He took a couple of steps towards Waring-Jones.
‘The Prime Minister authorised the release of Richard Rossiter. A man who not only posed a greater threat to the security of this country than almost any other individual in living memory, but was also a high-level SIS asset. The Prime Minister sanctioned the handing over of Rossiter to the Russian state. The very idea beggars belief.’
Out of he corner of his eye, Purkiss saw Vale clasp his hands, press his knuckles against his lips. He recognised the gesture. It was a sign that understanding was dawning.
‘The only person — the only person — who could persuade the PM that exchanging Rossiter for an obscure dissident scientist was justifiable, had to be the most senior intelligence advisor in the country. In other words, the Director General of SIS.’
Waring-Jones had stopped turning his glass.
‘And I should have seen it earlier,’ said Purkiss. ‘But I didn’t. Because you’re the sincere one. Gar — ’ Purkiss glanced across — ‘is the cold fish. I suspected him, at first. But it’s you, Waring-Jones. You procured Rossiter’s release. You colluded in his escape. You set things up so that your own agent, Mossberg, would be freed at the same time. And your goal was the same as Rossiter’s. To portray Moscow as responsible for a terrorist atrocity against Britain, so that our two countries could finally return to a state of undeclared war, after a quarter of a century of ramshackle co-operation.’
It was probably exhaustion that was making Purkiss reckless, he thought. He took a few further steps so that he was close to Waring-Jones, just within the boundary of his personal space.
‘Except there’s a difference between you and Rossiter. He did what he did out of genuine conviction. He was insane, grandiose, misguided in the extreme. But he believed he was working for a better world. You, on the other hand, are motivated by a desire for power. Under your directorship, the new Service would have an authority it’s never had since its inception. The Prime Minister, Parliament, would bow to your every dictate. And that makes you worse than Rossiter.’
Four seconds of silence passed.
Waring-Jones put his glass down on the coffee table.
He turned to Gar.
‘Rupesh, this man is exhausted. It’s understandable, given all he’s been through. All he’s achieved. Please see to it that he receives whatever he needs.’
He clapped his hands together. Purkiss saw him nod at Vale, then tilt his head. The gesture was clear: we need to talk about Purkiss.
Gar stepped forward.
‘Sir Peter.’
‘Yes.’
In a monotone, Gar said: ‘Under the authority granted to me by Her Majesty’s government, and under my oath committing me to the defence of the realm, I hereby advise that you are to be placed under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to commit treason.’
Purkiss looked at Vale.
The older man bowed his head, as though weighted down by sadness.
Thirty
They’d walked for a long time, Purkiss keeping track by ticking off the bridges across the river to their left. The night’s temperature was at its nadir, but already there was the first blush of the coming dawn, if not in the dark sky then in the lack of bite in the air.
They did this after every operation. Usually, it was a few days later. Sometimes it was as long as a month. This time, it had to be immediate.
It was the slow winding down, the recalibration of their psyches following the heightened and grossly abnormal states of mind they’d been forced to endure during the course of the preceding events.
As popular parlance would have it, it was their attempt at closure.
Purkiss noticed that he had to slow his pace periodically. Vale was tall himself, and bony, but every now and again he faltered, just a little, and it seemed malicious to force him to keep up.
He was ageing, there was no doubt about it.
They were drawing near to the elegant expanse of the Albert Bridge when Vale broke their silence.
‘We’ll do well out of Gar.’
‘He owes us,’ said Purkiss. ‘He’s guaranteed the Director’s job.’
‘I’m serious, John.’ As though he’d forgotten about them for the last twenty minutes, Vale fumbled his cigarettes from his pocket. ‘My funds were beginning to dry up. Austerity measures were threatening us. But Gar will make good on that. As you said, he’s a cold fish. But he’s a pragmatist. He has an eye for value, and you’ve proven your worth.’
As if on a silently agreed whim, they turned onto the bridge and began to cross the Thames.
‘Two requests,’ said Purkiss.
‘Name them.’
‘Tony Kendrick gets forgotten about. He never shot those men on the dock. It was Special Branch.’
On his way back down from the Shetland Isles, Purkiss had learned that Kendrick was being held at the SIS division in Liverpool. He’d been an uncooperative witness, and had at one point threatened to assault the agents who were questioning him.
‘Yes,’ said Vale. ‘No problem.’
‘And Asher.’ Purkiss watched Vale flip the glowing stub of his cigarette over the railing. ‘He’s solid. A valuable asset. I’d like him to get some credit for all of this.’
‘That might be more difficult,’ said Vale. ‘We handled this on our own, without the Company getting a look in. They won’t be happy about that. They won’t be pleased with Asher.’
‘Then I’ll go to Langley myself and give him a testimonial.’
Vale paused to light up again. He shook the flame off the match and dropped it into the river.
‘No need for that. I’ll see what I can do.’
They stood at the midpoint of the great Victorian bridge and looked east, towards the heart of the city.
‘John,’ said Vale.
Purkiss waited.
‘Back there, with Waring-Jones. You were excoriating yourself about how supposedly naive you’d been.’
‘Yes. I was.’
Vale took a long drag on his cigarette.
He said, ‘Naivete isn’t the worst quality a human being can possess.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Purkiss. ‘In our line of work.’
Vale smoked in silence.
Purkiss said: ‘I suppose you’re going to say that cynicism is our deadliest enemy.’
Without looking at him, Vale shook his head.
‘No. It’s sentimentality.’
Purkiss watched the river. He had the sense that Vale was leading up to something.
At last Vale pitched the stub into the water with a flick of his finger and thumb. It dropped, the embers glowing like fireflies.
He said, ‘I have a task for you. Perhaps the hardest I’ve ever asked you to undertake.’
Purkiss looked straight down, gazing at the sweep of the water as it passed beneath them.
He said, ‘Bring it on.’
FROM THE AUTHOR
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