The Black Art of Killing

by Matthew Hall

  ‘I should deal with it sooner rather than later, if I were you, Leo,’ Levine said, inserting himself carefully into the conversation. ‘At least they’ve had the good sense not to name you. I’m sure the college lawyers can assist.’

  ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention.’ Black took a mouthful of wine and was grateful to see that his hand was steady.

  ‘Well, is there any truth in the accusations? Were you involved in rendering to Guantánamo?’ Claire Symes was on the warpath.

  ‘Shouldn’t we let Leo deal with it?’ Karen said, coming to Black’s defence. ‘I can’t see it’s any of our business.’

  ‘Let’s not mince words, shall we?’ Belladini spoke over them, emboldened by his third glass of Lacoste. ‘Leo, we will shortly be discussing your application for fellowship. We will need this matter resolved as a matter of urgency. You understand. The college and all of our reputations are at stake.’

  ‘Rest assured, I shouldn’t like to stain your reputation, Silvio.’ Black could have planted a fist between his plucked eyebrows and sent him sprawling, bloody-nosed, in a shower of crockery, but instead he delivered an emollient smile. ‘But you had better lock your door tonight or I might just sneak in and abduct you.’

  There was a chill silence, then Belladini’s suntanned face erupted into a delighted smile. He tossed his white mane and guffawed.

  30

  ‘Leo, I had no idea –’

  ‘It’s fine. Honestly.’

  Black placed a reassuring hand on Karen’s arm as they moved towards the dining hall’s exit. He had left the others to finish their coffee and port and Karen had excused herself to come after him.

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Talk to the MOD. They’re pretty efficient at dealing with these things. It’s nothing to get excited about.’

  They stepped out into the late evening. Standing against the sinking sun, the trees in the Provost’s garden looked as if they were alight.

  ‘You know, you’re not a bad liar.’

  ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. Is someone trying to sabotage your career?’

  ‘Possibly. Good luck to them – it wouldn’t take much. Perhaps I should be flattered by the attention?’

  ‘I really don’t understand you, Leo.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, that makes two of us. How about a turn around the lake? I feel like I need to blow off some steam.’

  He led the way.

  They walked through the cloister in silence, both of them processing the many barbed layers of subtext buried in the dinner table conversation.

  ‘I don’t know how you managed to sit it out,’ Karen said eventually. ‘I never knew Claire could be so waspish. And Silvio – what a self-important bore.’

  ‘At least he’s got a sense of humour.’

  ‘I could have hit him. All that nonsense about reputation.’

  They headed down the steps to the quad and made their way through the covered passageway that connected it to the gardens beyond.

  ‘He’s right, of course,’ Black said. ‘I am trying to break into the most thin-skinned profession in the world. Imagine the trouble it would cause him if he approved my appointment and the story stood up. Philosopher approves war criminal. He’d never be invited to a symposium again.’

  They emerged from dark into the fading light and made their way across the wide expanse of lawn towards the lake. Some undergraduates were having a raucous party in an upstairs room. The sounds of high-spirited voices and loud music travelled out over the grounds from their open windows.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand them,’ Karen said. ‘I’ve been here for six years and I still can’t get my head around the politics of this place.’

  ‘You’re a scientist. You’re judged by your results. Us poor dolts in the humanities have nothing to offer except our ideas. Ideas that can go out of fashion as fast as you can say metaphysical deconstructionism.’

  ‘You lost me.’

  ‘I believe it’s one of Silvio’s specialisms.’

  ‘It is? You’re going to think I’m a complete philistine, but I don’t actually know what he does.’

  ‘He looks at ways of comprehending the world. Centuries ago, the priests told us what to believe and that was enough. Now we’ve decided we know better, we need new tools for understanding. Philosophers search for them, usually without trying to mention God or anything that might possess a superior intelligence to theirs. That’s about it.’

  ‘And what does Silvio say life’s all about?’

  ‘From what I’ve read he seems to believe that the meaning of existence is the search for meaning.’

  ‘Wow. They flew him all the way to China to say that?’

