Authors: John Macrae
"Yes, I do think. That's exactly the time I'd have planted a bug. Decorators. It's a perfect cover. How long were they alone in your office?"
"Oh, ages. Two days at least. They had plenty of access. My God, how stupid. That's when they must have done it."
"Have you asked for a anti-bugging sweep since then?"
"No. But I will now, don't you worry.” It wouldn't be unusual to call for a debugging sweep to check things were clean after any major building work or redecoration in key offices. In fact it would be normal and Mallalieu's request for a Technical Support Section sweep would go unremarked. "I'll ask for a routine post-works sweep." He rubbed his chin. "But
why
bug us, that's that I'd really like to know? Why?"
I had a pretty shrewd idea why. In fact I reckoned knew exactly why. Mallalieu's office had been redecorated in the period
after
I'd taken out the Brixton muggers, but
before
I'd done the Roberts job. That timing was important; and ominous for me. It confirmed my worst fears, but I could hardly tell Mallalieu that someone obviously suspected that his company was engaged in a little private enterprise. Time to divert his attention. I took a deep breath. "I think I know what's behind it, Colonel."
"Oh? What?"
"It's got to
be a
Home Office
tap."
He didn't seem impressed by my brilliant deduction. "Why? How can you be so sure? I wouldn't have thought that the Home Office gave a fig for us. Intelligence, security, yes. Not Queen Anne's Gate. Why them? More like GCHQ. Or one of our business rivals."
I was taken aback. It's not often I come up with brilliant pieces of deduction. Particularly deductions designed to divert attention from me. I'd hoped he would at least give it a judicious nod or two.
I returned to the attack. "Because it all makes sense. Let's assume that CID, the police, have got suspicious about us. We don't know why," I lied hastily. "Let’s say the Jonno Briggs business…”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s a possibility, I grant you. Go on.”
“So the cops go and check with their mates in Special Branch, 'cos we're a List X defence contractor and they know we have a Branch Minder from the police - Harry Plummer. "
Mallalieu was nodding slowly.
"So," I went on, "Harry would automatically discuss his concerns with his police bosses, and they'd automatically check with Box 500. Why? Because the
Box, the Security Service,
is responsible for all List X defence contractors and their security. And the Box works for the Home Office, which also controls the police. It’s obvious.”
"OK. OK. " said Mallalieu.
"Yes, of course. MI5. All those ex-Navy deadbeats in X Branch checking companies’ security clearances...."
He was nodding firmly now.
"OK, colonel; but let's assume that they all decide it's a
criminal
matter. A crime. Nothing to do directly with the Box or with
national s
ecurity. Then they’d have no need to go near the Intelligence Coordinator, or outside standard Home Office procedures. They just wouldn't need to. Because it's a
criminal
matter, not security.
Police.
So then the Met asks for a CID wire tap. And who authorises police wire taps?"
"The Home Secretary," breathed Mallalieu.
I pounded a fist into my palm. "Right. The Home Secretary
or one of his gophers
. Who just
also
happens to control the Police, the CID, the Special Branch and the Security Service, as well. The whole lot. It's an official Home Office tap. Got to be."
"Or a business rival….”
I cut him off. “But you said that it was some civil servant who let the cat out of the bag. Laminson or whatever…”
My God' Mallalieu looked shaken. "That’s right. Lamaison,
”
he corrected me.
“
That does all make sense. But that still doesn’t explain is why? That’s the big question - why? What were they suspicious of? Why would they ask for a bugging warrant in the first place? What criminal activities were we supposed to be up to? We’ve not put a foot out of place. Except Briggs. D'you think Briggs was up to something?"
I glossed quickly over that. "To hell with that, Colonel. How much have they heard on the bug – if there is one? Did they hear the Briggs business--when we decided to fix him for good?"
"Oh, my God!" He controlled himself. "Right. We'd better start some damage control. First of all, we need to find out which police branch it was that visited you when you were ill in bed..."
"And who
else
the police visited that night."
"Right. That'll give me an excuse to question Harry Plummer. Second," Mallalieu ticked off the points on his fingers, "Use your own contacts to check on the Home Office's list of wire taps. Only the ones issued by the Home Secretary in the last 3 months, in the Central London area; only the UK nationals."
"Easy. I take it that we 're allowed access to that kind of thing?"
Mallalieu eyed me sideways. "Perhaps on this occasion you'd better just call in a favour or two: we don't to make it too official at this stage. Can you still do that?"
