State Secrets

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Yes, that would be right.’

  ‘Then you left? Before Siuriña?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘So you left her alone in the Prime Minister’s corridor, still bubbling with anger against her, with nobody else there and only a door between them. Any wonder I’m asking myself again, did she step through it?’

  ‘She didn’t, Mr Skinner, I can assure you of that. As I reached the door at the top of the stairs I turned and looked back. I think I was intending to blow her a kiss, or something equally silly, but she had her back to me and was striding away. I watched her walk past Emily’s door, out of the corridor, and out of sight.’

  ‘She could have returned, once you were safely on your way.’

  ‘If she had done,’ the leader of the Opposition countered, ‘she’d have been caught on camera, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘A fair point,’ I agreed.

  He frowned. ‘Mr Skinner, you are going to keep this to yourself, aren’t you? I’m not afraid for myself, but for Siuriña’s sake. Roland is a cold, ruthless man. He’d take it out on her if he ever found out.’

  I returned his gaze. ‘I’ll make you this promise,’ I replied. ‘I’ll report only what’s necessary, and nothing at all to Kramer. I’ll speak to Amanda Dennis and nobody else, but I’ll only tell her what I have to.’

  I paused, looking at him more closely. ‘Why is it, Mr Brady, that I’m thinking you might not be all that bothered if scandal erupted and you had to step down?’

  ‘Because I wouldn’t,’ he replied. ‘In all walks of life people are prisoners of circumstance. I never wanted to lead my party, but I was persuaded. I will do the job to the best of my ability, and hound the Tories out of office if I can, but inwardly, Mr Skinner,’ he tapped his chest, ‘I still feel a bit like a fish on a bicycle.’

  Nineteen

  ‘You are telling me that the leader of the Labour Party is sleeping with the Tory Party Chairman?’ Amanda Dennis exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but only because you need to know in the context of this investigation. It doesn’t go any further or appear on any file. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ she sighed.

  ‘Are you telling me you didn’t know?’ I asked.

  She held my gaze for a few seconds, then smiled ruefully. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I knew. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out, that’s all. There are some things I don’t share with anyone.’

  ‘Least of all the Home Secretary, in this case.’

  ‘Least of all him.’

  ‘When did you find out about the liaison?’ I asked.

  ‘Shortly after I became Director General,’ she replied. ‘The service had paid no attention to Merlin Brady until he suddenly popped up as a serious leadership contender. When he did, while the campaign was in process, I ordered a security check on him. Very early on my people reported back to me that a lady had spent a night at his flat when Kramer was away at an EU summit in Prague.

  ‘They didn’t know who she was but they had photos. I recognised her straightaway; I told them to keep him under surveillance throughout the leadership campaign. They met on another two occasions during that period. When he was elected leader I ended the operation.’

  ‘Do you still have the evidence?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s in my safe.’

  I looked at her over my wine glass. ‘For use in what circumstances?’

  ‘None that I can imagine,’ she replied, ‘but you don’t flush gold dust down the crapper.’

  I leaned back and looked around the cellar restaurant. We had a corner booth, but the place was only half full, and there was no danger of us being overheard by other diners. There was even less danger of us being overheard by anyone else. It was a popular venue for politicians, and the Security Service had it swept for bugs at least once a week.

  We had eaten in relative silence; I had worked off my lunchtime sandwiches long since, and was more than ready for the Caesar salad that I ordered and the lasagne that followed. Any chat was purely personal. Amanda asked me about Sarah, and the soon-to-be-forthcoming baby. She enquired about Alex also. ‘I hear from my people in Scotland that she’s making progress at the criminal Bar.’

  ‘Some,’ I said. ‘She had a big case quite recently that would have boosted her reputation, but it never got to trial. The Crown case collapsed before they even served the indictment.’

  ‘And your eldest son? How’s he making out?’

