The Vengeance Man

by John Macrae

  I was going to tell him not to bother. I knew, without being told, that serials 476 and 477 were marked out for us. Sometimes you just know these things.

  Faintly I heard the phone at the other end of the line ringing. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “It's usually used for internal problems," he mouthed. "'ECLIPSED', I mean. You know, high clearance people with a problem. They did it to Profumo back in '63 and Oldfield in the eighties....... Haven't changed the codeword since. Last one I saw was an MP who was being bribed by Greek Cypriots." He giggled. His face cleared as the telephone was answered. I watched him, reading the conversation from his face and the answers.

  "Ah, hello. Charles Bremner here, Liaison Coord ... hi ... Listen, I'm calling about this month's RAMPANT listing ... Yes, yes... I know the classification. I just wanted to clarify serials 476 and 477. Are they still operational?" A pause. He pulled a face. "Oh, well, they're still coded at 'E' in our file. Are you with me? 'E' Eclipse- that's it. No, no, it's just a routine query." His brow creased in puzzlement. "Well, are we going to get the details? ... Oh, I see ..."

  Now he looked worried, licking his rosebud lips. "Quite, quite... hmm. Yes, of course. No, no, not at all. No. No." Charlie was badly put out, to judge by his face. "Yes, you're right. It would need S. of S's approval ... No, no, there's no question of us calling for that - just a routine enquiry." He was sweating now, the harsh overhead light gleaming on his face. "No, I just wondered why they hadn't been circulated as going up in status, that's all." He lied badly. "I just wanted to check if they still were at 'E'. Fine, fine. I'll re-classify our copy. Thanks very much. No, that's all ... g'bye."

  He put the handset down, looking panicky and relieved to get off. He looked more like a pig than ever, with his round fat face and wet lips. The eyes were half-hidden by rolls of fat, but they were concerned all right. "Well, I didn't like that," he began, "It's all strictly need to know and they aren't 'ECLIPSED' any more. They've sent out an amendment, telling us that it's to be marked as 'lapsed', but the serials are still current and operational. It's a higher codeword entirely, now. Well above Eclipse.” He wiped a forefinger over his sweating upper lip.

  "So what does that mean, Charlie?"

  "Well, it doesn't happen often. What they do is call them 'closed cases' but that’s just a blind. What they really do is hand them over as operations to the HSSIG..."

  “HISSIG?" I queried.

  Charlie grinned. "That's the Home Secretary's Special Investigation Group. Very hush hush. They take them on from there. There aren't many cases like that running. Could be anything." He shrugged. "Police, Box - you name it. They're usually the top two or three most sensitive cases. Or major sensitive crimes." He was relaxing now. "Nothing for you to worry about, though. It probably means that the Commissioner's gone bent. They're usually MPs or corrupt senior coppers or Box men, cases like that." He giggled.

  "Charlie, anyone who takes the job of Commissioner of the Met has got to be bent by definition." I gave him the big smile. "Relax, Charlie, relax. It was no big deal."

  "Yeah, you're right." He looked worried, momentarily, and glanced at the phone. "Silly old trout. Do you know she asked me why I wanted to know. Me! Liaison Coord! Stupid cow."

  We parted amiably. I worried all the way back and I worried all the time from then on. Charlie was more relaxed, though. He'd even asked me round to his mother's at New Cross for tea, and seemed surprised when I refused.

  Back at SIS Ltd, life seemed to settle down. Mallalieu was circumspect in his office and discreet on the telephone. I kept my head down, paid attention to my duties and was tucked up in bed by ten o'clock every night, usually with Joy, who seemed to be becoming more of a fixture in my life and the flat. I didn't mind. Anyway, with the other girls, her flat was crowded.

  Mallalieu's interview with Harry Plummer hadn't gone well, he told me. Harry had been evasive. So much so that Mallalieu told me that eventually he'd asked Plummer point blank if I'd been the only person visited on the night of the Roberts shooting, to which Harry, who must have known Mallalieu could check by other means, eventually said 'he didn't know'. When asked to check, he'd stonewalled and said it wasn't his area. Mallalieu said he didn't believe him, and nor did I.

