by Graham Ison
Gaffney nodded and smiled. “Yes, we have, Jack. In fact we know an awful lot about you.
“Well then.”
“I’m not going to tell you the whole story. Firstly you don’t need to know it, and secondly, if you don’t know it, you can’t tell anyone else…”
“I wouldn’t anyway—”
“People have been known to talk in their sleep.”
“I sleep alone—”
“At the moment you do.”
Armitage sat up slightly, and grinned again, an open, boyish grin. “Now you’re beginning to interest me.”
“Well don’t get too carried away. There’s no guarantee, and it’ll be in the line of duty anyway.”
“No less enjoyable for that,” said Armitage, and slumped back into his chair.
“There’s a part I want you to play. I want you to put yourself about in the pubs around Whitehall for a start; that’s where the talent scouts operate. Give the impression that you’re a bit of a drunkard, a womanizer, and that you’ve got no money.”
“There’s no play-acting about that, old boy. It’s all perfectly true. But what d’you hope to achieve by that?”
“They are all what the vetting people call character defects, make you open to pressure – vulnerable.”
“Well the drinking and being short of money, certainly, but womanizing’s only dodgy if you’re married, and I’m not.”
“You will be,” said Gaffney quietly.
“Now hold on a minute.” Armitage sat up straight. “There’s a hell of a lot I’ll do for Queen and country, but I’m damned if I’m going to rush into marriage.”
“Not asking you to do that. We’ll fix it up for you.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll have this flat, and there’ll be a wife in it. There will also be a valid certificate of marriage in the records at the General Register Office showing that you got married about two years ago. The registrar who married you is dead, as is one of the witnesses. The other witness will swear on a stack of bibles that he was present at your wedding. Okay?”
Armitage raised his eyebrows, and then leaned back in his chair. “And who is this “wife” of mine?”
“A policewoman.”
“Oh Christ! I knew there’d be a catch in it.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, she’s a good-looking girl. So good she’ll sleep in a separate room.”
“I said there’d be a catch in it.” He lighted another cigarette. “And the rest of it?”
“Not much more to it, really. We’re hoping that eventually you’ll be approached by someone – no idea who – and that he’ll try to bring pressure to bear by offering you money, perhaps ply you with drink, and—” Here Gaffney dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “—and maybe even offer you women, of the loosest possible kind.”
Armitage laughed. “Join the army and see the world. What am I supposed to do – go along with this guy, whoever he is? I mean, he’s going to want some goodies, isn’t he?”
“That’ll be taken care of. Arrangements will be made to feed you some convincing but entirely false stuff that’ll satisfy them, at least in the short term. By the time they find out it’s duff, the job’ll be over.”
“This sounds remarkably like a fishing expedition,” said Armitage, who had done the staff course at Camberley and had had the regulation lectures from an MI5 intelligence officer, masquerading as a Ministry of Defence official. “Isn’t that what you chaps call agent provocateur?”
“Yes,” said Gaffney with a smile, “or more particularly, the defence lawyers do. But it’s not what you imagine.” Armitage raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And what’s more, I’m not going to tell you what it is.”
“Didn’t think you would. In case I talk in my sleep.”
“What d’you think of it so far?”
“Do I get time to think this over?”
“Do you need it?”
Armitage sat in silence for a moment or two. “Not really, no. There’s only one thing that worries me. I’m due for promotion to half-colonel shortly. Supposing this goes wrong and I finish up getting arrested for being a spy?”
“You will, but if you agree, all that we’ve discussed will be put down on paper, signed by you and me, and lodged at Scotland Yard.”
“Do I get a copy?”
“What would you do with it? Fold it up and put it in the tea-caddy?”
Armitage grinned. “If you keep it, I’ve got nothing if the job goes wrong.”
“I’ll lodge a copy with the Provost-Marshal if that’ll make you feel better,” said Gaffney.
“Okay. I’ll do it. When do we start?”
“When I tell you. It won’t be for a week or two yet.”
