“Damn reasonable rate, too. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to more tea?”
“Yes. And I suppose this Sylvester Monteith is an old crony of yours.”
“He prefers Sly.”
“Which answers my question.”
“We both know how Westminster works, Ingrid. It’s not called a village for nothing. Obviously we’ve crossed paths in the past.”
“Like I said. A crony.”
“That’s not a useful term in my book. No successful business, no thriving corporation, can afford to ignore networking. It’s how things get done.”
“Eton?”
“I’m not going to play this game.”
“Twenty seconds after leaving this office, I’ll know his inside leg measurement.”
“Well then. Yes. As it happens.”
“Oxford?”
“No, actually.” He picked up his cup once more. “Well, yes, but St. Anne’s for Christ’s sake.”
“In the eyes of most people, that would still count.”
“That’s why we don’t let ‘most people’ take the important decisions.”
“An interesting slant on the democratic process.”
“Don’t pretend to be naïve. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Let’s stay on topic then, shall we? You decided, without consultation, to hire an old school chum to set an, ah, tiger team onto the Service you have ministerial responsibility for. You don’t see any conflict of interest?”
“None at all. Consultation would have undermined the whole purpose. When was the last time you didn’t have the minutes of a closed-door meeting in your hands before the principals were out of the gates? The slightest sniff of this and you’d have gone to a war footing.”
She couldn’t fault his logic.
“Besides,” he said. “As you say, I have ministerial responsibility. Confirming the Service’s fitness for purpose is well within my remit. An obligation, even.”
“One minor lapse in protocol is hardly—”
“One minor lapse is more than enough, even if I agreed it was minor. But you had an unauthorised entry into Regent’s Park, which in anyone’s eyes is a serious breach of security.”
“By a member of the Service. Not by one of your mercenaries.”
“It remains an unauthorised entry. And the young man in question is hardly an agent in good standing, is he? From what I hear, he has his grandfather to thank for the fact that he wasn’t drummed out before he’d finished his training. He crashed King’s Cross, I gather. In rush hour. At the very least, that’s a demarcation issue. Buggering up the transport infrastructure is the mayor’s job.”
A line Dame Ingrid suspected he’d used before, or would again, with a bigger audience.
She said, “I’d take issue with his entry being unauthorised. It was approved by one of our Second Desks. Diana Taverner, I believe.”
“And having gained entry, he went walkabout. Let’s not split hairs, Ingrid. He was found attempting to access classified information. He should be in a cell. I think we could guarantee him ten years minimum.”
“And what about your merry band of friends? They ‘took’ an agent? Kidnapping carries a tariff too.”
He waved a hand as if shooing a wasp. “There’ll be a waiver. And it will be signed.”
“You’re very sure of that.”
He graced her with a bland smile.
A loose cannon with a floppy fringe . . . But an important thing about Peter Judd, she reminded herself, was that his affability was polymer-deep. In front of the cameras, in front of an audience, in any kind of best-behaviour scenario, he played the hail-&-well-met card like a pro, as comfortable among punters in an East End corner shop as he was in front of twelve pieces of cutlery at a black tie event. But a very short way below the surface lay a temper that could scorch chrome. It was one of the reasons she knew he’d taken an airbrush to his past. Nobody with his psychological makeup had led a damage-free life.
But right here, right now, he had the upper hand and they both knew it.
She said, “Very well. Wormwood Scrubs for young Cartwright, treble G&Ts all round for the private sector. I assume we can expect to hear that Sly Monteith’s about to land some lucrative contract or other? Perhaps he could replace those clowns who did their best to scupper the Olympics.”
“Bitterness is so unbecoming.”
“Are you expecting my resignation?”
He bared a palm, as if to demonstrate no evil intent. Only one palm, she noted. “Heaven forbid.”
“Then what is it you want?”
Unlike many another politico, he didn’t waste time pretending he didn’t know what she meant. “An, ah, what shall we call it? An understanding. No. An alliance.”
“You’re my minister. I answer to you on a daily basis. I’m sure we already understand each other, and as for alliances, there should be little doubt that we’re on the same side.”
“Oh, we’re all on the same side. But that doesn’t mean we don’t pick teams. You’re a civil servant. I’m a politician. With a fair wind, you might expect to be head of your Service until retirement. But one way or the other, I don’t expect to be in this office for more than another year. If I leave it on my terms, it will be because I’m moving into Number Ten. Otherwise . . . Well, political careers have been known to founder.”
“And you’re worried yours might.”
“Once the PM decides he’s in a strong enough position, yes. He brought me inside the fold to forestall a challenge from the back benches. Any such challenge now would seem . . . ”
“Treacherous.”
“Impolite.”
“And thus unlikely to garner support within the party.”
Judd blinked in silent agreement.
“Unless his circumstances changed.”
Judd blinked again.
It was cool in the office. A fake breeze hummed somewhere, as if it were blowing in off a carpet of ice cubes. But as an undercurrent to that, Ingrid Tearney felt a sudden access of warmth; that of acquired knowledge. Judd wanted to render the Service a sharp kick in the teeth, that had always been clear; a way of both asserting his own current mastery, and revenging himself for a rejection three decades ago. But in addition to that, he wanted—needed—her cooperation. Tearney recognised this ability to layer scheme upon scheme, to allow for maximum benefit. It wasn’t so much playing both ends against the middle as securing the middle and flaying anyone within reach with the ends.
She said, “I see.”
“I rather thought you might.”
“So the file Cartwright was sent to steal—that wasn’t a random choice.”
“For the purposes of the exercise, one file was as good as any other,” he said smoothly.
“Of course. I’m just getting an inkling of the use you might have put it to if he’d succeeded.”
“Well,” he said. “That was never likely to happen, was it? Not unless security at the Park turned out to be in even more parlous a state than was the case.” He rose suddenly, and carried his empty cup and saucer to the tea tray. With his back to her, he went on, “Besides, there’s no need for me to go to such lengths to examine the contents of an old file housed in a department over which I have ministerial control.”
“Subject to the usual limitations,” Dame Ingrid said.
He returned to where she sat, and held a hand out. She gave him her crockery.
He said, “Of course. I’m simply seeking an assurance that all and any information relevant to the security of the nation is brought to my attention. That would inevitably include information relating to the reliability or otherwise of those entrusted with the great offices of state.”
“Which might then be used to ease those same unreliables out of those offices.”