State Secrets

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Radley’s right handed.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked. ‘He didn’t do anything while he was here to demonstrate that.’

  ‘He did,’ Bob replied. ‘He opened the door: when he stormed out of here, he opened the door with his right hand. Look at the side it’s hung on; it favours a left-handed person, but Radley reached cross and opened it with his right. Then there was his jacket. There was a pen in his breast pocket. A southpaw wouldn’t do that.’ He picked up a plastic pen from the desk with his own left hand and demonstrated the action. ‘You see how awkward that is?’

  He had a point. ‘Yes,’ I conceded. ‘That’s true. It doesn’t mean he’s in the clear, we’re not infallible, and there could be an explanation for the phone calls that we haven’t thought of, but it makes him less likely.’

  He nodded, then smiled. ‘However,’ he said, heavily, ‘I have met one man today who is left handed.’

  I frowned, trying to recall details of everyone we had encountered. ‘Who?’ I asked, once I’d admitted failure.

  ‘Roland Kramer. I noticed that when I was with him.’

  ‘But he can’t be a suspect,’ I pointed out, ‘since we know he wasn’t here at the time of the attack.’

  ‘I know.’ He grinned, again. ‘Bloody annoying, isn’t it?’

  ‘Where does it leave us?’ I asked.

  Bob shrugged. ‘Dunno about you, but it leaves me puzzled. Siuriña Kramer can’t be ruled out yet, but without scientific evidence that puts her in the room, we have nothing to counter her denial.’

  ‘Not unless she likes the feel of porcelain on her bum when she pees,’ I suggested, ‘and forgot to lower the seat. Can you get an arse print, I wonder? I must ask a CSI next time I see one.’

  ‘Lord save us,’ he muttered. ‘You can take the boy out of Edinburgh, but you can never take Edinburgh out of the boy. That doesn’t hold water though,’ he added. ‘She’s a woman; she’d never leave a toilet seat up, regardless.’

  ‘Touché. So?’

  ‘So,’ he repeated, ‘that leaves us with . . .’ He broke off as his phone sounded. He retrieved it and peered at the screen, then produced a pair of reading glasses and put them on. ‘Text,’ he mumbled, then beamed.

  ‘As I was saying,’ he continued, ‘it leaves us with the surprising late entrant, Merlin Brady. That was a message from Aileen; she’s fixed it for me to see him at six o’clock, across the road.’ He glanced at me, apologetically. ‘As I said, just me on that one, I’m afraid, chum.’

  Missing an interview with the leader of the Opposition, in which he would be quizzed as a suspected assassin? No, that didn’t bother me at all.

  Seventeen

  I’ve never been a believer in the maxim that power corrupts, but I was prepared to make an exception for Montgomery Radley. I’d met some highly placed people that day, and had taken an instant dislike to at least three of them, but the Foreign Secretary stood out. If his power ever becomes absolute, I thought, God help the nation.

  I would have loved to have been able to prove that he was Repton’s attacker, but I knew that he wasn’t. I wasn’t entirely convinced by his account of their meeting . . . she could have given him those instructions in an email, without summoning him to her presence . . . but he didn’t fit the physical profile upon which Neil and I were agreed.

  For a while our room felt as if it had been polluted by his presence, but a text from Aileen blew away those bad odours.

  ‘Merlin can see you at 6,’ it read. ‘Meet me Central Lobby 5:55, I’ll take U to his office. Want me to sit in?’

  I messaged her back: ‘Tks, but no tks. 1 on 1 is better.’ I hoped that she didn’t feel slighted or, worse, that she didn’t insist on being there, but an immediate reply put my mind at rest. ‘For the best. Both of us working on U, U’d have no chance.’

  I thought about the rest of my day. I couldn’t guess where my impending encounter with Merlin Brady would take me, but once it was over I’d be at a dead end for the day. I planned that Neil and I should interview Mickey Satchell, and speak to the PM’s protection officers, even if that meant going to the hospital, but both could wait until the next morning.

  I needed some thinking time, and my friend needed to get home to his wife and kids. And then, of course, there was my dinner date.

