The Bell Ringers

by Henry Porter

  He paused and swept off his glasses. ‘I suggest to you that these were Mr Russell’s assailants – the men attacked him, broke into his safe and stole documents that were intended for my client.’ He placed the photographs one by one on the table, ending with a shot of the two men leaving the offices. ‘The point that won’t escape you, nor – if I may say so – the media, is that exactly the same footage, though perhaps not of similar quality, lies in the police system. Yet you did not think to view all the film available from that evening, an odd decision since it would have confirmed my client’s story.’ He raised a hand against Newsome’s protest. ‘The second part of your allegation, that Miss Lockhart arranged to travel to Dove Cottage where Mr Nock killed Mr Russell, does not stand up to examination either. Mr Nock has an iron-clad alibi for the period of an hour either side of Mr Russell’s death. As you very well know, he was in the local hospital seeing a specialist for torn ligaments in his shoulder. My associates have checked with the doctor and his receptionist, as have police officers from this station. He did not return home until four fifteen, by which time Mr Russell had been dead for nearly two hours. It was then that he took his dogs for a walk. Do I need to continue, chief inspector? No, because you know all this and yet you continue to deprive my client of her liberty and make these wild allegations against her when she herself could very easily have been shot too. Last night and through today you have leaked details about her life to the press, details that have come from this very room, superintendent. You have treated her to all the indignities of official suspicion, and at the same time shown scant regard for her safety or for the proper conduct of this case.’

  His voice had risen steadily but now it fell to almost a whisper as he pushed a photograph under Shap’s gaze. ‘For it must be clear that these men are the only suspects in your case; that they are still at large and in a position to harm my client, who was the intended recipient of the documents they stole.’ His great hands pressed into the desk and he leaned forward so that his head was no more than a foot above the photograph. Kate was struck by the magnificence of his profile, like the head of an emperor on an ancient coin.

  ‘They killed Mr Russell because, while they had taken the documents, they suspected that he had some acquaintance with their contents. That is the only conclusion to draw.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Unless my client is released, these images will be issued to the media within the next half hour together with a press release drawn up by my office in London, explaining that instead of pursuing the obvious suspects you have hounded a potential victim. There will be a full discussion of the documents and what they may or may not contain. Given they once belonged to the late David Eyam, it seems likely that the media will show not inconsiderable interest in this angle, and I should imagine that this will also concern your masters at the Home Office.’ He drew back with no hint of the anger leaving his expression. ‘Now perhaps you gentlemen would like to consider my client’s position in the light of the evidence that I have laid before you. This country may have taken a lurch into the Dark Ages as far as due process is concerned, but some standards are still observed and there remain many remedies open to me.’

  Shap had gone white with anger. ‘You think you can come in here and threaten me?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, make no mistake about it. I am threatening you and Chief Inspector Newsome here with immediate exposure for incompetence and possibly even negligence. How else would you describe the failure – deliberate or otherwise – to look at the complete footage from Mortimer Street?’

  ‘You are attempting to influence the course of a police murder inquiry!’

  ‘What murder inquiry? You haven’t started yet, and that is what I propose to tell the media.’

  The first reaction to this came from Halliday, who got up and left the room furiously but without saying anything. Then Newsome went through the routine with the tape recorder while Shap and Turvey stared each other down.

  As they left, Turvey called after them, ‘Half an hour, gentlemen, that is what you’ve got. One half of one hour.’

  ‘That was impressive,’ she said. ‘I realised that they would have pictures of the men going in and coming out of the building.’

  ‘Of course you did, my dear – a clever lawyer like you. Of course you did. But much better that you let me defend you: it’s never easy to defend oneself.’

  ‘But it was a good ace beautifully played, Mr Turvey and I am grateful to you for coming all this way. I will call Sam Calvert and thank him when I get out of here.’

  ‘Oh, good Lord, Miss Lockhart, what on earth makes you think I’ve played my ace? That is for another time and I certainly don’t propose to use it on this occasion, nor even to tell you about it.’ He waved a hand airily towards the pair of black hemispheres fixed into the grid of ceiling tiles above them.

