Charlie’s Apprentice

clashing blue, had two spotted motifs: the white the designer had intended and the darker stains of long wear and mislaid food. There was no style to the man’s grey-flecked hair, which looked as if it had been chewed rather than cut and that, whatever the method, a long time ago. The face was round, and here Gower was further confused because the expression was of unlined, open innocence: practically naivety. That same impression was carried by the brown eyes, which Gower saw flick over him, in one encompassing examination, and then come back directly to his.

‘I was told to report here, sir. This room.’ Gower offered the appointment chit that had been endorsed at the ground-floor security check, listing the office number.

Had he ever been as uncertain as this, wondered Charlie: called instructors sir? He probably had: it had been a long time ago. ‘What reason were you given, for coming here?’

‘I wasn’t.’

Charlie nodded, pleased the man hadn’t had time to clutter his mind with preconceptions. ‘Told by whom?’

‘The deputy Director.’

Charlie gestured to the side of the room to an upright, wooden-backed chair with a plaited-cane seat bowed by age. ‘Don’t tilt back on the rear legs. It’s buggered: it’ll collapse under you.’

Gower brought the chair slightly nearer the desk and sat cautiously. Was this man being intentionally rude? Or just naturally brusque? Gower was reminded of a Classics tutor at Oxford with an offensive manner, like this man: his Year had decided it was caused by the sexual frustration of being a bachelor until the tutor was arrested for importuning in a public lavatory near Balliol College. ‘I wasn’t given your name, either.’

Charlie frowned. ‘Were you, of other instructors?’

Gower hesitated, unsure of his reply. ‘We came to know each other, naturally.’

‘By name?’

‘Of course.’

‘Christian name? Surname? Or both?’

Gower’s uncertainty grew. ‘Both, I suppose.’

‘You underwent arrest training? How to respond to interrogation? Physical pressure?’

Gower permitted himself a different smile, this time of satisfaction. ‘I achieved the maximum, every time.’

‘Would you disclose the identities of your instructors if you were detained? Put under intensive interrogation: tortured, even?’

‘Of course not!’ said the younger man, indignantly.

‘What would you do?’

‘Refuse, of course! Resist! I know how to do that.’

Charlie nodded, briefly looking down at his desk. Eyes still averted, he said: ‘That a family ring you’re wearing?’

Gower was so accustomed to the platformed gold band that he looked at it as if surprised to see it on his finger. ‘Very minor. No proper title: no money either.’

‘But there’s a family crest?’

Gower frowned again. He didn’t want it to show but he was growing angry. ‘Yes.’

‘What do you think of that poster on the door behind you?’ demanded Charlie.

Gower swivelled his head: the uncertain chair creaked precariously. Groping for comprehension he said: ‘Very nice.’ It was a mountain scene, with long-haired Scottish cattle.

‘I think it’s dreadful,’ said Charlie, who’d put it up minutes before Gower’s arrival. ‘You’re right-handed, aren’t you?’

‘How do you know that?’

Charlie ignored the question. ‘And you came here by car, didn’t you?’

Gower had to hold tightly on to his temper. ‘We spent the weekend in the country with my mother: came up this morning. Why?’

‘So clothes are important to you?’

Gower regarded Charlie with total confusion. ‘I don’t understand any of this!’

‘What’s the name of the deputy Director-General?’

Gower blinked across the cramped office. ‘Patricia Elder.’

‘She tell you her name?’

Gower made a vague movement of his shoulders. ‘I … I can’t remember. Yes …’ There was a momentary pause. Then, in immediate contradiction, he said:’No. It was Personnel. When I was told to go to see her, to be told to come here, they said her name was Patricia Elder.’

‘Let’s go back to your being detained. Would you disclose her identity, under questioning?’

‘Of course not!’ said Gower, as indignantly as before.

‘You’d refuse? Resist?’ said Charlie, offering the words back.

‘Yes.’

‘How many times have you been here, to Westminster Bridge Road?’

Gower paused. ‘Four times.’

‘You know it’s the headquarters building?’

‘Yes.’

‘You wouldn’t disclose it, under duress?’

‘Am I under interrogation now?’ demanded Gower, trying to get some sense into the bizarre encounter.

‘Would you?’ persisted Charlie.

‘I think you know the answer to that, without my telling you. But if this is something for the record, no I wouldn’t disclose it. That would be unthinkable.’

Charlie made a grunting, reflective sound. ‘There isn’t any record being made. Perhaps there should be.’ There was certainly a memorandum he had to send. They’d probably disregard it, as they’d disregarded everything else he’d sent upstairs to the rearranged Executive echelon on the ninth floor, but that didn’t matter. There were lapses that had to be corrected.

‘I think I’m entitled to know what’s happening here!’ said Gower, finally giving way to the annoyance. ‘I haven’t understood a moment of it: it’s been ridiculous!’

Charlie gave another reflective grunt. ‘And you achieved the maximum in interrogation techniques?’

‘Yes!’ said Gower, his voice too loud in his anger.

Charlie sat intently regarding the other man for several moments. ‘You’re entering the external intelligence service. And you’ve been through all the training? You know all that’s involved?’

His uncertainty in the car, remembered Gower: the uncertainty a previous instructor hadn’t helped him resolve. ‘No,’ he said, honestly. ‘I don’t think I do know what’s involved: not really involved. I was told there’s no apprenticeship I could properly go through. Just training.’

Unexpectedly Charlie smiled. ‘There’s some,’ he disagreed. ‘That’s what this is about, to answer your question a while back … the first lesson.’

‘I don’t …’ started Gower and then stopped.

‘… Know what you’ve learned?’ anticipated Charlie. ‘Nothing yet. Let’s hope you will, when I explain.’

‘I wish you would.’

‘You’ve just had a very small indication of what is necessary to be a professional intelligence officer. Very small. Childlike, compared to the level you’ve got to achieve. Will achieve, before we’re through.’

‘I’m still not properly following you.’

‘What was the first thing I said to you, when you came into this room?’

‘Ah …’ Gower hesitated, unsure. ‘Something about a mistake.’ He smiled, hopefully.

‘What, exactly?’

There was another hesitation. ‘ “You’ve made a mistake.” ’

‘My exact words were “your first mistake”,’ corrected Charlie. ‘You were entering a completely unknown situation, with no idea what you were here for. You admitted that very shortly afterwards, which was another mistake because you never admit anything you don’t have to in an unknown situation. And in an unknown situation