‘Very well, sir. A whisky straight.’
‘So he sent his son, did he?’
‘Apparently, sir. Billy Stein. We waited for him to make a move. He went to the house in King’s Cross this morning… yesterday morning perhaps I should say.’
‘And got into it?’
‘Not much difficulty there, sir. Anyone with a child’s penknife would have been able to do it.’
‘And that’s what the young Stein did, eh? That’s excellent.’ The DG poured the drinks and brought the malt whisky to Stuart. ‘And then what?’ He threw the wrapping paper into the fire but it did not burn.
‘Thank you, sir. The man following Stein phoned in. Coordination told duty field control and I went to see Stein at his hotel.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He was shaken. I accused him of murdering the men. I said he’d face trial if he didn’t cooperate fully.’
‘And will he cooperate… fully?’
‘He says he will,’ said Stuart. ‘But he’s still in a state of shock. A man in that condition is likely to say anything. Stein is in a foreign country, without his friends and associates. Yes, he says he will cooperate.’ Stuart drank some of his whisky. He smelt the harsh, smoky flavour and let it linger on his tongue. Having the DG acting as his personal controller was an unprecedented development, and not one that he in any way enjoyed. It was impossible to argue back with the DG in the way that sometimes became necessary in these operations. To make matters worse, more than one of the London permanent staff seemed to think that he was using the opportunity and his father-in-law to further his career.
‘What do you propose we do?’ asked the DG.
‘Let young Stein speak to his father… ’
‘Release the son if dad gives us the Hitler Minutes,’ said the DG, completing what Stuart was about to say.
‘Yes, sir.’
The DG pulled a face, as if he had suddenly bitten into a particularly sour lemon. ‘Crude, isn’t it, Stuart?’
‘It is, sir. Very crude. Do you have a better suggestion?’
The DG looked up quickly and studied Stuart’s face closely for any sign of intended rudeness. Having failed to discover any, he said, ‘No, Stuart. At the present time, I do not.’
‘Father and son are very close, sir.’
‘Never been on a tiger shoot, have you, Stuart?’ The DG rested a hand on the mantelpiece and stared at the fire as a fortune teller might gaze at a crystal ball.
‘No, sir.’
‘You put out a line of beaters in the early morning, and they walk forward kicking up the very devil of a din. The guns are moving towards them, well strung out… on elephants, of course.’
‘Of course.’
The DG turned to face him. ‘Good beaters can get the creatures moving at just the right pace. You don’t want your tigers galloping past.’ The DG drank some of the port they had found him down under the stairs. It was Marks & Spencer’s own label and not the sort of vintage the DG favoured, but he sipped it without complaint. ‘There’s usually some bloody fool who fires too soon. He fires towards the beaters, you see. That’s not the idea at all. You’ve got to let your tiger come past; shoot him as he passes, or even after he’s passed. But never while he’s still coming towards you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Or Timmy Tiger goes back and mauls one of your beaters, Stuart. You see what I mean, don’t you?’
‘You mean Stein.’
‘Indeed I do, Stuart. I mean Mr Stein, our Timmy Tiger.’ The DG sat down on the big sofa, stretched his feet out and ran a hand back through his ruffled hair. ‘You’d better tell me what’s on your mind, my boy. I can see something is troubling you.’
Stuart sat down carefully in the armchair and balanced his drink on the armrest. ‘I’d like to be transferred to some other operation, sir.’
‘Transferred?’ There could be no doubt that the DG was surprised. ‘This is the most important operation we have going at the present moment. Don’t you realize that the reason I keep looking at that damned clock on the mantelpiece is because the PM will be expecting me in the anteroom of the Cabinet Office, tomorrow at 8.30 a.m., ready to tell her the latest news? She’ll be off to Africa on the 30th. She insists we clear up this business before she goes. I’m under pressure, Stuart.’
‘Yes, I understand that, sir. But I think you could find someone more suited to the job. I’m at a disadvantage; Stein and Breslow both know that I’m working for this department.’
‘You’re not being entirely frank with me, Stuart. Is this something to do with you and Jennifer? You know I never interfere. I’ve never taken sides. I think I can safely claim that.’
Stuart did not reply. His father-in-law had interfered with his marriage right from the very beginning and as for his claim never to have taken sides… Stuart was simply at a loss for words. ‘It’s nothing to do with me and Jennifer, sir.’
‘You treated my daughter badly, Stuart. I’m speaking man to man now, of course. Your behaviour was unforgivable and I’ll never forget what Jennifer told us the night we took her back home. You’ve knocked about the world, Stuart, and I dare say a man’s no worse for that. But you married a child and made her suffer. The sooner the divorce comes through the better.’
‘It’s nothing to do with Jennifer or our marriage,’ said Stuart. ‘It’s this operation. This afternoon Stein was in a state of near collapse. He’d been to that house and seen two decapitated men. From what I understand, they had their hands cut off too.’
‘Perfectly correct, Stuart.’
‘From the last report I got, the police have still not been informed of the crime. Our people have been in and out and even taken photos. Stein accused me of arranging the murders. I’m no longer so sure we didn’t do so, and I don’t like that.’
The DG nodded and sipped some of his drink. ‘You’ve been in some scrapes, Stuart. I looked through your dossier when Jennifer first met you. There was the time when we had to get you out of Turin in the very devil of a hurry. And your file has an embargo slip for two or three countries where you are still facing charges, I understand?’
‘I didn’t hack any heads off, if that’s what you are implying, Director.’
‘I’m implying nothing, Stuart,’ said the DG calmly, ‘I’m stating facts. If you want to contest what is on your dossier, this would be an excellent opportunity to do so.’
‘I’m not disputing it.’
‘We didn’t choose you to captain a junior school tennis team, Stuart. You knew this might be rough. I told you so myself, if I remember rightly.’
‘You did, sir.’
There was a long silence. Then the DG said, ‘When did you first hear about the killing of the two men?’
‘Wednesday evening, July 18, that is, about eleven o’clock in the evening. I was at home. A courier came with a verbal message.’
‘About the same time that I was informed,’ said the DG and scratched his ear. ‘I was at a dinner party in Hampstead. I came back here to the office. I thought of sending for you but I wasn’t sure it was necessary.’
Stuart did nothing, waiting while the DG fidgeted about, trying to decide how much secret information he should be given. ‘You believe the department had those men killed?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be the first time,’ agreed the DG. He wrapped his overcoat across his legs, as if he were suddenly feeling the cold.
‘I saw them alive,’ said Stuart. ‘Last Monday. They were little more than kids… I liked them.’
‘You reported to me that they were delinquents.’
‘Just talk,’ said Stuart. ‘They were full of talk. They weren’t dangerous.’
‘One of them was taking high-grade information out of an important German computer. Not exactly harmless, would you say?’ The DG maintained an unruffled and almost jovial manner. Stuart felt he was being lured into some sort of verbal trap but could not see what it was likely to be.