  ‘Ignacio’s university bound, once he’s released on parole. He’s going to live with his sister during the week and with us at weekends and vacations. I’m having an apartment built above my garage that will give him some independence.’

  ‘Are you comfortable that he’s not going to slip back into bad ways? Won’t his mother still have influence over him?’

  ‘Mia’s two outstanding characteristics,’ I responded, ‘are her innate luck and her pragmatism. She should have gone to jail with Ignacio, and for longer, but the Crown couldn’t charge her because all the evidence was against the boy and not against her.

  ‘I’m sure that if she could have swapped places with him she would have. If I could have made that happen, it would have. But it wasn’t possible; all I could do was use what influence I have to minimise his jail time. She was left out there, with no choice but to get on with her life. She went back to what she does best, radio, and she landed on her feet yet again. She married the owner of the radio station, and many other things besides.’

  ‘Lucky break,’ Amanda acknowledged. ‘Where does the pragmatism come in?’

  ‘It will stop her from doing anything that would rock the boat. Cameron McCullough, her husband, is not a man to mess with, and he’s certainly not someone who will tolerate any indiscretions. Mia has only two options, make him happy, or put cyanide in his porridge.’

  She laughed. ‘Would you rule out the latter?’

  I smiled back. ‘Not completely, but that pragmatism will stop her. He’s very rich and she’s twenty years younger than him. She’ll be a dutiful wife and wait him out. Will she influence Ignacio?’ I continued. ‘Probably, but I’ll make sure it’s always in his best interests, and so, I think, will Cameron.’

  ‘I’ll watch with interest,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure you will, but not too closely, okay? How about you?’ I asked, turning the discussion around. ‘Are you still with your toy boy?’

  ‘No, I set him free,’ she admitted. ‘Nothing to do with the age difference, but when I moved into the top job, he was a luxury I felt I couldn’t afford. Now I’m all alone in my little house, looking forward to the day when I can retire to the seaside and write thrillers that everyone will buy because they assume they’re based on my career experiences, but are in fact completely fictional.’

  She put her cup back in its saucer, signalled our waiter for another coffee with Bailey’s liqueur, and leaned forward, forearms on the table. ‘And now, Consultant Director . . . I hope you like the title, by the way . . . to business. Do you know who stabbed Emily Repton?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘but something very surprising has come to light.’

  That’s when I told her about the astonishing intertwining between Merlin Brady and Siuriña Kramer, and she confirmed my suspicion that she’d known about it.

  ‘The report will stay in my possession,’ she continued, ‘for as long as I deem it necessary. As soon as I don’t I’ll burn it; my job is to maintain the security of the nation, not to ruin the lives of decent people.’

  ‘Decent isn’t a word I’d apply to Mrs Kramer,’ I said.

  ‘No, but he is. Are you saying she might have attacked Repton?’

  ‘Merlin swears she didn’t.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Do I think he might have done it hi
mself after Siuriña had gone? Not for a millisecond. He doesn’t have it in him, although the timeframe does fit. He was logged out of the building after Emily made her last phone call. I wish the same was true of Montgomery Radley,’ I moaned.

  Amanda grinned. ‘Ah yes, the Foreign Secretary. I had a visit from him just before five; he actually turned up at Thames House unannounced and unaccompanied, and insisted on seeing me. I’m under orders to withdraw your credentials and fire you, before this day is out. Happily, I don’t take orders from Mr Radley. What the hell did you say to him, Bob?’

  ‘I gave him a lecture on the consequences of sexual harassment. Aileen complained to me that he’d been all over her in a Commons bar. I told him that if he did it again I’d punch his ticket. What was his version?’

  ‘That you were an offensive upstart, that you’d been gratuitously rude and that you’d virtually accused him of attacking the Prime Minister.’

  ‘I asked him the question,’ I admitted. ‘He denied it. Unfortunately, it seems that he didn’t. How did you handle him? Am I fired?’ I smiled. ‘Please tell me I am.’

