Skinner's Ordeal

by Quintin Jardine

  He closed the door on her and went back to his desk, to start his scrutiny of the pile of submissions. The task was easier than he had feared would be the case. He began by eliminating those papers where the decision was purely administrative, where it was wholly routine, or where it was inevitable. This editing process left him with a small pile of contentious decisions.

  The great majority involved the continuing battle with Her Majesty's Treasury to hold the Ministry's budget at a level which its establishment felt to be consistent with effective defence. A few involved troop deployments which were not in the public domain, including secret assignments in which Arrow's own SAS unit had been involved. An even smaller group involved purchasing decisions.

  Of these Arrow was drawn back again and again to one submission.

  It involved the placing of a contract for air-to-ground missiles, to equip Harrier aircraft of the RAF and Fleet Air Arm. Arrow remembered the controversy which Davey's decision had caused at the time of its announcement. He had turned down the option of an English weapon with a revolutionary guidance system developed by a relatively small firm in the Cumbrian town of Workington, in favour of a conventional, work-horse, and, it was said, slightly outmoded missile, built in France by a consortium of European countries.

  Arrow read and re-read the submission. Davey's decision had been taken against all Departmental advice, in the face of a field test which showed the home-based product to be far superior to the European concoction, and finally, despite overwhelming cost advantages.

  `What the hell!' Arrow muttered to himself, as he read the Secretary of State's curtly delivered decision for the third time. Ìf that isn't worth a bloody good look, I don't know what is.'

  He picked up his telephone and dialled an internal number. John Swift, his colleague and number two, answered at once. `Swifty,' said Arrow. 'You still got that SIS contact?'

  `Yes,' grunted the Yorkshireman.

  `Well, see if you can use it for me. I need a warts-and-all report on a European defence consortium called Aerofoil. They got a bloody big contract from us a few months ago, and for the life of me I can't see why!'

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  ‘You know, Neil, I never realised it before, but one of the advantages of being a copper has to lie in the fact that we never have to stay in court to listen to the Judge's summing-up. What a balls-aching bore of a day this has been! I'm thirty-six, a man in his prime. An unlimited spell on the loose in London should be my dream, yet here I am, just wishing I was back home with my wife.'

  Mcllhenney laughed quietly in the darkness. 'Listen, sir, I can think of worse days in my career than one spent sitting in the back row of the Old Bailey gallery watching the top of Ariadne Tucker's wig. And I'm sure that my Olive's enjoying her break from me.'

  He shifted his body behind the steering wheel of the parked car. 'I remember after Tony Manson's murder, when Andy Martin and I had to interview all the tarts from those sauna brothels of his. You'd have thought that given their line of work, so to speak, they'd have had access to soap and water. But sweet suffering Christ did they hum. From the smell of sweat off them, ye'd have thought they did their business actually in the bloody saunas!

  Aye,' he said reflectively, 'after that, a day in a courtroom gallery's not that much of a chore.'

  `So you didn't like the Drugs and Vice squad, then?' asked Donaldson.

  'I didn't say that. It was about half and half. As far as the vice stuff goes, for a lot of the time we're regulators. The law says prostitution isn't a social service, but we all know that it is. We all know what these saunas are like, but if the councillors licensè them, which they do, then fair enough. All we can do is make sure that no one works there who doesn't want to, that those that do are old enough to know what it's about, and that they're clean. I think the Council should send the Environmental Health people in on regular inspections, but they're not that liberated - not yet, anyway.'

  He paused, looking across at the DCI from the driver's seat of their car. 'No, it's the drugs side of it that gives you job satisfaction in D 'n V. Every time you break a supply chain, that's good. And it gets better the higher up the chain you go. The guys at the top are clever, and they've got a hell of a lot of firepower, but every so often one of them'll get careless, or someone becomes more scared of us than of him. Then we get a real result . . .

  there's no better sight than a big dealer going away for fifteen years.'

  Ìn that case,' said Donaldson, 'how come everyone I spoke to was so worried when Tony Manson got the chop?'