  I called Amanda. ‘Are we still on for tonight?’ I asked her.

  ‘I’ll be free if you are,’ she replied. ‘Shepherd’s at seven thirty as arranged?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I said, ‘but isn’t it a little . . . public? A place where people go to be seen?’

  ‘Hell no! You’re thinking of the Groucho Club. Shepherd’s is discreet enough.’

  ‘Will you book?’

  ‘I have done already.’

  ‘What are we doing here, Bob?’ Neil said, as I hung up, pulling my attention back to the present.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question,’ I admitted. ‘So far the only thing I know for certain is that I’m thirsty. Fancy a pint?’

  ‘No, but I’ll have a diet something. Let’s go.’

  Norman Hamblin was busy, so I left a message with Cerberus that we were through for the day, but would require the room again next morning, then left the building in search of the nearest pub.

  We didn’t have to go far: the Red Lion was just across the street, an old-fashioned place that’s survived the era of knee-jerk modernisation, and still offers good ale in unpretentious surroundings. It was ten minutes short of five when we went in; the early evening rush of civil servants hadn’t begun. Neil asked for a bottle of sparkling water and coffee, an odd combination; I chose a pint of Chiswick bitter, and was pleased to see that it didn’t have too many bubbles in it.

  There were a couple of unoccupied tables; my friend pointed a questioning finger towards one of them.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Let’s drink standing up. I haven’t done that in God knows how long.’

  ‘Not even on Friday nights in Gullane?’

  ‘Even there I have a bar stool.’

  The Chiswick was well kept, with a nice hoppy tang that we don’t find in many Scottish beers. ‘Good?’ Neil asked as I put my glass back on the bar.

  ‘Yeah,’ I murmured. ‘Washes away the bad taste of Montgomery fucking Radley.’

  ‘You really didn’t take to him, did you?’ he laughed.

  ‘Like something I’ve scraped off my shoe.’

  ‘And yet he’s the Foreign Secretary.’

  ‘So fucking what? He’ll be gone in a couple of years, maybe sooner if Emily doesn’t make it and the Tories choose a new leader. You, on the other hand, are a commander in the Met and you haven’t finished climbing the ladder yet. He’s transitory, you’re not.’

  ‘What if they choose him?’ McIlhenney countered. ‘Their electoral system is famously unpredictable.’

  ‘They won’t. He’ll be stopped.’

  He frowned. ‘By whom? Who could do that?’

  ‘Me, if I had to,’ I replied. ‘I don’t mean that I’d waylay him at midnight and chuck him in the Thames. No, I have strong media contacts; I could give the Saltire a story that would take him out.’

  ‘Spook stuff? MI5?’

  I nodded.

  ‘But he didn’t attack Emily Repton?’

  ‘No, but there is something about the situation, about the timeframe, that doesn’t knit together. Maybe I’ll know more after I’ve had half an hour with Brady.’

  Neil smiled as he sipped his coffee. ‘Does he think you’re going in there to discuss the peerage offer?’

  ‘Yes. I may have to do some apologising to Aileen afterwards. That’ll be no new experience; I’ve done it often enough.’

  He shot me a quizzical look. ‘You are going to turn it down, yes?’


  ‘Without a moment’s hesitation,’ I replied, with more assuredness than I felt.

  ‘Why?’ he challenged me. ‘Man, you would be great for the House of Lords, no kidding. I see them on BBC Parliament occasionally, sprawled across those red leather benches, most of them looking no more than half awake. I’ll swear I heard someone snore once. They need people like you, to breathe some life into the place.’

  ‘I’m not in the CPR business, pal. Look,’ I exclaimed, ‘the only way I would consider it would be if I was middle aged, free and single, but I’m not. I have a wife I love, three children of school age, soon to be joined by another, an adult daughter who is starting out on a career change and grateful for my help whenever she needs it, which is often, and a grown-up son I never knew about until last year who gets out of fucking jail next month! I can’t put all of them to one side to join an archaic institution four hundred miles away from my home base.’

  ‘Have you told Aileen that?’

