Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1. Whole No. 284, July 1967

Security Risk by Brian Hayes

Lieutenant Roberts considered Lockston a serious security risk...

The new security officer sat in the Director’s office holding a thin file and trying to suppress his impatience. He was a young man, although not as young as he looked, being twenty-six. He was also ambitious and untroubled by a sense of humor.

To the Director, gazing at him from behind his desk, his youth was frightening. The previous security officer, Captain Grayson, had been middle-aged — an easy-going man with a mind you could get in touch with and an unobtrusive efficiency. His successor, Lieutenant Roberts, paraded efficiency like a banner.

But the Director showed no sign of these feelings as he listened to what Lieutenant Roberts was saying.

“Lockston will have to go, sir. In view of what I’ve just told you it’ll be impossible to continue to give him security clearance. In fact, he should never have been allowed to work on the project in the first place.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, puffed comfortably at his pipe, and regarded the security officer through the smoke. He couldn’t claim that Lockston was a key man, but he was part of the team and he didn’t want to lose him. Besides, Lockston was someone he liked.

He said, “You haven’t told me anything to make me think that Lockston might be disloyal.”

“He was a member of a subversive organization, sir.”

“But that was twenty-five years ago — when he was at the University.”

“It indicates his political leanings at that time, and if he has changed his mind since then, why didn’t he inform my predecessor who carried out the original screening?”

“Perhaps he forgot.”

“Forgot!”

The Director smiled. “It’s quite possible, you know. You give five bob to some society. For the Betterment of Cultural Relations, or something like that. You don’t know that it’s really subversive and if you do you don’t care because — well, you’re nineteen and it amuses you. Good heavens, I probably joined such things myself.”

“I hope you didn’t, sir. In any case, the other matter is more important. Lockston has been in prison. You don’t suggest that he might have forgotten that?”

“Of course not. But it was a long time ago, too. Besides, his crime had no bearing on security.”

“Everything has a bearing on security, sir. Especially a thing like this. It’s a character weakness.”

“A character weakness? Lockston?” The Director shook his head. “May I see the file?”

Reluctantly Lieutenant Roberts passed it across the desk and the Director examined it thoughtfully. Here were revealed isolated details of Lockston’s life, but the typewritten or printed words had no meaning for the Director. They made no impact on a mind that had already formed its opinion.

“Odd that your predecessor didn’t dig this up.”

The security officer said nothing: he considered that his predecessor had been incredibly careless. He let the thought ride the silence until the Director looked up at him sharply. Then Roberts said, “You understand, sir, that if an enemy agent were to get hold of a thing like this he might use it as a lever.”

“That hadn’t escaped me. But I can’t see Lockston letting himself be blackmailed.”

“The man’s unstable, sir. It’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.”

“The responsibility would be mine, wouldn’t it?”

“I think not, sir.”

The Director tapped out his pipe. Arguing would do no good; Lieutenant Roberts had made up his mind and this was a matter on which the authorities would support him.

The Director said, “What do you want me to do?”

“He must be dismissed.”

“I’ve no reason.”

“You’ll have to think of one.”

“Very well. Do you mind if I keep this file for a day or two? Men with Lockston’s qualifications are not so easy to find. I shall need a little time.”

“How much time, sir?”

“I can’t say. Two weeks, perhaps.”

The security officer stood up. “Don’t let it be longer, sir.”

When he had gone the Director refilled his pipe. It had been no surprise to him to learn that Lockston was, or had been, a rogue, but this did not affect his liking for the man. And in spite of what Roberts had called a character weakness, he doubted if Lockston could be broken, even by blackmail, into doing something he had no mind for.

He doubted — but he couldn’t be sure.

During the days that ensued, Lieutenant Roberts tried hard to keep an eye on Lockston; but he had no reason to follow him everywhere and he certainly didn’t follow him on a Saturday afternoon ten days later when Lockston paid a visit to the neighboring town.

Lockston was a tall craggy man in his middle forties. He had few friends, perhaps because he didn’t need them. On his occasional visits to town it was his habit to go to the cinema, and afterward he usually had a light meal at a nearby coffee house.

It was so on that afternoon. Lockston obtained coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs at the counter and then carried them over to one of the tables.

A few moments later another man entered the cafe. He too ordered coffee which he carried to the same table at which Lockston sat. Lockston looked up at him in surprise, for the place was not full and many of the other tables were empty.

The stranger said, “You mind if I sit here?”

“It’s all right if you want to.”

The stranger made a slight inclination of his body, the movement hinting at a formal bow. “You English wish for privacy. I would not have intruded only... you’re Mr. Lockston, aren’t you?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’ve seen you before. Or was it your photograph? You work at that hush-hush place — some sort of semi-military establishment out of town?”

Lockston had been trying to read the evening newspaper. He now put it down. “Who are you?”

“My name,” the man smiled, “is Masters.”

“What do you want, Mr. Masters?”

“To do you a service.”

He took a wallet from his pocket and extracted a newspaper clipping which he placed on the table. Lockston stared at it. He did not need to read it because he knew well what was printed there. After a while he looked up. His face expressed nothing, neither fear nor anger, and his eyes were steady.

He said, “What do you want?”

Masters gave a little shrug. “Twelve months,” he said. “Do you still feel bitter about it, Mr. Lockston?”

“I never did feel bitter.”

