A Gentleman's Game

26

London-Vauxhall Cross, Office of D-Ops 15 September 1758 GMT Kate stuck her head into Crocker's office and said the three words that never failed to make a good day bad and a bad day even worse. He'd just finished vetting the last reports for the final in-house distribution of the day, and was shoving the little paperwork he had remaining into his document bag, wondering how bad his commute home would be tonight. The Bakerloo Line had returned to full service Sunday night, and with it running again, he'd allowed himself to imagine reaching his family before they'd moved on to dessert.

"We have trouble," Kate said.

He froze in midaction, looking instinctively at the files in his bag. "Trouble" could mean many things in this office. If it came from the Duty Operations Officer over the red phone, it meant something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong. An operation had been compromised, an agent had died, a spy plane had gone down, a bomb had blown up. Something that required adrenaline.

When it came from his PA, it meant it came from one of the floors above him, from the Deputy Chief or C, or outside of the building, from Whitehall or the FCO or Downing Street. On some occasions it could even come from the Ministry of Defense.

He preferred it when the red phone brought the news.

Crocker slid his hand from the bag and looked at Kate, standing just outside his door. Her expression sold it; whatever it was, it was political, and he felt his stomach sour at the thought of it.

"Are you going to tell me or just stand there like some David Blaine stunt?"

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "There's an inquiry that came across my desk from the Security Services, clearing permission for internal surveillance."

"Who are they vetting?"

"Minder One."

Crocker scowled. The Security Services performed irregular checks on all personnel holding positions deemed "sensitive" in the Government, anyone who could pose a security breach. It was a safety measure, another of the legion that had been instituted in the days after Philby and his brethren. The checks were fairly subtle and lasted anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours, with the subject placed under constant surveillance. Sometimes Box would peek at his or her mail or listen in on the telephone. Crocker suspected that, where he could get away with it, Kinney even sent his boys into the subject's home, in search of anything incriminating.

In and of itself, internal surveillance wasn't unusual, and neither was the request; protocol demanded, and courtesy required, that Kinney, under standing order of the DG at Box, notify the subject's direct superior. In Crocker's or Rayburn's case, it meant that Weldon received notification; in Poole's or Lankford's, that Chace would. If the Head of the Special Section or the PA to D-Ops was being put under surveillance, Crocker had to be notified.

So that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that Chace had already been given a clean bill of health in July, less than two months earlier.

"They did her end of bloody July," Crocker said. "She's clean."

"I know," Kate said. "So I called over to Box to double-check, thinking it was a mistake, perhaps."

"And?"

"And they said they would have to get back to me."

"Which they did."

"Which they did." Kate fingered the ring of keys at her hip, the ones used for the safes in the outer and inner offices, and for Crocker's document bag. "David Kinney himself called to tell me it had been an error and to discard the request."

"He called you? Directly? Not his PA?"

"He called me directly, Paul."

"Where's the Deputy Chief?"

"I believe he's already left the build-"

"Bloody well find out if he has or not, and if he hasn't, tell him I'm coming up."

Kate nodded impassively and reached for the house phone on Crocker's desk, punched two digits, and waited. Crocker took the moment to shrug out of his overcoat and toss it back into his chair, then to light a cigarette.

"Oliver?" Kate said to the phone. "Kate. Has DC left the building?"

Crocker stowed his lighter in his vest pocket, gouted smoke at Kate, impatient.

"No? Could you tell him that D-Ops is on his way up, please? Yes, it is urgent."

He was already through the door even as Kate completed the call, and was moving through the outer office when he called back to her, "And find Minder One, tell her to stay in the Pit."

"I'm staying, too, am I?" Kate called back.

"Forever," Crocker snarled. • "Why is Box putting Minder One under surveillance?"

With hat and raincoat still in place, Weldon sighed, then set his document bag on the edge of his desk. He didn't bother to sit.

"Can this not wait until tomorrow, Paul?"

"I want to know why Kinney's putting Chace under the microscope again, sir. Were you aware of this?"

"I seem to recall receiving something to that effect, yes."

"Kinney told my PA that it had been a mistake."

"I suppose it must have been, then."

Crocker tried to drill two holes through Weldon's skull with his eyes, and when that failed, he said, "David Kinney doesn't call my PA to address an error. He has his PA do it."

"Perhaps he's trying to foster greater cooperation between the houses?"

It didn't deserve a response, so Crocker didn't offer one.

Weldon sighed again, very much put-upon. "You'll have to talk to C."

"Then let's go up there right now."

"He's left for the day."

"Let's call him, I'm sure he's available."

"You're overreacting, Paul. Box is putting Minder One under surveillance, that doesn't mean they're looking to arrest her for violating the Official Secrets Act."

"You confirm she's under surveillance, but you won't tell me why."

"I don't know why!" Weldon shook his head. "C informed me that the DG at Box had been on to him, and that it was understood. You weren't to receive a copy of notification, for reasons C did not make clear to me, reasons of his own."

"Then I'll ask him."

"You will not!" Weldon looked appalled. "This can wait until tomorrow, surely? For a routine surveillance?"

"No, it can't," Crocker shot back. "Kinney goes behind my back to put a watch on Chace, then the surveillance isn't routine, it's extraordinary. It means they don't want me to know, it means they're concealing their motives, so it's not a spot-check, it's not vetting. They're keeping track of her, and I want to know why. I should know why, she's my Head of Section, the Minders are my direct purview, no one else's."

Weldon's hand began working the handle of his document bag. "If the Director General was given an order to place Minder One under surveillance, he received that order at the request of Downing Street. Regardless of the reason, he is most certainly acting on a direct order from HMG. Last I checked, we still work for HMG."

"This is about Yemen, isn't it?"

"I honestly cannot say." Weldon frowned, then seemed to resolve that he'd said all he was prepared to say and hefted his bag from the desk. "I have a train to catch, Paul. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Crocker stared at him, and Weldon, uncharacteristically, not only met the stare but bounced it straight back.

There was nothing more to be gained here, Crocker realized.

"Very good, sir," Crocker said, and he stepped back, and even went so far as to open the door of Weldon's office, holding it for the Deputy Chief. "Sorry to delay you."

"Not at all. I shouldn't worry about it, Paul. It's probably nothing."

"Let's hope Minder One agrees with you."

Weldon stopped halfway through the door. "You're not going to inform Chace? Bad business, Paul. I wouldn't."

"I won't need to," Crocker said. "She'll spot them herself."

"They do know their jobs, Paul. I wouldn't get overconfident."

Crocker shook his head.

"She did the last time," he said.