  ‘Of course. The first time she raised the subject I laid it on the line. She asked me if I’d do them the courtesy of listening to their pitch, and I agreed. I’m here out of curiosity, Neil, nothing more. If the Scottish parliament was bicameral with a second chamber in Edinburgh, I might be interested in that, but it isn’t and it won’t be, unless we do achieve separation from England.’

  He frowned. I could see that he was mulling over something. ‘She must know you well enough,’ he said, when he was ready, ‘to realise that you’d never change your mind, suppose they offered you a bloody dukedom, so why did she persist?’

  ‘I do not have the faintest Scooby-do about that,’ I admitted, ‘but you are right. That’s a question I’ll ask her.’

  I drained my glass, and checked my watch. ‘I’d better amble across there,’ I said. ‘Even with my nice new credentials I have to go through security. Give my love to Lou and the kids. I’ll see you in the Cabinet Office tomorrow . . . that’s unless Merlin admits to attacking Repton,’ I laughed, ‘and I need to call you in to make an arrest.’

  ‘If you don’t see him as a suspect, then . . .’

  ‘He told your two cops on the door that he had a meeting with the Prime Minister, yes?’ He nodded. ‘That being so, my assumption is that she had decided to brief him about Spitfire in advance of the announcement, as a courtesy. I expect him to confirm that.’

  Neil wasn’t convinced. ‘She would do that, knowing Merlin Brady’s known ambivalence towards the nuclear deterrent? Could she trust him not to spill it to the first lobby correspondent he could find?’

  ‘I’ll know in about half an hour,’ I said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Eighteen

  The queue at security was much smaller than it had been in the morning. As a result I was ten minutes early for my appointment with Aileen, but she was five minutes early herself; the receptionist was about to call her when she appeared from the Commons Corridor.

  There were only two other people in the Central Lobby, deep in conversation. I recognised one from telly as a failed contender in the last Labour leadership election, but her name hadn’t stuck with me.

  ‘I wonder what they’re plotting,’ Aileen whispered, as she waved to them, with a comradely smile.

  ‘Dinner?’ I suggested. ‘Why should they be hatching a plot?’

  ‘In my party most people are involved in the hatching of plots. Stability went out the window about ten years ago. Mind you,’ she added, ‘after today’s sensation, the Tories will be at it too.’

  ‘Have you heard any more about the Prime Minister’s condition?’ I asked, innocently.

  ‘Nothing beyond what’s in the public domain. Grover Bryant’s gone to the hospital and none of the Downing Street communications department will offer anything without his say-so, on or off the record. The whisper is she’s going to die.’

  ‘And if she does?’

  ‘People are watching Roland Kramer already. He’s holed up in the Home Office; been there all afternoon. His lovely wife,’ she added, acidly, ‘is in Castle Blueskull, the Tory HQ, and I’ll bet she’s melting the phone lines. If Emily does snuff it, the Kramers will want a coronation. They won’t want to risk a ballot of the membership even if it is against Radley. My spies tell me he was summoned to see Norman Hamblin, the Cabinet Secretary, this afternoon. That’s unusual, but they don’t know what it signifies.’

  ‘Would they be the only candidates?’

  ‘That’s the consensus view among the lobby journalists, but I’d keep an eye on the Chancellor. He’s a Repton loyalist and if he thought that Radley had the remotest chance, he might step up to the plate himself.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ I said. ‘I’ve chosen a good day to come down. I didn’t expect all this excitement.’

  ‘It’s not every day the Prime Minister drops in her tracks . . . hours before a major announcement.’

  ‘Has anyone found out what that was going to be about?’ I asked casually. ‘Are you any closer to knowing than you were this morning?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I think,’ she murmured, leaning closer to me, ‘that she was going to announce the cancellation of the Trident renewal.’

  ‘Is that a guess?’

  ‘Sort of. I asked my friend on the General Staff if that was it, and got blanked. A very firm no comment.’

  ‘Some people simply don’t like to admit that they’re out of the loop,’ I pointed out. I was pretty sure that was true of Aileen’s friend. I wished I could tell her, but my hands were tied securely by that damn Official Secrets Act, and the pieces of paper that had my signature on it.

