Chapter Four
"Lucas, have you got a minute?"
Lucas lifted his eyes from the screen of his computer and saw Chen Liu standing in front of his desk.
"Sure, what is it?"
"It's – um - " The younger man hesitated, and his gaze drifted across the Grid towards Harry's office, where Ros was talking intently on the phone with persons unknown. Obviously, this wasn't something he wanted to share with the section chief.
"It's all right," Lucas said wryly. "She's not Harry; she can't lip-read." He pointed towards a spare chair and, just for extra reassurance, manoeuvred himself to block Ros's view of the young Chinese. "Go on."
"Well," Chen said nervously, "it's just that Khalida and I were talking, and – well, we both think maybe Harry should know about this. You know, digging into Crisis Crusade."
Lucas smiled. "Why, don't you think we're good enough to do it without him?" he asked, in a teasing tone that he hoped would reassure.
It didn't work. Chen Liu wriggled uncomfortably. "No, I didn't mean that, but it seems wrong that he shouldn't know … or – or be able to give his approval. Especially now."
Lucas kept the smile on his face and his rising anger on a very tight rein. He wanted to ask Chen exactly what he meant by 'now' but he already knew the answer. Now that we know what Ros told us yesterday. Now that we aren't sure we can trust her.
Damn you. He addressed the mental rebuke not to the young man looking anxiously over the top of his computer, but to Ros Myers. She hadn't needed to regale the whole team yesterday with every technicolour detail of her father's involvement in the coup attempt, and certainly not her own. The Governor of Wormwood Scrubs was turning out to be unexpectedly gifted at keeping news of the attack as securely behind its gates as he did the prison's inmates, so she hadn't even needed to disclose who Jocelyn Myers was; at a pinch, she could have referred to him by a code name. The three younger officers had been visibly shaken by what she had told them; Lucas had watched every emotion, from shock to uncertainty, via disbelief and suspicion, washing over their faces. The sly, triumphant leer on Lizzie Sandell's had prompted him to corner her by the water cooler afterwards and threaten her with dire consequences if she ever repeated a single syllable of what Ros had said. He thought he had sealed her lips, but he wasn't sure, and he was furious with Ros for creating the situation.
You didn't need to do it! In utter exasperation, he had told her as much on the way home. When her initial response had been a condescending look, he had added heatedly: "You, of all bloody people – when did you last bare your soul about anything more personal than your taste in teabags?"
"Come on, Chen," he said lightly now. "Harry's on his honeymoon. You can't red-flash a man on a bateau-mouche in the moonlight."
Chen Liu half-smiled, but he still looked ill at ease, and he peeped worriedly over Lucas's shoulder like a soldier in a trench wondering what was awaiting him over the top. Lucas sighed.
"What is it that's bothering you - your orders don't make sense?"
"No, no." For a moment he thought Chen was going to back-track and drop the matter, but then the young man gathered his courage and blurted: "If we're going to dig, then okay, but – well isn't there a – a conflict? What with Ros's father involved, and she might - " he petered out again.
She might be influenced. She might not be reliable. She might be on 'their' side, not ours.
Lucas gritted his teeth. There was only one way to nip this in the bud. He looked sternly up at the young Chinese and deliberately hardened his voice.
"Talk sense, Chen. Harry quite happily went off on honeymoon and left this section in Ros's hands – and he knew about her father's demand to talk to us. He was confident she'd take the right decision about it – the right decision for the Service, not for herself – and he would be now, too. And he's known what you learnt yesterday for years." Plus a lot more, he thought. "He trusts her absolutely. Are you telling me he's wrong and you don't?"
The abrupt change in his manner and the dropping of Harry's name did the trick.
"No, of course not." Chen shook his head so vigorously he unsettled his glasses. Clumsily, he resettled them on his nose. "No, I just – we just wondered - "
"Well, I'd stop if I were you. The Boss doesn't think a lot of wondering, unless she's ordered it."
"Yes – er, no. No, she – I - she ordered me to – to give Callum a hand with the CCTV; you know, matching the faces we've got in the demos. There's a lot of it, and - "
"Good." Lucas eased his chair to one side so that Ros's field of vision was clear, and glanced round. She was looking straight at them. "Better get on with it then." As the abashed young Chinese hurried back to his own work-station, the phone rang.
"I've been summoned by the Gnome." Ros's voice was as crisp as ever. "Can you come in, I need you."