That made sense. I nodded. I knew someone.
Mallalieu was thinking hard. " Good. And if we're not on the official list, at least we know what we're up against, and that either they're holding something back or that bug is someone else's."
"And third," I butted in, "We put one and two together to see if they add up. If they do
?”
He pulled a face. "Yes. Let's hope that for once, one and two don't make three. Right." He took a deep breath and looked at his watch. "Let's get back."
"I'll get to Queen Anne's Gate." I'd done the odd job with the Home Office headquarters in my days at MOD and knew how it worked. "I'll make a start. I've g
ot a contact, the HO Liaison Co
ordinator, and he owes me a favour or two."
"All right" Mallalieu was decisive. " Have you got anything back at the office that needs...?"
"No." I looked at my watch; it had been a long lunch. " I'll see you at about four o'clock?"
We parted. After I'd gone two paces, Mallalieu called back, "Oh, by the way."
I stopped. "Yes?"
He smiled a wolfish grin. "Be careful what you say on the telephone. You never know who might be listening!"
I didn't laugh. I didn't think Mallalieu was very funny.
CHAPTER 35
A DOWNTURN in BUSINESS, London
In fact my sense of humour never really recovered.
Not only did my two quiet weeks end abruptly after that conversation with Mallalieu, but I started to have bad dreams again.
It's funny; when things are going well, you can absorb one, two or even three or more bad things and deal with them. They're just problems to be put in priority order and solved. And we do. But put those same problems against a potentially insoluble difficulty rolling down the hill, like some ever-growing snowball and even the little problems suddenly become impossible. And if, to cap it all, you can't sleep as well, then life becomes unbearable.
I couldn't sleep. At three o'clock in the morning, nameless monsters and fears stalked my nights and even the good times exploded in my face. At times it was like after Iran and Kurdistan all over again. Once Joy shook me awake and in the half light of early dawn hung over me, a look of concern on her face. "Are you all right, love? You were calling out. And you're soaked'"
I shivered, the chill sweat running on my chest. No, I wasn't all right. But what could I say? 'Sorry, dear. I kill people and I'm frightened of the future?' I expect everyone who's worried about their job or the mortgage has felt the same at three o'clock some morning, but for different reasons. At least, half awake and cradled to Joy's breast, the sight of fountains of blood, the clang of cell doors and loss of daylight didn't haunt me. I fell into a fitful doze.
Mallalieu's fears had been justified. His technical sweep picked up a standard Home Office transmitting device installed behind his desk. He'd left it in place and made a point of rattling his teaspoon nearby from then on.
I'd had no joy at
Marsham Street
. I saw Charlie Bremner, who owed me from his time as a Grade 7 attached to the FCO. He'd called for the list. But when he'd pulled the file, there were two blank entries, serials 476 and 477. Both had the word 'ECLIPSED' written against them.
"What's that?" I'd asked.
He grunted. "It's the codeword that means they're specially restricted - need to know. Hang on, I'll try to get a release on them." He dialled an internal number, his fat face white and round under the
fluorescent
light. The tiny basement office consisted of a desk with built-in wood trays, Charlie and a security container. As Charlie weighed 18 stone, it didn't leave much room for me.
I was going to tell him not to bother. I knew, without being told, that serials 476 and 477 were marked out for us. Sometimes you just know these things.
Faintly I heard the phone at the other end of the line ringing. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “It's usually used for internal problems," he mouthed. "'ECLIPSED', I mean. You know, high clearance people with a problem. They did it to Profumo back in '63 and Oldfield in the eighties....... Haven't changed the codeword since. Last one I saw was an MP who was being bribed by Greek Cypriots." He giggled. His face cleared as the telephone was answered. I watched him, reading the conversation from his face and the answers.
"Ah, hello. Charles Bremner here, Liaison Coord ... hi ... Listen, I'm calling about this month
's RAMPANT listing ... Yes, yes
...
I know the classification. I just wanted to clarify serials 476 and 477. Are they still operational?" A pause. He pulled a face. "Oh, well, they're still coded at 'E' in our file. Are you with me?
'E
' Eclipse- that's it. No, no, it's just a routine query." His brow creased in puzzlement. "Well, are we going to get the details? ... Oh, I see ..."