  17

  Book Lovers

  Late on Friday afternoon Peter Kilmartin slipped into St James’s Library, caught Carrie Middleton’s eye and followed her gaze to the row of catalogue computers in the Issue Hall, which he went to consult. A few minutes later she bustled over in her neat, old-fashioned grey twinset to stand at the screen next to him. She said nothing, but searched the screen for a few seconds then took a scrap of paper from the holder beside the screen and, having noted down a reference number, left with the paper in her hand. Clever Carrie. A piece of paper remained on the desk with indentations of her writing clearly visible. Kilmartin’s hand absently drifted to retrieve it and then he wrote his own reference down, taking care not to obscure the furrows made by Carrie’s stubby little pencil. She was waiting at the far end of the stacks, sitting quietly at a small, unlit table. As he approached through the religious gloom, he reflected that he was far from protected against her charms, which came in a rare combination of warmth and brisk formality. Carrie had brown hair, dark eyes and a neat, womanly frame, always in his experience played down in somber-coloured outfits that were bought with an eye for quality during the January sales. She had the best taste of any woman he knew; at any rate it spoke to his eye.

  ‘You are naughty using the library like this, Mr Kilmartin,’ she said. ‘You’ll have us all locked up.’

  ‘I am sorry, Carrie,’ he said, sitting down opposite her, ‘but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. And please stop this Mr Kilmartin business. We have known each other far too long. Peter, please.’

  ‘All right, Peter, but it does seem strange. Anyway, I did want to talk to you because that young woman you told me about came in this morning and completed her membership. She asked for me by name and said she wanted to see the stacks and I showed her. She seemed very anxious. I asked what the matter was and she said she was sure she’d been followed. Anyway, we found the book together – Babylon by Eckhard Unger, last borrowed in December 1998. Your marker is still here on page a hundred and fifty.’ She opened the book and read, ‘Meiner Frau Hawiga in Liebe un Dankbarkiet Gewidmet – to my wife Hawiga dedicated with love and gratitude – how romantic. I wonder where Herr Unger and his Frau are now . . . anyway.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Mary MacCullum told me that if she was caught it would mean years in jail and she knew what that was like because she had already done eighteen months. For some reason she felt she could confide in me. We agreed that she couldn’t risk leaving these papers so that anyone could find them.’

  ‘Oh well, I quite understand,’ said Kilmartin. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

  ‘Typical man,’ said Carrie. ‘You didn’t wait until I’d finished.’

  ‘Sorry, please go ahead, Carrie. I do apologise.’ It occurred to him that she was flirting and he reciprocated with what he suspected was a rather foolish smile.

  ‘So we agreed that I would hide the book in a place where only I could find it. Here’s the title and place.’ She handed him a piece of paper. ‘It’s been there just five minutes. No one will be up in “Religion” at this hour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, pocketing the paper. ‘That really
was beyond the call of duty.’

  ‘I felt sorry for her and I wanted to help.’ She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. A mixture of Chanel, and for Kilmartin the equally intoxicating scent of books, came to him. ‘You’re not going to get her into any more trouble, are you, Peter?’

  ‘I certainly hope not, Carrie,’ he murmured.

  ‘I changed the book because it wasn’t large enough to conceal the envelope. It’s one of your hollowed-out jobs.’

  ‘OK, I’d better go and see what she’s left.’

  ‘I’ll come up in about half an hour or so. Will that be enough time?’

  ‘Yes, I should imagine so. Thanks, Carrie. I am very grateful to you.’

  He left for the main staircase, passed through ‘Literature’ into ‘Religion’ and quickly located The Religious History of New England. He sat down at a table overlooking the roofs behind the library. Black clouds moved from the west; the light was fading fast: he tugged at the light-cord and a line of fluorescent tubes flickered in relay along the bookshelves.