You need your bloody brains tested; that's what you need. Aloud, Lucas said in an equally business-like tone, "Give me five minutes," hung up, and sat still, concentrating on regaining his equilibrium. Ros's antennae were incredibly acute; if he went into the office still irritated with her, she would sense it immediately, and he didn't want an argument. The previous evening he had been lucky. When he had accused her of undermining the team's trust and confidence in her by being so recklessly, uncharacteristically open about matters personal, Ros had not given him the verbal scourging he expected. Instead, she had said quietly: "Do you think they'd trust me more if I'd hidden who he was, or tried to cover up his little peccadillos and mine? They're not stupid; Callum had worked out quick enough that there was a reason for the red-flash that I hadn't disclosed. What if they'd all found out the truth from some muck-racking hack in The Sun, or through a tweet from some anonymous scandal-monger? There'll be one, sooner or later. This way they should at least understand I'm playing straight with them. It's a gamble, Lucas. Some you win, some you lose. And anyway … if their trust in me is so flimsy that it can be torn to shreds by my being honest about my brief career as a putchiste in Prada, then - " She had finished the sentence with a shrug of apparent indifference, but she had kept her eyes away from his face. When Lucas suggested stopping off for a quick supper somewhere she had brusquely declined, dropped him at his flat and driven off to her own with an abrupt 'goodnight'. He took a deep breath and crossed to the office.
"What's Chen's problem?" Ros snapped as he walked in.
So much for my covert meeting techniques. "The identification process is taking longer than they thought, that's all," Lucas lied smoothly. Ros snorted.
"Crisis Crusade's been working overtime; tell him and Callum they'll be doing the same until they've finished." She pulled on her coat. "Well, come on, where's yours?"
"Don't need it," Lucas shot back, unwilling to admit that he hadn't expected she would want him to go with her. He regretted his bravado a few minutes later when she decreed that they would walk. A blustery wind was whipping the river into whitecaps, and by the time they reached Whitehall, only sheer willpower and Ros's sardonic glances were preventing him from shivering. The fusty warmth of the Home Office corridors, usually a source of vexation, was a positive relief.
The young secretary in the reception area gave him an interested look as they entered, but it slid from her face like melting snow when she saw the glacial look in Ros's eyes. Ros said curtly, "Myers, Thames House," strode past her to the office door, tapped on it twice and walked in. Lucas, taken aback, hastily caught her up and closed it behind them as she was shaking hands with William Towers.
"Home Secretary, this is our SCO, Lucas North."
A frown knotted the little man's brow. "Met you somewhere … North, North …" He smiled triumphantly. "Ah! That's it, Chris McKenzie." Lucas felt his jaw drop, and hastily closed his mouth; he hadn't expected the Home Secretary to be au fait with any of his three working aliases. "Bomb defuser par excellence. Delighted to see you." He waved them both to seats and pressed his intercom. "Coffee for three please, Jennifer." He looked assessingly at Lucas. "You recovered from the decontamination procedure?" Before Lucas, completely thrown by his memory for detail, could reply, he added: "Mind, I'd have swapped places with you in a jiffy. Damned stink bomb of Harry's was still up my nostrils a month later. Had to change my damned after-shave for something stronger."
Lucas mumbled something apologetic, aware of Ros, her eyes expressionless but her lips twitching, alongside him. Towers waited until Jennifer had poured the coffee and left, and then turned his attention to Ros, all traces of mirth gone, his eyes alert and wary.
"So, Miss Myers. You wanted to brief me about something."
"Yes, sir. Thank you for seeing us." Ros sipped her coffee before she spoke. She kept her voice very low, and Lucas was amused to see Towers leaning forward to catch her words. He knew this was one of what Ros sarcastically called her WMDs (Windbag Management Devices), used to check that that politicians were actually listening to what she said rather than mentally composing their next soundbite for the media. It was working, too. Towers's frown of concentration was deepening by the minute, and when he learned exactly how many protests and demonstrations Crisis Crusade appeared to have been behind in the last few months, he lifted a hand to stop her. Ros raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"You're telling me, then, that this is orchestrated disruption rather than spontaneous protest?" When she nodded, he continued: "Then why, may I ask, has Harry chosen to lock this information up like the Crown Jewels in Thames House rather than share it with the Government?"
Lucas winced; Ros didn't bat an eyelash. "There was no consensus that it was orchestrated, Home Secretary, and it's Service policy not to provide you with information that is at best disputed, and at worst, purely speculative. We find clarity is easier to deal with."
Towers made a huffing noise, and Lucas suspected that he had also heard Ros's unspoken words 'for simple-minded folk like politicians'. If he had, he chose not to challenge her on it.