“But you should. It was a savage sentence. What harm had you done? The women spoke up for you, didn’t they? By the way, what happened to them?”

“It was eighteen years ago.”

“As long as that? But these things are not forgotten, are they? Not in a bourgeois society. You were sent to prison, but did the punishment end there? No. And what happened afterwards? To your career? Didn’t you find it difficult to get a job? And even now, I doubt if those who employ you are aware of the contents of that clipping.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Lockston. “Are you proposing to send it to them?”

“Certainly not.”

“What is it you want then? Money?”

“Good heavens, my dear chap, no. I’m on your side. I sympathize with you. Anyone who has the courage to defy the bourgeois code. I’d like to make it up to you for what you’ve suffered.”

“You would? How?”

“I shall think of a way.”

“If you have a proposition to make, go ahead.”

Masters picked up the clipping and replaced it in his pocket.

“A proposition? I must think of something.” He stood up. “To our next meeting, Mr. Lockston.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon. Don’t worry, Mr. Lockston. I’ll get in touch with you.”

Lockston watched him go, sitting there for a full half minute, motionless. Then, with a movement of his shoulders that seemed to shake off his thoughts, he calmly continued with his meal...

The research establishment where Lockston worked, although staffed mostly by civilian scientists, was run under military discipline. On his return Lockston showed his pass at the gate and entered the main building. He walked along the passages until he came to the administrative offices, but these were dark and empty.

He hesitated. He was not sure in his mind what he intended to do. He could either report the incident or wait for Masters to make his next move. Still undecided, Lockston entered the lounge. As usual at that time on a Saturday evening it was almost empty. He noticed that Lieutenant Roberts was at one of the tables writing a letter.

Lockston sat down and picked up a magazine, turning over the pages without looking at them. It had been in his mind to report the incident to the Director, but here was the security officer whose concern it really was. Lockston thought of Masters. The man had been so certain Lockston would not say anything for fear of losing his job.

Lockston threw down the magazine, got up, and stood beside the security officer.

“Good evening.”

Without looking up from his writing, Lieutenant Roberts replied, “Good evening.”

“Ran into a man in town this afternoon. Someone in your line of business, I think.”

“In my line? A security officer?”

“No. A spy.”

Lieutenant Roberts had suffered from jokes of this kind before. “Indeed,” he said coldly.

“Well, if he wasn’t a secret agent of some sort his conversation didn’t make sense.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. His name was Masters — or so he said. He never got right down to it, but I think he was softening me up.”

“Softening you up?”

“Yes,” said Lockston. “For blackmail.”

On the following morning Lieutenant Roberts took the whole story to the Director.

“This is exactly what I thought might happen, sir. This man, Masters — that won’t be his real name, of course — is obviously an enemy agent and he’s going about the affair in exactly the way we’d expect. That first meeting was a... well, as Lockston described it, a kind of softening up. You notice the attempt to play up any resentment the victim might feel towards society and at the same time, combined with this, the veiled threat of exposure. But nothing direct — no demands of any kind. The victim is left in a state of anxiety, wondering what’s going to happen, feeling afraid. Next time, Lockston will be asked for some specific piece of information. It’ll be something quite valueless, a line of experiment that’s been abandoned, perhaps, so that it’ll be no strain on his conscience to hand the information over. But then after that—”

“After that they’ll have him.” The Director nodded. “Or they would have. But Lockston came straight to you?”

“Yes, sir. You were right about him. A very curious man, difficult to make out. But not the sort of person you can easily frighten — no not easily at all.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“He volunteered the whole story, sir. Said he hadn’t mentioned it before — about his past, I mean — because he didn’t think it was any of our business. Besides, he said he wouldn’t have got the job if he had. He was quite open and frank about it.”

“Good.”

“Bigamy, sir! Isn’t that a rather curious crime for a scientist like Lockston?”

“Well, some of us are human too. Did he offer any explantation?”

“He said he was unlucky. He said he always happened to fall in love with the type that wanted to get married. Do you think he was joking, sir?”

“I don’t know. But he seems to have been very obliging. Now about his replacement,” the Director went on. “I’m in touch with a man who might be—”

“His replacement, sir? Lockston’s? I thought you understood. I’d like him to remain. In fact, it’s very important that he should remain because it’s through him we may hope to trap this man Masters. And not only him. He’s probably connected with a whole spy ring. We may be able to get the lot, top to bottom. Besides, Lockston has certainly proved his loyalty.”

“Yes, I suppose he has.”

“Then you’ll retain Lockston, sir?”

“I shall be glad to.”

“Thank you, sir.” The Lieutenant stood up. “You won’t mention this matter to anyone, please.”

“Not a soul,” said the Director.

“Good. I won’t do anything, of course, until Masters gets in contact with Lockston again. And then — well, you can leave it all to me.”

When he had gone the Director remained for a few moments in thought; then he picked up the telephone and having got through to the outside exchange, gave the operator a number.

“That you, Henry?” he said when he had been connected. “Thanks for helping me out. It worked fine. Don’t forget to send back that newspaper clipping so that I can return it to the file. You did very well. Our chap went straight to the security officer and reported you as an enemy agent.”

“That’s good,” said Henry. “I was only with him in the cafe for a few minutes, but I thought he would.”

“So did I,” said the Director. “But I had to make sure.”