he seemed never to have been more than 100 yards from Whitehall all his working life.
Always the sort of greeting that put him in a better mind frame.
His bodyguard peeled away from him. He'd be in the Waiting Room, and he'd be brought a cup of coffee by one of those haughty, leggy kids who hit the word processors down the corridor. A good life his bodyguard had, nearly as cushy as the policeman's on the tunnel door. The Director General was shown into the Prime Minister's office.
Gerald Seymour
For a moment he wondered whether a previous meeting had overrun. He nodded coolly to the Secretary of State for Defence. They'd met a few times, but the Secretary of State was too flashy by half for his taste.
'Thank you for coming so promptly, Director General.'
As if he had the choice.
'It is much appreciated. You know each other? Yes. I am sorry to say that a most serious complaint has been brought to me by my colleague.'
He couldn't help but notice the unease of the Prime Minister, nor the hostility of the Secretary of State.
'I'm sorry to hear that, Prime Minister.'
'George's daughter, Lucy, died a short time ago following a narcotics accident… '
The Director General stared back. He read the newspapers.
The girl was an addict.
'… A n investigation is in process by the police and Customs and Excise to try to identify the importer of the narcotics concerned
… '
And then he saw what was coming.
'… Their very strenuous work, as I gather, leads them to a foreign national currently holding a Stateless Person's document which was issued on the guarantee of good character provided by a member of the Service. Customs and Excise quite properly wish to interview that member of the Service, but the Service have pulled down the shutters.'
Had the Prime Minister been told who it was? Couldn't have been. Would surely have made the connection.
'It's outrageous,' the Secretary of State chimed.
'I think we can get this sorted out quite quickly, don't you, Director General? Before it gets out of hand.'
No, obviously hadn't a clue. 'In front of a third party, Prime Minister, I am not free to discuss this matter.'
'You damn well will.' The Secretary of State's voice rose and his jowls were purple.
The Director General looked the man up and down.
He'd learned that from his Classics master at Marlborough, a cutting stare from ankle to Adam's apple. 'I am answerable to the Prime Minister, sir, and to the Foreign Secretary.
Matters affecting the Service are beyond the remit of Defence.'
'Just let's have this crystal clear. You are saying that the importing of heroin is a matter which affects the Service. Is that it? What the devil is the Service coming to, I should like to know. Are you importing heroin, Director General? Is that it? Is it your Secret Service that I must hold responsible for the death of my only child?'
'George, I believe that's enough.'
'No, Prime Minister, it most assuredly is not enough. I demand that the Director General produce this Matthew Furniss, and straight away, and stop wasting valuable police time, Customs people's time, or tell us without all this waffle about matters affecting the Service why he won't.'
'We all know how precious is police time, George. I don't think you, of anyone, need labour that, but did you say Matthew Furniss? Was that the name?'
'Yes, Prime Minister. That is the Service man's name. The Home Secretary tells me that the importer is an Iranian called Charles Eshraq.'
'Well, Director General, what will you say to all this?'
And there seemed to have evaporated from the Prime Minister the anxiety he had detected earlier.
'I would say this, Prime Minister. I might in different circumstances simply explain to you in what way the Service is affected and in what million-to-one chance lies its connection to the death through narcotics addiction of the Secretary of State's daughter. But I have just observed the hysterical speculations and accusations of a man with whom, unless ordered to do so, I shall share not one iota of information relating to this case or any other. Furthermore it is quite outrageous that a dedicated public servant should be vilified when, as the Prime Minister well knows, he is in no position to defend his good name.'
'I'll see you broken.'
'Your privilege, sir, to try,'
'Prime Minister, are you going to tolerate that impertinence?'
'I hope, Prime Minister, that I may count upon your support.'
A reeded and hesitant voice. 'I am going to think about it.'
There were many thoughts cavorting through the Director General's mind as he marched back through the tunnel. He thought of Mattie Furniss, prisoner, facing torture. He thought of three quarters of an hour with Miss Duggan, a woman whose loyalty he could only admire, and two glasses of barley water to keep her talking, and the story of Charlie Eshraq. He thought of a girl hanged from a crane. And he thought of the value that Eshraq could be to the Service. So long as he wasn't named by Furniss under torture. So long as he wasn't caught by Customs and Excise first.
'April Five to April One, April Five to April One.'
'April One, come in April Five.'
'Just a sitrep, Bill. He's in the pub, apparently killing time.
He's had one half pint in front of him for an hour, not had anything since we last called you. What did the boss say?'
'Had his arm twisted half out of its socket, that's what ACIO said. Sold him my line, a good line and I say it myself, we want to see where Tango One leads us, clean up the whole network. Bossman'd be happier if he was in cuffs, but he can stand it because we've the stuff.'
'How much was it?'
'Around seven kilos, that's one hell of a load, Keeper. You know what? It's the same markings on the packets as Manvers' load. That sweetened the boss' pill.'
' That's the bastard, isn't it, not knowing.'
The Deputy Director General sat in the easy chair. 'The more noise we make, then the worse it can be for him. I mean, we can hardly ask the Swedes to trot round to the Foreign Ministry and ask the night duty chappie if they're interrogating a British Desk Head who we have reason to believe they've kidnapped across an international frontier.
… No, we've got to sweat on it, and you've to make a decision.'
'Aborting the agents? I'll decide in the morning.'
'You owe it to them, to give them time to abort. Field agents are brave people. If they're lifted they will be lucky to be hanged.'
The Director General seemed to miss his stride. His eyes closed as if he was in pain.
'Didn't you know that, when you took the job?'
'I'll decide in the morning.'
'We may have hours, hours, Director General. Mattie is going to be having their names tortured out of him, he's going to be hung up by the fingernails until the names come tumbling out, willy nilly. It is only a question of when, not a question of if or if not.'