"And you have that clarity and consensus now?"
"Yes, sir." Lucas lifted his cup to drink and to obscure his expression. That was a blatant lie. Yes, some people – including him – were beginning to wonder if Ros had a point, but the only person to agree wholeheartedly with her interpretation of the situation yesterday had been Khalida.
"So what's given it to you?" Towers demanded.
"Several things, Home Secretary." Ros delicately drained her cup. "Firstly, the demographics involved." She explained the one thing on which they had all agreed, and Towers's initial puzzlement changed to concern. Hardly surprising, Lucas thought wryly, the backbone of the coalition's political support came from precisely the sort of people about whom she was talking.
"Go on," he said in some confusion, as the pencil he had been twirling between his fingers flew up into the air and clattered over the desk to the carpet.
"Secondly, the events at Waterloo yesterday. Mr North was caught up in them; if you wish, he can explain to you what he saw."
Hurriedly, Lucas pulled himself together, and at the politician's nod, did so. When he had finished, Towers looked back at Ros.
"This kind of thing is hardly unexpected, Miss Myers. We knew that our austerity measures were bound to make people disgruntled and resentful. We've all been living the good life on tick for far too long; it was certain to hurt when the bill finally had to be paid. I'm aware that many people think politicians live in feathered nests in a gold-plated cloud cuckoo-land, but we also hold season tickets, buy expensive petrol for our cars and have mortgages to pay off. Besides," he gave her a disapproving look, "this is a democracy, and the people are entitled to express their discontent - provided that their action doesn't break the law. It's important that they have that opportunity."
Lucas groaned inwardly. Ros hated it when politicians went into Winston Churchill mode, and he waited for a cutting retort. She said nothing, and Towers looked at her suspiciously.
"And thirdly?" he asked, when the silence stretched out.
Lucas saw the tell-tale movement in Ros's throat as she swallowed.
"Home Secretary, you're aware that my father is serving a twenty-year sentence in Wormwood Scrubs for his part in an attempt made seven years ago to overthrow the government?"
Of course he's aware. Lucas watched Towers carefully as his face closed. He had voted along with other members of the JIC to deny her promotion to Harry's job because of it.
"I thought you came here to brief me on current threats to national security, Miss Myers. Not to reminisce over old ones."
"He's due to appear before the parole board in the next few weeks." Ros continued as if he hadn't spoken, and William Towers bristled.
"And I am certainly not intending to waste valuable time listening to any special pleading on Sir Jocelyn's behalf." Lucas felt his palms becoming damp in anticipation of Ros losing her temper, but if anything, her face turned slightly paler rather than red. "I fail to see the relevance of this to Crisis Crusade, Miss Myers."
Ros's mouth twisted slightly into an expression that might have conveyed pity for his ignorance, but which Lucas knew was actually an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt. Straight into the trap. Bravo, Ros. He kept his face straight.
"Perhaps I could explain." She paused. "With your indulgence, of course."
Without waiting for it, she told him about the information her father claimed he wanted to pass to MI-5, and then about the attack on him. Towers, Lucas thought, was looking more and more like a stranded fish, mouth open and visibly flapping. After Ros concluded her briefing and sat looking at him with an expression of respectful politeness that barely veiled her disdain, he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Harry know about these shenanigans at the Scrubs?" Ros shook her head, and he barked: "Why not?"
"Harry's on leave, sir, and during his absence I'm acting head of the unit. If it becomes necessary to contact him, I will."
Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Christ, but she's pushing it. He wondered uneasily if Ros wasn't letting her long-repressed anger at the way Whitehall had treated her get the better of her. He tried to think of a way of defusing the tension as she and Towers wordlessly locked eyes across the desk. Before he could, the Home Secretary cracked.
"Crisis Crusade's activities and this attack don't necessarily have to be linked, Miss Myers. There is such a thing as coincidence."
Ros smiled thinly. "Not in intelligence work, Home Secretary. I can get my technical specialist to compute the possibility for you accurately if you wish. But the likelihood of my father wishing to speak to MI-5, an organisation he loathes, about those 'activities', and then falling victim to an attempt on his life less than 24 hours later when he hasn't suffered more than an ingrowing toenail for the last seven years, must be in the range of several billion to one."
Towers glared, got up, turned his back on them both and stared out of the window into the building's inner courtyard.
"So what are you saying?" he asked, without turning.
Lucas glanced at Ros. She took a deep breath.
