Dead Men Living

“I’m asking why. Okay, a lot of other departments have a legitimate interest. But we’ve been given the investigation. So why’s it stayed as diverse as it has? You’ve shared everything we’ve discovered, right?”

“Right,” agreed Dean, thoughtfully. “Those are my instructions.”

“What’s been reciprocated from here, let alone America?” demanded Charlie. “The only echo we’ve got, as far as I understand, is that all the records and files have either been destroyed or can’t be found ….” He paused, gulping his drink. “If we hadn’t had that scrap of label that took us to Gieves and Hawkes we wouldn’t have got Norrington’s name. And if we hadn’t done that-and got the family through it-we’d be no further forward than the day we began. Because the only information about Norrington has come from his family: we haven’t been offered a single thing from another single supposedly interested or involved department here in England. Or from America. According to the military attache in Berlin, the Ministry of Defense is in uproar because I went to the exhumation: they’re sending in their own investigators. With so many people-countries!  — already in on the act, there’s not a chance in hell ofgetting close enough to understand anything- the perfect way to create the perfect confusion.”

Dean leaned forward, adding to Charlie’s glass. “It’s an argument,” he conceded, reluctantly. “The sort of argument that builds unsupported conspiracy theories into accepted fact.”

“I thought the journalists in that hotel dining room were lucky not to be more badly hurt-killed, even-by Henry Packer, didn’t you?”

Dean sighed, nodding. “You’re asking me to trust you over my own operational group: knowingly- consciously-to deceive them!”

“Patrick Pacey is the political officer,” listed Charlie. “His function is to liaise politically with the very departments-and the Intelligence Committee itself-who aren’t reciprocating to us. Jeremy Simpson would have to consider everything legally. Your deputy is your deputy, subservient to you. Gerald Williams is only concerned with finance: wouldn’t normally be part of the group ….” Charlie paused. “All I’m asking for is time-time to work without knowing someone’s going to be ahead of me every step of the way …” Charlie paused, to make his point. “If I’d wanted to deceive them-and you-I could have. You ordered me back, to investigate anywhere I felt it necessary. I’m telling you why I think it’s necessary.”

“How do you intend using this time you’re asking for?”

“I’ve got names, from Berlin. And others, Germans, from the Gulag. I want to establish the connection I’m sure exists. And I want to speak to Norrington’s family. And I want to do it without people knowing in advance that I’m going to: without meeting Packer’s successor.”

When the director-general didn’t speak, Charlie said, “All I’m asking to be allowed to do is work by the same rules as everyone else. And not have to put forward my interpretation that we’re being blocked by our own people.”

“I’m not sure anyone else would have given you as much time to argue that interpretation as I already have,” said the director-general.

Charlie said, “There’s a second interpretation I believe you should consider.”

“What?” demanded Dean.

“Our department-now your department-wasn’t in any way apart of whatever happened, before or after, when these murders were committed.”

Once more Dean did not respond.

“So after fifty years, with an undecided remit and an even more undecided future, we were the obvious choice when the bodies were found, weren’t we?” continued Charlie. “A test for us, desperate to prove ourselves. A test for others-whoever they are-anxious to know if the concealment thus far is good enough to withstand an investigation: remain a mystery forever. But not that anxious. They’ve got the final say before it becomes final. If we get too close, they can misdirect or close it all down, citing without explanation the embarrassment they’ve already insisted to be the primary concern. But to keep everything properly hidden, no one is going to be able to know what the embarrassment is, are they? So there’s an easy answer: we’re made to be seen to fail. Which makes us even more vulnerable to everyone snapping at our heels.”

“That’s pretty convoluted logic,” protested Dean.

“But it is logic, for the environment we live in,” insisted Charlie. “Not even in national archives closed for the next fifty or a hundred years will there be an admission of a secret that’s literally been buried for the last fifty. It’ll be our inability properly to fulfill the investigatory role we’re trying to establish, against all the other competing agencies. How about a second-or even third-agenda? If we don’t get beyond all the obstruction of our own people- quite apart from that of America or Russia-to find out everything, there’s every reason to disband us. We’re set to be the losers, any which way.”

There was a further long silence, this time for the incredulous director-general to find the words. He eventually said, “You have any more conspiracy theories? Or is this the last?”

“That’s it,” said Charlie. “Our only protection is to find out everything. Only by knowing it all can we defend ourselves.” But more importantly defend myself and Natalia and Sasha, although not in that order or priority.

“I’m compromised, aren’t I? By having agreed to meet you like this?”

“No,” said Charlie. “This meeting never took place.”

“Would you swear to that, under oath, if this evening was ever discovered and put before a tribunal inquiry?”

“Yes,” said Charlie, at once. “If it’s morally-and philosophically-right for a wartime general knowingly to sacrifice the lives of eight hundred men to save those of eight thousand, isn’t it morally-and philosophically-right to tell a small lie to establish a more important truth?”

“No!” refused the other man, just as quickly. “Your morality and your philosophy don’t work. Any more than your logic.”

“They do if I discover that truth,” insisted Charlie. “That’s what’s going to keep us in existence.” And me in Moscow, he thought.

“What happens if you fail to discover it?”

“I won’t.” Because I can’t, Charlie mentally added.

“You haven’t eaten your sandwiches,” said the older man.

“They’re very good,” Charlie said politely, beginning at last.

“The pickle’s homemade,” said Dean. “Jane does her own. She likes growing things.”

“I can’t get anything like this in Moscow.”

“Perhaps she could find you a pot, before you leave.”

“That would be very kind.”

“Don’t ever imagine that this evening has established any special, back-channel situation between us, will you?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Never take my inexperience for softheartedness.”

After more than a week of being starved of any apparent progress, the Moscow announcement of a further although unspecified development caused the renewed media uproar that Vadim Lestov had predicted.

“Having finally returned to give us an explanation, you can’t explain it!” attacked Gerald Williams, eagerly and at once. He’d definitely made his mind up: anything he could do to show up the man’s inability would all contribute to what he intended at the end.

Cunt, thought Charlie. The seating arrangements put him at the bottom of the table, with the control group pincering him from either side, which Charlie supposed would be the composition of the sort of tribunal Sir Rupert Dean had talked about the previous night. To which he’d said he’d have no difficulty lying under oath, Charlie remembered. Doing just that without an oath, he said, “Not abouttoday’s announcement, no. But as it has been announced, I’ll obviously be told, won’t I?”

“Will you?” demanded Williams.

For the most fleeting of moments Charlie allowed himself to imagine the effect upon the overweight man if he’d said just how sure he now was of being told and by whom. He contented himself-only just-by saying, “Trust