  Inside the book were six sheets of paper folded into the size of a cigarette packet and held together by an elastic band. He undid them and found four sheets of an uncorrected transcript of secret evidence presented to the Intelligence and Security Committee for a date almost exactly two years before – March 20th. The top sheet of the transcript named the chairman and nine committee members. There were some opening remarks by the chairman. The next page was marked ‘20’. This was Eyam’s moment of gallantry, the moment when he gave up everything to tell the truth. His eyes ran down to the name Sidney Hale MP.

  Sidney Hale: Thank you, chairman. As you know, this committee has a particular onus of scrutiny owing to the conditions of secrecy in which we operate. We report to the prime minister but our primary duty is to Parliament and to the people of this country. There is a fine line between the interests of the state and of security and the interests of the people and good governance. I will make no attempt to draw conclusions before we have heard Mr Eyam’s evidence, but I think it’s important that we listen very closely to what he has to say.

  Chairman: Very well, let’s get on with it. Mr Eyam, would you like to step forward?

  Mr Hale: Thank you, Mr Eyam, for agreeing to appear a second time. On the last occasion we were in this room you were asked about a project called SPINDRIFT. Is that correct?

  David Eyam: Yes.

  Mr Hale: As acting chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee and an important member of the prime minister’s staff in Downing Street responsible for strategic security issues, you assured us that – and here I think it would be helpful to quote from the record – ‘No such thing as SPINDRIFT exists and I have never heard of the name.’ Is that true?

  Mr Eyam: It is true that I said that, yes.

  Mr Hale: But was your assertion true?

  Mr Eyam: Yes, I had not heard of SPINDRIFT because it is an unofficial name given by my predecessor at the Joint Intelligence Committee to a project that was officially described as DEEP TRUTH, although I should perhaps make it clear that that name is rarely used. You see I had not understood that they were one and the same thing and so I misled the committee, for which I apologise.

  Mr Hale: Would you care to tell the committee what DEEP TRUTH is? After all, we have heard other evidence from officers in the Security Service, which backs up your original remarks that no such thing exists. You seem to be taking issue with some very creditable witnesses, Mr Eyam.

  Mr Eyam: I cannot tell you what it is because I am only here to correct the false impression I gave last time I appeared before you. I am here to assert that it does exist.

  Mr Hale: Is that all?

  Mr Eyam: Essentially, yes.

  Mr Hale: But you believe this to be an issue of sufficient importance for you to come here and correct the record.

  Mr Eyam: Yes.

  Mr Hale: But if this were the important matter you suggest surely Parliament, or at least this committee would recognise one or both of the names. There would be some cognisance of this matter and we would know what you were talking about.

  Mr Eyam: I suggest that there is some knowledge of DEEP TRUTH, which is why I believe I was asked the question the first time I came before you. I believe that indicates that there is – how shall I put? – limited awareness of DEEP TRUTH and therefore disquiet, among a very few people in Parliament.

  Mr Hale: And was this done with Parliament’s knowledge? Was there any legislation specific to setting up SPINDRIFT or DEEP TRUTH, whatever that might be?

  Mr Eyam: I believe it was brought into existence without the knowledge of Parliament. Members of this committee will know that there is an increasing trend towards granting wide discretionary powers to departments and ministers when a bill is going through Parliament, which means much passes into law without debate or publicity. A lot comes into being without public awareness.

  Mr Hale: Are you saying that it has no statutory basis and that this was done without the knowledge of the members of either chamber?

  Mr Eyam: It would not be the first time.

  Chairman: But surely these days there is an issue about expenditure. To your knowledge, have large amounts of public money been spent on SPINDRIFT?

  Mr Eyam: I cannot say.

  Mr Hale: Cannot say, or will not say?

  Mr Eyam: I cannot say accurately what expenditure is involved.

  Mr Hale: Is money your principal concern?

  Mr Eyam: It is always a concern, but if you ask my personal opinion, no it is not my principal concern.

  Chairman: I believe we are in danger of straying into the realms of fantasy here. We seem to be talking about something that has no agreed name and has never been sanctioned by Parliament or discussed in the secret proceedings of this committee. Mr Eyam will not say what it is; merely that this thing exists. It all seems a little too theological for this day and age. I mean, haven’t we got more important things to think about?

