‘Whitehall isn’t quite as close-knit as that, I’m afraid.’
‘Isn’t it? You could have fooled me. Are you going to eat that egg?’
Miles shook his head, and Chesterton pulled the plate toward him.
‘Waste not want not,’ he said.
‘Would you mind explaining things to me,’ said Miles, ‘about this evening’s operation?’
‘Of course. Though there will be a formal briefing later this afternoon.’ Chesterton looked up from Miles’s plate. ‘You can stay here, you know, you don’t have to go. No one would be any the wiser back home, and it would save us from having to look after you.’
‘All the same,’ said Miles.
‘Well, it’s entirely up to you, Mr. Scott. We’ll be heading south. I don’t suppose I should say “we” really, since I’ll not be going along.’
‘Oh?’
‘No, but there will be a mobile support unit with you. They’re from the RUC. Probably four of them. And one or two others.’
‘From E4A?’
Chesterton, impressed by Miles’s ready knowledge, raised his eyebrows. E4A was a shadowy outpost of Special Branch, formed with the specific brief of deep surveillance of Irish terrorists. Miles knew very little about the group, except that it had a reputation for thoroughness in everything it did, with the possible exception of keeping within the law. On that particular point, E4A was known to be less than circumspect, and for that reason, as well as for others, it was not often mentioned within the firm. Chesterton shrugged his shoulders.
‘From Special Branch certainly,’ he said. ‘As you see, Mr. Scott, your presence is hardly necessary on this little jaunt.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Miles, ‘here I am.’
‘Yes,’ said Chesterton, pushing back Miles’s plate, ‘here you are. Here you are indeed.’
The room was full of smoke when Miles arrived, so he assumed that he was late.
‘Ah, Mr. Scott. Welcome.’ This from the only man in the room not smoking with fierce determination. They were all dressed in civvies. It appeared that no one in the building wore a uniform of any kind.
‘And you are?’ asked Miles casually, taking the proffered hand.
The man laughed, glancing toward his smiling colleagues.
‘I’m nobody, Mr. Scott. I don’t exist. Nevertheless, here I am.’
Yes, thought Miles, here you are indeed.
‘May I introduce you to the rest of the team for our little evening drive?’ The man nodded toward a stocky character, his shirt open to reveal a sprouting chest, the hair as dark as a thicket. ‘This is One. One, meet Mr. Scott.’
‘Mr. Scott.’ They shook hands. One? Had Miles heard correctly? Maybe it was something Chinese, Wan or Wun. The man did not look Chinese.
‘And this’ — pointing now toward a much thinner man with a pale, cruel face — ‘is Two.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ said Miles. He had not misheard.
He was, in turn, introduced to Misters Three, Four and Five.
‘I suppose,’ said his host finally, ‘you can call me Six.’
They were all Irish, and this, after the crisp English of Chesterton, made Miles a little more nervous. He was drifting farther and farther from the safety of the raft, moving deeper into the dark waters around him. He was as isolated as he had ever been in his life.
‘Let’s proceed,’ said Six, while Miles tried to work out the identities of his colleagues. Two, Three, Four and Five might well be RUC men. They had the look about them of policemen not entirely used to this life of intrigue and double-dealing. They looked as if they were enjoying the novelty of it all. One was a different proposition again. Special Branch maybe. A brute of a man. Six was brutish, too, but more intelligent, and as he went on with the briefing Miles began to see the army training stamped all over him. Not quite SAS, but then what? Something shadowier still. Something unpleasant.
With the eyes of an executioner.
‘A simple arrest procedure should be sufficient on this one, but we’ll be armed for safety’s sake. As you know, Circe has been keeping an eye for several months on a small electronics factory south of Belfast. How far south I’m not going to say. We now have proof positive that this factory is an IRA front, set up specifically to buy in electronic timers and other such devices from the Continent. These devices then go to make up fairly specialized little bombs, such as those being used on the mainland at this very moment.’
Seated on his hard plastic chair, Miles noticed from the corner of his eye that the others looked at him from time to time, curious perhaps. Still they smiled and puffed away at their chain-lit cigarettes.
‘We shall,’ continued Six, ‘arrest and bring into custody the ringleaders, two men who will be, so intelligence informs us, alone in the factory this evening. They will not be armed’ — he looked up — ‘we hope. I’ve got some photographs of them here with full physical descriptions on the back.’ He handed out glossy black and white blowups of two young and handsome men, taken without their knowledge. One was leaving his car, while the other was standing by a petrol pump, examining his wallet. The photographs were impressively sharp and focused, the work of a real expert.
‘These were taken this morning,’ said Six.
Miles stopped being impressed and felt a sense of awe in its place.
‘On this sheet of paper is a breakdown of what each man is wearing today.’
Studying the details, down to shoe color and jewelry, Miles was again impressed. He was not dealing with a ‘half-cocked bunch of Paddies and Paddy-watchers,’ as Billy had termed the operation in Northern Ireland. This was a classy show, and these men were just about the most professional thugs he had ever encountered.
‘We’ve just time for a cuppa and maybe something to eat,’ said Six, his voice more relaxed, ‘and then we’ll be off. Any questions?’
There were none.
‘Mr. Scott, I’d be obliged if you would check that you have nothing on or about your person that could identify you, no wallet, spectacle case, letters or envelopes, or name tags on your underpants.’
Miles nodded as the others chuckled.
‘Then,’ continued Six, ‘you’ll be just as naked as us, should anything go wrong. From now on I think we’d better call you Seven. Is that all right with you?’
Miles nodded again.
As naked as us. But they were not naked, and he most definitely was. Although trained in the use of firearms, Miles loathed the things. They were noisy and unnecessary most of the time. But Miles wanted a gun now, just to even things up. In the canteen, he noted that the others were packing fairly heavyweight pistols. So he asked Six.
‘Oh,’ said Six, stirring three sugars into his mug of tea, ‘I shouldn’t think that would be necessary. I’m told that you’re only here as a spectator, not as a participant. If you were to be given a weapon, you would automatically become a participant, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, would we?’
Hadn’t Chesterton said the same thing?
‘Don’t worry,’ continued Six, ‘I’ll put it on the record that you requested the use of a firearm and that your request was denied. Just sit back now and enjoy the ride, that’s my advice. And let’s just double-check that there’s nothing on you that would give the game away.’
‘I can see why they call you covert security,’ mumbled Miles, turning out his pockets like any small-time crook.
‘We have to be careful,’ said Six, running his eyes down Miles. Was there contempt in his look, hatred of this nuisance factor who had been embedded into an otherwise straightforward job? Well, to hell with him, thought Miles. I’m going to see this through whether I’m in the way or not. ‘There was a time,’ said Six, as much for the others as for Miles, ‘when we could be sure of these things going as smoothly as a greased runner. The enemy were just cartoon cutouts toting half-baked bombs, getting themselves blown up more than anybody else. There wasn’t any problem.’