STANDPOINT a gripping thriller full of suspense Read Online Free PDF Page B

you be in the Surveillance Support Unit?”
    “How d’you mean?” Thomas leaned forward, leading with his jaw. “It’s just a job, that’s all; forget the mission statement and the badge — we’re the hired help. All right, I grant you most of ’em are more ambitious, but not me or you, right?”
    He stopped short; Karl was staring at him intently, still as marble.
    “. . . And I s’pose it’s also a proving ground for the likes of Ann Crossley and Christine Gerrard, on their way up the greasy pole?”
    He’d run out of things to say and opened his palms flat. If there were any aces in this conversation, he didn’t have them. No one spoke for a good minute, before Thomas braved the silence.
    “You were expecting more?”
    Karl toyed with the sugar sachets.
    “Shit. You really don’t know, do you?”
    “Not yet . . .” Thomas narrowed his eyes.
    Karl slumped back in his chair and gazed at his hands.
    “God, Tommo; what a pickle of bollocks. Let’s take a step back. You’ve been in the SSU for . . .”
    “Two years,” he filled in the blank even though Karl already knew it.
    “Okay, well it’s a little bit longer than that for me, and I started in West London. Some time ago, I was asked to participate in a covert review of the SSU, from the ground. There were concerns about information going astray . . . And before you ask, I don’t know what — and even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”
    “So how are you involved in all this?”
    “Not at all, officially. I’m just a pair of eyes and ears, as you’ve probably figured out. But I thought, after that van yesterday, that you were definitely . . . you know . . . representing some other party as well.”
    “I just felt they were innocent.”
    “ They ? You have a good memory,” Karl blinked slowly.
    Thomas swallowed hard; he could feel the heat at his armpits. They finished their coffee in uncomfortable silence.
    “Look,” Karl said eventually, “I messed up, okay; I read the signs wrong. You don’t socialise, you doctored my report; you convinced me to let someone go through at the docks — Christ, you may even have picked out a gunman. It all added up to you being in the SSU for more than a mortgage and a pension.”
    “Like you, you mean?” Thomas was still adjusting to the idea that Karl had another life going on.
    Karl soon tired of being stared at.
    “Let’s not let this screw up a perfectly good working relationship, eh Tommo? What do you say?”
    “Deal,” Thomas stretched out his hand. “As long as you introduce me to Teresa when I bring the drinks back.”
    As Thomas stood in line, watching as Teresa ambled over to their table, he had a revelation. Right up there with gravity, the faked moon-landing pictures and real men not liking opera. He rushed the coffees back then excused himself to the gents. He locked the cubicle door behind him, sat on the toilet lid and took deep, slow breaths. His pulse pounded in his ears. This was something he hadn’t felt in a long time: fear. He speed-dialled Miranda’s mobile and stared at the graffiti on the inside of the door. Even at a gun club, there was apparently someone willing to do the nasty with strangers for ten pounds. Some helpful soul had even added pencil drawings.
    She picked up first ring.
    “Miranda Wright — at your service!”
    “Hi, it’s me. Listen, I’m going to ask you a question; it may seem a bit odd.”
    “Are you okay, Thomas?”
    She must have sensed the concern in his voice; she’d cut straight through the usual double-entendres.
    “I need to know if an Irish guy has been at Caliban’s recently, asking questions. About five-foot eight; short, reddish-brown hair. Check with Sheryl and be discreet.”
    “I’ll ring you back.”
    “No,” he insisted, “just text me.”
    “Okay. I’ll come over later tonight. You don’t sound good.”
    “Fine.”
    Back at the table, Karl was in full flow.
    “All Ulster men are romantics — it’s the Celtic