Ellis nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m not wired for sound, Patsy. I’m not recording this.’
‘It wouldn’t matter if you were, darling. You’ve signed the Official Secrets Act and a recording of this conversation wouldn’t be of any use to anyone.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, I know you. You’re upset, but you’re not stupid.’
‘Kinsella put his own life ahead of Carter’s. By not doing anything, he was responsible.’
‘Charlie, he stood up in court and pleaded guilty.’
‘Because he knew he’d be released immediately. Why are you defending him?’She shook her head in frustration. ‘When he decided to come back and go into Irish politics, I bet you thought your ship had come in.’
Ellis toyed with the stem of her glass.
‘Was that the plan,Patsy? To have your own man embedded in Sinn Fein? Your own agent at Stormont, a conduit to the inner sanctum?’
‘You’re not crying, are you, darling?’ asked Ellis.
Button blinked away the tears that were threatening to fill her eyes. She was absolutely not going to cry in front of Ellis. ‘I don’t think you realise how angry I am, Patsy,’ she said.
‘I do, and I’m sorry you’re angry but I’m not sorry for what I did. Noel Kinsella was gold. He gave us grade-A intel on the IRA leadership at a time when RUC informers were being found in country lanes with bags over their heads. And he could give us intel now on what’s going on in Sinn Fein. Can you imagine how valuable that would be?’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Button gulped some wine, then took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘We’re supposed to be the guardians of this society. We’re supposed to be defending our way of life against people who want us to live under a different regime. The Communists, the IRA, the Islamic fundamentalists. We’re supposed to have right on our side. If we were backing both sides in Northern Ireland, then what’s the point?’
‘That’s not what happened, Charlie. We took intel from some sources and fed intel to others. But the interests of our country always came first.’
‘Noel Kinsella was an IRA killer. Robbie Carter was helping to kill Republicans.’
‘And we were fighting on two fronts. The Loyalists on one hand, the IRA on the other.’
‘And now the killers on both sides are back on the streets. Like it never happened. Like those three thousand or so people weren’t murdered.’
‘That was the politicians. It was their call. It had nothing to do with our work.’
The manager came over. He was a young man in a shiny suit with slicked-back hair and a tuft of hair below his lower lip. ‘I’m sorry, madam, but you really can’t smoke in here,’ he said, in a nasal whine. ‘If you continue to smoke I shall have to ask you to leave.’
Button regarded him coldly. ‘Listen, you officious little prick, have you ever heard of SOCA, the Serious Organised Crime Agency? Well, I work for them.’ Button gestured at Ellis. ‘And she works for MI5. So if you want to send a plod over, feel free. I’ll explain to him why I need a cigarette, and then I’ll go out of my way to make your miserable little life a great deal more miserable than it already is.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Trust me, I can do it. Okay?’
The manager’s face reddened. He turned and walked away.
‘That was out of order, Charlie,’ said Ellis.
Button blew smoke at the ceiling. ‘I’ll tell you why I’m so angry, Patsy. I’ll tell you why I’m starting to question everything I’ve ever worked for. What’s the biggest threat we’re facing today? Islamic fundamentalists, right? Al-Qaeda infiltrators from overseas or home-grown terrorists. Everything from shoe bombs on planes to bio-hazards on our transport systems. We’re running around like those guys who keep spinning plates balanced. Except if one of our plates falls, people die. A lot of people.’
‘Charlie, I think you’ve had enough to drink, don’t you?’
Button pointed her cigarette at Ellis. ‘Don’t patronise me, Patsy. Don’t you dare patronise me.’
Ellis sat back in her chair, her hands flat on the table. ‘I think I’d better go.’
‘Here’s what’s getting me all riled up. Then, we were backing both sides against the middle. What if the powers-that-be are playing the same game now? What if one or more of those guys who went down the Tube with haversacks full of explosives was working for MI5? Or the ones that were planning to kidnap a Muslim soldier and behead him on the Internet. Or the London car bombs – were MI5 agents behind them? What if we’ve got agents in place among the Islamic fundamentalists and we’re letting them run, like we let Noel Kinsella and Robbie Carter run?’
‘That’s not how it works,’ said Ellis.
‘It’s how it used to work in Belfast, so why can’t it be happening now? And if you tell me it’s not, why should I believe you?’
‘I’m not saying we don’t have agents in the Muslim community. Of course we do.’
Button waved her cigarette in the air. ‘And what if there are other parallels? What if these fundamentalists we’re putting away, these bastards who want to kill and maim the citizens of this country, what if one day in the not-too-distant future our politicians decide to set them free? What if al-Qaeda sets up a political wing and our government agrees to release its people in return for them laying down their arms? What if we start setting murderers free again?’
Ellis shrugged.
‘Don’t you see, Patsy? Don’t you get it? Everything we’re doing now in this so-called War on Terror could be a lie. Smoke and mirrors.’
‘Now you really are sounding paranoid.’
‘Would you have said I was paranoid if I’d said twenty years ago that we had agents in the IRA and agents in the RUC and that they were killing each other?’
‘You’re trying to sum up a very difficult situation in a handy soundbite,’ said Ellis. ‘Life is more complex than that.’
‘Too complex for a tiny brain like mine, is that what you mean?’
‘You got a double first at Cambridge. This isn’t about your intellect,’ said Ellis.
‘So who was making those decisions back then?’ hissed Button. ‘And who’s making the decisions now? The Prime Minister? Of course not. The Home Secretary – with the Sunday Times Insight Team watching his every move? Doubtful. Who decided back then that Robbie Carter should be allowed to pass information to the paramilitaries? And was it the same person who said it was okay for Noel Kinsella to be part of an IRA assassination squad?’
‘Those decisions were taken at a salary grade much higher than mine,’ said Ellis.
‘Now who’s using handy soundbites?’ snapped Button. ‘Was it men in wood-panelled rooms, smoking cigars and spinning their webs? Thinking up their grubby little schemes, then nipping off to their Mayfair mistresses for a bit of S and M? Was it our bosses, Patsy? And if it was, are they playing the same games now?’
‘Enough, Charlie,’ said Ellis, coldly.
‘No,’ Button spat. ‘It’s not enough. You make it sound as if my work with SOCA is somehow inferior to the great game you’re playing, that I’m dabbling in the shallows while you’re taking on the big fish. Well, let me tell you, Patsy, at least I’m fighting real criminals. At least I’m upholding real laws. When I put a drug-dealer or a murderer behind bars I know I’m making the streets a bit safer, and that a few years down the line they’re not going to be released because of a change of heart on the part of our political masters.’
Ellis tried to take Button’s hand, but she jerked it back as if she’d been stung. ‘Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me.’
‘I’m going,’ said Ellis, standing up.
‘Good.’
‘I’ll put this down to the drink,’ said Ellis, ‘and the stress.’
‘Screw you,’ said Button. ‘Screw you and screw MI5. Screw the lot of you.’
Ellis opened her mouth to say something, but when she saw how intensely Button was glaring at her she shut it and left.
Graham Pickering opened the kitchen door and whistled for his dog. The Labrador barked from the bottom of the garden but made no move to come back to the house. ‘Poppy, get in here or you can sleep outside tonight!’ shouted Pickering. The dog’s nose was buried in the hedgerow, her tail swishing from side to side. ‘Damn you,’ muttered Pickering. ‘Come on, Poppy, let’s call it a night!’ he shouted.