CHAPTER 44
It was 8:30 p.m. when Roger arrived outside Silvia Welbeck’s front door. He didn’t ring the bell, though, because from behind it came the faint sound of music.
For a moment, he stood and listened. He’d played that recording at Madge’s funeral and often played it in the truck. He’d been listening to it once and had to stop because he could no longer see where he was going for the tears. “Oh, dear me.” he sniffed and wandered away until it had finished. Then he rang the bell.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Roger,” he said. “Kevin is with his friends Walid and Gordon at Gordon’s Motors. I wanted to talk to you.”
A bolt slid back, the door opened on a chain, and Silvia’s thin white face appeared. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. I’ve been with Kevin all day. I think I left my hat by your CD player.”
“The hand-knitted bobble hat?”
“It lost its bobble twenty years ago. I now call it a beanie, but I still miss it.”
“You’d better come in.” The chain was released, and the door was opened, closed, and rebolted. “I put it in the drawer. I was going to give it to Kevin.”
“Kevin’s busy tonight.”
“Is he working?”
“In a way,” Roger said, looking at the CD player.” You were listening to Vaughan Williams just now.”
“You heard?”
“I was outside. “The Lark Ascending” is one of my favourite orchestral pieces.”
“You like music, Roger?”
“Only music that calms and relaxes. Head banging to Black Sabbath or Led Zeppelin whilst driving an eighteen-wheeler semi is asking for trouble.”
Silvia smiled. “Take a seat. I’ll find your hat.” She opened a drawer and handed it to him. “It has aged well.”
“My mother knitted it thirty years ago. Somerset Levels sheep wool is tough. Anything made from it is built to last.”
“What happened to the bobble?”
“It fell off in Tunisia many years ago. Before I could find it, a goat had eaten it.”
She smiled again. “How very sad.”
“Not as sad as listening to “The Lark Ascending.” We played it at my wife’s funeral and, a few years later, at my son’s. He was paraded through Wootton Basset draped in a Union flag.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Army?”
“Royal Marines. Always a boyhood dream.”
“Life’s not easy, Roger.”
“Neither should it be. Funnily enough, Kevin reminds me of David, though perhaps it’s because he asks too many darned questions.”
“I’ve tried to be a good mother, but boys need a father.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Silvia. He’s bright and has a good heart, and between those long eyelashes are eyes that show a determination to right some wrongs.”
“But he’s lacked opportunities, Roger. He missed a lot of school. That’s my fault.”
Roger shook his head. “No, no. I’m not convinced by formal education for some boys. Boys can take a while to mature and work things out, Silvia. You protected him, but he’s grown up now. Boys are often more sensitive than girls. They won’t show it, of course, but once they’ve got things clear in their minds, they can become very determined. Nothing will stand in their way. And that’s my message to you, Silvia. Trust him. Kevin now understands things. He knows you’ve struggled because others pussyfooted around due to political correctness and other sensitivities. In the process, they’ve almost destroyed the most important thing in Kevin’s life—you. Kevin is now determined to right a few wrongs. Yes, he needs a bit of advice. We all do. But he’s a brave lad, and I’m not sure I could do what he’s planning to do tonight. But then perhaps I’m too old to go breaking into someone’s property in the early hours.”
Silvia’s eyes widened. She put her hand to her mouth. “Kevin? What’s he doing?”
“It’s why I’ve called here,” Roger said and then began a long explanation that included Walid, Greg, Gordon, Kurt, the photos Cass had sent, and Colin Asher in London.
“So, while we wait to hear from Kevin, Walid, and Gordon, I’d like your help with something.” He reached for his yellow hi-vis jacket that Silvia had hung over a chair and pulled out a large envelope. “Would you mind having a look at these photographs?”
“Passport photos?”
“Cass saved them while he was being held in Turkey. He took a huge risk. It was a brave thing to do. I want to know if you recognise anyone.”