  Added to the two unknown Home Office secret wiretaps that Charlie had discovered, the picture was clear; we were in the frame. No wonder we lay low.

  Fortunately things were quiet. The great busy days of SIS and Bill Luxton seemed to be a thing of the past. Andy's Bull Pen still hadn't recruited two new candidates to replace Briggs and James. There was no rush, according to the Personnel Director. Recruiting was being kept tight as funds were short. The restriction seemed to be limited to the end of the financial year or something, and anyway there were no really suitable candidates coming up. By general consent we seemed to have agreed that they'd better come from SAS or SBS. After the Briggs affair, the other options didn't seem half as reliable.

  Andy and I had a couple of desultory conferences on the subject, but they were half-hearted affair. Once, fiddling with a ruler and staring moodily out of the window, he announced that he didn't think Mallalieu wanted the jobs filled. When I'd asked why, he'd shrugged and muttered something about the Firm 'running down a bit'. He had a point. Even on the ops side, the number of jobs had shrunk. Out of curiosity I did a check and discovered that we were now running only 30 per cent of the sensitive operations we'd been running two years before.

  However, SIS was far from bust. It seemed that the more conventional side of the Firm was booming. The Lloyds/Insurance Services branches were all making a healthy profit and screaming for more staff. There was even talk of a special bonus, plus shares or something for the staff.

  My life may have been a bit confused, what with Joy and everything, but at least I worked for a good company. I’d wait to see what turned up.

  Something always happens.

  CHAPTER 36

  THINGS ARE LOOKING UP?

  London

  Nothing happened.

  But about a month after I'd seen Charlie Bremner, Mallalieu and I shared a taxi over to a client call off King William Street in the City. We didn't say much, but at one point I couldn't resist asking pointedly if he had any news. He'd looked blankly at the passing traffic and shook his head. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."

  "How about your Bank of England associate? You know; Mr Lamaison?"

  He glanced warningly at the taxi driver's back. "No, it's all gone back to normal. I think we just carry on as before, yes?"

  And that was that. Fortunately my stars said that I would enjoy a break. Perceptive, these astrologers. And just before a bank holiday, too. Amazing! How do they get it so right? I decided to take them up on it.

  Joy and I had a good weekend. It was one of those five day breaks that pass as public holidays these days. We loaded up her little car and took an English Tourist Board trip up to the Lake District, to a little hotel that looked good on the brochures. Usually they're full of tourists, but we were lucky.

  We spent the days tramping the bare hills under an unseasonably blazing sun. For lunch we washed down slabs of local cheese with local beer. In the evenings we either retired to bed or once, spectacularly, to the local pub, where Joy spent a hilarious hour fending off the attentions of a geriatric and bucolic Lothario in the corner of the bar.

  "I don't mind men trying to seduce me," she'd grumbled later, "But I'd prefer them to be under seventy."

  I nuzzled in to the warm hollow between her ear and her shoulder. "Oooh, Eh oop, missus, will you let me sedyuce you when I'm seventy? Mi dook."

  She bit my nose, playfully. "You don’t sound a bit like amorous Archie. Anyway, I think I'll have trouble stopping you. But the way you're going on there'll be nothing left when you're seventy. Mind you, I don't expect I'll last that long, either: if I climb another hill, my legs will fall off."

  Next morning it poured with rain as the weather broke. Joy's legs were saved for her old age. We stayed in
bed late - it was our last day, anyway - and drove slowly back to London that afternoon. Although nothing formal had been said, we both knew that our relationship had changed. After all, you don't discuss the idea of buying a house together without intending to have a more permanent relationship, do you?

  Next morning, whistling like an errand boy, I climbed the stairs to the office. Young Neil Macariewicz was baby-sitting behind the security door and beamed with pleasure at seeing me. "Good holiday?"

  "Great " I stretched massively. "And you?"

  His face brightened even more, if that was possible.

  "Nah, terrible. I've been on duty security, turn on, turn off, the whole break. Good overtime but boring. But now I get a week off. Great, innit?"

  I couldn't help grinning. "And time and a half, as well?"

  "No, no." He shook his head. "Only for four days; but double time for Sunday." He laughed, pleased with his windfall.

