In another era, ‘Ballbuster’ would have been out in the field terrorising Eastern Bloc spies, but today hers was the task of ensuring that MI5 survived as a separate entity, despite a recent government report suggesting that all of the security services could be merged to save millions of pounds every year. She knew that bad publicity would give her enemies the ammunition they needed to close down an organisation which many in high places believed had become too powerful.
The DG’s office was fussy and feminine. Pictures of small children graced the wide expanse of desktop, and gifts from foreign counterparts were tastefully displayed. An Apple Mac Desktop with a TV sized screen stood at one corner. White and sleek, its workings were all enclosed in the monitor screen and so it needed no base unit. A matching wireless mouse and keyboard completed the IT picture.
There’s no way in the world that set up is in compliance with IT policy, Barry thought uselessly.
“OK, Mr Mitchinson.” The voice would have been unexpectedly light and attractive to anyone who had not heard it before. It did not match expectations. “We have a problem.”
The Director General stared at Barry and continued without referring to notes. “Chief Inspector Brabham from the Metropolitan Police has informed me that Gordon’s death looks to have been a suicide. He wrote a note on his computer using a keyboard which contained only his prints. No one went in or out of his office during the critical period. The man clearly felt that the ‘Chameleon’ would try to repay his attempted assassination of her by exposing him to the press and anyone else who would listen. He was also having regular sex with your wife and other unsuitable women. God only knows what he let slip in post coital pillow talk.
Now, most other occupants of this seat would simply buy you off with a promotion and apologise for one of our own destroying your marriage. But not me.”
Barry wasn’t merely shocked; he was stunned by the way events were unfolding.
“Mr Mitchinson, I am minded to let you go. You could talk to the press, but I would ask you to remember your obligations under the official secrets act. You could claim unfair dismissal, but we both know that you won’t do that. You have far too many skeletons in your own cupboard.” The woman removed her half moon spectacles and glared at Barry.
“So, please, don’t tempt me to go public with what I know.” She lifted the glasses and placed them back on her nose, halfway down so that she could look over them.
“Here is my one and only offer to you. You are suspended on full pay whilst the investigation into this suicide examines the Director’s relationship with your wife. You ensure you let your wife know you forgive her and that you wish to make a go of life as a married couple. Whether you want to or not is irrelevant to me. Now is not the time for a messy divorce citing a suicidal MI5 Director.
Finally, you find Gillian Davis and ensure that, through incentives, debriefing, rendition, or whatever it takes, she does not feel the need to unburden herself to the media. If she does, I guarantee you that you will lose your job, your wife, your home and everything you hold dear. You created the monster, you deal with the monster.
Report back to me in four weeks with your assignment fulfilled and you will find yourself in a plum appointment anywhere in the world you wish, as long as it is somewhere where you can’t do any harm. Perhaps Maureen Lassiter would be able to accompany you.”
With that single sentence Barry realised that, whilst the police might see a suicide, Monica Stewart – Smith suspected a murder. Luckily, the victim had been something of an embarrassment, and so the Director General was prepared to sacrifice justice for the continuation of her beloved MI5.
“I was wondering if I might take early retirement, actually, given the intolerable embarrassment I would inevitably face if I returned to work after the suspension.” Barry knew he was pushing his luck.
“Barry - may I call you Barry? From what I know of you, I believe you to be the kind of deceitful, incompetent low life we needed so badly in the cold war but whom we now need no more. Nonetheless, you complete your assignment and I guarantee that you will receive a pension that would make a banker blush.”
Barry smiled and Dame Monica looked down at a document on her desk.
“Now, get out of my office,” she snarled.
Chapter 3 5
Number 1, London Bridge, London. Wednesday, Noon.
It had been a busy morning and Dee was exhausted by her efforts to keep up with the young movie star, who seemed to have a Victorian work ethic. People may criticise these young stars and say that they are spoiled, or that they have an easy life, but Dee knew that Katie Norman worked hard, and as a result she spent her days racing from meeting to meeting.
“I simply cannot be in London for four days without visiting JJ,” she had announced after a dress fitting in the Savoy Hotel, where she had dropped her bags after the long flight, showered, tried on a borrowed dress for that evening and stuffed her face with croissants slathered with orange marmalade.
The driver pulled up at the rear entrance of Number 1, London Bridge. The London Dungeon was located opposite, and Katie looked at the waxwork experience with longing, before deciding she just did not have time to visit one of her favourite tourist venues. It wasn’t so much the exhibition that she remembered as much as the fact that it had been the last time they had enjoyed a day out as a family before her parents’ divorce. Her dad was now her part time adviser, whilst retaining his job as a University Lecturer, and her mum was busy with her new French husband and family. She didn’t really see enough of either of them or her adorable baby sister, Cosette. But that couldn’t concern her now.
The office building loomed over them as they entered at basement level and took the long escalator to ground level. As they stepped up the moving staircase people looked, glanced away and then looked again, just to confirm this was indeed Katie Norman, better known as Clara Campbell from the blockbuster film series.
A few seconds later Dee stood with Katie as a security man signed the two women in. He explained that he would have to announce them and obtain permission for their unscheduled visit. Katie smiled sweetly and said that she wanted it to be a surprise, and if he would let them in she would pose for a picture with him. A moment later the man was around the visitors’ side of the desk and Dee was taking a photo of Katie and her new friend on his mobile phone.
“Thank you so much, you have been very sweet,” Katie crooned as she pecked the man on the cheek. He almost melted back into his chair.
“Seventh floor, Upstream Tower,” the guard managed to say as he regained his composure. The two companions took the elevator in the Upstream Tower and left the dark marbled lobby behind.
***
JJ, as he was known to Katie, or more correctly J Jackson Bentley, was absorbed in his writing when they arrived at the door to his office. His gaze never lifted from the computer monitor. But he sensed a presence at the open door.
“What is it, Lucy?” he asked, assuming it was his PA at the door.
“I was wondering if you could invent another character for me. She’d have to be a bit older now, of course.”
His face lit up at the sound of Katie’s voice, and he stood up to collect her in his open arms as she raced across the office. Dee smiled and looked through the large picture window situated right behind the famous author. From that vantage point she could see the north bank of the Thames, St Paul’s, the Gherkin and the rest of the city. Off to the side Dee could see Tower Bridge and the Tower of London. It was an office view to die for, and one which was probably only affordable to a best-selling author.