Roger watched as she picked up each sheet in turn. It took several minutes before she suddenly stopped. “Oh my god. It’s him.”
Roger moved. Silvia was pointing at image 36—Hassan Bashir, a Pakistani. “It’s him, Roger. That’s him. It’s how he looked the last time he was here. That’s Kevin’s father.”
She put her hands to her mouth and stared at the image.
“Keep going, Silvia. Are there any others you recognise?”
“There,” she said, “that’s him again. Oh my god.”
This time, she was pointing at image 48—a Lebanese passport holder called Mahmoud Al-Sahili. “It’s him, Roger. You see now how he moves around with different passports and different names?”
Roger nodded. “Anyone else?”
Silvia examined each image in turn, stopping occasionally for a longer look. Then she said, “There!” She pointed suddenly at image 239.
“That’s him again, Roger. Pascale Marinello. That’s when he came here in a suit, boasting about his money. You see? Italian passport. How did he get an Italian passport?”
Roger nodded. “What were the other names you mentioned? The names from when you first met him in the hospital?”
“He came in as General Shah Massoud, but I found two Afghan passports naming him as Abdul Rahim and Mohammad Mohaqik.”
“And his real name? The one he wanted Kevin to take?”
“Khokhar. Muhammad Khokhar.”
***
Roger left shortly after that and called Kevin.
Kevin was in his attic room, waiting for midnight and trying to finish the Grapes of Wrath but was too distracted by nerves to concentrate. “You went to see my mum without telling me?” he asked.
“You’re busy, Kevin. Listen to me. Concentrate on what I’m about to tell you.”
Kevin listened without interrupting. Then, “Oh my god.”
“Your mother kept saying that, Kevin. Is it something you’ve inherited?”
“Yeh. What are we going to do now?”
“I’m going to call Colin Asher.”
***
Lights were still blazing in the Asher & Asher office on Edgeware Road when Colin Asher answered Roger’s call. He listened, scribbled notes, thanked Roger, and then shouted for Ritchie Nolan. Ritchie, a dropout from drama school in North London, had only recently joined Asher & Asher. It was his appearance, black and dreadlocked, and his ability to mimic any sort of easy-going wide boy with a penchant for street trading that had appealed to Colin Asher. What Ritchie lacked was patience with the monotony of desk research.
“Are you still awake in there?” Colin called.
Ritchie plodded through. “It’s so monotonous, Colin.”
“On the contrary, I’ve always found that sifting mountains of data only ever stimulates my creative side, Ritchie. I’ll make sure the matter crops up during your three-month appraisal. How long have you been here now?”
“Three months, Colin.”
“Is the monotonous sifting producing any results?”
“No.”
“Right. Before you fall asleep, check this out. Our identical twins, Hassan Bashir and Mahmoud Al-Sahili are, in fact, Kevin’s father.”
“How?”
“By the usual procreative way, I assume, Ritchie. Do you mean how do I know? I know it from Roger Smith, who’s been speaking to Kevin’s mother, Silvia. She’s also given us two other names that might mean we’ve got quadruplets or even quintuplets.”
Colin handed Ritchie the scrap of paper with his notes. “So we can now narrow things down and focus our minds. Check these out: General Shah Massoud, a Pakistani, and two Afghans, Abdul Rahim and Mohammad Mohaqik. And while you’re at it, check out Muhammad Khokhar—the most likely name of Kevin’s father.”
“I already tried him. I drew a blank.”
“Do another trawl.”
“It’s hundreds, Colin.”
“More likely to be thousands, Ritchie, but who knows you might be about to claim a Guinness Book of Records for finding the man with the most pseudonyms.”
“But it’s a breakthrough, isn’t it, Colin?”
“Definitely. And from what Roger’s just told me about what Kevin’s doing tonight, we might be in for more. But be aware that if Kevin succeeds, he could well become our next senior field agent, thus overtaking all other candidates. So no pressure, Ritchie. I’m going to get forty winks under the desk. Wake me if you find anything interesting.”