20
There was a wariness about Blackstone but not the leaking nervousness of the previous day. He hadn’t known what to expect then, but now he thought he did. He determined not to underestimate the other man because of the way he looked. And not to panic. Blackstone accepted that was what he’d done, blurting out the confession about Ann and Ruth like he had. He regretted that: regretted it bitterly. It had given a reason for his anxiety – he hoped – but he couldn’t be sure what the man would do with the information, so he was vulnerable. But only from that, he tried to convince himself. The Russian had been right about the other business: without an open admission, they had no case against him. That’s all he had to remember: no admission, no case. And not to panic.
Charlie, who’d found a very reasonable pub in which to stay just back from the seafront, savoured a bacon and two eggs breakfast and was enjoying being back in operation after his enforced hibernation, smiled up encouragingly at Blackstone’s entry and said: ‘Here we are again then!’
‘Yes,’ said Blackstone. The man seemed friendlier than the previous day but Blackstone wasn’t going to be fooled by that.
‘Where were we?’ asked Charlie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Blackstone, still cautious. ‘You said you still had some questions.’
‘I probably did,’ said Charlie, as if he couldn’t remember them any more. ‘This is my first time on the Isle of Wight. I like it.’
‘Some people find it claustrophobic,’ allowed Blackstone.
‘Do you?’
‘No. I was born here. It’s not a feeling you get if you’re a born islander.’
‘You got both your homes here?’
Careful! thought Blackstone at once: it appeared to be a way the man had, suddenly slipping in possibly tricky questions. He said: ‘One here, one in Portsmouth, just across the water.’
‘Best of both worlds then?’
‘You’re going to get me prosecuted for it, aren’t you?’
Having jabbed at the man’s weak point, to unsettle him, Charlie ignored the question. Instead he said: ‘Something that I can’t understand about the period you were inside the secure section that second time is how no one saw you. Out of twenty or so people in or around the building, no one saw you?’
No admission, no case, thought Blackstone. ‘I don’t know why either,’ he shrugged.
‘You any idea what the secret project is?’
Blackstone shook his head positively. ‘How could I, if it’s secret? The rumour is that it involves our carbon fibre process but that’s rather obvious: that’s what we specialize in.’
‘Tell me about that,’ invited Charlie.
Blackstone did, without difficulty, feeling quite relaxed with generalities and confident that here he was under no threat. He talked of reinforced resin systems and monoplastics and thermoset processes and guessed the other man was having trouble keeping up with him, which pleased Blackstone because it was good to feel superior for a change. Charlie interjected to ask which of the processes were being used on the secret project and Blackstone evaded the trap easily, saying that he had no way of knowing. Blackstone saw another snare when Charlie asked what process he guessed it would be and actually laughed at the man, saying that he had no way of knowing that, either.
Blackstone’s restored assurance faltered slightly when Charlie insisted on going back over the whole episode again but the hesitation was brief because he guessed the ploy was to jump on any variation from his first account. And he had that word perfect by now and knew when he finished he hadn’t changed his story by a single word.
‘Thanks for your time,’ concluded Charlie politely.
‘That’s it?’
‘Unless you’ve got anything else to tell me?’
‘No,’ said Blackstone at once. ‘Nothing.’
‘Then that’s it,’ agreed Charlie.
‘What happens now?’ asked Blackstone. ‘Do I stay suspended?’
‘I don’t see why you should.’
No admission, no case, thought Blackstone: the feeling of satisfaction, of triumph, surged through him. He’d done it again! Not as easily as before, but he’d come through a second inquiry – with an intelligence officer this time – and got away with it again! He wished he could tell the Russian at once how well he’d done. Blackstone said: ‘Thank you. I’m glad it’s all over.’
‘A silly misunderstanding, like you said,’ suggested Charlie.
‘It’s good to be finally believed.’
‘We’ve always got to be sure,’ said Charlie.
‘Oh, I understand,’ allowed Blackstone generously, positively enjoying himself, genuinely knowing a feeling of superiority over Charlie. ‘That’s how it always should be.’
‘So let’s follow security procedures more closely in the future, shall we?’ grinned Charlie.
‘Don’t worry,’ assured Blackstone, grinning back. ‘I won’t do anything like it again.’
‘I’ll tell the management and security that it’s all settled,’ promised Charlie.
Blackstone rose but stood uncertainly before the desk, wondering whether he should offer to shake hands. Deciding against it he said: ‘I’ll be going then?’
‘Fine,’ said Charlie.
After the man left the room Charlie sat for a long time looking out over the river and sea beyond, flecked with yacht sails and holiday ferries and motor craft, but seeing none of it. At last he shifted, finding his way to the office where the security chief sat strangely upright, as if trying not to wrinkle the immaculately maintained uniform, still hostile from being excluded from the encounters with Blackstone. Charlie patiently provided Slade with the promised report of the interviews and then crossed once more to the security area to speak, independently, with Springley.
Outside again, in the road between the two buildings, the former sergeant major said: ‘So the suspension can be lifted right away?’
‘From this moment,’ agreed Charlie.
‘You going to file a report when you get back to London?’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie. ‘You know all about obeying orders, don’t you?’
‘Don’t forget what I said, will you?’ demanded the man. ‘There’s no danger of any classified information getting into the wrong hands from this establishment.’
‘It’s going to be one of the first points I make,’ assured Charlie.
‘Sorry you had a wasted trip,’ said Slade, mollified at last at the thought of his name featuring in a Whitehall document.
‘Happens all the time: think what a disaster it would be if they weren’t wasted trips!’
But he didn’t return immediately to London. Charlie Muffin was a man who reacted to hunches and instincts, which had invariably stood him in good stead in the past, although it would have been an exaggeration to describe his feeling quite so strongly on this occasion. At best, he felt a general unease. Whatever – hunch, instinct or unease – he considered it sufficient to stay on a while longer where the sun was still shining, the air was fresh and he got two fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, without even asking for them. And by so doing to impose upon Henry Blackstone, self-confessed bigamist and selfadmitted security rule bender, a period of intense but undetected surveillance.
It proved a frustrating and even more unsettling exercise.
He followed Blackstone to and from his Newport home and he learned about the Monday night at the cinema and the darts night on Thursday. He decided Ann was an attractive-enough-looking housewife, although quite heavily overweight, who appeared content with her limited existence, which upon reflection the majority of