“How do I keep contact with you? I can’t very well drop into Scotland Yard to give you a sitrep.”
“A what?”
“Sitrep – situation report.”
“No problem there. Contact will be through your ‘wife’.” Armitage smiled. “Of course. When do I get to meet this wife of mine incidentally?”
“When I’ve got her to agree to marry you,” said Gaffney.
Chapter Three
Only the bottom half of Commander Colin Finch’s face was visible, illuminated by a green-shaded desk lamp which, with the profusion of potted plants in his office, helped to create its tropical ambience.
“I just heard you’re nicking Harry Tipper off me,” he said, as Frank Hussey entered.
“Sorry, Colin, but we need him.”
Finch waved at a chair. “I bloody need him as well; he’s a damned good detective is Tipper.”
“I know.”
“Well can’t you take someone else? I know you’re short of decent coppers upstairs in that dream factory of yours, Frank, but bloody hell…”
“Don Logan’s discussed it with the Assistant Commissioner and he’s agreed.”
“Well I think it’s a diabolical liberty, I’ll tell you that straight. I’d just got Tipper lined up for a job that’s coming off, and your lot have him away. It’s not on, Frank.” He paused to blow his nose on a huge red handkerchief. “Why him anyway?”
“Because he’s good; you just said that. He did a job with John Gaffney not long ago; the girl whose body was found in France on the—”
“Yeah, I remember. Your blokes stepped in and took all the glory – once all the hard work had been done – and you got him mixed up with that funny lot you work with sometimes. He’s never been the same since. What d’you want him for, anyway?”
“For good, Colin.”
“What d’you mean, for good?”
“He’s being posted in; transfer in Police Orders. The memo went down to SO2 this morning.”
“Christ! What the hell’s going on in this job these days? Supposing I went waltzing along to the Assistant Commissioner and spun him some fanny about desperately needing one of your blokes; you’d not be best pleased about that, would you? Anyway, you haven’t answered the question: what d’you want him for?”
Hussey spread his hands. “Sorry, Colin, can’t tell you, but it is important…”
“So’s the job I was going to put him on. Gold bullion heist – but keep that under your hat. Another secret squirrel thing, I suppose, with your funny little friends in Funf. What do you do up there, apart from nick my detectives?” He pointed towards the ceiling, indicating the Special Branch offices thirteen floors above his own in the other building.
“How much service have you got now, Colin?”
“Thirty. Why?”
“Because you’re getting crotchety in your old age; it’s time you put your papers in.”
“Bloody right, it is, and I might just do it. I’m getting fed up with the way this bloody job’s going lately. There’s blokes getting shoved about all over the place. I have to have a head-count every day just to make sure I’ve still got the same number of officers. The bloody anti-terrorist lot had two DSs off me last week. Another prima donna lot, they are,” h
e muttered. “I tell my blokes now: don’t leave your chairs in case the music stops.” He plucked a dead leaf from the Devil’s Ivy that spilt over the edge of his desk and dropped it into his waste-paper basket. “When’s all this happening, then?”
“Monday.”
“Monday! Christ, Frank, how d’you expect me to run this branch? How am I going to get him disentangled from his caseload in that time? He’ll have court appearances; knowing him, he’s probably got three or four Old Bailey jobs lined up. No, mate, it’s not on.” He bent down to peer at Hussey from under his desk lamp. “I’m acting DAC this week.”
Hussey grinned. “So what, acting sir?”
“Means I’ve got direct access to the Assistant Commissioner, and in about two minutes from now I shall directly access him.”
“I sympathize with you, Colin, believe me, but this job’s very important. You should regard it as a compliment that I want one of your officers to help out. Anyway, as I said, the Assistant Commissioner’s agreed it.”
“Well he can just un-agree it.” Finch stood up. He was short for a policeman, barely meeting the minimum height requirement for the force; one of his taller colleagues had once suggested that he try some of the Baby Bio he was always putting on his plants.
“Well I wish you luck, Colin, but I think you’re on a hiding to nothing.”
