by Aly Monroe
Cotton was not aware he had shown any reaction but Starmer-Smith explained.
‘My wife doesn’t like nicotine-stained fingers,’ he said. ‘You don’t indulge?’
‘No,’ said Cotton. ‘Somehow I never got started.’
Starmer-Smith inhaled. He blew the smoke down his nose. The cigarette holder was in his left hand rather than the usual right. He put his elbows on the desk and used his right hand for emphasis, though the left hand, ivory holder, cigarette and smoke trailed along, a little later and not quite as emphatically.
‘In the thirties, MI5 found a most valuable source of information in the German Embassy itself. High-ranking. Very useful.’
Cotton waited. He did not, of course, know who the man was, but took this as the beginning of Starmer-Smith’s justification of his activities since then.
‘I dislike the word intensely,’ said Starmer-Smith, ‘but the man was a sodomite. Do you know what I mean?’
Cotton nodded. Starmer-Smith’s question and pronunciation took Cotton back to school again. It wasn’t just the ‘ite’ words he remembered, from ‘catamite’ to ‘Canaanite’. In his last year the older boys were invited into the housemaster’s study on Sunday evenings to listen to him, usually on the Book of Job as a useful preparation for life. The housemaster, a Classics teacher, had also treated varieties of sin: ‘Sodom, Gomorrah, Lot’s wife, pillars of salt and so on. From Sodom we have the word “sodomite”. It lends itself more to that kind of thing than Gomorrah. You might like to consider that. Gomorrah sounds like some absurd Irish exclamation. What were they going to say? Gomorrahist? No, sodomite has more drum and smite to it. Incidentally, I don’t want to hear the expression “hoe-moe”. Homo is nothing to do with the Latin for man but comes from the Greek for same. Short o’s, everyone.’
Cotton looked at Starmer-Smith. ‘Was he blackmailed into being valuable?’ he said. ‘Or did he volunteer for other reasons?’
Starmer-Smith shook his head. ‘That’s not my point. You see, even before the war, we were already beginning to think of turning agents. And the natural consideration then was that if we could turn agents, what was to stop our enemies turning our . . . let’s call them “vulnerable” people? I work for MI5, after all. And our duty is to maintain security here at home.’ He paused and sucked on his cigarette holder.
‘When I was in Washington,’ said Cotton, ‘I learnt the Americans had the acronym MICE, each letter representing the reason a traitor becomes a traitor.’
Starmer-Smith blinked at him, before exhaling. Cotton smiled politely, as if he were contributing to a conversation rather than interrupting an exposition.
‘M for Money, I for Ideology, C for Coercion, E for Excitement.’
‘But that’s so American!’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘Intent on what they call being snappy, they forget how things link up and lead on.’
‘Oh, I think it allows for that,’ said Cotton. ‘Take Dr Alan Nunn May for example. He was ideologically motivated. We can say he was mistaken, our legal system has judged him to be a traitor, but his motivation was perfectly sincere. I don’t know how much money, 200 or 700 dollars, was involved, but in any case he claims to have burnt it. And nobody appears to think the money was a motive. Again, he could hardly be described as having been coerced. Certainly not at the beginning. He volunteered his information to the Soviets – and he appears to have taken no joy in the experience. His drive was his conscience, apparently. In his own estimation he was highly principled. He certainly was not so much abashed as determined to plead guilty. It’s really only possible to say that in practice, his view of humanity tended to help one great power get a type of bomb the other great power already has, and that’s less humanitarian than tit-for-tat.’
‘That’s just one case.’
‘Quite,’ said Cotton. ‘But it’s the only one that’s been to trial. It had considerable influence in persuading the Americans to bring in the McMahon Act and has rather established us as a weak ally, one with more traitors to find. Finding traitors is tricky, unless they’re as cooperative as Alan Nunn May. Using people to find them who are themselves coerced, who have found it convenient to aquire an ideology and rather like the money, can cause problems. I don’t know about “excitement”, but they certainly enjoy and sometimes abuse the power given them.’