  ‘No, you’re not. In fact, I may promote you. I’d had enough of Mr Radley by then, but when he threatened to set his MI6 people digging into your American connection through Sarah, that was the last straw. I went into my safe and I showed him the transcript of the deathbed statement that Angela Berkeley, his late agent, gave me about the rape of her daughter, and promised him that unless he did what I was about to tell him, a copy would go to the Director of Public Prosecutions.’

  ‘Alleged rape,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Spoken like a true copper,’ she retorted. ‘It doesn’t matter whether it’s alleged or proven, he bought it. He did try to bluff it for a second or two until I added that Mrs Berkeley’s misplaced loyalty to him hadn’t prevented her from keeping the girl’s pants, cum stains and all.’

  ‘Did she?’

  Amanda nodded. ‘Oh yes, and there’s a DNA match. It’s probably inadmissible as evidence because there’s no proper chain of custody, but he’s too dumb to work that out.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ I asked. ‘What was your ultimatum?’

  ‘If . . . when . . . Repton steps down, is declared medically incompetent or just dies, Radley will not contest the leadership. When the next administration is formed, he won’t be a part of it. When the next election comes, he won’t be a candidate.’

  ‘Nice work,’ I said. ‘Nevertheless, he didn’t attack Emily. Have you made any progress with that incoming mobile call?’

  ‘No, none. Is that the only line of inquiry you have left?’

  ‘Not quite; I’d like to talk to Satchell tomorrow.’

  ‘Why? Will she have anything more to add?’

  ‘I’d like to interview her when she’s more in control of herself than she was today. Also I need to apologise to her for going off at her when we found that Ms Repton was still alive.’ And I had a third reason to see her again, but I wasn’t ready to share that, not even with Amanda.

  ‘As well as her,’ I continued, ‘I still have to complete the circle of Spitfire knowledge. That means talking to the Chancellor and to Wheeler, when he surfaces. He couldn’t be found this afternoon.’

  ‘When will you be ready to report back to Kramer?’ Amanda asked.

  ‘Never,’ I retorted. ‘Kramer’s a witness, and I don’t report to witnesses. I’ll submit my findings to you and you alone, that’s if I have any findings.’

  ‘Sorry, Bob,’ she said, ‘but how is he a witness? He didn’t arrive in the building until after she’d been attacked.’

  ‘True, but he was there earlier, and he met her at the side entrance door, as he was leaving and she was arriving. I need to ask him if they spoke and if she said anything that might be relevant.’

  ‘Okay, do that,’ she agreed. ‘But promise me you won’t cross-examine him about his wife’s movements.’

  I smiled. ‘I’ll assume you’re joking. No way will I drop any hints that might send him after Merlin Brady or, worse, send that guy of his after him.’

  ‘Daffyd Evans? Yes, if Kramer’s using him for anything other than personal protection, I should do something about that. He’s on my strength, recruited by my predecessor, Hubert Lowery. Hubert used him as his driver. When I took over I decided that I didn’t want him in that role, so I attached him to the Home Secretary’s protection team. Kramer took a shine to him and now he seems to be leading it.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I told her about the stunt he had pulled on me that morning.

  Her eyes blazed with anger. ‘He did that?’ she gasped. ‘He drew a weapon on you?’

  ‘Yes, and he seemed to enjoy the experience. What he doesn’t realise is that a gun’s fucking useless unless you’re actually going to shoot somebody. If you’re not, it’s just something you have in your hands when the other guy’s coming at you, and it’s absolutely no insurance against a kick in the balls.’

  ‘To hell with it!’ she hissed. ‘I’m not having one of my people behaving like that, regardless of who gives the orders. I’ll pull him off Kramer’s team tomorrow.’

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, ‘leave him where he is. I don’t want to antagonise Kramer; not yet, not until I’m ready.’

  She winked at me, unexpectedly. ‘Let me know when you are,’ she said. ‘I’d like to be there.’