  ‘There was some point to it. The project of life, according to Silvio, is to discover our unique, individual essence. If all we are is another identical leaf on the same tree, we have no independent or worthwhile existence.’

  ‘What my dad would have called flowery bullshit.’

  ‘You said it. Not me.’

  They arrived at the fringes of the lake and paused to watch a mother duck with her darting, squealing brood of ducklings. Black sensed Karen’s mood softening.

  ‘I can’t imagine spending every day thinking abstract thoughts,’ Karen said.

  ‘You never stand back and wonder why we’re all here?’

  ‘I spend a lot of time wondering how we’re going to stay now we are here … and answering to my imaginary grandchildren for what I did or didn’t do about it.’ The ducks disappeared into the safety of a reed bed, leaving the surface of the lake perfectly still. Black and Karen moved off along the gravel path. The sounds of the student party were replaced by the soft rustle of willows in the breeze.

  ‘What’s your greatest fear?’

  ‘Getting it wrong. Making a mistake that can’t be reversed. Intervening in nature is a big thing. I’ve created the means but I almost feel like I’m not the right person to be making the decisions.’

  ‘Give me the worst case.’

  She shrugged, as if reluctant to give voice to her fears.

  Black waited, suspecting that he had hit on something that troubled her profoundly.

  ‘That we disrupt the forest eco system beyond repair,’ she answered finally. ‘Create a species that overtakes all the naturally occurring trees or, worse still, generates even more resilient beetles that destroy even my GM hybrids. There are so many unknowns. And no way to predict.’

  ‘And if you don’t plant your trees?’

  ‘Millions of acres of forest will die. Billions more tons of carbon will sail up into the atmosphere. The climate will warm even faster. There’ll be storms, hurricanes, floods, deserts will spread, farmland will shrink – you know the kind of thing. It’s coming down to a fairly stark choice in our lifetime: we can manage our environment or be consumed by it.’

  ‘Sounds like an easy call to me.’

  ‘There are so many obstacles – government regulators, environmental campaigners. All of them paralysed by fear of the unknown.’

  ‘No one likes to be the first to jump. Sometimes it has to be you.’

  ‘Just head out to the wilderness and play God?’

  ‘If it’s the right thing.’

  She laughed and shook her head, as if the very idea were insane. They walked on in silence, Black sensing her retreat deep into her own thoughts.

  Finally, she said, ‘They really don’t like the fact you were a soldier, do they? It’s not your ideas they’re objecting to – they liked them. It’s something else. What do they think you’re threatening?’

  ‘Their power, I suppose. Places like this are all about creating the ideas that change the world out there. I think I feel like an invader. Someone who’s jumped back over the wall.’

  ‘I think you’re too real for them. You represent the hard choices that being hidden away in a university saves them from making. The last thing they want
to believe is that they owe their cosy lives to people like you.’

  Black made no reply. He understood perfectly why some among his colleagues were happy to maintain the illusion that they owed their privilege and security to the power of their thoughts alone. They were idealists. Dreamers. The tender heart of civilization. While men like him were its rough skin.

  They arrived at the far end of the lake where the path skirted the college playing fields. The last rays of sun had leaked away and long fingers of shadow were stealing across the turf. A few yards further on they arrived at a parting of the ways, where they stopped: one path led to Karen’s building and another would take Black around the remainder of a circle of the college estate to his rooms on the quad.

  ‘Well, goodnight, then,’ Black said.

  ‘It’s still early. I can make you a coffee, if you like,’ Karen said.

  She glanced away, then looked back, catching his eye. Black found himself held in her gaze and realized that for the second time that evening he could have leaned forward and kissed her, and that more than that, she was inviting it. It had been so long he had forgotten how to cross the barrier.

  He faltered, his tongue feeling wooden in his mouth.

  ‘Thanks. But I probably ought to be going.’

  ‘Fine. If you’re sure –’

  She knew he wasn’t. Black could see her trying to find a way through his buttoned-up exterior and reach to the man inside.

  ‘I’ve got a pile of stuff this high to read –’

  Now there was no way back. Not without humiliation.