Cotton hoped he had just given a description of Jackie Boyle and Frankie Sinclair fit for a Sunday afternoon in a large house in Worplesdon.
Starmer-Smith smiled. ‘I had understood,’ he said, ‘from a lawyer we both have met, that you were susceptible to the arguments of leadership. Welfare also concerns peace of mind. To a degree, the public realm has to be protected, guided and reassured.’
‘There was never any risk from me that any of that public peace of mind would be disturbed,’ said Cotton. ‘I made that perfectly clear only a few minutes after being attacked in a public place, and I repeated that later to the lawyer you mention.’
Starmer-Smith smiled. ‘I know what it is,’ he said. ‘You don’t see why a department should, as it were, specialize, concentrate on one group of potential traitors above others.’
Cotton decided to wait.
‘Because a group is relatively easy to identify does not mean we should ignore them,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘What? Do you think it’s distasteful to pursue effeminate men, inverts and all the rest, and therefore it shouldn’t be done?’
‘No,’ said Cotton. ‘I think it’s ill-advised. The notion that homosexuals are more likely to betray secrets than other groups you can classify has hardly been examined, let alone proven. But the main problem is that a department with such a limited aim starts manipulating the evidence. A. A. Watson was not compromised so that he could be blackmailed, so I suspect he was being made an example of – to reinforce the need to identify what you call “vulnerable” people. I’m not sure that the operation worked. It was a political rather than an intelligence operation. He had to acquire another characteristic – as a Trotskyite – to attract wider attention. And while he may have been a homosexual, he was not a Trotskyite. He was a sacrifice.’
‘He killed himself, Colonel.’
‘That was the only point left for him to make, apparently. If he had lived, he would have been more your point, a justification of your activities. And he chose the Snow White option.’
Starmer-Smith shook his head. ‘Colonel Cotton, I’d hate to patronize you but you are, what, twenty-eight now? Your experience is necessarily limited. Your talent for analysis is undoubtedly considerable, even striking, but do you mind if I suggest it is a little naïf.’
Cotton nodded. He added another word to Ayrtoun’s list of French for unpleasant things along with Derek’s ‘etiquette’.
‘No,’ he said, ‘you may call Dr Alan Nunn May and A. A. Watson that. One is in prison, the other dead. Both men are far cleverer than me and with clearer principles than I have ever managed to have. I’m too fearful for that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My worry is that I’m party to an illegal and secret arrangement that allowed two criminals to escape without charge. The illegality is troublesome but I’m also aware that secrets don’t stay secret.’
‘Oh, that’s Ayrtoun’s line. And Ayrtoun is out.’ Starmer-Smith did not sound displeased. ‘Come now, he signed the Official Secrets Act. Mm? What worries you? That you’re on your own and that Operation Sea-Snake is over?’
‘No, no. I had a conversation with the solicitor who represented my attackers and I’m wholly confident he will continue to honour all the agreements made. Nor is Operation Sea-Snake quite over. I have to write my report. And this now is in the nature of a consultation. On a personal level I’m rather keen not to have a cut-throat razor applied to my thigh again. And I wasn’t the only one to be attacked, of course.’
‘Are you referring to that Special Branch sergeant?’
‘He’s an inspector now. But no, not only him. I’ve had a conversation with someone “vulnerabl
e”. He had a saltire or Cross of St Andrew carved on each cheek. Of his face, that is, his face. He also lost a testicle, I understand, from being hit with knuckledusters. He was never a security risk.’
Robert Starmer-Smith made a very small hissing noise. He muttered something. It was probably the word ‘contemptible’ but Cotton did not mind at all. The cigarette holder in Starmer-Smith’s hand moved quickly back and forward.
‘Your operation should never have been allowed! It meant we had people working at cross-purposes. We were never even consulted,’ he said.
‘Nobody explained the larger operation to me, Mr Starmer-Smith. All I know is that both Sir Percy Sillitoe of MI5 and Sir Stewart Menzies of MI6 put their signatures on Operation Sea-Snake. I don’t know their reasons. I don’t know the scope of the operation. I do know I have to write a report.’
