State Secrets

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘O’er the wire the electric message came,’ she chimed. ‘She is no better, she is much the same.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lines by Alfred Austin, Poet Laureate,’ she explained, ‘on the illness of Edward the Seventh. It was my attempt at black humour. I’m sorry, my friend, it’s been a trying day so far.’

  ‘Learn something new every day, Amanda,’ I said, with a smile. ‘That’s my motto, so thanks for that piece of trivia. I need to go now, though; I may have a Foreign Secretary to arrest.’

  I ended the call before she could come back on that, and crossed Whitehall to catch up with Neil as he headed slowly towards the Cabinet Office. When we reached our temporary base, there was an envelope with my name on it on the desk I’d been using. I opened it and saw a handwritten note, that read, ‘MR will visit you: 4 p.m.’

  I checked my watch and saw that it was just short of three thirty, the time at which Emily Repton should have been on her feet in the Commons, telling the world about Spitfire. That had been aborted, but the good news was that it allowed me to make a phone call before Radley arrived, and still have time to prepare for his grilling.

  If the announcement had taken place, Aileen would have been on the front bench as a member of the Opposition defence team, and the House would have been packed, but with its cancellation it would simply be business as usual, and only those MPs with a constituency or personal interest in the day’s subject would be in the chamber.

  Hoping that she would not be one of them, I phoned her. When she answered, her voice told me that she was smiling.

  ‘Have you chosen your title yet?’ she teased. ‘Paddy Pilmar called me to say that all in all he thought that it had gone well. He said he could see that you were feeling the buzz about the place. He was disappointed you didn’t stay for lunch though. Georgia Mercer was very impressed, he reckoned, even if she didn’t let you see it, and he was hoping she could get to know you a bit better.’

  ‘Did you know about the cross-bencher idea?’ I asked.

  ‘What cross-bencher idea? No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Paddy’s got wind that my name’s been put forward for consideration as a people’s peer. He suspects that Clive Graham’s behind it as a way round his party’s policy of not nominating people for the Lords. He and Lady Mercer were trying to recruit me as a sympathiser before Clive could, to destabilise wobbly Tories or some such nonsense.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘That’s what the man said.’

  ‘Not with my blessing, he didn’t. We were tasked by the leader’s office to recruit a Scottish Labour peer, to do the job that Paddy’s too nice a bloke to do himself.’

  ‘Thanks for that one,’ I chuckled.

  ‘You know what I mean. Someone less malleable than him.’

  ‘Yes, I get it, but Paddy reckoned that I could operate more effectively on your lot’s behalf from the cross benches.’

  ‘If that’s so, he didn’t discuss it with me, or with the leader, I can promise you that. Merlin would never go for that; it’s improper and it’s impractical.’

  ‘Paddy has a different agenda from you; he’s looking for a spy rather than an enforcer.’

  ‘Then he should have come clean to me about it,’ she said. ‘Now I’m embarrassed.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s a fucking first, Aileen.’

  ‘Don’t start,’ she warned, but once again I could hear a smile in her voice. ‘I mean I don’t want you thinking that I lured you down here on a false prospectus.’

  ‘My dear, you never lured me anywhere I didn’t want to go, including into your bed.’

  Aileen and I might have ended our marriage in acrimony, but things weren’t bad from the outset. Her opponents, in the media and in the political morass, have accused her, sometimes openly, of coming between Sarah and me, and wrecking our first marriage. That’s not true; Sarah and I made a first-class job of that by ourselves, without any outside assistance. Aileen didn’t make a pitch for me, nor I for her; it happened spontaneously, as these things do.

  It combusted spontaneously too, after a fairly short period, burning out on the twin rocks of her political ambition and my obduracy. Now I can see that we didn’t spend enough time getting to know each other, other than biblically. We started as new friends, we parted as enemies, and now I would say we’re friends again, old friends this time.