  Mcllhenney shook his head. Ach, come on, nobody was worried about Manson. The thing was, he was the devil we knew. He was the only drug dealer I ever heard of with anything that passed for principles. He didn't sell to kids, and he only dealt in pure stuff, not crap.

  When he went, all sorts of cowboys moved in. That girl who stabbed the boss worked for one of them, I'm sure.'

  `Yes, I know,' Donaldson interrupted. 'He was nicked early this morning, right in his factory. A bloke called Divers. Alison told me when I called her.'

  `Vic Divers? The Squad's been after him for a while. How did we get him?'

  The DCI chuckled. 'Somebody grassed him.'

  `You're kidding!'

  'No. Apparently, on Monday, after the Big Man was attacked, our Andy came down on the city like a ton of bricks. Anybody with even the faintest suspicion of illegality about them was turned over. He was pulling people in for farting in the street, more or less! At the same time he put the word out that things would stay that way until we had arrested the guy behind the operation that the boss ran into. Yesterday he had an anonymous phone call putting Divers in the frame and telling him where to find him.'

  `Great stuff,' said Mcllhenney. 'I know that Divers. He'll be so pissed off about being shopped that he'll tell us tales about everyone he knows. I tell you, man, the jails will be full and running over by the weekend.' He laughed. 'Aye, you'll like D 'n V all right, sir.'

  Donaldson's eyes widened so that the whites showed, even in the dim light of the Putney street-lamps. 'What d'you mean?'

  Mcllhenney smiled inwardly, knowing that he had scored a hit. 'Call it an educated guess.

  There are only two serious candidates for Andy Martin's old job. The way big Bob's played it in the past, the Head of D 'n V's always a DCI promoted into the post. Of all the runners, it'll lie between you and Brian Mackie, and Brian's too tied into Special Branch to be moved.'

  `You're dreaming, Mcllhenney. No one's said a thing to me.'

  `Hah! You'll be the last to know!'

  `You serious about this?'

  Àye. Only one thing can stop it, as I see it.'

  `What's that?'

  Ìf it turns out that Ariadne and her soldier boyfriend booby-trapped wee Maurice's lunchbox right enough, you and I'll be doing nothing for the next six months but working on the trial.'

  The big Sergeant paused, considering the implications for his own career. 'After that, you'll be a Superintendent and I'll be a Inspector, and we'll both be in uniform. Our faces'll be too well known to be useful in CID for a while.'

  `Bugger that,' said Donaldson vehemently. 'Let's get out of here then. When's the Met guy due on shift to relieve us?'

  Mcllhenney peered at his watch in the dim light, and looked back along the one-way street towards Ariadne Tucker's house. `Five minutes ago,' he said. 'In fact, I think he's there now. More than that, Garen Price is heading in this direction.'

  He had hardly finished speaking before the back door of their Peugeot, a step up from the undistinguished Vauxhall, opened and the Welsh Detective Sergeant slid in behind them.

  `Hello, boyo,' said Mcllhenney. 'What brings you here? Did you remember that it was your turn to buy the beer?'

  Price's smile gleamed in the silver night. 'You lads will be in the chair when you hear what I've got here.' He produced a tape cassette from his jacket pocket and handed it to Donaldson. `Drive on down the road, well away from here, then shov
e it in the player.'

  Mcllhenney switched on the engine and moved smoothly and quietly away from their observation point. 'What is it, then?' he asked, over his shoulder. Price leaned back in his seat, still smiling, but said nothing.

  He made a sharp left turn, then a right. He drove for just under a minute until another right turn took them out on just Clapham Common, where he drew to a halt at the kerbside.

  `Come on, Garen,' he said in exasperation to the wide-grinning Welshman. 'What the fuck is it?'

  `We picked it up tonight off the telephone tap. I thought I’d share it with you right away . .

  . and then let you buy me that beer.'

  'Let's see how many pints it's worth, then,' said Donaldson. He pushed the cassette into the player. A hiss came from the speakers as the tape started to run.

  The white noise continued for a few seconds, until it was broken by the sound of a phone.

  It was answered on the fifth ring. 'Six-seven-eight-two,' said a soft, well-spoken male voice.