  ‘That’s true,’ she conceded, ‘but that’s as close as I can get to answering your question.’

  ‘Your leader will be chuffed if you’re right.’ I paused. ‘Sorry, correct; I know you can’t use the word “right” where Merlin Brady’s concerned.’

  ‘Don’t take the piss,’ she chuckled. ‘Come on, we need to be on time.’

  ‘Aileen,’ I ventured as I fell into step beside her. ‘Why are you doing this? Tempting as the offer of a seat in that place might be, you must have known from the start that it was long odds against me accepting. I’m flattered, but I don’t get it. You’re not trying to destabilise Sarah and me, are you?’

  She glanced up at me as we walked out of the lobby. ‘I’m not that much of a bitch, Bob,’ she replied. ‘I’m very happy for you and Sarah; there are no hard feelings at all. You and I were only compatible in one way; when we weren’t horizontal we had completely different agendas. Truth is, I approached you and put your name forward because I believe that you are exactly the man for the job we need doing. Truth is, I knew you’d be very hard to convince, probably impossible.’

  She stopped at the top of a flight of stairs. ‘I went ahead regardless for a selfish reason. I wanted you to see me down here, to see the life I’m living now, and to show you that I’m happy with it.’

  ‘I get that,’ I said as we descended the short staircase. ‘I can see you’re enjoying it, but enjoyment and happiness don’t overlap completely. I don’t think you’ll be completely happy until you get to where you want to be.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ she probed. ‘And where do you think that is?’

  ‘I know where it is. You want to go all the way. You want to be prime minister.’

  ‘We all want to be prime minister,’ she laughed, ‘but most of us are realists who know our level. Mine is front bench, shadow Cabinet.’

  ‘Which you will achieve fairly soon, I’d say. I’ve seen your present boss in action, what’s-his-name, Len McSkimming, the shadow Defence Secretary. He’s a tube; you’ll see him off.’

  ‘He’s a tube with the backing of the unions,’ Aileen countered. ‘Merlin has to have him in his team.’

  ‘But not there, and not for long; he’ll move him to Transport, or Industry, whe
re his union connections will do him more good.’

  She glanced at me, smiling. ‘You have been paying attention in class, Skinner.’

  ‘I had a good teacher, de Marco. Being married to you taught me a lot; it made me look beyond my own areas of interest. It didn’t make me like politicians any better, but it helped me to understand them. There are two basic motivations in those who stand for elected office: some are in it because they want to make people’s lives better, some are in it for themselves, for power and influence.’

  ‘In which group do you see me?’

  ‘You’re in both. You’re a fully committed socialist, but you’ve got the brains to understand that you can’t improve the lot of the average family unless you have the power to do it. And you will not be happy, truly happy, until you’ve had a crack at it, in the top job.’

  ‘Will I get there though, Bob?’ she countered, not trying any longer to deny my assertions. ‘I’ve got baggage; my fling with Joey Morocco, that paparazzo shot in the tabloids.’

  I grinned. ‘That’s not baggage, love. Half the women in the country want to fuck Joey . . . the other half probably have. You’ll get there if you’re patient and choose your moment.’

  ‘My moment may never come,’ she said.

  ‘It will. I’ll have a better idea of how soon when I’ve spent some time with your leader.’

  ‘It is a formality, this meeting, isn’t it, a courtesy? You’re not going to accept, are you?’

  ‘No. You’re right, it’s a courtesy. Plus, I’m insatiably curious; I want to see if there’s anything about Brady that I’ve missed.’

  ‘Between you and me,’ she murmured as we arrived at his office, ‘I’ve been looking for that since he was elected leader. He’s a charming, gauche, lonely man, but I’ve yet to find a scrap of charisma.’

  She rapped on the door. A cry of ‘Enter’ came from within.

  ‘Merlin,’ Aileen said as we stepped inside, ‘may I introduce Mr Bob Skinner.’

  I stepped forward and shook hands with the leader of the Labour Party, the man whose election had taken most of the country by surprise, but not those with a finger on the pulse of Westminster.