by Graham Ison
Each had reported to the office on arrival. That had been disconcerting. Coming from the uniform branch where rank was displayed on shoulders or arms, they found the plainclothes world difficult. Each had made the same mistake about the two men, both in shirtsleeves, who were seated in the office. One was about fifty, with distinguished features and graying, well-groomed hair; each of the candidates had addressed him as “sir”, only to be told that he was the sergeant, and that the youthful man opposite with the gaudy tie was the chief inspector.
They had all passed the entrance examination, or they wouldn’t have been there, of course; it had been a testing amalgam of general knowledge and current affairs, and a project paper to which the invigilator, six weeks previously, had cheerfully told them there was no model answer.
They had heard stories about the interview, too. Selection board was the police term. The two senior officers who decided on the candidates’ suitability were apparently, and disconcertingly, uninterested in arrests or views about community policing, and were just as likely to ask a question about the outcome of the power struggle in Nicaragua, or the effect of the star wars program on the economics of the Common Market.
The chief inspector came out of his office and the candidates started to rise. He smiled. “Sorry about this,” he said, “but the president of the board’s been called away. Everything’s been put back half an hour. Better pop down to the canteen – get yourselves a cup of tea.” It was the standard police solution to any delay or crisis.
*
“I’m sorry to drag you away from your selection board, John, but something rather important has come up. Sit down.” The Deputy Assistant Commissioner stood behind his huge desk going through the morning ritual of lighting his first cigar of the day. He pointed at the cedar-wood box with his forefinger. “For you?”
“No thanks, sir, too early for me,” said Gaffney.
“How’s it going? The board, I mean.”
“Last day today, thank God. I think we’ll manage to get fifteen or sixteen out of that lot.”
Gaffney had spent four days already in the difficult task of selecting young police officers who had applied to join the elite ranks of Special Branch and now, towards the end, he was finding it heavy going. In his younger days, he had imagined that presiding over a selection board would be much less demanding than appearing before one, but since his promotion to detective chief superintendent he had found it to be a daunting task. By the end of the day, he would have completed a week-long series of fifty interviews in which he had asked the same questions over and over again, and received largely the same answers from candidates desperate to impress him with their suitability, and whose faces he now found it hard to recall.
“Sir Edward Griffin came to see me this morning,” said Logan, finally settling in the armchair opposite Gaffney. “As a matter of fact he left only a few minutes ago.” As briefly as possible, the DAC went on to recount what Griffin had told him. Then he sat back in his chair with a half-smile on his face. “I’m giving the job to you, John,” he said. “What you have to do is to confirm or deny Sir Edward’s suspicions.”
“Is this to be done in conjunction with Five, sir?”
“Certainly not. It’s ours, lock, stock and barrel.”
“Well frankly, I’m not very enamored of having a double agent imposed upon us. There’s no way in which we can exercise any sort of control over a situation like that.”
Logan smiled. “I thought you’d say that. In fact, I’d have been disappointed if you’d said anything else. I’ve told Sir Edward that the officer in charge of the enquiry will decide how to run it; otherwise we won’t play. Now then – resources. What sort of team will you want?”
“That could be a problem, sir. Their people know a lot of ours, and if surveillance enters into it, that could be difficult. It’s hard enough anyway, but if the target knows the bloke who’s following him, then it’s doubly difficult.”
“What d’you suggest then?”
“D’you remember Harry Tipper, sir, the DCI from SOI who worked with me on the Penelope Lambert job?”
Logan nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“I’d like to have him seconded; he’d make a useful deputy, and they don’t know him.”
“I’ve got a better idea, John. We’ve got a vacancy for a DCI; I’ll get him posted in.”
Gaffney laughed. “I think you’ll have a job prising him out of Commander SOI, sir. Harry’s regarded as one of their rising stars.”
Logan scoffed. “You leave Mr Finch to me, John. Don’t forget the Commissioner’s a former Special Branch officer, and I can play very dirty when the mood takes me. But what about the rest? Harry Tipper’s only one man; you’ll need more than that.”
“Depends on how many suspects we have to look at.”
“You may be able to have some control over that when you see Sir Edward.”
“You want me to see him?”
“Yes, of course. What you’ll have to find out is how many of his people are involved, how many have been in the past, and what he bases his suspicions on. What’s more, John, you’ll make it quite clear to him, as I attempted to do, that you are in charge of the enquiry and it will be conducted in exactly the way you want it to be.”
“I was thinking that we might use some of those youngsters that I’ve been looking at this week, sir.”
Logan seemed doubtful. “It rather depends what you want to use them for. I don’t want them running before they can walk.”
