Drugs Squad makes, forget it. I know I'm the new guy around here, but I'm in command of that unit and nowhere in my brief does it say that I report to you.'
McIlhenney smiled, affably. 'Nobody's saying it does, my friend, but you're part of a wider world, whether you like it or not, as you're about to find out. Come on.' He headed for the door.
'Where are we going?'
'To meet the Dark Side.'
He led Mackenzie out of the Special Branch suite, along a corridor and up a flight of stairs that led to the Command Corridor. As they passed the deputy chief's room, they saw that the red light was on. Jack McGurk was in his own small office: its door was open, and they could both read the nervousness in his expression.
McIlhenney stopped and leaned against the frame. 'Everything in place?' he asked.
The sergeant nodded. 'The conference room's ready. The technical people went in half an hour ago and swept it, and the Venetian blinds are closed just as you asked.'
'Who's there ahead of us?'
'Just the ACC. The chief's in Mr Skinner's room.'
'And the visitors?'
'I don't…' As he spoke his phone rang. He snatched it up. 'McGurk.' A pause. 'Okay, I'll collect them.' A sigh. 'I told you, Benny, they don't sign in.' The sigh turned into a growl. 'Fuck the health and safety regs: do what you're told.'
'That's the attitude.' Mackenzie chuckled as the DCC's towering assistant swept past him, the top of his head almost bumping against the door lintel.
'We'd better get in there,' said McIlhenney. 'Mr Haggerty'll be feeling neglected.'
'Are you going to tell me what this is about, Neil?' Bandit asked, as they reached the conference room door.
The big man reached for the door handle. 'I only know the part of the story involving Cable and Bell. I don't know why, I don't know what, I just know who. We're having a visit from the people whose toes you stood on.'
'Am I on the carpet?'
'No.' He stopped. 'David,' he said, 'a word of advice. Don't say anything glib in there; don't say anything at all, until you're asked. Act serious, however hard that might be for you.'
Mackenzie grinned. 'That's fine, but please don't call me David. I only get called that by my mother, or when I really am in the shit.'
They stepped into the conference room. Willie Haggerty had half risen from his seat at the conference table, but he sat down again. 'Ah, it's you two,' he grunted. 'I thought it was the serious people.' He pointed at a trolley against the wall. 'Help yourself to coffee if you want it: there'll be nae waitresses in here. Come to think of it, now that Bob's back, I don't know what I'm doing here.'
McIlhenney shrugged his shoulders. 'Duck out now, if you want, sir. I've seen the fax they sent to the chief; it didn't ask for you by name, just for relevant chief officers and Special Branch.'
'What am I doing here, then?' Mackenzie asked.
'They asked for you later, Bandit.'
'You mean after…'
'After your fun and frolics on Sunday: you've figured it out at last'
'So who are they? The Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency?'
'Of course not. If you'd screwed up one of their operations, they'd have dropped in on you in person and kicked your arse.'
'The Americans?'
'We don't let them operate here.'
'So who the…'
The door of the conference room opened, and Bob Skinner walked in, looking not at all like a man who had just come from a daylong journey. He was followed by two men and a woman; one of the men had a heavy plaster across his nose, and his eyes were blackened and puffy. McIlhenney heard Bandit Mackenzie's soft 'Ah' beside him. He glanced at him, but saw that he was gazing intently at the newcomer.
'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' said the DCC, briskly, moving towards a seat on the same side of the table as his colleagues. 'The chief's decided not to sit in on this meeting,' he glanced at Haggerty, 'but, Willie, you should stay.' He directed the visitors to chairs facing his team, then took his own. 'Anybody want coffee?' he asked. The three newcomers all shook their heads. 'Fine,' he said. 'I've had my caffeine quota too, so let's get to it. Introductions: on our side, left to right, Assistant Chief Constable Willie Haggerty, Detective Chief Inspector Neil McIlhenney, Special Branch, and DCI David Mackenzie, head of our Drugs Squad.'
'Thank you,' said the woman, seated on his left. She was middle-aged, grey-suited and reminded McIlhenney of his wife's consultant obstetrician, as she looked across at him. 'On our side,' she began, 'I'm Amanda Dennis; my colleagues are Rudolph Sewell, and, with the facial decoration, Sean Green.'
'We've already met,' said Mackenzie, icily, drawing a warning look from Skinner.
'So I believe,' Dennis replied. 'That's prompted our visit, in fact. We are members of the Security Service, also known as MI5. That makes us colleagues, and so I want to get this briefing off on the right foot. I'll begin by offering you gentlemen the same apology that I've just made to Chief Constable Proud. It was, on reflection, wrong of us to mount an operation on your territory without advising you of the fact. Let me try to explain to you how and why this happened.'
'That should be good,' Mackenzie murmured.
The DCC glared at him. 'Bandit,' he said, softly, but with menace, 'if you interrupt once more, I'll have you measured for a uniform.' He turned to Dennis. 'Sorry, Amanda: please carry on.'
'Thank you.' She leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the table. 'I'll begin by explaining what exactly MI5 does. I apologise again if I'm telling you things you already know, but in our experience even senior police officers can have gaps in their knowledge. We are an agency charged with responsibility for protecting national security. We're not the only one, of course: we work closely with the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, with the Government Communications Headquarters, and with the Defence Intelligence Staff, among others. Our specific roles are to gather and assess secret intelligence about threats, to advise government of them as they arise, to work with other agencies to combat them and, when necessary, to act directly against them.' She looked around the table at Haggerty, McIlhenney and Mackenzie. 'Understood?' All three nodded, unsmiling.
'Good,' she continued. 'We don't operate outside the law, whatever people may think. We're governed by statute and codes of practice, but we can do things that more public agencies can't,' she smiled, wryly, 'or at least shouldn't. We intercept all forms of communications, we plant bugs, we keep subjects under round-the-clock surveillance; most of the time we're watchers and listeners. Our active involvement depends on the threat.' She leaned back in her chair once again, sweeping aside a few strands of silver hair that had fallen across her forehead.
'Okay. What's our business? Traditionally, we've been spy-catchers: that's why we were set up. However, over the years we've become spies ourselves, in what is colourfully described as the war against terror. At first our brief was almost exclusively Irish, but modern international terrorism has changed all that. It now makes up one third of our total workload and that proportion is rising. But aside from counter-espionage, counter-terrorism and, these days, counter-proliferation, there are two other areas which, taken together, make up about ten per cent of our workload. They are emerging threats, in which my colleague Rudy, who is the assistant director general of the Security Service, is sector head, and serious crime, for which I have lead responsibility. In my area of operation, I must stress to you that we are tasked by other agencies: it's not our role to initiate or to act independently, and we'll only accept an assignment if it is the collective view of everyone involved that we can make a difference to the investigation.'
She paused. 'That's the background; now let's get to the specifics.' She looked beyond Skinner. 'Rudy, would you like to take over?'
Rudolph Sewell nodded and drew his chair closer to the table. For all that he outranked her, he was several years younger than Amanda Dennis; but he was dressed in the same Whitehall civil servant mode. His suit was dark blue, and he wore a white shirt with a crested tie that suggested a public-school background. His hair was conservatively cut and he seemed to have no distinguishing features; then he looked up, and his round, rimless
