'A situation has arisen where a man working for his country is going to hang because the British Government has not chosen to exercise its influence, first to secure clemency and second to win Mr Carew's release…'
There was a cloud of surprise on the Foreign Secretary's face. Sandham wondered what had surprised him.
The allegation, or the fact that a Grade 2 man knew the history.
'If you'll forgive me, sir, I think it's unacceptable that a man doing his job should be abandoned… '
The P.U.S. closed his notepad, pocketed his gold pencil.
'What's your source?' The Director General beaded Sandham with his eyes.
'I saw a file that I was not entitled by rank to see, sir.'
'Have you passed on this allegation to any other person?'
The Foreign Secretary spoke through closed teetth
'No, sir.' It was Sandham's second instinctive lie. With it clear of his tongue he thought of the earnest, sincere, concerned face of young Jack Curwen.
'And that's all that you wanted to tell the Foreign Secretary?' The P.U.S. seemed to make a trifle of Sandham's statement.
'Yes, sir.'
The P.U.S. shone Sandham an affectionate smile. 'We're very grateful to you for drawing this matter to our attention.
If it's not inconvenient for you, would you mind waiting a few minutes in my office?'
The Foreign Secretary had twisted in his chair to look down from his window and into the park. The Director General stared at the tapestry screen that masked the open fireplace. The P.U.S. ushered Sandham towards the door.
They wanted him out. They wanted to thrash it round. It had been bloody good entertainment. He would have liked to dance a bit, and shout.
'No problem, sir,' Sandham said easily.
'I'll get someone to take you down to my room. You won't be kept long.'
They watched him leave. They waited for the door to close behind him.
The Foreign Secretary spoke with a squeaking, nervous voice. 'You knew about this, Director General.'
'I did not.'
'Your department, your man.'
'I'll be making it my business to find out, Foreign Secretary.'
'If this Sandham is to be believed… '
The P.U.S. swirled his hand above his knee, cut the Foreign Secretary short. 'He's to be believed. Our Mr Sandham is always to be believed. More important, he's a difficult man, that's his history.'
'What's to be done with him?'
The Director General looked up. 'He should go home, Foreign Secretary, that's best. He should be at home where he can commit no damage. I'll have a man take him home.'
'If this allegation were to become public property… '
'It won't,' the Director General said quietly.
'You can guarantee that?'
'Foreign Secretary, leave it in my hands. You give me that authority?'
'Whatever authority you want.'
'Thank you, Foreign Secretary, just the authority to isolate him.'
•**
They had the hard hats on, and they were crouched one hundred and fifty yards from the nearest stump, and they were sheltered by the van. George always crouched, didn't matter what protection he had. They'd done the checks together.
Jack had watched each step. He reckoned he could have gone through all the procedures himself.
'Well, don't hang about all day, lad.'
Jack thought he'd die old waiting for a bit of politeness from George.
'What's so bloody funny?'
'Nothing's funny, Mr Hawkins.'
'Get on with it.'
Jack rested the palm of his hand over the bar of the plunger.
'Don't stab it, ease it.'
He closed his fist on the bar. He looked at George, warts and wrinkles and thinned out hair protruding from under the garish orange rim of his helmet. George winked. Jack pressed the charger bar slowly, steadily down.
There was the clap thunder of the detonations. There was the rich loam soil spurting up, the shuddering climb of the tree stumps, the thumping patter of earth and roots landing, the furious croaking of rooks.
Jack gazed fascinated at what they had achieved. Away beyond the line of uprooted stumps the bullocks were in flight.
George studied the scene. His face was closed. Jack looked into George's face. One thing to know a man and work with him, another thing to trust him. He thought he could trust George Hawkins, but what he thought didn't really matter because he had to trust the man.
'Get on with it, Jack,' George said tersely.
'Was it that obvious?'
'Say what you've got to say.'
He told George that his father had disappeared from his life when he was two years old, before he could remember.
He told him that he had been brought up to believe that his father was cruelty incarnate. He told him that there was not even a photograph of his father that had been kept by his mother when she had cleared out her husband's possessions.
He told George of the letter, how the missing James Curwen had been resurrected as James Carew, under sentence of death. He told him that his father had been working for the government, an agent in place, that his life was not going to be pleaded for.
'That's the history, Mr Hawkins.'
George's was a low gravel voice. 'You could have spoken to your M.P., a journalist, one of those lads on television.
Why didn't you cry on their shoulders? Why do you talk to me, a blaster?'
'Had to be you.'
' You didn't have to come today and watch me lift a few Moody tree stumps.'
'Right.'
'You want some know-how?' jack nodded.
George said softly, 'Where are the targets?'
'Not here, waste of time in London. I know where the target is, I don't know what it'll take.'
'Explosives?'
'Has to be.'
George was striding fast to his van.
'Hope you're not asking me for explosives. Every last cartridge of mine has to be accounted for. You're going to South Africa? Even if you could get them here you can't just put them in your bloody suitcase and fly out of London.
Don't think the x-rays and the sniffers would miss it. You wouldn't get as far as the 'plane.'
'I'll get the explosives there.'
'You got the right friends?'
'I'm finding them.' There was the obstinate thrust to Jack's chin.
God, he was racing ahead. He hadn't the targets, he hadn't the explosives, he hadn't the friends. So bloody innocent, and talking as though he could just snap his fingers and achieve them.
George cuffed him. 'Come back to me when you've some answers.'