  I never ever think of Aileen, ever, when I’m close with Sarah, but I’ll admit very privately that when Aileen and I were a couple it didn’t always work that way.

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘Georgia Mercer came back to me too, after your meeting. She said one word, “Go”. That’s as close to enthusiasm as she can get. A Labour peerage will be yours if you want it, and on your terms, if they’re reasonable.’

  And that was where I got cute.

  ‘At the moment,’ I told her, ‘I am thinking “No thank you”. But, before I reach a final decision, I would like to meet with your leader.’ There wasn’t a word of a lie there, so why did I feel guilty?

  ‘With Merlin?’ she said. ‘Of course. I’ll speak to his office and get back to you.’

  ‘Could it be today?’

  ‘I’ll try. It should be okay, although I can’t promise. Things are a wee bit chaotic with the Emily Repton situation. Have you heard about that? “A sudden illness that they suspect is related to her African trip last week.” That’s what they’re saying. Whatever, it blew that defence statement we spoke about clear out of the water, leading to even more speculation about what was in it. And on top of that, it leaves Roland bloody Kramer running the country.’

  ‘You don’t like Kramer?’ I asked, casually.

  ‘Not a lot, but I don’t like many people on the Tory front bench; not even Repton, although she’s supposed to be a role model for women in politics.’

  ‘What about Kramer’s wife? The Tory Party Chairman.’

  ‘The less said about her the better,’ she replied, abruptly. ‘Nick Wheeler, I like him; I’ve faced him at Commons questions a few times, when my boss has been away. He’s polite, calm, funny, and there’s nobody else in the government with the command of his brief that he possesses.’

  ‘You sound as if you fancy him,’ I suggested.

  ‘A little young for me, perhaps, and besides, they say his interest lies elsewhere; minor royalty, no less.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Normally I’d protect my sources,’ Aileen said, ‘but in this case I don’t like the creep, so I’m happy to grass on him. Grover Bryant, Emily’s mouthpiece half-brother.’

  ‘He’s that discreet, is he?’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed, ‘it might seem odd that he should be whispering to me, of all people. But Grover’s not very subtle, and his half-sister is still watching her back. Wheeler would be very much a threat to her if he chose to be; if he did, close personal ties to the palace might not work in his favour. So I read it as a mild form of counter-briefing.’

  ‘That’s a Westminster buzzword, isn’t it?’

  ‘Too right. Fucking spin doctors,’ she growled. ‘If I’m ever prime minister I’ll ban them from the precincts of the House.’

  ‘Would you ban Tories too?’

  ‘If I could. Maybe not all: Nick can stay, and Les Ellis, the Chancellor. Emily Repton too because she’s a woman, but grudgingly in her case. The rest? The Kramers, they’d be proscribed. And as for that man Radley . . .’

  ‘The Foreign Secretary?’ I said, gauchely.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘What have you got against him?’

  ‘Other than him being a Tory? The man’s self-importance knows no bounds, he’s a boozer, he’s a borderline fascist, a thinly disguised racist, and he has the bizarre no
tion that he’s attractive to women. Do you know, he actually tried to hit on me in the Strangers’ Bar one night.’

  ‘Some women might be impressed by the Foreign Secretary making a pass.’

  ‘Not this one. Ugh! He really was persistent, Bob; I was glad the place was busy, or . . .’ She stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Enough; just thinking about him makes my blood boil, and my flesh creep.’

  ‘Both at once?’

  ‘Indeed. Away from the spotlight, he’s that sort of creature. Please, let’s end this discussion so that I can fix your meeting with Merlin. Where are you? Are you close by?’

  ‘Yes, I’m not far off; seeing the sights, you know.’

  ‘Then enjoy them. I’ll be in touch.’

  I pocketed my phone and turned to Neil. I guessed he’d been trying his hardest not to listen. ‘I could get to see Merlin this evening,’ I told him. ‘I may have to do that one on my own,’ I warned.

