Singleton's Law

by Reginald Hill

  He turned the door-handle as quietly as possible and looked through the crack into an empty bedroom. Another door led out of this. It was slightly ajar and though he could not see through it, he could hear voices.

  He moved quickly across the bedroom. The floorboards creaked warningly and he hoped that the conversation in the next room would be loud enough to cover this.

  “How the hell should I know?” a man’s voice was saying. “He said he’ll get over as soon as he can.”

  “You’re not exactly putting your best foot forward to impress me,” said another male voice, mockingly. Whitey recognized it instantly. “Why, for instance,” it continued, “don’t you invite Mr. Singleton in, instead of letting him stand in a draught by the door?”

  The door was immediately thrown fully open. Hydrangea looked at him accusingly. A bearded man with a gun in his hand faced him menacingly. And from a tall, wheel-backed chair to which his left hand was manacled by a pair of handcuffs, King smiled at him welcomingly.

  “You’d better tell me all about,” said Whitey ignoring the bearded man’s gun and stepping into the room. “Hello King.”

  “Hello, Whitey.”

  The room was furnished as a small study. It contained a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet, a bookcase and a desk. On the desk were a lamp, a typewriter, and a telephone.

  Whitey looked down at the ’phone. The number was printed on the base. 722–589–605–9.

  “So the Embassy employs bank-robbers now, does it?” he said to Hydrangea. “And keeps pet terrorists chained up next door to the bedroom? You really had better tell me all about it.”

  He felt so in command of the situation that his principal reaction when the bearded man hit him over the head with his pistol-butt was surprise. He was still feeling surprised when he woke up half an hour later and found Exsmith peering down at him with a face full of concern.

  Nixon Lectures : Fifth Series

  Audio-Visual Material

  I (f) Animated cartoon shown on children’s tv comedy show.

  SYNOPSIS

  An Athletic Supporter, a City Supporter, a United Supporter and a Wanderers Supporter are arguing about which of them is the best shot.

  The Wanderers Supporter throws a bottle into the air and shoots it before it can reach the ground.

  The City Supporter throws two bottles and shoots them both.

  The United Supporter throws three bottles and shoots them all.

  The Athletic Supporter throws four bottles. We hear shots but none of the bottles breaks.

  “I must be the worst shot of them all,” he says despondently into the camera which then moves back to show the other three Supporters lying dead behind him.

  Lecturer’s Note : A version of this cartoon was shown on all Club networks, with the roles changed appropriately.

  Chapter 14

  “Let me explain, Mr. Singleton,” said Exsmith. “It sounds complicated, I know. In fact it is complicated, unnecessarily so, I believe. But back home complexity impresses, as you know.

  “Anyway, two things. For some time we’ve had some points of contact with the Underground movement here, nothing concrete, you understand. We don’t supply arms or funds or anything of that nature. Oh no. On the other hand while there’s a possibility that this movement might one day provide the legal government of a reunited Britain, then it’s my job to keep the door open.”

  “Ouch!” said Whitey as Hydrangea pressed the cold compress over-solicitously to the lump on his head. Exsmith seemed to take the noise as encouragement.

  “However, we like to have our own people near the centre of things. The Underground, quite naturally, is not willing to share all its secrets with us.”

  He beamed avuncularly at King who smiled sneeringly in return.

  “Infiltration at low level is easy enough, of course. But it’s more difficult to get to the top. So someone at home hit upon this plan of getting the Four Clubs, or some of them at least, to actually hire our agents.

  “You mean the Los Angeles bank robbery and the hi-jack were just part of a cover story?” asked Whitey.

  “I’m afraid so. It is over-complex, isn’t it? And the money actually turned up in the tomato cases. Faked, marked notes, of course. It’s fascinating to watch their progress throughout Europe. You’d be amazed at what’s going on.

