Licence To Howl by Helen Harper

Chapter Three

The main concourseof Heathrow’s Terminal 5 was busy. Devereau’s gaze swept across the crowds, from the harried looking business men and women to the tired parents and over-excited kids. He cracked his knuckles and hoped this latest venture wouldn’t prove to be a test like the last one.

He used the electronic machines to check in for his flight before dropping off his bag. It was a crying shame that he was travelling economy. He’d rather hoped that MI5 would spring for a better seat. After all, he was a werewolf on a mission and he had a status to maintain. He’d suggest it to Greensmith next time. Unfortunately, Devereau hadn’t yet found the key to unlocking the steely MI5 agent’s cool reserve. But he promised himself that he would sooner or later.

He joined the line for the departure gates, taking up position behind a woman in a flowery dress and long overcoat. She glanced round at him. Then she blinked. His reputation clearly preceded him. Devereau smiled easily at her. He caught her gaze drifting fearfully down towards his ticket. She wanted to make sure that she wasn’t going to be sharing a flight with a werewolf.

‘I’m heading to Rome,’ he told her. He might as well be helpful.

Relief flickered across her expression. She was travelling elsewhere then. ‘Good,’ she said. Then she seemed to realise she’d given too much of her true thoughts away and hastily added, ‘It’s lovely at this time of year. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.’

Devereau deliberately bared his teeth. The woman flinched. ‘I’m sure I will,’ he drawled.

They shuffled forward. The woman shrugged out of her coat and placed it on the conveyor belt. Devereau did the same behind her, adding his small bag, keys, wallet and passport to a grey plastic tray. He watched as she walked up to the full body scanner, submitting briefly before continuing. A moment later, the uniformed officer beckoned towards him. He strolled up, aware that a considerable number of other waiting passengers were watching him. The woman hadn’t been the only person who’d recognised him.

‘Step this way, sir,’ the officer said blandly.

Devereau nodded and walked into the scanner, spreading his legs and raising his arms above his head. There was a swishing sound as the machine sprang into the action. It was followed by a high-pitched beep of warning. Huh. The fearful flowery woman hadn’t been beeped.

‘Remain where you are, sir,’ the officer intoned.

The machine swished again. Again there was a beep. Out of the corner of his eye, Devereau saw three more uniformed officers marching in his direction. These ones were armed. Okaaay.

The woman ahead lifted her coat from the other end of the conveyor belt and turned to watch. She permitted herself a tiny nod of satisfaction. As long as dangerous beasts like Devereau Webb were prevented from travelling then all was well with the world. Apparently.

‘Mr Webb,’ one of the gun-toting officers said, ‘please come with us.’

‘I feel like I’m being profiled.’

The officer’s eyes were stone cold. ‘Are you refusing to come?’

Devereau held up his palms in submission. ‘Not at all. I was merely passing comment. I know my place.’

‘I doubt that,’ a second officer muttered under his breath.

Devereau’s wolf itched. He remained outwardly calm, however, and even managed a pleasant smile. ‘Lead the way, gentlemen.’

Two of the officers flanked him while the third took up the front. He noted his bag and belongings were being gingerly scooped up and removed from the conveyor belt. Rather than let the stain of humiliation show on his face, Devereau continued to smile. He also waved enthusiastically at the flowery woman as he passed her.

‘So lovely to meet you!’ he trilled.

She chose not to answer. Devereau wondered whether Italians were friendlier towards supes. And whether he’d get the chance to find out either way for himself. He followed his new entourage through a heavy steel door and decided that at least he would enjoy watching the expressions of the gun loving officers when MI5 got in touch and explained what he was really doing at Heathrow.

Without ceremony, Devereau was deposited in a small room which contained nothing more than a small table and two chairs. He’d barely sat down when the door opened again and Sarah Greensmith herself appeared. Devereau couldn’t mask his emotions quickly enough.

She offered him a quick smile. ‘You seem surprised to see me, Mr Webb. I did tell you I’d make contact before you boarded.’