“I was thinking of a crash course in surveillance…”
“Well, it’s up to you, but I don’t think that Sir Edward’s traitor – if there is one – will be that easy to catch. If he’s a professional, and they all are – to a greater or lesser degree – they’ll be on the lookout for someone following them the whole time. Anyway, perhaps we’re jumping the gun. Until we know precisely what we’re up against, we can’t really make any arrangements. But Tipper’s a good idea, and I’ll see the Assistant Commissioner this morning; get him transferred as soon as possible.” For a moment, the DAC remained thoughtfully silent. “It might be a good thing to pick a handful of new entrants, nonetheless, John. With a job like this you never know who you’re going to need, or when you’re going to need them. But select good ones – say four – and make sure that they’re closely supervised.”
“Well I’ll make an appointment to see Sir Edward as soon as possible,” said Gaffney.
“Let me do that, John. I sensed that Sir Edward was a bit huffy about me refusing to assign Frank Hussey to his job, but if a job’s handed to us, I decide who runs it. Incidentally – and I don’t really need to say this to you – make sure that you discuss every move with Frank, and that it’s all carefully documented. If for any reason this thing should blow up in our faces, I don’t want any finger pointed in this direction.”
*
It was a long walk from the door to the chair that had been placed in front of the table. Despite what the candidates thought, it was not a deliberate ploy; it was just the way the room was laid out, and that was dictated by its shape.
“WPC Lester, sir.”
“Thank you.” Gaffney nodded to the sergeant. “Come and sit down, Miss Lester.” Well groomed, and probably got a good body under that rather severe blue suit; with her hair loose, and a figure-hugging dress, she’d look quite a stunner, thought Gaffney. Right now, she looks as though she’s applying for a job in a nunnery. No doubt some harridan had told her to dress down for the interview.
The young woman sat down and carefully arranged her skirt over her crossed legs; she declined to return Gaffney’s smile. “Good morning, sir,” she said, looking first at Gaffney and quickly at George Winter, the detective superintendent sitting with him.
The other advice she had been given about the interview was accurate, though; they weren’t much interested in what she’d done in the police force so far. Nevertheless, the first question was so disconcerting that she felt tempted to
give up there and then.
“Tell me what you know of the politics of China,” said Gaffney.
“The politics of China?” She repeated the question softly.
Gaffney nodded.
“Not a great deal, I’m afraid, sir.” She had read the papers for weeks now, but couldn’t remember anything significant about China. She knew all about the coup d’etat in Cuba; was conversant with the latest Senate investigating sub-committee in Washington – but China…
“Second largest communist land mass in the world,” said Gaffney. “Don’t you think it might be useful to know something about it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so, sir.”
Gaffney left it. But the next question was almost as bad. “What do you think is the most serious thing that can happen to a commissioner of police, Miss Lester?”
“Corruption?” she asked tentatively.
“Mmm – if he himself is corrupt, then yes, I suppose so, but I was thinking more of his supervision of the force.”
“Losing the confidence of the officers under his command.” She said it triumphantly.
Gaffney appeared to consider that. He could think of one or two commissioners against whom that allegation could be leveled. What the girl in front of him didn’t know was that he wasn’t much interested in whether she got the answers right, but how she fielded them, how she stood up to the questioning. In most cases, there weren’t definite answers anyway; they were more discussion points.
“Supposing I was to say public order,” he said, throwing her a lifeline.
“Oh yes, of course.”
“Yes of course, what?” Gaffney smiled again.
“I should think that a breakdown of public order – on a large scale – would be more serious than anything else. In fact,” she said, only half sure that she was right, “I think that Sir Edmund Henderson had to resign because of public order problems some time in the 1860s.”
Gaffney, who had no idea whether she was right, at least gave her a few points for that. “And what, then, do you think is the role of Special Branch in all this?”
At last she was on sure ground, and gave him the textbook answer of the job of the branch. Slowly, she found her confidence, and her true character started to emerge. But it wasn’t over yet.
George Winter now took over the questioning. “This degree you’ve got…” He tapped the papers in front of him with his glasses. “A two-two in medieval history. What good do you think that’s going to be to you in Special Branch?”
“Well, of itself, sir, perhaps not a lot, although history of any description will always teach us lessons for the future. What it does say is that I have a mind that can embark on an ordered course of study and absorb facts.”
“All my detectives have got that,” said Winter dismissively. “Just so long as you don’t think it’s a passport to success.”
“Oh no, sir.” She did not like Detective Superintendent Winter.
“What’s the difference between MI5 and MI6?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Well, they’re very secret organizations.”
“There are books about them in my public library – probably in yours too. D’you belong to a library?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll find them around 327 in the Dewey classification. D’you know what the Dewey classification is?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“It’s the way they classify non-fiction books under subject,” said Winter. Gaffney smiled. The only reason old George knew that was because he had spent two months working in a library years ago as part of a totally futile surveillance operation. “Have you bothered to find out anything about this branch?” continued Winter relentlessly. “I suppose that because you’re a girl and you’ve got a degree, you think that you can just walk in and we’ll fall over ourselves to take you. Is that it?”