  “So, the idea is, our agents ask for political asylum, which is very suspicious. Then it turns out they’re bank robbers on the run, which immediately makes them credible and acceptable. Chaucer, the United Assistant Manager, is in prison here. We asked our friends in the Underground if they could arrange for this lady whom you know as Hydrangea, I believe, to be put in the same cell as him. The idea is that they might strike up some kind of acquaintance. Unfortunately it was not possible to foresee the kind of treatment she would be submitted to in the Scrubs.”

  “I should have thought it was pretty obvious,” said Whitey sharply.

  “Perhaps so. Well, it can’t have been pleasant, not even in the course of duty.”

  Whitey glanced at Exsmith keenly but he seemed to be deadly serious.

  “And Chaucer’s own reaction. Well, that was certainly not to be expected from a man in high public office. Then you were chucked in with them, an additional complication. But as it turned out, a fortunate one.”

  The Ambassador nodded approvingly.

  “It meant that when the escape plan was put into operation that night, you were able to assist Hydrangea to get out. And you gave her a second chance to get attached to the man, Chaucer.”

  “So that’s why you abandoned me.” Whitey looked sadly at the girl.

  “What else could I do?” she asked. “When I got to Birmingham with him and he was able to check out my story, he offered me a deal. I work for him and he’d try to get his hands on those packs of tomatoes with the loot in them. I must have looked good to him, an experienced criminal with none of these disturbing club loyalties to interfere with my freedom of action. Naturally I took the deal. Things were going well till I got taken on the Coventry campus.”

  “Some of your friends arranged that, I believe, Mr. King,” said Exsmith.

  “What!” exclaimed Hydrangea. “But I was acting as a go-between.”

  “A go-between what?” demanded Whitey.

  “The Association and the Underground, of course. The Directors had set up a link. They hoped the Underground might be willing to help in the plans to reunite the country. After all, that’s one of the things they’ve been protesting about.”

  Whitey groaned.

  “How could anybody be so naive!”

  Exsmith shook his head disapprovingly. “Get this straight Mr. Singleton. No-one’s being naive in this business. Devious, dishonest and deceitful, yes. But not naive.”

  “OK,” said Whitey. “King. Why did your people drop Hydrangea in it?”

  “Simple,” said the young man cheerfully. “We weren’t interested in any such deal with the Clubs. But we thought it would be nice to stir things up for Chaucer. The idea was, the girl here would soon be taken apart by the Disciplinary Committee and reveal all. Imagine the uproar there would have been! But unfortunately she held out, you did your perfect gentle knight bit, and Chaucer turned up to protect his interests.”

  Whitey looked round the assembled faces. They seemed to be united in expressing approval of this subtle tactic, even Hydrangea’s. She caught the expression on his face and ran her fingers gently through his hair.

  “Don’t look so disapproving,” she chided him. “I got out, didn’t I? Thanks to you. Such things happen.”

  “Yes, and if it wasn’t that you’d helped her then and she got a rush of gratitude to the head, you would not be here tonight, Mr. Singleton,” said Exsmith gravely. “Hydrangea’s back in London accompanying Chaucer who’s helping set up the Wembley conference.”

  “The what?”

  “They don’t tell you much, do they?” said Exsmith. “Don’t worry. No doubt they’ll g
et round to it. They’ll want it splashed in one of your forthcoming articles.

  “Anyway, Chaucer had set up another meeting with the Underground. He’s an optimist that man. He thinks the Coventry business was just a mischance. So Hydrangea gets the go-between job again. At the same time, we, that is the Embassy, are wanting to strengthen our contacts for reasons which will become manifest. So we kill two birds with one stone. Hydrangea gets Chaucer’s Strikers’ protection to meet with Mr. King here to discuss our business. How do you like that?”

  “Not much,” said Whitey. “You mean, Chaucer knows about this place?”

  “No. Of course not. They meet in a car, go off for a ride. Your name’s mentioned. Mr. King indicates that tonight you’re going to be relegated, as I think the term is. You’ve joined the opposition.”

  “He was trying to relegate me before I did that,” said Whitey looking at the amused King.

  “So he was. To stop you exposing one of their top inside men. Mr. Sheldrake, I presume.”