  Twenty

  I don’t always wait up for Louise, but I did that night.

  Being married to an actress . . . woe betide anyone who calls her an actor; she hates that . . . is an odd situation, when she’s appearing in a play. With her being on stage in the evening, and me working during the day, we see very little of each other through the week. On the other hand, child care isn’t a problem, as one of us is always at home.

  It’s even less of a problem now that Lauren, my daughter from my first marriage, is old enough to be left in charge of her pre-school half-brother, our Louis. She’s a living reminder of her mother, which is good for me and for my son Spencer, although I have to say that both of my kids took to Louise from the moment she walked through the door.

  We don’t live too far from the West End; she’s chauffeured home and is usually back by eleven thirty, but if the audience is generous with the curtain calls, it can stretch out to almost midnight.

  The evening of my unexpected reunion with Bob Skinner was one of those, but my head was still full of it when she came in. She was surprised to find me waiting for her, with a half-bottle of Prosecco in an ice bucket.

  ‘Special occasion?’ she asked, after she’d kissed me and flopped into a seat. Her face was absolutely free of make-up; the heavy slap she wears on stage is a necessary part of her trade, but it comes off as soon as she does.

  ‘You might say so,’ I said, as I opened the fizz: managing the diabetes means that I drink very little these days, but Lou likes a glass of something to unwind when she gets home. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve been partnering today.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she agreed, ‘so tell me.’

  I did, and her eyes widened; I liked the shine that I saw in them. Louise has known Bob Skinner for a hell of a lot longer than I have. They were friends at university in Glasgow, close friends, although it never developed into anything more than that.

  One of the ties that bind Bob and me is a shared experience of widowhood. When I lost Olive to the black wraith that hits smokers at random, he was there for me. He took me into his circle of friends, even fixing me up with a regular game of five-a-side football on Thursday evenings.

  He fixed me up with Lou as well, although he didn’t realise it at the time. She was working in Edinburgh when she came under threat from a stalker. The big man detailed me to look after her, and the rest, as my son Spencer observed, is geography. (Spence has always had trouble with his metaphors.)

/>   ‘Will he have time to visit?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know about that, he’s fully occupied at the moment.’

  ‘What brought him down here? I thought he was keeping himself busy in Scotland with his media work.’

  I smiled as I told her he was in town to discuss a possible seat in the House of Lords.

  She did too, and then she laughed, out loud. ‘The House of Lords isn’t ready for Bob Skinner . . . or maybe he’s five hundred years too late for it. He’d have been in his element as a Shakespearean kingmaker.’

  ‘Kingbreaker, more like,’ I countered. ‘The princes in the Tower wouldn’t have been a mystery for long if he’d been around; Richard the Third would never have made it as far as Bosworth.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she nodded, raising her glass to her lips. ‘Bob would have straightened him out.’ She looked sideways at me as I settled myself beside her on the couch. ‘You said you’ve been partnering him? How did you fit in time for golf?’

  ‘Not golf; work.’

  She frowned, puzzled. ‘Run that past me again,’ she murmured. ‘Bob’s retired from the police.’

  ‘But he still has a contact in the Security Service, at the very top. He’s been co-opted, drafted in, conscripted . . . any of those apply . . . to investigate a very sensitive situation, and he asked for me to work with him.’

  ‘What did Assistant Commissioner Winterton have to say to that?’

  ‘I imagine she said, “Very good, Sir Feargal,” that’s assuming she was consulted. The request went right to the top.’

  ‘What the hell is it, this “situation”? Have the crown jewels gone missing?’

  ‘Not quite. It involves government, but that’s all I’ll say.’

  I didn’t think she’d settle for that. ‘Come on,’ she exclaimed, ‘you’re not going to leave it here.’ I could almost hear her mind working; it didn’t take her long to make a connection. ‘The big news story today is the Prime Minister’s illness. Is that what it is? It all sounded very mysterious.’