He’d already produced a lighter, and with one big hand shielding the flame, lit them both. For a brief moment, membership of the twenty-first century pariahs’ club united them.
He said, ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping. Well, I was. But not for anybody else. I used to be one of the Dogs. Lamb’s got me running background checks when they get a new waiter next door. Not because he thinks anyone’s about to post an asset there. He’s just taking the piss, and doesn’t care if I know it.’
‘So why not quit?’
‘Because it’s what I do.’
‘But you’re not happy.’
‘Nobody’s happy at Slough House.’
Taverner concentrated on her cigarette, or pretended to, but had good peripheral vision, and was studying Jed Moody. He’d probably been handy once, but the drink and the smoking had put paid to that, and it was a safe bet that exile had sealed the downward spiral. These days, he probably guilt-splurged at the gym; seven-hour workouts making up for lost weekends. He’d keep kidding himself this was working. Whenever the truth looked like breaking in, he’d have another drink, and light another smoke.
‘Not even Lamb?’ she asked.
Rather to her surprise, he gave her a straight answer: ‘He’s a burn-out. A fat, lazy bastard.’
‘You ever wonder why he’s at Slough House?’
‘What good would he be anywhere else?’
That wasn’t quite so straight. The one self-evident fact about Lamb being allowed to run his own little kingdom—even from a crackpot palace like Slough House—was that he must know where bodies were buried. Moody didn’t want to raise that with Diana Taverner. Which meant, she surmised, that Moody was treading round her with caution. Which was exactly how she preferred it.
Moody’s cigarette had burned to the filter. He let it fall from his fingers, and it rolled into the crack between two paving stones.
When he looked up, she fixed him with a stare that left no doubt who was in charge. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ she said. ‘You’re going to do one or two favours for me. Off the books.’
‘Illegal.’
‘Yes. Which means that if for any reason things go even slightly wrong, and you end up in a small room being questioned by angry men, there’s no possibility I’ll pretend to have heard of you. Are we clear on that?’
Moody said, ‘Yes.’
‘And are we happy about it?’
Moody said, ‘Yes’ again, and she could tell this was the truth. Like other slow horses before him, he wanted to be back in the game.
From her bag, she produced a mobile phone, and handed it to him. ‘Incoming only,’ she said.
He nodded.
‘And dump the bug. Slough House may be a dead end, but it’s a branch of the Service. It gets out it’s been compromised, and your former mates from Internal Investigations’ll take you apart, bone by bone.’
She stood, but instead of moving straight off, she hovered a moment.
‘Oh, and Moody? Word of warning. Lamb’s a burn-out for a reason.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning when he was in the field, he had more to worry about than his expenses. Things like being caught, tortured and shot. He survived. You might want to bear that in mind.’
She left him sitting there, an asset bought and paid for. Some were cheaper than others. And she already knew to what use she could put him.