  ‘Never mind. Goodnight, then.’

  She turned abruptly and walked away without looking back.

  He had hurt her feelings. He wanted to call out after her and apologize, but he couldn’t find the words. Christ, he was an idiot.

  What was his problem?

  The battle continued to rage inside him but Karen had already faded out of sight.

  Preoccupied with thoughts of how to repair the damage, Black rounded the corner from the quad into the recessed doorway of his cottage where he came face to face with a male figure staring back at him from the darkness.

  ‘Sorry to alarm you, Leo.’

  It was Freddy Towers.

  Black exhaled and uncurled his fists.

  ‘I need a word. It’s urgent,’ Towers said without a word of apology. ‘There’s been a development.’

  Black could barely contain his anger. ‘Freddy, for God’s sake –’

  ‘Five minutes. Please, Leo.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  ‘I’m here to save you from prison. It’s not good, Leo. Things have got worse than I thought.’

  Towers made himself comfortable on the sofa. Black remained standing, leaning against his desk, anxious to hear what Towers had to say and get rid of him as soon as possible.

  ‘Elliot Clayton called me today. Susan Drecker contacted him this morning. She’s in London on Friday and has arranged a rendezvous. I asked him if he thinks this was prompted by events at the weekend. He assures me not. It’s been nearly a month since he saw her last.’

  ‘Get to the point, Freddy.’

  ‘I heard about your trouble with the university paper. Or rather it was brought to my attention. The MOD aren’t good for much but very little that appears in the press passes them by. I presume you’ve no idea who the source is?’

  ‘I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

  ‘It’s Drecker, obviously, or whoever she’s working for. It’s an attempt to shut you down, Leo. Your mistake was in going to Paris and asking too many questions. They’ve treated it as a provocation.’

  ‘For all I know it was you.’

  Towers sighed. His sixty-year-old features were tired and slack as if he had gone several nights without sleep. ‘It most certainly wasn’t me, Leo. I’m afraid the story leaked from somewhere inside the Security Services but I can’t be sure. Just be glad I managed to put the brakes on it before it was picked up by the nationals.’

  Black drummed his fingers impatiently against the desk.

  ‘For well over a year now there have been whispers coming out of the Foreign Office that Iraq are ready to sign up to the Statute of Rome and submit to the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court. Of course, the Americans have never signed and they’ve put pressure on Iraq to stay outside, too. The last thing they want is for any of their people to be tried in the Hague at the behest of the country they spent thousands of lives liberating. Sadly, our government isn’t so protective. There are forces in Iraq that need to be contained, swathes of the population still hungry for a reckoning. What better way for an unstable government to cement its credibility than by having a few British officers put on trial for war crimes?’ Towers glanced up at the picture above the mantelpiece as if nostalgic for the days of cannon and cavalry charges, when war was war and soldiers were heroes rather than the hapless pawns of politicians. ‘You and I were in the thick of it, Leo. How many hundreds and thousands did we pull in? How many high-value detainees among them? Politicians, lawyers, scientists. Credible, well-educated people not beyond dragging us through the mud if it helps their careers. And do you think our government won’t be willing accomplices if it keeps the oil taps turned on?’

  ‘I didn’t commit any war crimes, Freddy.’

  ‘Not by your reckoning, perhaps, or by that of any soldier, but that wouldn’t stop them.’

  ‘We executed political orders. We detained the leaders of the regime and their most senior servants along with terrorist militias.’

  ‘Since when was obeying orders a defence? And have you forgotten how we used to soften the HVDs up on the way to Camp Cropper? A dig in the ribs here, a broken finger there. Threats against their wives and children. Purgatory. Wasn’t that what we called it? Under the law that’s torture, Leo. You and me, we oversaw it all.’ Towers met Black’s gaze. ‘I agree, it was the worst kind of war and there was no other way to fight it, but you can’t say we didn’t revel in it. The anarchy. The freedom to run riot. Up every morning determined to haul in more insurgents than the Yanks? Remember those scoreboards where we kept the running totals? Some days I had to save you and Finn from yourselves. You wouldn’t stop till you were at the top.’

