Slow Horses полностью

Opening his own cup involved splashing hot coffee on to his thighs. She handed him a napkin. He fumbled with it, trying to mop himself dry without spilling more. ‘So what, you guessed I’d be here?’

‘It wasn’t that difficult.’

Great, he thought. Nothing like being transparent. ‘And you thought I might want company?’

‘I can honestly say I’ve never thought that, no.’ She looked past him. ‘Which one’s Hobden?’

River pointed.

‘And he’s alone?’

‘Far as I know. So why are you here?’

She said, ‘Look. You’re probably wrong. If Hobden’s got anything to do with Hassan—’

‘They’ve released his name?’

‘Not officially. But Five have got it, and Ho picked it up a couple of hours ago. That boy’s slick. It’s a good job he’s working for us.’

‘So who is he?’

‘Hassan Ahmed. Ho’s probably got his shoe size by now, but that’s all he had when I left. Anyway, if Hobden’s involved, he’d hardly still be loose. Five would have brought him in.’

River said, ‘That had occurred to me.’

‘And?’

He shrugged. ‘I know he’s up to something.’

‘That stuff you were looking at in the pub. Ready to tell me what that was about?’

He might as well. It wasn’t like he could convince her he wasn’t up to anything. ‘They were Hobden’s,’ he said. ‘The files you stole the other day.’

‘They were what?’

He told her what he’d done, as briefly as he could. When he’d finished, Sid was silent for a full minute. He was glad about that. She could easily have launched into a catalogue of exactly what an idiot he was; explained that theft of government property was one thing, and theft of classified information another. Even if that information turned out to be useless. He didn’t need to know any of that. And nor did she mention that merely hearing what he’d told her put her in the same situation as him. If River wound up in the dock, she’d be by his side. Unless she left the car now. And called the Dogs.

Instead, when the minute was up, she said, ‘So what’s with pi? Code?’

‘I don’t think so. I think his back-up’s a dummy. I think he’s the kind of paranoid who expects someone to lift his files, and wants to be sure they don’t get anything. No, more than that. Wants them to know he was expecting it. He wants to have the last laugh.’

River remembered something else: that Hobden used copies of Searchlight, the anti-fascist newspaper, to wrap his kitchen leavings in; an up-yours to anyone who rifled his dustbins. You think he’s calling us Nazis? he’d asked Lamb. Well, yes, Lamb had said. Obviously. Obviously he’s calling us Nazis.

‘Well, you can’t say he’s wrong,’ said Sid. ‘I mean, I lifted his files. You went through his rubbish.’

‘And that list didn’t get on the web by accident,’ River said. ‘Let’s face it, the Service screwed him good and proper.’

‘And his revenge involves setting up some kid for execution? You know what kind of backlash there’ll be if it actually happens?’

‘I can imagine.’ His coffee was still too hot. He placed the cup on the dashboard. ‘Islamic communities taking to the streets. Oh, there’ll be plenty of sympathy from the liberal left, why wouldn’t there be? An innocent kid killed on camera. But it won’t just be demonstrators waving placards and demanding respect. It’ll be about revenge. There’ll be stabbings and God knows what. You name it.’

‘That’s what I meant. He might be a raving idiot, but he’s a patriot, for what that’s worth. You really think he wants chaos in the streets?’

‘Yep. Because after the chaos comes the clampdown, and that’s what he’s after. Not the backlash but what follows, when everything gets harsh. Because nobody wants kids executed on TV, but they want riots on their doorstep even less.’

Sid said, ‘I hate conspiracy theories.’

‘It’s not a theory once it’s proved. After that, it’s just a conspiracy.’

‘And sitting outside Hobden’s flat helps how?’

‘Let me get back to you in the morning.’

‘You’re seriously planning on sitting here all night?’

‘I hadn’t got as far as making it a plan.’

She shook her head, then sipped from her cup. ‘If nothing happens, you’re buying breakfast.’

He didn’t know what to say to that, but before it became obvious, another thought occurred to her.

‘River?’

‘What?’

‘You know you’re an idiot, don’t you?’

He smiled but turned away first, so she wouldn’t notice.

That was at ten. For the next hour, it seemed breakfast was on River; there was almost no movement on the street, and none involving Hobden. The light at his window remained steady. An occasional shadow on the curtain proved he was still in there, or that someone was—perhaps River should knock on his door. That might provoke a reaction.