“And I suppose you’re going to dump one of your cast-off DCIs on me are you?”
“Certainly not; I haven’t got any to spare. But that’s the bonus; you can promote one of your DIs.”
“Thanks a bundle,” said Finch.
*
“Mr Finch was not best pleased, sir, no,” said Detective Chief Inspector Harry Tipper. “In fact, it’s a fair assessment to say that he did his pieces.”
Gaffney laughed. “Yes,” he said, “I gathered there’d been a bit of a set-to down on the fifth floor.”
“I’m afraid I’m in bad odor with Mr Finch. He accused me of conspiring with officers unknown to get myself a transfer out of the firing line and into a soft job up here.”
“Soft job? I hope you didn’t agree with him, Harry. There’s nothing easy about what we’ve just taken on.”
“He did his best to put the kibosh on it, anyway. After Mr Hussey saw him, he tore off and saw the Assistant Commissioner.”
“And?”
Tipper chuckled. “Got no joy there. Then he bumped into the Commissioner in Back Hall and had a go at him.”
“He never did give up easily. What did the Commissioner have to say?”
“He told him it wasn’t an invitation to a debate, it was an order. Then he asked Mr Finch if it was right he was retiring; but he said it with that usual half-smile on his face. I hope to God he has retired if I ever get back to SO1.”
“I don’t think there’s much danger of that, Harry. Once we lay hands on people, they tend not to escape.”
“Yes, well I suppose you need some good blokes to help you out from time to time. So here I am. What is it all about, this sudden move? Bit unusual, isn’t it?”
“It’s not the first time we’ve ‘sidewaysed’ a real detective into Special Branch, Harry, and I have to say, without inflating your ego too much, that you quite impressed the hierarchy when you were working on the Penelope Lambert job.”
Tipper smiled. “That was a tortuous job if ever there was one. Still, we got there in the end. But Mr Finch said something about a special job…”
“Did he indeed? Well, I suppose he had to give himself a reason for losing one of his best officers.” Tipper smiled smugly. “That’s not my view, of course,” said Gaffney. “By Special Branch standards you’re just about mediocre.” He said it with a smile. “But he’s right; there is a special job, and it involves the Security Service. I’m not yet sure quite how we’re going to play it, but I may need an officer who’s not known to them as an SB officer.”
“And are you going to tell me what it’s all about then, this special job, sir?”
“No,” said Gaffney. “At least, not yet.”
“No, I thought not,” said Tipper.
*
The Commissioner had listened patiently and without interrupting while Deputy Assistant Commissioner Logan had outlined the task which had been imposed on Special Branch. He was not unfamiliar with the ways of the Security Service, and realized how much it must have galled them to bring their problems to the police, and to have been forced to ask for help.
“I don’t have to tell you that you’re playing with fire, Donald,” he said at length. “And for that reason, you’ll need to document every move with care.” Logan nodded. “But then you’ll know that anyway. MI5 will form a circle of wagons quicker even than the Flying Squad when the chips are down, but in their case, they’ve got many more influential friends, and they won’t hesitate to use them if they think they’re in danger – yes?”
“Yes, sir. I’m well aware of that,” said Logan quietly.
“Good,” said the Commissioner. “And I’d appreciate a briefing from you from time to time. It doesn’t have to be a regular thing – just whenever there are significant developments – but I’d prefer to hear it from you before I hear it from the Secretary of State.”
“Of course, sir. Incidentally, I may need additional resources occasionally – and quickly. I don’t want to have to go through the usual channels; it would take too long, and would require too much explanation…”
The Commissioner nodded. “I presume that’s why you grabbed DCI Tipper from Colin Finch,” he said with a smile. “He’s still smarting over that. I reckon you owe him at least a couple of bottles of Scotch.”
“No problem, sir,” said Logan. “It’ll go on the Security Service’s bill.”
