Read Online Devil in the Wires by Tim Lees - Free Book Online

he was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his crisp consonants and plummy vowels allowed no willful misinterpretation of the job ahead. Would that they had.
    â€œI want you to go after him,” he said. “You’re his friend, aren’t you? You can talk to him. Persuade him to see sense. I want to play it carefully on this one.”
    â€œThis whole job—­” I started, but he spoke across me.
    â€œI don’t know Dayling. Any vices, bad habits? Debts? Unsavory associations? Any kind of context we can put him in?”
    â€œI hadn’t seen the guy in ten years. I didn’t expect to see him at all, quite frankly.”
    Seddon clicked his tongue. “This is all very annoying,” he said, as if I were some hawker who’d just got him out of the bath. “I’ll talk to our Paris office. Ask them to keep the local authorities out of it, if they can. . . . I do so hate working with ­people I don’t know. You can’t depend on them. That’s why I need you there, Chris. Packed, already? Yes? I want you on the next plane.”
    â€œThere’s more to this,” I said. I knew he’d given his command, and in his view he was done. But I pressed on. “There was an attempt to seize it in the field. Russian mafia or something, I dunno. Eastern Europe, anyway. Then Dayling runs off with it. Does that make any sense to you?”
    â€œI’m sure it doesn’t, Chris. Are you suggesting I might . . . know something about this?”
    â€œI’m not suggesting anything,” I said. “You think he’s trying to sell the thing?”
    â€œOh, I’d think so. Wouldn’t you?”
    â€œThey couldn’t get it off me in the field, so now they’re going to buy it. Him, too, I imagine. He was Field Ops once. They wanted me, you know. Very . . . lucrative deal.”
    â€œReally. You must tell me all about it. Meanwhile—­all haste, eh? Let’s hope we have a quick end to this. God knows . . .”
    I don’t like airports. I’m sick of them, really. Most airports rank about an inch higher than bus stations for comfort, convenience, and general human warmth. You’re not there to enjoy yourself. You’re there to go somewhere else.
    They say that there are spirits in these great travel termini, still untapped, fed by the hopes and anxieties of millions of travelers. If so, the spirit at Charles de Gaulle is a particularly tetchy one.
    The place was packed with ­people. I took a detour round a family of six seemingly camped out in the middle of the hallway, their suitcases piled up like a barricade. As I hit immigration, Seddon rang, and I had to cut him off to deal with the official sniffing at my passport. It was a flight from Baghdad, of course, an ordinary, commercial flight; and while my queue was long, the queue for anyone of darker skin and non-­EU origin was longer still and a lot slower moving. By the time I’d gone through the formalities and called Seddon back, he was engaged. A woman’s voice asked me to please hold and a scratchy version of one of the Brandenburgs began. I rang off, went outside, caught a whiff of the night air, and hailed a taxi. From the back seat, I called London again.
    Seddon said, “You’d have been quicker on the train to Gare du Nord. Cheaper, too.”
    I grunted at this.
    â€œAnyway,” he said. “We now have an address.”
    â€œIt’s a false trail.”
    â€œNot at all.” He was sounding a bit brighter than before; he evidently liked this update.
    I said, “It’s too easy.”
    â€œFrench chap followed him. We circulated pictures and description, naturally. Claims there’s no doubt. He’s in a hotel in Pigalle. They’re watching it now. You know Justine Dignet, don’t you? She’s handling their end of it. If you’re lucky you’ll be there before the