‘I’m sorry, I have to ask,’ said the woman. ‘We get all types in here, and everyone has to go through the security. Sorry.’ Button put her handbag and mobile phone on a conveyor belt that passed through an X-ray machine, followed the secretary through a metal detector, picked up her things, then walked to the lift. They went up to the sixth floor.
Khan had a corner office, as befitted his rank. The woman showed Button in straight away. He was wearing his uniform and stood up when he saw her. She had never met the chief superintendent but she had seen him on television many times, usually touted as one of the top Muslim police officers in the country. He was a big man with wide shoulders and a bulging stomach that strained at his jacket. His heavy jowls overhung his starched shirt collar. He strode round his desk, his arm outstretched, and his stubby fingers grasped Button’s hand. ‘Thank you so much for coming, Ms Button,’ he said.
Button smiled. ‘Charlotte, please,’ she said. Her eyes flashed across Khan’s desk. There was a framed photograph of the chief superintendent with his wife, son and daughter, a clear plastic in-tray filled with correspondence, a brass paperweight in the shape of a cat, and a large mug with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the side filled with pens. A computer terminal stood on a side table and on the wall behind it hung framed photographs of Khan meeting the great and the good – shaking hands with Ken Livingstone, the Mayor of London; looking solemn with two bearded mullahs; with his arm around David Beckham; standing next to the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police; sharing a podium with Tony Blair; and being presented with a certificate by an earnest- looking man in a dog-collar. By the door there were several framed certificates, including an honorary degree from Leeds University.
‘Please, sit down,’ said Khan. He showed Button to a black leather corner unit by the window. ‘Tea, coffee?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ said Button, taking off her coat. ‘Anything but Earl Grey.’
The chief superintendent smiled at his secretary. ‘Iced tea, please, Anita,’ he said, and sat down as she left the office. ‘Have you been to Leicester before?’ he asked.
‘My first time,’ said Button. ‘It’s hardly a hotbed of crime.’
‘We have our moments,’ said Khan, ‘but I know what you mean. I doubt there are many villains on our patch that SOCA would consider targeting.’
‘But you have something for us now, I gather.’
‘Possibly,’ said Khan. ‘But I wanted to talk it through with you before making an official request for your undercover unit.’ He smiled but not with his eyes. ‘I was one of those who expressed reservations about SOCA when it was first mooted,’ he said. ‘There was a fear that you’d cherry-pick the high-profile cases and leave us under-resourced to cope with the rising levels of street crime.’
‘The powers-that-be saw us as a resource that all forces across the country could draw on,’ said Button.
‘A British FBI, they were calling it,’ said Khan, ‘and in the States there’s constant friction between the federal and state agencies.’
‘There’s a world of difference between the FBI and SOCA,’ she told him. ‘Funding for one.’
‘Policing is all about money,’ agreed Khan. ‘I’m more of a resource manager than a thief-catcher these days.’
‘Well, anything I can do to help.’
‘There’s something I’m not quite clear about. Where were you before you joined SOCA?’
‘MI5.’
Khan nodded thoughtfully. ‘And how is SOCA working out for you?’
‘It’s challenging,’ she said, ‘but I was never particularly deskbound during my time with Five. I ran agents and spent a lot of time in the field.’
‘Would I be right in saying you joined MI5 from university?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fast-track?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Khan. ‘I was fast-tracked. The force wanted more ethnic minorities among its officers. I suppose MI5 needed more women.’
Button raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer to think I was selected on merit,’ she said.
‘Of course, of course,’ said Khan, quickly, ‘but you know what I mean. Fast-tracking allows an organisation to be realigned where necessary.’
‘Actually, there are more women on the staff of MI5 than men, and the last two Director Generals have been women. The glass ceiling was broken in the intelligence services a long time ago.’
‘Well, we’ve still some way to go,’ said Khan. ‘So, tell me, what else did you do when you were with Five?’
‘I was in the National Security Advice Centre, working on serious crime investigations. After Nine Eleven I was moved to the International Counter-terrorism Branch, and when SOCA was formed, I was approached to head up the undercover unit.’
‘And you’re juggling a family as well as a career?’
Button frowned. ‘This is starting to feel like a job interview.’
Khan’s belly jiggled as he chuckled but his eyes were still hard. ‘I’m sorry if I appear to be prying, Charlotte. It’s just that I like to know who I’m dealing with, especially when the matter is somewhat sensitive.’ He waved at the photograph of his family on the desk. ‘Family means everything to me,’ he said, ‘but I’ve had to sacrifice a lot to get to where I am today.’
‘You have to make time,’ agreed Button. ‘I’m lucky, my husband is very supportive, and our daughter loves boarding-school. It’s not quite Hogwarts, but that whole Harry Potter thing has made it so much easier to send them away.’
‘Your husband also works for the intelligence services?’
Button shook her head. ‘He’s an estate agent. That’s how I met him. He sold me my first apartment. I don’t want to be rude, Chief Superintendent, but I have to be in Belfast this afternoon.’
‘A case?’
‘I’m running an operation there, yes. What is it you need doing?’
Khan opened his mouth to speak, but there was a knock at the door and Anita appeared with a tray. Khan waited until she had put it in front of him and left the room. ‘I have a problem, Charlotte. A very sensitive problem that will need a very sensitive touch.’ Khan leant forward. ‘Racism has always been a problem within the police, both in the way they deal with the public but also in the way they deal with each other. I believe, Charlotte, that several officers at the very top of this force are racist. And I need you to expose them.’
‘Racist in what way?’
‘In the worst possible way,’ said Khan. ‘Racist comments, blocking the promotion of officers from ethnic minorities, backpedalling on cases in which minorities are the victims.’
Button looked pained. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Superintendent, but that’s really not within my remit,’ she said. ‘We’re tasked with investigating major crimes, drugs, people-trafficking.’
‘Racism
‘As do I, Chief Superintendent, but in order for me to commit resources, the case has to be within our remit.’
‘I need an officer to be under cover in our headquarters here. I can’t use anyone from our force, obviously, which is why I thought SOCA would be the ideal solution.’
‘Have you considered approaching the Met and asking them to second an officer?’
Khan sighed and sat back. ‘I had, but the nature of the investigation is such that there might be . . . ramifications. It might result in the dismissal of officers at a very senior level, and men like that have friendships that reach across geographical boundaries.’
‘I think what you’re suggesting is highly unlikely,’ said Button. ‘Police investigate their own all the time.’
‘But generally not at such a high level,’ said Khan. ‘Look, I understand your reservations about initiating such an investigation, but is there anything I can do to persuade you to help me?’
‘I don’t see how I can, Chief Superintendent. I’m sorry.’
Khan nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me give it some more thought.’ He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Thank