Devereau’s jaw tightened. This time Greensmith had gained the upper hand on him. It wasn’t something he enjoyed although she certainly appeared happy about it. ‘I was expecting a phone call. Not an arrest.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘Hmm. Yes, well, this wasn’t my idea.’ She shook herself. ‘But this sort of thing is much better when it’s done in person and we can’t risk meeting out in the open any longer.’ She waved an airy hand around. ‘This way nobody beyond a select group of people will ever know that I am talking to you. Even the security officers who brought you here don’t suspect what’s really going on. This is what you signed up for.’

Perhaps. But meeting in public hadn’t been a problem last time. ‘Hauling me into a back room still seems like overkill.’

‘It’s for your safety, Mr Webb.’

Uh huh. ‘It kills two birds with one stone too, doesn’t it? That little charade you pulled out there will have proven to all those other people that their taxes are being put to good use and that supes are being kept in their place.’

Greensmith didn’t bother denying it.

‘You’re reinforcing negative stereotypes,’ he growled.

Her expression didn’t alter. ‘In twenty minutes’ time, you’ll be back out there doing duty free shopping to your heart’s content. Anyone who witnessed your removal will soon know that you were briefly held and questioned and then released to continue on your journey because you have been deemed to not be a threat. It’s doing the very opposite of what you allege.’

Devereau folded his arms. ‘Bullshit.’

She regarded him calmly. ‘Do you want to debate supe politics and perceptions or do you want to get down to business?’

He leaned back. Antagonising her wouldn’t help either of them. ‘Go on then,’ he drawled. ‘What do I need to know and who do I need to kill?’

Sarah Greensmith sighed. ‘There will be no killing of any kind.’

Just as well. Devereau wouldn’t hurt anyone on the British government’s say-so. He’d decide for himself what was necessary before he attempted any violence. He was peculiar that way. ‘Aw,’ he said aloud. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘You’re not fooling either of us, Mr Webb. I wish you would stop playing the role of tough guy. At this point, when it’s only the two of us, it’s entirely unnecessary.’

Devereau shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m a method actor. You’re sending me to Rome to do goodness knows what and I’m merely getting into character.’

‘I didn’t recruit you because MI5 needs a thug. Those sorts of people are two a penny.’ She pulled out a file and slid it across the small table towards him. ‘You already know you are heading to Rome to infiltrate a potential terrorist cell and that this is a joint operation between us and MI6. It will not be like what you did with the Wasps. Compared to this, the Wasps were a walk in the park. This operation is far more delicate and will take far more time. It’s also far more dangerous.’

Good. That meant he wasn’t being given another test then. This was the real thing. He murmured non-committedly and waited for her to continue.

‘We’ve been tracking this particular cell for several years,’ Greensmith told him. ‘We haven’t been able to officially tie them to any illegal activity but we know they have links with various well established terrorist organisations.’

‘As misplaced as they may be, don’t terrorists usually have specific and very particular ideologies?’ Devereau asked.

‘Indeed. As far as we can tell, this group’s sole ideology has been that greed is good.’

‘They’re only interested in financial gain, you mean.’

‘Up until now. They’ve dabbled in some arms dealing when it’s been necessary, helped smuggle goods for other organisations from country to country and mopped up the messes that others have left behind.’

Devereau rubbed his chin. ‘So they’re like the handyman of the terrorist world.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Greensmith smiled slightly at his analogy. ‘Unfortunately, however, it appears that they’re now looking to make some bigger moves. We’ve picked up some chatter via the Dark web that they’re seeking to come out from the shadows and are planning something big. We don’t know if that’s true or not and, in my experience, groups of this nature do tend to over-exaggerate both their accomplishments and their ambitions. We do know for a fact that several of them have made trips to the United Kingdom in recent months. Until now all their efforts have been focused on mainland Europe but if they’re seeking to set up operations of any sort in the UK, we need to know about it. We’ve attempted to use agents to infiltrate them before and gotten nowhere. We haven’t managed to successfully plant any listening devices at any of their known locations. The group appears to know enough about such things that any time we’ve tried to bug them, our tech has been discovered. Anything we’ve tried against them so far has failed.’ She pointed at him. ‘But I think you might have better luck.’