  ‘Understood,’ he replied. I realised that he’d heard enough of my side of the conversation to know who was arranging it. ‘Let’s concentrate on Montgomery Radley first, though.’

  ‘Yes,’ I murmured. Yes, I thought, let’s.

  The man himself arrived a few minutes later, at four o’clock on the dot, shown in by one of Norman Hamblin’s staff. He looked even more florid in the flesh than he had on TV. Thick veins stood out on his nose and on his cheeks. His shiny hair was slicked back, and he sported sideburns. He was dressed like a barrister, black jacket and pinstripe trousers.

  ‘Skinner?’ he barked.

  ‘That’s me,’ I replied, rising to greet him. As we had realised when we met Mrs Kramer, he was tall, on a par with Grover Bryant, but not carrying quite so much bulk.

  He pointed at Neil, who was still seated. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Commander McIlhenney, Metropolitan Police Service,’ I told him.

  ‘Met?’ Radley exclaimed. ‘Hamblin told me you were a Security Service gumshoe.’

  ‘That’s true, but Mr McIlhenney’s sitting in on this one, at my request.’

  ‘And what is it, exactly, this inquiry?’ he asked, as he took the chair that Bryant had occupied earlier.

  ‘It has to do with the Prime Minister’s indisposition,’ I replied. I chose my words carefully; I couldn’t be certain that Kramer hadn’t let him in on the truth, or Mickey Satchell for that matter.

  ‘Indeed? Damn strange that. Thought they knew what it was.’

  ‘They’re treating her now, but they don’t know anything about the onset of the problem. It would be helpful in reaching a resolution if they did.’

  Montgomery Radley gave me a long look, down his nose; I didn’t care for it. ‘And they’ve brought someone from MI5 in to find out?’ He gave a short spluttering laugh. ‘My people on the other side of the river will have their noses well out of joint about that.’

  ‘I don’t see why, Foreign Secretary,’ I countered. ‘MI6 has different expertise, and a different remit.’

  ‘So what’s your remit, and why do you want to talk to me?’

  ‘I want to know why you went to the Prime Minister’s office this morning.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that got to do with you?’ he snapped.

  ‘Humour me,’ I said. ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘How do you know I did?’

  ‘CCTV footage rather suggests it. Why did you go there?’

  ‘She asked me to.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Phone.’

  ‘There’s no record of that call,’ I told him.

  ‘Not if you’re looking at today’s log. She rang me last night, from Downing Street, asked me to meet her in the Commons at ten fifteen.’

  ‘How did she seem to you when you saw her?’

  ‘Right as rain, same old Emily. She didn’t show any signs of jungle fever, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘More or less. And when you left?’

  ‘Just the same. Why? Do you think I attacked her?’ he laughed.

  I looked him dead in the eye, without a flicker of a smile ‘Did you?’ I asked.

  ‘Did I . . .’ he spluttered, then turned to Neil. ‘Has your guv’nor had a liquid lunch?’

  ‘Sparkling water, sir,’ McIlhenney replied.

  ‘Then he can’t fucking handle it.’

  ‘You can assure us,’ I continued, ‘that you had no disagreement with the Prime Minister when you saw her, yes?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ He frowned. ‘Look, this is going beyond jungle fever and the like. What’s up?’

  I busked it. ‘The consultants believe that there may have been a trigger to Ms Repton’s condition. We’re exploring all possibilities.’

  ‘They can forget that one. Emily and I had a perfectly amicable meeting.’

  ‘What did you discuss?’

  He shook his head. ‘Again, Skinner, you’re going too far.’

  ‘Why are you being reticent?’ I asked him.

  ‘Because we were talking state secrets, man!’ he shouted.

  ‘Don’t raise your voice to me, Mr Radley,’ I replied, quietly. ‘Did you discuss the Spitfire project?’

  He stared at me. ‘How the hell do you know about that?’