Now he looked worried, licking his rosebud lips. "Quite, quite... hmm. Yes, of course. No, no, not at all. No. No." Charlie was badly put out, to judge by his face. "Yes, you're right. It would need S
.
of S's approval ... No, no, there's no question of us calling for that - just a routine enquiry." He was sweating now, the harsh overhead light gleaming on his face. "No, I just wondered why they hadn't been circulated as going up in status, that's all." He lied badly. "I just wanted to check if they still were at '
E
'. Fine, fine. I'll re-classify our copy. Thanks very much. No, that's all ... g'bye."
He put the handset down, looking panicky and relieved to get off. He looked more like a pig than ever, with his round fat face and wet lips. The eyes were half-hidden by rolls of fat, but they were concerned all right. "Well, I didn't like that," he began, "It's all strictly need to know and they aren't '
ECLIPSED'
any more. They've sent out an amendment, telling us that it's to be marked as 'lapsed', but the serials are still current and operational. It's a higher codeword entirely, now. Well above Eclipse.” He wiped a forefinger over his sweating upper lip.
"So what does that mean, Charlie?"
"Well, it doesn't happen often. What they do is call them 'closed cases' but that’s just a blind. What they really do is hand them over as operations to the HSSIG..."
“HISSIG?" I queried.
Charlie grinned. "That's the
H
ome
S
ecretary's
S
pecial
I
nvestigation
G
roup. Very hush hush. They take them on from there. There aren't many cases like that running. Could be anything." He shrugged. "Police, Box - you name it. They're usually the top two or three most sensitive cases.
Or major sensitive crimes.
" He was relaxing now. "Nothing for you to worry about, though. It probably means that the Commissioner's gone bent. They're usually MPs or corrupt senior coppers or Box men, cases like that." He giggled.
"Charlie, anyone who takes the job of Commissioner of the Met has got to be bent by definition." I gave him the big smile. "Relax, Charlie, relax. It was no big deal."
"Yeah, you're right." He looked worried, momentarily, and glanced at the phone. "Silly old trout. Do you know she
asked me why I wanted to know.
Me! Liaison Coord! Stupid cow."
We parted amiably. I worried all the way back and I worried all the time from then on. Charlie was more relaxed, though. He'd even asked me round to his mother's at New Cross for tea, and seemed surprised when I refused.
Back at SIS Ltd, life seemed to settle down. Mallalieu was circumspect in his office and discreet on the telephone. I kept my head down, paid attention to my duties and was tucked up in bed by ten o'clock every night, usually with Joy, who seemed to be becoming more of a fixture in my life and the flat. I didn't mind. Anyway, with the other girls, her flat was crowded.
Mallalieu's interview with Harry Plummer hadn't gone well, he told me. Harry had been evasive. So much so that Mallalieu told me that eventually he'd asked Plummer point blank if I'd been the only person visited on the night of the Roberts shooting, to which Harry, who must have known Mallalieu could check by other means, eventually said 'he didn't know'. When asked to check, he'd stonewalled and said it wasn't his area. Mallalieu said he didn't believe him, and nor did I.
Added to the two unknown Home Office secret wiretaps that Charlie had discovered, the picture was clear; we were in the frame. No wonder we lay low.
Fortunately things were quiet. The great busy days of SIS and Bill Luxton seemed to be a thing of the past. Andy's Bull Pen still hadn't recruited two new candidates to replace Briggs and James. There was no rush, according to the Personnel Director. Recruiting was being kept tight as funds were short. The restriction seemed to be limited to the end of the financial year or something, and anyway there were no really suitable candidates coming up. By general consent we seemed to have agreed that they'd better come from SAS or SBS. After the Briggs affair, the other options didn't seem half as reliable.
Andy and I had a couple of desultory conferences on the subject, but they were half-hearted affair. Once, fiddling with a ruler and staring moodily out of the window, he announced that he didn't think Mallalieu wanted the jobs filled. When I'd asked why, he'd shrugged and muttered something about the Firm 'running down a bit'. He had a point. Even on the ops side, the number of jobs had shrunk. Out of curiosity I did a check and discovered that we were now running only 30 per cent of the sensitive operations we'd been running two years before.
However, SIS was far from bust. It seemed that the more conventional side of the Firm was booming. The Lloyds/Insurance Services branches were all making a healthy profit and screaming for more staff. There
was even talk of a special
bonus, plus shares or something for the staff.
My life may have been a bit confused, what with Joy and everything, but at least I worked for a good company. I’d wait to see what turned up.
Something always happens.