‘You want me to get to know them, gain their trust, and find out what they’re really up to.’

She nodded. ‘Essentially. As far as we can tell, they are led by a man called Christopher Solentino. He’s wanted by authorities in several countries and by all accounts is a nasty piece of work. We can’t simply kill him, however. Life is not as easy sanctioning murder whenever we want it. We have to find out what he’s up to and what plans are in place. It could well be that someone worse will take his place if he dies. Whatever his cell is planning won’t necessarily be halted by his death either. In fact, it might have the opposite effect and spur them on to commit worse atrocities. You are not to harm him. Your job is to find out what he and his colleagues are up to. That is all.’

‘Sounds simple enough.’

Greensmith frowned. ‘It won’t be simple at all. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, with the advent of Brexit, relations between us and our European counterparts have become somewhat strained. The Italian government would not be impressed if they learned that we were conducting any sort of operation on their own soil, even one as low key as this one. For the purposes of both your cover and our political expediency, your presence and your work is not officially sanctioned. If you get yourself into any kind of trouble, we will not be in a position to bail you out.’ She raised her eyebrows at him and Devereau had the distinct sensation that she was expecting him to argue about being left on his own. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine anything better. He didn’t need MI5 or MI6 breathing down his neck at every turn. The more independence he had, the better.

‘Okay.’

Greensmith appeared momentarily relieved. ‘This requires a delicate touch, Mr Webb. I want finesse, not a bull in a china shop. All we need is information. The burden of evidence for that information is low. If there is anything to suggest that they really are attempting to broach our own country, then you tell us everything you can and we will take it from there. If they are not, we will pass on whatever you discover to the European authorities and let them handle matters.’

That seemed straightforward enough. ‘How do I get in touch with you if I need to?’

‘We have to keep contact to a minimum.’ She nodded towards the file. ‘Inside there, along with details about Solentino and his terrorist cell, you’ll find details of an email account. Every day, whether you believe you have anything to report or not, you need to use that account to write a draft email and update me with your progress. Every day. If you don’t write anything, I will assume the worst, order in the cavalry and blow your cover.’ Her expression was stern and, all of a sudden, Devereau felt like he was seven years old and being told off for playing football in a car park. ‘And this is important. Do not actually send anything, electronically or otherwise. We have no real idea as to the capabilities of Solentino and his gang so it’s vital to be cautious and avoid making any digital footprints that he could trace. Leave the email in the draft folder and I will retrieve it. In the event of an emergency, call the British embassy and ask for Maximillian Jones. But that is only in an emergency. Otherwise, I will wait until I deem it is safe and I will contact you directly myself. Is that understood?’

Devereau gave her a disarming grin. ‘Sure.’

Greensmith got to her feet. ‘Good. I will leave you here to read the file and memorise the contents. You will have to leave the file here when you’ve finished but you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve included details of a bank account with a small amount of funds which are at your disposal. Please do not be profligate with taxpayers’ money, however, Mr Webb. I’ve also booked you a hotel room in the centre of Rome. It’s already paid for.’

She checked her watch. ‘Christopher Solentino has tickets for a private auction in that very hotel this evening. We’ve procured a ticket for you as well. It will provide you with the opportunity to make your initial approach. Perhaps you can make yourself known to him and then invite him for a drink at the hotel bar. Or maybe he’ll recognise you and make the approach himself. That would be ideal.’ She shrugged. ‘In any case, I’ll leave it up to you. It’s best to play these things by ear.’ Greensmith reached for the door handle. ‘When you’re ready to go, knock on the door and you will be released. Your bag will be returned to you. Your flight departs in forty-five minutes so I suggest you start reading.’ She flashed him a bright, brilliant smile which was completely out of character and worried him far more than anything else she’d said or done. ‘Good luck, Mr Webb.’