  I signed for my keys and headed towards the office, off the Ops room. "Oh, by the way," he called after me. "Colonel Mallalieu asked to see you first thing."

  That was odd. Mallalieu normally didn't surface until nine o'clock, and I was deliberately in early. Still whistling, I let myself into my own office before going through to the Chief of Staff.

  Mallalieu greeted me with a frown. He came straight to the point. "What are you doing at 10 o'clock?"

  "Nothing vital. Why?"

  "Because a chap called, er ..." he consulted a card on his desk, "Paddy Croft asked to see you. Know him?"

  "Yes, of course' Paddy's an old friend of mi ... " My voice trailed off. Mallalieu's face was unsmiling, grim.

  "You know that he's with the Home Office, don't you? One of their special investigators?”

  "Of course." Suddenly I realised the connection and the reason for Mallalieu's frown. Then I relaxed as I thought it through. I hastened to reassure him. "No, no. Paddy's not real Home Office. He's Combined Interrogation Team, CIT - has been for years. No, I wouldn't worry about... “I was suddenly conscious of the bugged office, "About anything, er, out of the ordinary, just because the Home Office pays a call," I ended lamely.

  Mallalieu looked unconvinced. "Well, I hope you're right. Anyway, if you'd come in at about five to ten, we'll find out what he wants." He lifted a stack of multi-coloured files from his out-tray and handed them to me. I looked down in surprise. The pink file on top was marked 'ABACUS' and stamped 'COMMERCIAL IN CONFIDENCE'.

  "What's this? Looks like work."

  "This, as you so rightly surmise, D Ops, is work." His thin smile appeared briefly. "This place is getting fat and idle." He waved a hand at the door. "Everyone sitting around - long lunches - rumours flying - people gossiping about the future. Well, this pile of excitement should bring people back to reality."

  "Why? What's in it?"

  Mallalieu's smile became genuine. "It's a five year option to provide security for a group of the big oil firms. Pipelines, refineries. Mainly based in southern Russia, the Caucasus. Places like that. It covers all our areas; insurance, high-risk protection, security surveys, special personnel, covert action. It's worth a fortune. It's going to be the making of this company. Our long term future."

  I looked back at the stack of files. Some of them were the colours of other departments. "We're in with a chance?"

  "Absolutely. No-one else can match our tender." His nod was emphatic. "Now, I want an assessment of the specialist services needed, with a breakdown of personnel and outline costs by ... " the thin fingers drummed the desk, " By Friday. Then we can talk to the Director next Monday."

  That didn't give me a lot of time, but we could make it. I was just glad to see that we were back on the road again. "All right, I'll see it's done. One side of a sheet of paper and all the details on annexes - right?"

  "Right." Mallalieu and I both knew the limitations of Sellers' attention span. He held the door open for me.

  All those files needed both hands.

  * * *

  I got so engrossed in the project that I nearly forgot the ten o'clock appointment with Paddy Croft. I dashed into Mallalieu's office with seconds to spare, just before Jan showed Paddy's round form, tightly wrapped in a blue suit, through the door. A badly knotted, garish club tie and scruffy brown suede shoes showed his determination to impress sartorially. I had just started forward to introduce him to Mallalieu when Harry Plummer followed him into the room. For a second we stood awkwardly while an alarm note sounded in the recesses of my mind. What the hell was Harry Plummer doing here? Then the moment passed and all was a confusion of chairs and handshaking and passing coffee cups round.

  When we had settled, Mallalieu leaned back in his armchair and said, a fraction too casually, "Well, what can Specialist Insurance Services Ltd. do for the Home Office, Mr Croft?"

  Paddy smiled and sat forward, slopping coffee into his saucer. "Call me Paddy, Colonel. Well, it's a delicate matter, and we've been asked to talk to you and your Operations Director," he nodded at me, "In strict confidence..."

  "We?" Mallalieu jumped in.

  "Yes. I'm really here representing Queen Anne's Gate. You see the Assistant Commissioner raised a problem with the Junior Minister, so it's really a police matter. That's why D.I. Plummer's along, too." We all looked at Harry, impassively watching Paddy Croft. So, Harry Plummer had been promoted to Detective Inspector, had he? I wondered when that had happened; and why?

