For the Good of the State

and the facts.

‘Mitchell was his name—“Source PLM” in the briefings… He was into the IRA and the KGB, by way of ancient history. We got the Irish foreign connection from the Fenians in America backwards, all the way through Napoleon and Louis XIV to Philip of Spain.

He’s a historian—a published historian, too—’ The etching included the man’s recommendations on the best Irish whiskies into the bargain; but that wouldn’t do for a teetotaller like Jaggard, by God! ‘—a military historian —?’

‘Who else?’ Jaggard crossed out Mitchell. ‘In R & D?’

Caution engulfed Tom. But he mustn’t show it. ‘Well—Colonel Butler runs their show, of course—’ But that was mere banality, insulting to both of them ‘—who else what? ’

‘Who do you know in R & D?’

The caution became murkier. ‘Who do I know? No one, really.’ It wasn’t that he had any particular loyalty to Colonel Butler’s band of brothers, who seemed to live in a world of their own, pursuing Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State their own ends (but which ends had so far mercifully been different from his, as it happened); but, in any case, before he admitted that he wanted to know why Jaggard was quizzing him now. ‘I’ve met Mitchell, And I know of Colonel Butler—who goes way back, of course—’ He couldn’t leave that of course to be questioned, because although Colonel Butler must go way back to be Director of R & D no one knew anything about him— any more than they knew anything much about anyone in R & D; so he must throw in some more names as ground-bait, and quickly ‘—and Macready, the economist… and they’ve got a Special Branch man, who’s an expert on trade union leaders—or rather, the young fliers who dropped out of circulation to learn their business over there, like—’

‘Andrew.’ Jaggard nodded, rising to Tom’s desperate indiscretion quickly ‘Ex-Superintendent Andrew.’ He nodded again. ‘And I think you must know Commander Cable—socially, perhaps?’

Now he must be close, thought Tom: to throw in James Cable as a dyed-in-the-wool R & D man, and not just a temporary attachment

—

‘James, of course,’ agreed Tom. So James really was Research and Development’s Society contact, not just a Royal Navy man waiting for his Trident appointment, in succession to his father’s original nuclear command.

‘And Audley?’ Jaggard relaxed enough to check that Miss Groot had not yet broken through their defences.

‘I’ve heard of him, of course.’ Who was it going to be? wondered Tom. The genuine 100-per-cent truth was that he didn’t know much at all about R & D: they were reputedly a bunch of weirdos Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State who produced good material by questionable means known only unto themselves, but who seldom issued out of their ivory Tower into the real world; which (rumour added, he thought uneasily) was just as well, because they only took jobs which no one else wanted, which ended in tears for someone.

But Jaggard was watching him very narrowly now, and that jogged his memory disturbingly, after the thought of Willy somewhere out there, behind Ranulf’s earth ramparts: R & D always liked to have an obligatory woman or two on their strength, someone had said.

And once they had had a little beauty, whom they had lost in particularly harrowing and incompetent circumstances; so now they had another one, whose intelligence was said to be only surpassed by her ugliness, which was altogether exceptional.

‘Yes?’ An old fox watching a young rabbit sitting just inside its briar patch, that was what Jaggard reminded him of, thought Tom.

‘I don’t really know anyone else.’ Oh no, Brer Fox! Whatever Jaggard might know about Willy, or any of Willy’s predecessors, she and they were strictly extramural activity. So if the man had any ideas about the Sycorax of R & D, he had another thought coming. ‘I really don’t know any of them —I told you.’

‘You don’t know David Audley?’ Jaggard sketched mild bewilderment. ‘Now… that does surprise me, rather.’

Audley? Tom frowned. ‘Why does it surprise you?’

‘I thought he was an old family friend. In fact, I’m sure he is, Tom.’ Jaggard exchanged suspicious disbelief for mild bewilderment. ‘Of your mother’s, as well as your late father’s—

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State eh?’

‘My—?’ Tom floundered for a moment, unable to bring up the shield of truth quickly enough ‘—my mother? Well, if that’s so, it’s news to me—’ The sudden doubt in his voice only made matters worse. Audley?

‘Not to say an old admirer, indeed.’ Jaggard agreed with himself smugly. Then he caught the look on Tom’s face. ‘Failed admirer, of course— proxime accessit, but failed— also ran, but unplaced, that is to say… and a long way back—’ Now he was actually attempting to extricate himself ‘—your late father and he were both rugby players at Cambridge, Tom.’

Oh— shit! thought Tom, momentarily ignoring his master.

Mother’s admirers had been legion, long before Father had cashed in his baronetcy for another set of wings but still within the scope of his own childish memory. So it ought not to be any surprise to him that there had been other and younger moths singeing their wings on her flame in her salad days— shit!

‘It was long before your time.’ Jaggard’s agreement with himself was no longer smug: it was insultingly apologetic. ‘I should have realized that.’ Then he recalled himself to his duty. ‘But he is an old friend, anyway.’

Tom was saved just in time by the same imperative from snapping back How the hell do you know? Because that was really only professionally interesting—because it was Jaggard’s business to know, was the immediate answer; and he could tax Mother with that question later, at his leisure, some other time. All that mattered now was that it was almost certainly true.

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State

‘At Cambridge?’ He got his voice back to the level of professional interest. “That would be rather before my time.‘ But… Audley, of all people—the name hit him again: Audley was… a