by Ken McClure
Martin Cessford, the head of MI6, nodded and said, ‘We went to have a chat with him.’
Meacher continued. ‘As I said earlier, he’d had a breakdown and was in a blue funk about what he thought was going to happen to him so a lot of what he said didn’t make that much sense, but he kept insisting “the others” had decided he couldn’t keep a secret so Monk was going to kill him. We managed to get out of him that the secret in question had something to do with a medical operation but not much more than that. After hearing what you chaps had come up with, we went back to see Shand. We were able to assure him that he was no longer in danger: Monk’s killing days were well and truly over. We let him calm down for a bit and then told him what else we knew… perhaps mentioning that his former friends might actively be seeking a replacement for Monk. He caved in and spilled the lot.’
The commissioner took a photograph from an A4 size envelope and held it up for all to see. ‘This, gentlemen, is Patient X.’
‘Christ almighty,’ exclaimed Macmillan. Steven was too stunned to say anything.
Their reactions seemed to please the commissioner. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘an hour ago I was feeling very alone, standing in front of a fan the shit had just hit. Nice of you to join me.’
Steven and Macmillan were still having trouble coming to terms with the revelation.
‘His father thought they could avoid a monumental scandal by repeating the Berlin experiment so he called on his friends for help. We all know about friends in high places. Well, they don’t come much higher than that. Their mistake was in bringing James Monk on board. They obviously thought that Monk could make sure everything remained a secret, but as we all know it’s not the act that brings you down, it’s the cover-up.’
‘They entrusted a psychopathic killer with making sure no one talked…’ said Macmillan with a shake of the head as if he couldn’t believe it. ‘What did they imagine would happen?’
Heads nodded in agreement.
‘But he had plenty of help,’ said Steven.
‘People would be anxious to please without asking too many questions,’ said the commissioner. ‘Blind eyes would be turned, requests nodded through. You know how it goes.’
‘So, if no politicians were involved, no politicians know about any of this. Is that right?’ asked Macmillan.
‘As far as we can determine,’ said the commissioner, looking to the others for confirmatory nods and getting them. ‘Which brings us all to the big question of the evening. What do we do… just what the fuck do we do?’
The resulting facial expressions spoke of a general reluctance to say anything, which was eventually overcome by Macmillan. ‘I think we can all work out what would happen if that domino were to fall,’ he said.
‘Couldn’t have come at a worse time. Country’s in enough of a mess as it is,’ said the MI5 man, getting nods of agreement.
Steven couldn’t disagree with what he was hearing but he felt a mixture of anger and impotence. The cover-up had left a trail of dead and damaged people. Were they to be regarded as expendable? He couldn’t hold his tongue. ‘It just shows what happens when the upper classes get together with a plan,’ he said. ‘Sounds like sports day in Fuckwit City.’ Macmillan shot him a disapproving glance but the others chose not to voice any dissent. ‘If no politicians can be held to account, how can the families affected be compensated?’
‘Difficult,’ said the commissioner.
‘No proper channels,’ echoed one of the others.
‘But thanks to Shand, we know the names of all those involved,’ said the head of Special Branch. ‘It’s going to be difficult to prove they had any direct involvement in what Monk did but it wouldn’t be that difficult to let it be known that we know what they did. Perhaps their “better nature” could be appealed to…’
Steven couldn’t help himself. ‘And that of their “friend”,’ he added.
‘Steven…’ began Macmillan uncertainly on the drive back to London. He was very conscious of his colleague’s simmering anger. ‘I think we both need some time to calm down and think things over.’
‘Nope,’ replied Steven. ‘You’ll get my resignation in the morning.’
Macmillan could only sigh. It had been a very long day. ‘Take time, please.’
Steven dialled Tally’s number when he got in.
‘Hello?’
The sleepy sound of her voice tied his tongue in knots.
‘Hello, who is this?’
‘It’s an unemployed double-glazing salesman wondering if you still remember him.’
‘Steven? Is that really you?’
‘Yup.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘No more Sci-Med. I’ve resigned.’
‘Oh, God,’ exclaimed Tally, now fully awake. ‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Yes. Does it make a difference?’
‘Your name has been the last thing on my lips every night before I went to sleep. I always wished you well but I never really thought I’d see you again…’
‘Let’s make sure that never happens?’
‘Deal.’
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Document version: 1
Document creation date: 08.02.2012
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