*
“Ah! Come in.” For a moment or two, Gaffney had failed to recognize WDC Marilyn Lester. She had taken his advice and transformed her appearance. She now wore, a white suit with a pale blue shirt, and her hair, which she had previously pinned in a tight bun, was clipped loosely back, softening her face. Her sheer stockings and her carefully applied make-up, which emphasised her eyes, combined to produce a sex appeal that had been deliberately suppressed when Gaffney had first interviewed her. “That’s more like it,” he said.
She seated herself in the same chair that Armitage had occupied, putting her blue leather shoulder bag on the floor beside her, before crossing her legs and carefully arranging her skirt.
“I make no excuse for telling you this,” began Gaffney, “but now that you are a Special Branch officer, you will discuss the firm’s business with no one, and that includes other Special Branch officers.” She nodded gravely. “In a branch that contains nothing but detectives, you will find that they have a natural aptitude for trying to find things out – even when they don’t need to know them – and they won’t always ask you directly.” He paused to light a cigar. “That, of course, is just general advice. In your particular case you won’t be mixing with any SB officers – apart from me to begin with – until the case is over and done with. But just bear in mind what I’ve said. Is that clear, Marilyn?”
“Yes, sir.” She was still surprised that a senior officer should use her Christian name, but the more she saw of Special Branch the more she realized that it wasn’t anything like the uniform branch she had just left.
“Now we come to your particular task in all this,” continued Gaffney, carefully rolling the ash off his cigar. “I want you to play the part of an army officer’s wife – and that entails living with him…” He broke off, expecting some sort of outraged refusal, but he had underestimated her.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and waited, expressionless.
“But not sleeping with him. That all right, then?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “But perhaps you’d like to tell me just a little bit more about it. How far you want me to go, for example,” she added with an impish grin.
“Yes,” said Gaffney, and ran a hand round his chin. “We are setting a trap for the
Russians – or any other Iron Curtain country that takes an interest – and the bait is the army officer in question. The usual form is that they will try to get him in some compromising situation whereby they can blackmail him into parting with secret information. The one they usually go for is homosexuality; well that’s out, but adultery is a good second-best, followed closely by drunkenness and indebtedness. Jack Armitage tells me that he’s pretty good at all three.” He paused for reaction, but she just nodded. Either she was very professional, or she didn’t believe a word he was saying. “I’m not going to tell you any more than you need to know; any more, in fact, than I’ve told him.” It was essential in any espionage case to maintain as many water-tight compartments as possible, but every once in a while the enormity of being the only operational officer who knew the whole story frightened the life out of him. “You will be his contact with me, and the least suspicious way in which we can do that is for you to live in the same flat as him, passing messages on to me. And the fact that you’re masquerading as his wife will give them – whoever they turn out to be – the additional leverage to blackmail him. I know it’s asking a bit much of you, particularly as you’ve only just joined us, but that, of course, is the very reason why I picked you; your face is unknown to the people we’re hoping to trap.”
“But surely, sir—”
Gaffney held up his hand. “I know all the questions you’d like to have answers to,” he said, “but I’m not going to give them to you. Nothing in this branch is ever what it seems, and I’m afraid that you’ll just have to make do with what I tell you.” He smiled to soften the sharpness of what he had said. “And believe me, it will always be that way. Now, I shall quite understand if you wish to refuse this assignment…” He leaned back in his chair and waited for her reaction.
“How do I make contact with you and when?” was all she asked.
“Before I leave here, I shall give you the telephone number of the ops room at the Yard; commit it to memory. There will be someone there twenty-four hours a day; you can ring any time, but don’t make it the same time, and don’t make it every day. Now there’s one problem as far as you’re concerned. You must never make those calls from this flat, which is the flat you’ll be living in with Jack Armitage, because there will come a point when there is a tap on the line.” She nodded and looked round the sitting room with renewed interest as a young woman about to purchase her first home might have done. “Secondly,” continued Gaffney, “Jack Armitage will almost certainly be arrested at some stage. You must make sure, therefore, that there is absolutely nothing in this flat that connects you with the Metropolitan Police, because it will be searched – by the police; everything here must support the fact that he’s in the army, and that you’ve been married to him for about two years.”
