“Do you now? Tell me the issues.”
“We either cooperate with Langley or we don’t. We send them back discreetly and gift-wrapped, and leave Langley to decide their fate. Or we raise absolute hell at all levels. Their embassy here. Ours in Washington. CIA liaison. Even the White House direct. Eventually we agree to return them but only in return for something good we really want. Reluctant conspirators.”
“And which do you favour?”
“The discreet return.”
“Why that?”
“The sooner we wash our hands of all of it the better. We don’t need to make a song and dance about it. It’s not an occasion for pointing fingers. They don’t like this kind of operation any more than we do.” He paused and shrugged. “But we both cross the line when it suits us, and we need to. Mind you … without any attempt at being holier than thou I’m surprised that Carter has gone to these lengths. It’s not our kind of game.”
Parkinson smiled faintly. “Chaps like Carter can’t resist a new toy you know. He gets his blackmail material on the CIA and instinctively he wonders how much it’s worth. It never enters his mind that maybe you could get more out of it by doing nothing. So he borrows their new toy. Forgetting the ethics and all that, the way he’s used it is merely adding another hazard to his operation. His old-fashioned thugs could have done it in half the time and with none of all this shambles for us to sweep up. And what about your chap Boyd? He’s another complication.”
“I think in fact he’s our only problem. Or my only problem. It always annoys me intensely when one of our own people gets on his high horse and pontificates. I sympathize with his views—most of us would. But if you’re in the service it’s self-indulgent. We’re in a game that officially doesn’t even exist. Almost everything we do is open to criticism from some source. If we tap the phone of some Irish thug preparing bombs in a semi in Willesden we are infringing the liberty of the individual. But when he kills seven innocent people we get kicked for not knowing what’s going on.
“But I got over being indignant about that sort of thing in my first year of service. We have to make our own rules and standards. When somebody goes too far they get the chop or demotion. Carter’s gone too far in my opinion. But who decides how far too far is? Not me, thank God. And certainly not Boyd.”
Parkinson nodded and his smooth fingers touched his grey silk tie. “Carter’s been extremely naïve in this matter. We give him a lot of rope but the understanding has always been that the outcome has to be worth the moral black-out. This little circus isn’t worth any risk at all. Do you think you can talk Boyd out of his indignation?”
“I’m not at all sure that I can. I think in some queer way he’s identifying this girl with his wife. They’re much of an age. Both very pretty. He sees it as happening to her.”
“Sounds a good solid citizen.” Parkinson turned his head very slightly so that he could watch Cartwright’s response from the corner of his eye.
“The only solid citizens we can afford in SIS are those we stick behind desks. Shuffling papers and scribbling notes for their monograph on Mediaeval Guilds in East Anglia. Field officers should be committed.”
Parkinson smiled. “Now steady on. I can remember you complaining about the kind of chap we were recruiting some years ago. And you said we shouldn’t be taking on chaps who were eager to do the job. We should be looking for the reluctant virgins who had doubts. Your own words, Ken. You quoted Philby as the example of the committed man. You’ve said to me a number of times that you valued your music because it kept you at arm’s length from being the dedicated SIS man always wearing blinkers. Yes?”
“I’m afraid so. I suppose that’s why I was so hot under the collar about Boyd. He reflects my own views too closely for comfort. The only difference is that I’ve been in the racket enough years to make me tend towards the long view.”
“Would you like me to put someone else on to dealing with Boyd?”
Cartwright looked surprised as he turned towards Parkinson. “What made you suggest that, sir?”
“Because the obvious solution is one you won’t like,” Parkinson said very quietly.
Cartwright didn’t reply and Parkinson stood up. “I’ll have to miss out on the coffee. Got a meeting before lunch. Keep me in touch.”
Parkinson’s meeting was in his own office, and his secretary pointed towards his room and nodded as he walked through to where the black Gothic script said “M. F. Parkinson MBE Deputy Under Sec.”
Carter was already waiting for him, and Parkinson nodded to him as he walked round to sit at his desk. As he sat down he looked across to Carter.
“I got your message. How long will it take to move her?”
“I’ll need a Home Office transfer authorization and some pressure on the two doctors. And I’ll need to make arrangements for her at another hospital. That will take some time. Medical people can’t stomach being told what to do by their inferiors.”
“See Penny about the transfer authorization and you should have it back from the Home Secretary’s office within the hour. Hire an ambulance and take her to one of the safe-houses. The one at Petersfield’s available. Get Facilities to lay on one of our own nurses. Don’t stand any nonsense from the two doctors and make them sign the Official Secrets Act form. Point your finger at Section Two.”
Carter stood up to leave but Parkinson waved him back to the chair.
“I gave you the benefit of the doubt when I agreed to let you go ahead with these two Americans. You’ll recall, I hope, that I pointed out to you that