  `Stephen!' At once Ariadne Tucker's voice sounded slightly petulant. 'Why didn't you show up in court today? I put off a consultation this afternoon and stayed there, listening to boring old Ormrod's summation, all because I was expecting you.'

  Ì'm sorry, darling. It's all hell down here. We've had a no-notice inspection team in from MOD. Everyone's stuck on base until it's over. I was going to call you, but later, when I was sure you'd be home.'

  Ariadne sighed softly. 'Oh! Poor darling. Imagine, being stuck in bloody Aldershot!'

  Àye, imagine,' echoed Mcllhenney grimly.

  Her tone changed yet again, taking on a sudden urgency. 'Are we still all right for the weekend?'

  `Yes, of course, even if it means resorting to Plan B.' He paused. 'Listen, Ariadne darling, are you really sure that this is kosher, and all that, so soon after Maurice dying? Before the funeral?'

  `Stephen, my poor little Galahad, if I didn't feel any guilt when Maurice was alive, why the hell should it bother me now that he's gone? As for the funeral, it looks as if he's been cremated already, in mid-air. I'll hold a memorial service at an appropriate time, in a couple of weeks perhaps. In the meantime, a woman's needs are many fold, as they say.'

  She laughed, suddenly, out loud. The sound rang round the car, startling at least two of the three detectives.

  `How's this for a joke? I had the police round last night, wondering if I might be having an affair with Colin Davey.' seems that one line of enquiry is that Maurice thought I was, and might have been driven to kill him, and take himself out in the process. They've got the affair part right — too bad they're wrong about the name, eh? And about Maurice's murderous intentions.'

  Her laugh deepened, becoming a chuckle. 'Imagine, me and Colin Davey. Every time I met the man he made my flesh creep! Oh no,' she said with a flourish. 'My tastes are much more agreeable than that.'

  Òhh!' Stephen Richards moaned in the dark. 'Well, my darling. You'll have the opportunity to indulge them at the weekend.'

  `Yes, sweetheart. And you will have the object of your heart's desire. Sleep tight.' She blew a kiss into the phone and hung up.

  White noise hissed around the car once more. The three men sat silent, until finally, Donaldson ejected the tape.

  `She's a cold-hearted piece of stuff, is she not,' he said quietly, to himself as much as anyone.

  `Not half,' said Mcllhenney. 'I'll be extra nice to my Olive from now on.' He switched on the engine and drove off steadily into the night.

  `So where does that put us, sir?' he asked, swinging away from the Common and heading off in the general direction of Chelsea Bridge.

  ‘For a start,' said the DCI, 'although it doesn't rule out the possibility that the paranoid Noble might have believed that his wife was having it off with Davey, she seems pretty definite that he didn't kill him . . . Why is that, I wonder? Is it simply because she doesn't think he had the stuff to do it, or because she and the soldier boy killed him, themselves?'

  `Tell you something,' said Mcllhenney. 'If they did, and they can react like that after taking out a whole planeload, then these are two very dangerous people. What do we do now, sir?

  Pick them up?'

  Donaldson tutted quietly. 'That's up to Andy Martin. I'll call him right now. But my inclination would be to play the thing out to the end. To tail Ariadne to wherever it is she's going this weekend, and then to take the two of them, together.'

  SIXTY-NINE

  Arrow was in the kitchen of his attic flat in Notting Hill when the buzzer sounded, a few feet from his ear. He took a pace to his right and picked it up.

  `Hello,' he said brightly. 'Trattoria Español aqui. Can I help you?'

  Shana laughed. 'Yes, you can open the bloody door!'

  Òkay.' He pushed the button, replaced the receiver, and stepped out of the flat on to the landing to meet her. Shana was striding up the stairs towards him, past the first landing already, with a small rucksack bouncing on her shoulder. He jogged down to meet her halfway. She was wearing a plain grey cotton sweat-top and jeans, and looked, even in that simple outfit, very desirable indeed.

  Adam looked down at the bag. 'You're travelling light. Hope I've got enough wardrobe space for all that lot.'

  Ì've got enough for one night. Once I've heard just how, seriously you want to talk, I might consider bringing more.' She grinned at him. 'You're not having second thoughts about that are you?'