‘I hope that is not some sort of threat, Colonel. That really would be ill-advised.’
Cotton shook his head. ‘No threat,’ he said. ‘The reason I haven’t written a report yet is because I want to know what will happen. That is why I accepted your very kind invitation to meet and have tea with your family.’
Starmer-Smith took a little time to consider this, during which he placed another cigarette in his holder and lit it.
‘I’m not at all sure,’ he said, ‘you have begun to appreciate the grave risks our society faces. It is deeply unpleasant but I have spoken to several bishops and all agree that the spread of effeminacy is not only both marked and increasing, it is also highly pernicious to the fabric of society.’
Cotton thought of clothes moths and grunted. It also occurred to him to wonder whether or not Starmer-Smith viewed the effeminate as having somehow taken the easy way out, to avoid the demands made on men. Did he actually think male homosexuals wanted to be women? Or was it that he found what he thought of as their pretence particularly irksome, as if, like boys at boys’ schools playing girls in plays, they had insisted on keeping girls’ clothes and manners on. They were males determined to be weaker vessels.
‘Anglican bishops?’ asked Cotton.
‘Certainly. And I have spoken to Catholic bishops as well and to those churches that do not have bishops. The agreement is complete.’
Cotton had read enough to doubt that. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Colonel Cotton, you’re not married yet and perhaps are as yet too personally involved in finding a soulmate to have considered the true nature of the institution itself. But you must appreciate that marriage is the tie that binds our society together. The fundamental, natural loyalty is between a man and a woman. Homosexuals can’t do this. They are not committed to an institution, have no concept of what it means in terms of restraint, discipline and the provision of security to future generations. Why? Because they are in thrall to their condition.’
Cotton usually liked to think he was a realist. He saw no point in getting into a wrangle with Starmer-Smith, discussing the Bible or defining differences between the concept of sin and the rule of law.
Starmer-Smith smiled. ‘I take you for a pragmatist,’ he said.
It did not sound much like a compliment to Cotton.
‘No, no, that is not a criticism,’ said Starmer-Smith. He smiled. ‘Shall we get down to brass tacks?’
Cotton shrugged. He tended to be on guard when anyone mentioned ‘brass tacks’.
‘Certain errors have been made,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘Certain problems to do with clear communication have cropped up.’
Cotton’s stomach, unused to clotted cream, carrot cake and honey, was protesting slightly at what it had been given. He felt a little queasy.
‘We need to be more precise,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘Less blunt instrument.’
Mercifully, Cotton contrived to belch and let the gas down his nose in the guise of a sigh. Under the cut-throat circumstances he felt ‘blunt instrument’ did not meet the case.
‘You said something to the lawyer we mentioned,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘I don’t mean the promotion for that man Dawkins.’
Cotton had asked Alfred Perlman if it was possible to get rid of Radcliffe. Perlman had suggested it was not.
‘Yes. Mr Radcliffe lives close by, I understand,’ said Cotton.
Starmer-Smith shook his head. ‘Normandy,’ he said.
Normandy village was a couple of miles south-west. Evidently Starmer-Smith no longer considered that close by.
‘My proposal,’ said Starmer-Smith, ‘is that the police handle the law and we take charge of security.’
‘MI5 is your “we”?’
‘What? Oh yes. Special Branch are not included, unless in the case of arrest, of course.’
‘Mr Radcliffe?’
‘Something rather urgent has come up that will require his attention.’
Starmer-Smith handed Cotton a sheet of paper with a photograph attached.
‘That’s Sydney Stanley, born Solomon Wulkan, sometimes Solomon Kosyski or Stanley Rechtand. It’s being called Operation Greasy Palm. Last year he was invited to join a card game on a train from Manchester. The game included a governor from the Bank of England. Let’s say there is a certain amount of anxiety about Mr Stanley’s subsequent relations with some of the great and the good, including senior civil servants and some ministers of His Majesty’s Government. He is of a giving disposition, apparently. Tricky when rationing is so ferocious.’
