‘Looking forward to seeing you at the farm,’ he said, holding out a large, dry hand. ‘Dr Zhou,’ he added, in a tone that said
‘Oh, yes, I can’t wait,’ said Robin, smiling at him.
She was back on Wardour Street before she let her face relax from its fixed smile. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure there were no temple attendants in her vicinity, Robin pulled her mobile out of her handbag and called Strike.
‘Third time lucky… I’m in.’
‘Right then,’ said Midge, who’d been back from her holiday in California for a week, but whose dark tan, which emphasised her grey eyes, showed no sign of fading. She smoothed out a map on the partners’ desk. ‘Here it is. Chapman Farm.’
It was Wednesday morning, and Strike had lowered the blinds in the inner office, to block out the watery April sunshine, which dazzled without warming. A desk lamp shone onto the map, on which were marked many annotations in red ink.
Barclay, Midge and Dev had spent the previous seven days rotating between London and Norfolk, making a careful survey of the environs of the UHC’s base while ensuring that the cameras didn’t pick up any individual face too often. Midge had used a couple of different wigs. They’d also affixed false number plates on each of their vehicles to drive around the farm’s perimeter.
‘These,’ said Midge, pointing at a series of red crosses the three subcontractors had added to the periphery of Chapman Farm’s land, ‘are cameras. They’re serious about security. The whole perimeter’s under surveillance. But there –’ she pointed at a circled red mark, which was on the edge of a patch of woodland ‘– is the blind spot. Barclay found it.’
‘You’re sure?’ said Strike, looking around at the Scot, who was drinking tea out of a Celtic mug, in what was usually Strike’s chair.
‘Aye,’ said Barclay, leaning forwards to point. ‘The two cameras either side are fixed tae trees, an’ they’re a wee bit too far apart. They’ve noticed it’s nae properly covered, because they’ve fortified it. Extra barbed wire. The ground inside the fence was covered in nettles an’ brambles, as well.’
‘“Was”?’ said Robin.
‘Aye. I’ve cut a path through it. That’s how I confirmed they can’t see anything there: naebody came to tell me to get oot an’ I was there a couple of hours. I got in over the barbed wire, nearly fuckin’ castrated meself – ye’re welcome – an’ cut it all back. There’s a wee clearing there now, hard by the road. If I hadnae done it,’ Barclay told Robin, ‘ye’d have had to explain why you keep gettin’ covered in stings and lacerations.’
‘Bloody good going,’ said Strike.
‘Thanks, Sam,’ said Robin, warmly.
‘Last thing we did was check what happens when they
‘OK,’ said Strike, now lifting a realistic-looking plastic rock off a chair onto the desk, ‘this is going to be at the blind spot, right by the perimeter fence.’
He opened it to show Robin the contents.
‘Pencil torch and pen and paper, just in case they don’t give you any inside. You write us a note, put it back in the rock and place it in the spot where the cameras can’t see you. We collect it every Thursday evening at nine, put in a return message you can read on the spot, then tear up.
‘If you skip a Thursday letter, one of us stays in the vicinity and keeps checking the rock. If we haven’t heard from you by Saturday evening, we come in the front.’
‘Too soon,’ said Robin. ‘Make it Sunday.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if I’m worried about hitting every Thursday deadline, I’m at risk of messing up. I just want a bigger margin.’
‘What instructions have they given you?’ Midge asked Robin.
‘No phones or any electronic devices. They say you can check them in when—’
‘Don’t take them,’ said Midge and Barclay simultaneously.