“No, sir, that’s not the case at all.” She could feel her color rising and wished desperately that she could do something about it.
“Just another application, is it? What else have you applied for? Mounted Branch, River Police, Juvenile Bureau? Hoping for anything to get you off the streets?”
“No, sir.”
“‘No, sir’ – is that all you can say?”
“I’ve got a good arrest record—”
“Pah! That’s no good, young lady. We don’t go about arresting people up here. We’re more subtle than that. You don’t seem to have found out very much about what we do at all. Haven’t bothered, I suppose,” he added dismissively.
Marilyn Lester decided at that moment that she had failed, and felt bitterly disappointed that the one thing she had wanted ever since joining the Metropolitan Police was about to elude her. She also decided that she wasn’t going to give in without a fight. “As a matter of fact, sir,” she said calmly, “I have tried to find out what goes on up here. I have spoken to Special Branch officers when they’ve called in at the station, and a couple of your DCs live in my section house. None of them would tell me anything. You ought to be pleased about that.” Winter looked as though he was about to say something, but she carried on. “Presumably you don’t expect people like me to know all the answers, otherwise you wouldn’t have to train them when you get them, would you?” She paused. “Sir!” And that’s that, she thought. You might reject me, but you won’t forget me.
“Thank you, Miss Lester,” said Winter, and looked towards Gaffney.
After a gruelling forty minutes of questioning, Marilyn Lester was released from the interview, convinced that she had failed miserably. There was no rationale to the line that her two interrogators had taken, and she felt utterly drained. If she had been the crying type, she would have been in tears, but as she walked back to the office, her only reaction was to mouth a very rude word.
“How did you get on?” The sergeant put a time against her name on the list in front of him and laid down his pen.
“Awful,” she said. “Not a hope. I’ve never met such an unreasonable pair of self-opinionated bastards.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” said the sergeant. “See you next time, then.”
“You bloody well won’t,” she said, and stormed out of the office.
*
“Well George? What d’you think?”
“She’ll do for me, guv’nor,” said Winter. “Got a bit of spirit, that girl.”
“Yes, I’m happy to take her,” said Gaffney. “Got nice legs, too.”
“That question of yours about the politics of China is a bloody crippler,” said Winter. “I wouldn’t have any idea how to answer that.”
“Well you don’t have to know in your job, do you,” said Gaffney, and they both laughed.
Chapter Two
Sir Edward Griffin had decided to meet Gaffney in one of the several clandestine rooms that the Security Service kept dotted about the Whitehall area, rather than go to Scotland Yard again, or have Gaffney come to his headquarters in Mayfair.
“Mr Logan has briefed you on our problem, I understand?”
“He has.” Gaffney leaned back in the austere government armchair that had clearly not been designed with relaxation in mind.
“And what are your initial conclusions?” Griffin was a little stuffy about all this. Apart from the indignity, to say nothing of the hurt pride, of having to enlist the help of the police, he was somewhat piqued that a detective chief superintendent had been appointed to oversee his highly delicate enquiry. He thought that the least Logan could have done was to give him the operations commander, Frank Hussey, deputy head of the branch.
“It’s not going to be easy, as I’m sure you’ve already realized, Sir Edward, but I have to say that I am not at all taken with your idea of using a double agent as… what shall we say, bait?”
“Oh?”
“You could well be replacing one leak with another.”
“Well I’m afraid that that’s my plan, Mr Ga
ffney.”
“Sir Edward,” said Gaffney patiently, “We are talking about the commission of a crime.” Griffin nodded, reluctantly. “And I am afraid that the victim cannot dictate how that crime is to be investigated.”
“But this is entirely different—”
Gaffney shook his head. “No it’s not. If you had reported to the police that your house had been burgled, you would not then tell them how to go about catching the burglar. If you were that proficient at criminal investigation you would have caught your own burglar and not troubled us. The same goes for your traitor.” That was unfair really; Logan had already told Gaffney that Griffin had been directed by the Home Secretary to pass the matter over to Special Branch. “Apart from anything else, if I’m to take this enquiry on, I shall need to make my own arrangements, otherwise I cannot keep control. For example I don’t suppose for one moment that you would even allow me to meet this double agent of yours.”
“That would be out of the question. In any case, even I don’t know her identity, other than that she’s a woman.” Gaffney shrugged. “Well that would make it impossible from the outset. Unless I can brief the woman and eventually advise her when the trap is about to be sprung, I cannot be responsible for the outcome – which would almost certainly be a failure.”
For a few moments, Griffin stared across the room, deep in thought. He understood what Gaffney meant when he talked about keeping control; it was exactly what he was trying to do himself. But he was not happy about it. He was certain that if he had been left to use his own resources, he could have established who was the traitor in his service. It pained him even to think the word, but the Home Secretary had been quite brutal about it. “If you’ve a cancer, Sir Edward,” he had said, “the only answer is to get a surgeon to cut it out. And get one from Special Branch.”