"That Crisis Crusade has a specific agenda; that its aim is not just lawful protest against government policy and harmless letting off steam, but to undermine the bedrock of social and political stability in this country. That its activities are being planned, guided and commanded not by the people we see carrying them out, but by a very intelligent, sophisticated individual or group of individuals as yet unidentified who understand tactics, publicity and propaganda – and the current mood in the country. That the attempt on my father's life is confirmation that he does have information that could help us find out who they are, exactly what they have in mind, and prevent them from doing it."
Towers turned. His grey eyes, which usually twinkled with bonhomie – real or manufactured, depending on the circumstances – were hard and flat, like two pebbles picked from the beach. "But you have no proof of any of that."
Lucas was beginning to feel like the net in a tennis match. He decided to play a lob of his own.
"Home Secretary, if we're right, there could be a real threat to national security. Fiscal restraint, benefit cuts, austerity – they're all necessary, of course," he added hastily, as Towers's flinty gaze switched to him, "but they're putting the social fabric of the country under real strain. Many people are feeling the pressure for the first time since the war. After sixty years of nothing but rising expectations, they're having to scale them back. Resentful people in that kind of situation can be manipulated, sir."
"And stampeded," Ros added quietly, "by rumours, or misinformation. The herd instinct. Mass panic isn't pretty, sir. And the previous government did contemplate the possibility of calling out the army in 2008, had the banking system actually collapsed."
Towers's complexion took on the hue of a ripe plum. "This is not 2008, Miss Myers! And I'll thank you for not using the same crude scare tactics on me!"
Ros fell silent. Lucas murmured, "Still, fertile territory for such a group …" and then followed her example.
"If they exist," Towers snapped. "If Miss Myers can provide hard evidence that Crisis Crusade is the threat she claims it is. And that her f … um … the information being offered is authentic and relevant, and not just a Get Out of Jail Free card."
"My team is working on your first point as we speak, Home Secretary." Ros's voice had tightened at his last comment. "We're in the process of identifying as many of those who have been involved as we can; then we'll begin to check for links between them and see if we can penetrate their membership. As to the second, as I said, I think the authenticity of my father's information has been proved by the attack. I believe he's sincere."
Towers shook his head dubiously. "You're bound to think that. You're his daughter."
Ros's chin came up. "Actually, Home Secretary, in practical terms, I'm not. To my father, I'm a pariah, and have been for the last seven years, as you'll recall from the fate of my many attempts to correspond with him."
The tension was electric as Towers resumed his seat and poured himself the remains of the coffee. For a moment only sound was the tinkling of his spoon against the Royal Doulton.
"Then who's intending to extract this 'authentic' information?"
"Mr North will interview him as soon as he's conscious and able to communicate." Ros flicked the tiniest of smiles in Lucas's direction. "The prison governor has already initiated an internal investigation. Once we have the results, the picture should become a great deal clearer. I will keep you fully briefed. You have my word."
"Hmm." Towers's fingers drummed an irritable tattoo on his desk. "When did you say Harry's due back?"
"Next Saturday, sir." There was a tense pause during which Lucas silently willed the meeting to end. He felt a reluctant sympathy for William Towers; his relationship with Harry couldn't have been described as smooth, but they were of an age, and despite Harry's streak of rebellious independence, both were part of the Establishment Towers understood. Having to work with an assertive, abrasive woman the age of his own daughter was taking him way out of his comfort zone, and his testiness was becoming more apparent by the minute. At the same time, Lucas felt for Ros. So far, she had maintained her composure, and – well, almost – the respectful courtesy she owed to Towers's position. But she was proud, and Lucas didn't expect her self-restraint to hold much longer in the face of the politician's contempt for her father and his patent lack of confidence and trust in her as exemplified by that last question.
"Then you will continue with your investigations into Crisis Crusade," Towers said. Lucas cringed; a civilian giving operational instructions to Ros was the equivalent of trying to wrap a bull in a Soviet flag. "Once you have extracted any information Sir Jocelyn has – assuming that he has any – you will report the details to this office without delay. Is that perfectly clear?"
Lucas bit his tongue to stifle his gasp of shock. That was an intelligence decision, and Ros's to make. The Home Office might be politically responsible for supervising the security services, but this was stretching Towers's remit way beyond its limits.
"Home Secretary, I -" Ros hesitated, moistened her lips and then said uncertainly: "Yes. Yes, it … it is."
William Towers nodded a smug, satisfied little nod. "Good." With her acquiescence, he seemed to feel that he had reasserted his rightful authority, and his tone became more peremptory. "And you will brief Harry forthwith."