  Black became aware of a strange sensation stealing over his body: a dark, unnerving, thrilling echo of the near euphoria he had felt on those bright mornings setting out in a convoy of APVs bound for the belly of Baghdad. He had been like a surfer riding the crest of a wave. Invincible. Unstoppable. Drunk on the moment and oblivious to the future.

  ‘I was with the Committee this afternoon. They’re troubled by you, Leo. On the one hand you’re an asset, on the other you’re a huge potential liability. And the tone of your academic work isn’t making things any easier.’

  ‘The day I’m indicted, you and half the squadron will be, too.’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way, Leo. This is politics. Protection will be given, but only to those considered deserving.’ He drew an envelope from his jacket pocket and offered it up.

  Black took it. It was addressed to him. He opened it and unfolded a letter headed with the Cabinet Office crest. In two short paragraphs it stated that Her Majesty’s Government undertook to guarantee him complete protection from prosecution in domestic or international courts for any alleged offence committed while in military service.

  Such protection, however, was conditional on his cooperation with Colonel Towers in relation to the matters currently under investigation. It was signed in ink by the Permanent Secretary.

  ‘It took a good deal of negotiation, I can tell you,’ Towers said. ‘I’m afraid the Committee took full advantage of the situation. My protection is also conditional upon completion of this operation.’

  Black lay the letter aside. ‘This is absurd, Freddy. There are dozens of men younger and fitter than me you can call on.’

  ‘We have the opportunity to apprehend the woman who was probably
one of the three who killed Finn, Leo. You want nothing to do with it? I don’t understand.’ His voice rose in anger. ‘I don’t understand what you’ve become. If men like you fall away in times like these, I don’t know what we’ve got left. Maybe nothing … We don’t abandon each other, Leo; we’re a family.’

  Black gave him a weary look.

  ‘Can’t you see, Leo? Can’t you see what we’re up against? I’m dealing with a security service that can scarcely trust anyone who works for it. Do you know why? There’s scarcely a soul serving for a cause any longer. Ask a young officer to define the freedom he or she is defending in a few simple words and they go into contortions. It’s a mess. For men like you and me, it was God, Queen and country, and that was enough to go to war.’ He shook his head in exasperation and cast his eyes around the room. ‘Look at you, existing here in these dingy rooms – no one’s bought you off. No one could. That makes you virtually unique, Leo. Let me tell you, there is not one of your former colleagues from the officers’ mess who hasn’t gone chasing gold. Not one … Could you imagine trading arms in Sudan or guarding some tinpot desert princedom? That’s where they all are. Money buys almost anyone in this world. It’s terrifying. I need someone I can trust.’

  He darted up from the sofa and stood upright in the centre of the tattered Persian rug, his diminutive figure barely containing the outrage boiling inside him.

  ‘This is what the end of empires looks like, Leo. When it’s all taken for granted and nobody cares any more. The Vandals are in Rome and we have flung open the gates … Oh, and they will kill you, by the way. Without a shadow of doubt. Unlike us, these are people with a purpose. It would be quite beneath their dignity not to.’

  He strode to the door and slammed it behind him as he left.

  Black let the silence consume him. Then picked up the letter and read it again. This time he read between the words and saw its true meaning. Towers was right. It wasn’t an offer. It was an order. And from the highest authority.

  31

  Black stepped past the security desk at the entrance to the British Museum feeling the gentle press of a Glock fitted with a Gemtech suppressor tucked into his waistband against the base of his spine. It was six p.m. on Friday, the building was at peak capacity and the cheerful security guards, busy searching the rucksacks of a party of Spanish students, didn’t spare him a second glance. He passed through the entrance hall and into the Great Court disguised in nothing more than a pair of square steel-framed glasses of the sort that rendered a man of any age sexless and invisible. A shapeless linen suit, scuffed suede shoes and a navy raincoat folded over his arm added to the impression of a divorced schoolteacher, marooned in midlife, drawn to the museum in the hope of rediscovering the elixir.