  Mr Hale: Mr Chairman, if I may, you are forgetting that Mr Eyam comes from the heart of the political establishment. He’s not a journalist in the grip of a conspiracy theory. He believes in the effective power of the state, as he told us before, but clearly his presence here indicates he has some concern.

  Mr Eyam: My beliefs are unimportant. I am simply here to correct the false impression I gave during my previous appearance. That is my legal duty.

  Chairman: Well, I think we will all agree that you have complied with that obligation. Thank you, Mr Eyam.

  After reading the exchange again, Kilmartin pushed the papers away and sat back with his arms folded. Eyam had consciously given very little away but the admission of the existence of the entity known as SPINDRIFT or DEEP TRUTH held its own significance and was enough to get him into trouble. There were two more sheets of paper. The first was the record of evidence given later that day by Ms Christine Shoemaker, the deputy director of the Security Service. She was asked what she had to say about Eyam’s assertion and whether she could enlighten the committee about DEEP TRUTH. No, she said, she wasn’t aware of anything of that name and could not imagine what Mr Eyam was referring to. She confessed that she did not understand why Mr Eyam had been so anxious to appear in front of the committee a second time and then said so little. The last page of Mary MacCullum’s bundle was an email to Christine Shoemaker from Dawn Gruppo, one of the prime minister’s principal aides whom Kilmartin had met a few times.

  From: Dawn Gruppo

  Sent: 20 March 15:45

  To: Christine Shoemaker

  Subject: (no subject)

  Christine,

  The balloon has gone up at the ISC. D. Eyam admitted to 4-2. We need you to get over there now and give robust evidence to the contrary. They are expecting you and will make time for you during the afternoon.

  Sorry this is short notice but essential that this is knocked on the head quickly. JT most concerned.

&nb
sp; Best, DG

  He looked up as the first fat raindrops of the storm began to splatter against the window. The email probably proved JT – John Temple – and Shoemaker knew of SPINDRIFT, DEEP TRUTH or 4-2 and were actively involved in the denial. Whatever this entity was. But what about Eyam? Why hadn’t he released all this when it had happened? Clearly he had the evidence at that time because otherwise he would not have gone to the committee. If he had qualms about doing so as a member of the Civil Service who’d signed the Official Secrets Act, surely those would have vanished once he had been sacked? Any number of websites would have published the material without a second thought, especially with supporting documents. Instead he had buggered off, leaving a whole lot of bloody stupid clues. If Eyam had had a plan it was now certainly unravelling.

  He turned to the sound of footsteps coming rapidly across the cracked brown lino from the direction of the main stairs. In seconds Carrie was in front of him; her eyes and brow in upheaval. She tugged the cord to switch off the lights.

  ‘Four men have just come into the building and have asked to look around. I wasn’t in the Issue Hall when they arrived so I don’t know who they are. Brian at the door doesn’t know but thinks they are MI5.’

  Kilmartin got up, folded the papers and pocketed them. ‘It’s frightfully important they don’t see me here, Carrie.’

  ‘Then you’d better leave by the fire escape on the fifth floor,’ she said. They stole up two short flights of stairs to a green door. She pushed the bar down to open it. An alarm sounded in the distance.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain that to them,’ she said.

  Kilmartin found himself on a flat roof. He leaned into the wind and made for the side of another building fifty feet away. The rain had turned to hail and several times he lost his footing on a carpet of pea-sized hailstones. He reached the wall and looked down a fire escape that descended in stages to the first-floor level, then hooked right out of view. He should be at home considering the prospects for the weekend, not scampering around London’s roofscape like some delinquent novice spy, but he took his time because the fire escape was visible from different parts of the library and lights were coming on in sequence as the men toured the upper floors. He didn’t see them, but he spotted Carrie with her back to a window gesturing to someone, so he waited until she had gone before taking the last two flights on the escape and running full tilt to the point where the escape way disappeared behind the northern walls of the library. Even if they saw him now it would be too late. Masons Yard was below and in no time he would lose himself in the genteel evacuation of St James’s in readiness for the weekend.