Lucas watched Ros shift uncomfortably in her chair. "Of course, Home Secretary. That goes without saying." She glanced at her watch. "I apologise for having taken up so much of your time." She got to her feet, and Lucas hurried to follow suit. "We'll keep you briefed about any further developments."
They were almost at the door when the politician rapped: "Miss Myers!" Both turned. "One more thing. As of this moment Sir Jocelyn Myers is only a potential source of important information. An unproven – er - "
"Asset," Lucas said helpfully. Alongside him, he could sense that the coiled spring of tension in Ros was about to unwind, with potentially disastrous consequences.
"Quite." Towers did his best to wither him with a look, but Lucas had several years of coping with Ros's efforts under his belt, and compared to her, William Towers was a harmless amateur. "You will treat him and his information as such until you are absolutely certain that both are reliable." He fixed his gaze sternly on Ros. "Your involvement in this situation is … unfortunate … but, in Harry's absence, inevitable. So I trust that I can rely on your treating it as a strictly professional matter, without allowing the personal to intrude or influence you in any way whatsoever. Miss Myers?"
You bastard. Lucas felt his fingers tightening involuntarily into fists, and looked at Ros. Her lips were compressed so tightly they were almost invisible.
"If I had ever allowed the personal to intrude or to influence me, my father would now be more likely to be sitting behind your desk in this office than in a prison cell. Good afternoon, Home Secretary." As Lucas opened the door for her she swept through it without a backward glance. Lucas followed and, as the only farewell he felt the man deserved, slammed it shut behind him.
oOoOoOo
"Coffee," Ros said abruptly as they reached the street. It was a statement, not a question, and Lucas merely followed her obediently as she cut down King Charles Street, across Horse Guards Road and into St James' Park. She was walking quickly, fuelled, he knew, by her anger at the Home Secretary's comments.
"I'll get it," he offered, as they came in sight of the small green trailer that stood permanently just inside the gates. He bought two coffees and a pain au chocolat, the only pastry he knew Ros actually liked.
"Here." She was staring towards the Serpentine, at the edge of which small children were being encouraged by their parents to offer bread to some of what Lucas thought must be the fattest, most spoiled ducks and swans in the UK.
"Thanks." Ros jerked her head towards them. "We used to come here and do that. Whenever Sir Jocelyn," she drew inverted commas in the air, " was in between postings."
Lucas didn't quite know what to say, so he just smiled and offered half the pain au chocolat. Ros flicked a quick glance up at him, and with a start he realised that her eyes were wet. He hadn't hit anyone since flooring Asa Darlak, but now he was struck with a sudden desire to storm back to the Home Office and practice his right hook on William Towers. He went to put his arm round her and stopped as Ros instantly shrank just out of reach. After a moment, he tried another tack.
"So … we're going to keep Dopey briefed then? And notify Harry - forthwith?"
"Don't be stupid." Ros sniffed, and ran a finger swiftly under each eye.
Thought so. Unlike Towers, Lucas knew that in her professional persona Ros was not only a good liar but also a consummate actress.
"He'll be royally pissed off," he ventured.
She scattered a handful of pastry crumbs to a lone duck whose personal satnav seemed to be on the blink as it waddled past, heading for Horseguards.
"I bloody well hope so." She swallowed the rest of her coffee. "He'll get what I think he needs when I'm good and ready to give it to him."
Lucas nodded. This wasn't the time to argue with her any further. She was angry, humiliated and upset – understandably so. Best to get back to the Grid and talk things over when she had full control over herself again.
"Finished?" Ros held her hand out for his cup and paper napkin. She smiled mockingly. "At least that'll stop you getting hypothermia on the way back."
Lucas stuck his tongue out at her as she walked away to the nearest litter-bin, and jumped as his phone tinkled into action. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and looked at the screen. "Yeah, Callum, go on."
As he listened, Ros darted back across the path just ahead of two mounted police officers. One of them said something to her, and Lucas saw her flash a rare, genuine smile up at him in response. She was still smiling as she approached, but her face changed as she saw Lucas's expression.
"What is it?"
Lucas mouthed 'hang on' and, into the phone, said: "OK. Yeah. No, we're on our way. As soon as we get there, yeah. Thanks." He ended the call and met her eyes.
Jesus, how the hell am I supposed to tell her that? He swallowed hard, but his throat still felt as if someone had tied a knot in it round about the level of his pharynx.
"Lucas! What is it?"
oOoOoOo
Thank you for reading and a special thank you to my regular reviewers! If anyone else wants to join them, all comment is very welcome! :)