  Paddy pulled out a small, black notebook. "The fact is, Colonel, the Metropolitan Police have been investigating a number of serious crimes for some time now. Maybe it's better if DI Plummer explains the background. As a police matter, it's really his side of the house. Harry?"

  Harry took out a black notebook, identical to Paddy's. I noticed that they both had numbered pages. He laid a pen across the book to keep it open, cleared his throat and waited before speaking with a stolid deliberation that was maddening. "Following a number of serious crimes, one of which I spoke to you about earlier this year - you remember - the CID approached my Branch with a specific theory." His eyes stayed on the notebook.

  He cleared his throat and continued, "Essentially, they believed that these - ah -serious assaults by this so-called Vengeance Gang were in fact were the work of one or more highly trained servicemen, ex-serviceman or member of the security forces, including the intelligence services or related industry. The pattern of the available evidence, the modus operandi', suggested a link with what I understand are called 'special forces.'" He looked up at me.

  Despite my frozen, contracted stomach, I nodded. Satisfied, he returned to his notebook. "Following routine enquiries, we believe that we can narrow it down to one of a few people; probably working in the security world for one of the private security firms." He closed the book with a snap and looked back at Paddy. "When I say 'private', Colonel Mallalieu, I would say that I'm limiting it to two or three companies at the most."

  Mallalieu looked tense, but puzzled. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, obviously. He looked blankly at Paddy. "Well, yes, of course. I mean, if you think we can help in any way, we'll be delighted to; won't we?" He looked across at me.

  "Yes," I agreed without enthusiasm, "Of course. But how..?"

  That's where I come in," interrupted Paddy. "Because the Criminal Investigation Department think it might be a rogue member of the Intelligence Community, they've passed it to Special Branch. Now, the Branch feel that it is too sensitive for a straightforward police investigation, so they’ve asked for specialist Home Office assistance. That’s where I come in. The Minister suggested that the CIT might be able to help the Met directly. As we might be looking for one of our own, so to speak"

  Mallalieu's brow was furrowed. "Fine, fine. Well, as I say, we'll help you all we can. I'm just not sure what you're looking for, or quite what you want us to do."

  "Oh, it's just straightforward stuff, Colonel." Paddy was bland, reassuring. I was suspicious as hell. Why was he leading? Paddy was an interrogator. He was a spook, not a p
oliceman. While it was true that the CIT was under the theoretical control of the Home Secretary, everyone knew that it answered direct to the Coordinator of Intelligence and Security in the Cabinet Office. Paddy didn't get involved with the Metropolitan Police, and especially the CID. This wasn't a cosy little criminal enquiry for the Met at all. They were bullshitting us. It stank. Was this the mysterious HSSIG, I wondered?

  " ... we'd just like to interview a few people, take statements, if necessary. Stuff like that. D.I. Plummer will do the talking. I'm just here to make sure that we don't put our foot into any sensitive areas. After all, as a rated List X company you have handled a number of fairly important contracts for HMG, haven't you?" He beamed; I half expected the tricky bastard to wink conspiratorially. I wasn’t sure whether he looked like Captain Pugwash or Captain Birdseye.

  Mallalieu looked relieved. "Yes, of course. How do you want to go about it?"

  Paddy nodded cheerfully at me. "What I'd like to do, for starters, is go through the personnel lists with your Ops chief here. I think he's the best man to give us a good steer on who to talk to. You know - their movements, whether they were in the country, what jobs they've been on, stuff like that."

  He looked enquiringly at Plummer. "Then, when we've got the background, Harry will talk to each of the individuals in turn. Probably not today, though," he added, hastily. "We've got a couple of other List X firms to see, as well."

  Mallalieu's relief was now clear. "Well, that's easy enough. OK with you?" he asked me.

  I shrugged. "Good. What do you want from me?"

  Harry Plummer replied. "Just lists at this stage. It’s mainly a process of elimination. Your Ops team will have the details we're after?"

  "Yes, of course." Mallalieu was expansive. He was happy. I was not. We all rose and headed for the door. I stopped and went back in to Mallalieu's office.