  King stopped smiling. Exsmith shrugged self-deprecatingly.

  “An elementary deduction, given all the facts. Hydrangea brings Mr. King here, puts him under guard, rather to his surprise, I guess. And off she goes to try to pull you out of the fire.”

  “Thanks,” said Whitey to the girl, realizing now the full extent of his debt to her. Despite Exsmith’s chatty manner and King’s affability, neither of them was going to forget this piece of independent action in a hurry.

  “But I still don’t see what you two have got in common,” he went on. “I should have thought that the Association’s plans for dissolving the Four Clubs peacefully and realigning the country with Europe would have been very much in line with Washington thinking. While the kind of revolutionary left-wing workers’ paradise the Underground want would have sent them screaming for their flintlocks.”

  “It’s moral issues, not political systems we’re concerned with here,” said Exsmith sternly. “What my government and Mr. King share in common is a strong moral disapproval of the way the Four Clubs conduct their affairs. As you’ve written on any number of occasions, it’s bloody, unjust and debasing.”

  “So the Association offers the chance of a change.”

  “On the contrary. You have been deceived, Mr. Singleton. They saw in you a man who could not be bought or frightened into approval, but whose strong moral stand made him a sucker for trickery. You’ve always felt the Four Clubs was the worst of possible methods of government. Hence, for you, change equals improvement. Can you think of anything worse than the four quarters of England at each other’s throats all the time?”

  “I suppose not,” said Whitey uncertainly.

  “What about the Four Clubs united under one banner, behaving and believing and being governed exactly as before, only now uniting all that hatred and blood-lust against a common enemy?”

  Whitey laughed out loud.

  “That’s absurd.”

  Exsmith shrugged.

  “You tell him, my dear.”

  “He’s right, Whitey,” said Hydrangea urgently. “Chaucer and Wildthorpe and the others are reckoning on a Continental war within five years.”

  “No,” said Whitey.

  “And your articles are a small part of their plans. Look Whitey,” said Exsmith, using his first name for the first time in his effort to convince, “Britain wants back into Europe, but as the bully boy, not the prodigal son. In the last twenty years, who’s emerged as the E.E.C.’s dominant member? Holland. Right. Unlikely as it seems, the Dutch dominate. They dictate the policies, they set the time. Only the Germans have vetoed the attempts of the Dutch to get Britain out. What makings of what an unholy alliance lie there!”

  “This is pie in the sky,” said Whitey. “This is vaguer than the weather forecast.”

  “Perhaps so,” said Exsmith. “Perhaps not. How vague do you find these?”

  He produced an envelope from an inside pocket and from it took a series of photostatted typewritten sheets. The first of these was headed in bold black letters THE NEW ALBION.

  “What’s that mean?” asked Whitey. The words somehow filled him with foreboding.

  “It means your new country,” said Exsmith. “The phoenix that’s going to rise from the ashes of the Four Clubs. Take a look.”

  Whitey began to read. When he finished he read it through again. It was allegedly the report of an Association working party on the proposed re-organization of the country. There was no hint in it of any change in approach or philosophy from the old Club structure.

  “Not much space for democratic elections or the rule of law there,” said Exsmith.

  “Where did you get this?” asked Whitey.

  “It’s genuine, that’s all you need to know. Mr. King I believe you’ve got something to contribute from your sources.”

  King handed over a loose roll of photostatted papers, about thirty closely handwritten sides.

  “Wildthorpe’s writing,” he said. “You probably recognize it. His draft for a progress report and policy statement he’ll be laying before the Association tomorrow. You get a couple of mentions yourself, Whitey. He’s very complimentary about your usefulness. And your malleability.”

  Whitey said nothing, but read. It was true. He recognized the handwriting and as far as he could judge, it was Wildthorpe’s. When he had finished, he handed the document back to King.

  “It sounds bad,” he admitted. “But men like these, Hobhouse and Wildthorpe, they’ve got to use the rhetoric of the Clubs to bind them together. Management has got to be convinced and it’s terms like these which will do the convincing.”