Cotton nodded. ‘I can see that.’
‘None of this leaves me defenceless, you know,’ said Starmer-Smith.
‘I’m sure,’ said Cotton.
Starmer-Smith smiled. ‘I have a principle to defend, Colonel, and a war of public opinion to win. Do you know who really started the Intelligence Services? The Daily Mail. They campaigned before the First World War, made the public aware of the dangers Germany presented. I’m not saying they got everything right, of course, but their campaign led to a climate of opinion. And that climate of opinion led to political action.’
Starmer-Smith looked up. ‘You can’t object to that. You’ve seen newspaper people yourself, haven’t you?’ He looked about his desk and found an envelope. He got up and handed it to Cotton. Cotton opened it.
On a single sheet of paper was the information that Boyle, on the condition that the injuries to his knee did not hamper his mobility, would be joining the army and be posted abroad.
Sinclair was already serving six months for an offence committed in 1937. He had pleaded guilty and cooperated with the authorities.
‘The problem with Sinclair,’ said Starmer-Smith, ‘is that he’s so short. After his sentence however we’ve arranged something for him. Probably in anti-smuggling, very likely in Sierra Leone.’
Cotton nodded. ‘I have one other person to see,’ he said, ‘before I agree.’
Starmer-Smith frowned. ‘You don’t need to see Radcliffe.’
‘I want to see someone called Bosworth. His nickname is Bambi.’
‘I doubt you are going to learn anything you don’t know,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘And, as I have said, our tactic is now other. Not, of course, that we can give up entirely on entrapment. It would be highly irresponsible of me to say that or to give that assurance.’
‘I understand.’
‘Well,’ said Starmer-Smith, ‘I should be getting along to Evensong. Will you join us, Colonel?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Cotton.
During his thinking on what to do about Starmer-Smith, Cotton had wondered, briefly, about letting Paul Mair loose on Iris and Lily. He grunted.
‘I’ll let you have a copy of my report, shall I?’
‘No need,’ said Starmer-Smith. ‘I trust you.’
Cotton said goodbye to the Starmer-Smith family, thanked Mrs Starmer-Smith for tea, wished the girls well and thanked Starmer-Smith himself ‘for all you have done, sir’.
He got into the Triumph.
‘Successful visit, sir?’ said Hans.
Cotton grunted. Hans Bieber drove down the drive and turned to
wards London. Cotton found it hard not to look back. This was intelligence work, strained if polite conversation about mistakes, some hapless, some violent, reluctant post-mortems on stratagems that had misfired, sometimes fatally, and the subsequent attribution of error or at least the rearrangement of responsibilities that would allow career survival and an official version. It occurred to Cotton that historians might study his reports and all the others intelligence officers sent in. He grunted again. It was unlikely historians would get an accurate version of what happened. They’d have to work out something plausible.
‘We have to talk,’ he said to Hans.
‘You don’t have to worry about me, sir.’
‘I have no idea of your arrangement with Mr Ayrtoun.’
‘For some time I haven’t known what Mr Ayrtoun would be able to do for me,’ said Hans, ‘so I sought additional help. Robert has been able to assist with my residence permit. I have applied for citizenship and I have changed my name.’
Cotton was not sure why but he was suddenly suspicious. ‘Where is Robert?’ he asked.
‘He’s gone back to his family for now, sir. I’m about to move into a flat in Earls Court.’
‘I have no idea of how you’ve been paid, nor of the conditions of your employment.’
‘I wasn’t paid, sir.’
‘I have no idea what Mr Ayrtoun had on you.’
‘No, sir. Neither I nor the car will be available after this, sir. Without Mr Ayrtoun, I have to give it back.’
‘That’s fine, Hans.’
‘John, sir.’
‘Of course. Did you work for anyone else?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you found a job?’
‘It involves motor vehicles, sir. Robert has a share in a distributing company. I will be ensuring delivery standards and checks.’
‘Are you happy with that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said John Driver. ‘I’ll be pleased to leave this world, if that’s possible.’
‘Perhaps you’ll leave me your new address, John.’