  I took out my credentials and displayed them. ‘That’s how I know. The Home Secretary and the Director General trust me with the knowledge, so take me seriously and stop yanking my chain. What did you and Ms Repton discuss?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘She instructed me to have our ambassadors in France, Germany, Spain, Italy and Israel, and the High Commissioners in India, Pakistan, Australia, New Zealand and Canada, on standby at the time of the defence statement, ready to brief heads of government in each country. She told me that I would be provided with the briefing material at the time of the statement.’

  ‘That was all?’

  ‘That was all. Now, what the hell does that have to do with her illness?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Did you use the lavatory while you were there?’

  ‘Did I what?’ he gasped. ‘That’s preposterous, man.’

  ‘Why, do you have a problem in that department?’

  ‘Now look here, Skinner . . . No, I did not. Satisfied? You’d better be, for I am out of here. And by the way, my next conversation will be with Roland Kramer, advising him of everything that’s been said in here this afternoon. He’s lost his fucking mind, entrusting a maverick like you with the business of the nation.’

  I stood, nodding. ‘You may well have a point there, Mr Radley,’ I agreed. ‘Yes, you tell him everything. And you can report this promise to him as well. If I ever hear another whisper of you sexually harassing my former wife, I will jump on the first available transport, wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, and knock the living shit out of you. I know all about you and I’m watching you. Thank you for your cooperation.’

  Sixteen

  Big Bob has never been a respecter of persons, political persons least of all, but the way he signed off our interview with Her Britannic Majesty’s Secretary of State, as our passports describe the Foreign Secretary, was disrespectful even by his standards.

  As his warning sank in, I studied Radley’s face; I’ll swear that it turned purple, and that his eyes seemed to pop forward in their sockets. I’d never met the man before, having seen him only the once from a distance at Lou’s premiere, but I knew from his reaction that nobody had ever spoken to him in that manner, not his housemaster at Eton or whatever public school he attended, not his commanding officer in his service in the Guards, not even his Opposition shadow across the floor of the House of Commons.

  For a few seconds I held my breath; Radley seemed to be still drawing his in, ready to explode in outrage when his lungs wouldn’t hold any more. He didn’t know my old boss, and I wondered if
he would misread the signs. If he did, I thought, I might be needed.

  There are a couple of simple truths about Bob Skinner. When he shouts at someone . . . not that it happens very often . . . it’s okay; it doesn’t mean he’s angry, it’s just his way of telling people they could do better.

  It’s when he doesn’t shout that you have to watch it. When he’s confronted and it’s serious, his reaction is quiet, and something that I can only describe as danger emanates from him. When that happens, push him any further and it can be messy.

  I’ll never know whether Monty Radley realised that he was over his head or whether he was simply a coward at heart. Whichever, all he did was utter a sound that sounded remarkably like ‘Bah!’ and stalk out of the room.

  ‘That went well,’ I murmured.

  Bob looked at me, still stone faced. Then it cracked, and the tension gave way to laughter.

  ‘What a bag of wind and piss!’ I exclaimed, as we both dropped back into our seats.

  Bob nodded. ‘The face of Britain abroad,’ he chuckled.

  ‘The last part,’ I said, ‘warning him off, did he really . . .’

  ‘Yes, he did. Aileen told me, just before he arrived. He has a bad reputation with the ladies, very bad. I’m not having that, any more than you would have if he’d come on to Lou at that event he attended.’

  Nothing like that has ever happened to us, but he had a point. If it did, I might well revert to my days as a young plod and discourage the perpetrator.

  ‘What did you think of his account of the meeting?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Much as I’d like to be able to prove that he and Repton had an argument that ended with him lashing out at her, I don’t believe for a second that he did, even without the subsequent phone calls to exonerate him. In fact, I pretty much know he didn’t.’

  ‘How? Why?’

  He glanced across at me. ‘You and I, two experienced CID officers, agree that she must have been stabbed from behind by a left-handed man, yes?’

  ‘Yes. I’m convinced of that.’