  “You must be more stupid than you look!” exploded King, but Exsmith hushed the young man with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  “Whitey’s right to examine what we say in a cool rational manner,” he said. “His mistake is to try to separate the Directors from the Management. Take a look at this, Whitey. It’s a photostat of an interrogation order. The capital M here means there’s no limit on the techniques used. Hobhouse signed it, you notice. Now take a look at this photo.”

  “Oh Christ,” said Whitey in revulsion. It was a naked man, or what was left of him. Something about the twisted, contorted features was familiar.

  “Caldercote,” he said, and could say no more.

  “I’m afraid so. And there’s something else which has just come to light. Your wife, Audrey. She didn’t die in a London hospital. As soon as they thought of the substitute plan, they moved her right out of Athletic territory for the sake of security. She died in the sick bay at Wanderers Heights. They gave her treatment all right, to bring her round for questioning. Here’s the authorization. Signed by Wildthorpe.”

  Whitey looked at the document without taking any of it in. The words themselves were enough.

  “Well,” said King, the scornful edge now completely gone from his voice. “How do you fancy being a citizen of the New Albion, Whitey?”

  Hydrangea glared angrily at the young man and put her arm protectively over Whitey’s shoulders.

  “Let’s all have a drink,” said Exsmith briskly, “and then we can talk things over.”

  After fifteen minutes and a couple of drinks, Whitey was ready for talking. Inside he still felt hollow. That Caldercote and Audrey were dead, even the manner of their deaths, had long been facts in his mind. Tonight they had ceased to be mere facts and had slipped from the mind into the imagination. He badly needed the reassurance of words to keep them at bay.

  Exsmith spoke frankly.

  “There’s not much you as an individual can do. Even these articles you’re writing are only a bit of window-dressing for the New Albion. Stop them and you achieve little. No, the thing is not to rock the boat just now. They are pretty convinced all they’ve got to worry about is breaking down the old parochial Club loyalties.”

  “What about the Jays?” interrupted Whitey.

  “After tonight’s meeting with Hydrangea, things will look hopeful for a ra
pprochement there,” grinned King. “Over the next few weeks, we’ll cautiously come together. Eventually they’ll think we’re their favourite nephews.”

  “So the thing is to keep everybody sweet,” said Exsmith. “You’re bound to pick up bits of useful information. This you can pass on. But no risks.”

  “So who is doing the work?” asked Whitey, feeling selfishly disgruntled at this further relegation into a minor role.

  “The less you know the better,” responded Exsmith, which didn’t help his self-esteem either.

  “At least tell me what the work is,” demanded Whitey. “I’ve a right to know what my small contribution is being made to.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Exsmith. “Our government’s concern is the balance of power in Europe.”

  “The what?” exclaimed Whitey, then laughed. “I haven’t heard that phrase since my fourth form history lessons.”

  “Well, you’re hearing it now. So, our short term objective is to prevent the Association from taking the first steps towards the New Albion. This we reckon can be done fairly easily by using the inter-Club distrust that already exists.”

  “Violently?” asked Whitey quietly.

  “There may be some of the normal inter-Club violence, but that doesn’t figure large in our plans. No, our sabotage will be done at the conference table.”

  “And the Jays?”

  “We’re going to do what we tried with Hydrangea at Coventry, only on a bigger scale,” said King. “When the moment comes, enough evidence of the Association’s collusion with the Underground will be released to discredit the whole of the Directorship.”

  “But what’s in it for you?” asked Whitey. “Wouldn’t you get more by sticking with the deal?”

  “Whatever you think of us, Mr. Singleton, we don’t see ourselves as storm-troopers for a fascist government,” said King, suddenly angry. “This way, we stop something that needs stopping, and we open up the whole top level of government in this country. Naturally our friends, like Sheldrake, don’t get tarred with the same brush as Hobhouse and the rest. After this lot, we should be able to start changing things from the top downwards. In fact, your way. So give us a smile, Whitey.”