  He returned her smile. 'I never have second thoughts. Once I've decided on something, I see it through to the end.'

  `That sounds promising.'

  Ìt's my line of work. It's made me that way. Come on, love, let’s get upstairs.' He fished a key from his pocket.

  She looked at him in slight surprise. 'You always lock up, when you're only coming down to answer the buzzer?'

  He nodded. 'It's the way I was brought up. We're very suspicious us of our neighbours in Derbyshire.'

  They climbed the stairs arm in arm. At the top, he opened the door and held it for her.

  Inside she went straight to the bedroom and laid her rucksack on a chair. She looked around, and nodded.

  Ì'm always impressed when I come into your flat. Compared to mine everything's so neat.

  Doesn't it frustrate you to be with someone as untidy as me?'

  He grinned wickedly. 'I can use a little anarchy in my life.'

  `Then you've come to the right place . . .' She bore down on him, and pushed him backward, on to the bed, kissing him, crawling over him, unfastening the buttons on his shirt.

  Ì should warn you,' he said. 'I've been handling chillies.'

  Ìn that case, just lie back and keep your hands in the air.' Quickly she unfastened his cotton slacks, and leaned over him. `Now, what did you say that you had on the menu tonight . . . ?'

  It began with her tongue, licking, swirling, around him, and her hands, exploring, testing.

  'Oh yes,' she hissed. Ì can see what you meant.'

  He gripped the rails of his brass bedstead, and arched his back.

  An hour and a half later, they lay there, naked, replete and dozing. Shana nuzzled her face against his neck. 'Hey,' she whispered. 'Now I've had the Penne Picante ..

  Ànd extras!' he growled.

  ‘ when am I going to see this pasta? I'm starving!'

  Soon,' he said. `But there's something we've got to talk about first.'

  ‘Mmm. Well I suppose I could last for another half-hour or so.'

  `No, I meant proper talk.' He propped himself up on elbow, and looked down at her, his face suddenly serious, and she thought, anxious. A pang of fear grasped her.

  'Shana,' he said. 'You know some of my business, but not all of it, not by a long way.

  Before I came into the job I'm in now was in the SAS. I did some pretty terminal things, and I managed to come through them all, by being a pretty callous little bastard. But I can't play that part anymore.'

  She looked at him, thoroughly frightened now. 'What ar
e you leading up to?'

  'Shana, love, all this Agent Robin stuff. We've got to put a stop to it.'

  `What do you mean?' Her voice was brittle.

  Ì know about you. You've been feeding material to the Iraqis for the last three months.'

  Àdam, that's not funny. Don't joke like that.'

  Ì wish I was joking. The SIS picked up information about the Iraqi network of deep-cover agents a few months back. They learned that Agent Robin, the English sleeper, was an LSE graduate working in the civil service, who had been recruited in Turkey, on a Muslim student summer-exchange programme.

  `They learned too that Robin's purpose was to feed back sensitive information that would be of use to Iraq in planning Gulf de-stabilisation tactics. They didn't know which Department Robin was in, but it was a safe bet that it would be either Foreign, Defence or Cabinet Office. They didn't know either whether Robin was male or female, but when they fed all the data they held into a computer, it took about three seconds to come up with your name.'

  She was wide-eyed now. She made a move to slip out of bed, but he grabbed her hand and held it until she stopped struggling' Ìt's all right, love. I'm not going to hurt you. But just listen on.

  ‘The M16 people knew from their source that you were about to be activated. That's when they brought me in. You were under surveillance from that point on — phone taps at the office, at home, on your mobile, the whole works. When you were contacted we knew right away.'

  Suddenly she glared at him. 'So all this, you and me, this was just you doing your job?'

  `Listen,' he said fiercely. 'If I'd been doing my job properly, we'd be having this conversation in a cellar somewhere. Us getting involved wasn't on the agenda. Now we are, it's your one chance of coming out of this in one piece!' The fire left his eyes. `Tell me why, Shana. You're no Muslim fanatic, and you're as British as I am. What did they use on you?'