Chapter 2
Dartmouth, England, August 1994
The waiting room was full of hazy blue smoke as half of the dozen or more nervous applicants sucked away at cigarettes. As a non-smoker Ropell disliked firstly having to partake of some other person's habit and secondly, that his brand new and carefully pressed uniform would soon smell like an ashtray. He got up and walked to one of the windows. A man of his own age wearing a full beard shook his head at him.
"I tried that ten minutes ago, but they are not made to open. Seems that it mucks up the air conditioning system if they let real fresh air in."
He held his hand out.
"James Hambrowe, friends call me Jamie."
Ropell took it.
"Hello James, I'm Jack Ropell."
Hambrowe studied him.
"You American?"
Ropell gave his stock answer.
"No. English, but spent a lot of my school time in Canada. I live here now. Got a flat in Southampton."
The other nodded.
"I live here in Southampton as well." He indicated the rest of the room with a movement of his head. "But if we are successful in this application only God knows where we will end up?"
Ropell smiled, but underneath he was a little concerned. He had not realised there would be so much competition for this position. This was the third and final stage of the interviews and there were still a dozen men left in with a shout. From what he had been told when he first applied, the new unit of the Squad would only comprise of about six officers and a commander. As things stood it would still be only a fifty percent chance of being selected.
The door opened and a small white haired man came in. He looked around carefully at the waiting men. He looked like someone's favourite uncle.
"Good Morning, gentlemen. I am Commander Romsey. Interviews will start in ten minutes."
He pinned the sheet of paper he was carrying to a cork wallboard by the door.
"This is the order in which you were drawn out of the hat and will be seen. As each interview will take about half an hour so I am afraid some of you will be waiting here for some time. If you are not scheduled until this afternoon you may leave the building as long as you are back here by two o'clock."
He nodded and left the room. The twelve candidates waited a few seconds to let him clear and then crowded around the board. Ropell saw his name was pencilled in for two o'clock and groaned. He knew that being interviewed just after lunch had killed the careers of many a good man. The interviewers either not recovered from their food or were not yet back into the swing of things and the interviewees were in pretty much the same position. He resolved to just have a cup of tea and a biscuit for lunch and try to stay fresh. He turned to look into the eyes of James Hambrowe. Hambrowe shrugged.
"Hard luck. No one likes to get the first afternoon slot. Mind you, I am on first and that is no choice position either."
Ropell grinned at him
"Well if we both make it, James I will buy you the first pint when we go out to celebrate. In the meantime I am going to try and look up an old friend from my time at Heathrow. Good luck."
The other shook his proffered hand, but Ropell could see that his thoughts had already switched inwards to his impending interview.
As a result of his phone call Ropell spent a pleasant hour and more in a cafe with Gussie Brown. He drank tea only, so as not to get his caffeine level too high and listened to all the latest from Heathrow, from which he had been transferred to Southampton Docks just twelve months ago. Gussie told him who was doing what and sleeping with who as only she could, frequently reducing him to helpless laughter. Then she threw in the bombshell. She was getting married and leaving the service. She had met someone who she finally thought she could be happy with. He was a professor at The London School of Economics. She had left her flat and moved in with him three months ago and she was pregnant and happy.
Ropell did a quick recount. Gussie was thirty-seven going on thirty-eight. This was probably her last chance of Motherhood. He remembered her passionate nature and hoped the guy was worthy of her. Reading his mind and eyes she told him that she was as sure as anyone could be of anything.
She asked him about his own love life, which in truth he had been ignoring in his efforts to make the Drug Squad, so he lied to her about the various girls in his life. He thought she probably knew it was a complete fiction because she looked sad instead of happy for him. Finally he kissed her, wished her all happiness and left her awaiting her new man.
As he went out of the door he passed a man in his late forties. He wore glasses and a full beard and was the epitome of a college professor from his tweed suite to the hair that was in need of a trim. Ropell slowed and watched though the window, but the man walked straight past Gussie's table.
Back at the Customs and Excise offices there were only six of them left. Ropell looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go until his interview, time to get him self in the right frame of mind. If he failed here he would in all probability never have another chance to make the Drugs Squad. He was grateful to Gussie for distracting him throughout the long morning's wait, but now it was time to get to it.
Half an hour later he was outside on the pavement with no idea of how well he had done. The three people on the panel, Romsey and two other senior officers, had not run the interview as he had expected. In reality they had asked only three questions. Why was he trying to join the squad? For the next ten minutes they had attacked his answers to this and made him defend his position without any indication of whether they agreed with him or not. The second question was why should they accept him in preference to anyone else. This answer too had been dissected and examined. Then they finally wanted to know if he were in charge of the squad, what one single thing he would do that he thought would be most beneficial.
He was actually prepared for this question and had his answer ready because it was something he thought about night and day. You had to fight the thing at source. You had to take down the big men and you had to do it at an international level. If the drugs came from Colombia then you had to strike there or at least somewhere in the chain before they arrived at Europe. Once they were in the European community they were quickly distributed and you were left chasing shadows.
He didn't realise it, but he spent ten minutes on this subject with hardly a remark made by his interviewers. It was only when Peter Romsey called things to a halt that he saw from the clock that he had been there half an hour. He flushed as he realised how he had got carried away and could only mumble replies to the panel's thanks for his time and efforts. Romsey saw him to the door. He put his hand on the handle, but did not turn it. He looked directly into Ropell's eyes.
"Tell me Jack. Does your desire to join us have any relationship to the way your sister died?"
Ropell knew that his answer was very important and looking into Romsey deceptively mild expression decided on the truth.
"Yes, sir. I want the chance to stop other young girls and men from dying needlessly."
"Do you think you are also seeking revenge?"
Convinced it was a lost cause by now Ropell carried on with the truth.
"I would be less than human if I could truthfully say no to that question, Commander." Romsey gave a small meaningless smile and opened the door.
It was some time after nine o'clock that same evening. Ropell was still in a daze from hearing direct from the horse's mouth that his application had been accepted when the intercom from the street door buzzed. He flicked the switched and asked who it was. It was Jamie Hambrowe.
"Get your arse down here, Jack Ropell before the bloody pubs shut. We have some celebrating to do and I believe you are going to buy the first round."
Jack gave a whoop and grabbing his jacket and wallet let himself out.
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