Andrew Williams - The Interrogator

Fleming nodded vigorously.

‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have him back?’

It was not a question Checkland was expected to answer.

‘There are going to be changes at Trent Park.’ There was a coldness in Godfrey’s manner that suggested the changes might involve the appointment of a new head of section. At least Checkland must have thought so because he flushed a deep shade of crimson.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the Director stared at each of them in turn like a hawk sizing up a meal. It was Winn who eventually spoke: ‘Lindsay has done well, sir, but he’s dangerous. He’s a rule-breaker who encourages others to do the same.’

Winn balanced his copy of the report on the edge of the desk: ‘I know Fleming has spoken to you about Mary Henderson. I’ve asked her to stand down.’

‘Yes.’

‘She was suited to the work, thoughtful and meticulous. It’s a pity.’

‘Yes.’

The Director pushed his chair away from the desk, then walked round it to the window. The first leaves of autumn were fluttering across Horse Guards.

‘Was it necessary?’

The officers at the desk exchanged glances. The Director turned to look at them: ‘Well?’

‘Lindsay was very tired when he wrote his report, sir, he may not have realised he’d let it slip,’ said Fleming.

‘Let’s not make excuses. It was a filthy thing to do,’ said Winn coolly. ‘But as you say, sir, he doesn’t have to be a decent human being to be of service.’

Fleming frowned: ‘You know, Rodger, I’m sure he’s got no idea what he’s done to Henderson.’

‘I think perhaps he does. He’s too clever. But tell him, to be sure. Didn’t you say he was waiting outside?’

‘Yes, you can tell him, Ian,’ Godfrey said sharply. ‘For God’s sake let’s move on from this.’

Lindsay had tired of the bustle and noise of the messengers’ room and was pacing and cursing under his breath in the corridor outside. It was after eleven o’clock and he had been there for more than an hour. Everyone else seemed to move with purpose but he had spent the time smoking and brooding on his exchange with Samuels. You had to draw a line somewhere so it was worrying that someone whose opinion he respected thought he had drawn it in the wrong place. And Mary would surely think the same. She had helped him in so many ways, with support and understanding and confidence and love and, yes, with information too. And he should have thanked her, should have told her how much he felt for her. He knew he had always taken more than he had given in their relationship and had been cavalier with her trust. He must find her and tell her so. When Fleming had finished with him he would arrange for a note to be delivered to the Tracking Room.

He was about to scribble something on a scrap of paper when he saw Winn lumbering awkwardly towards him, file under one arm, head bent in contemplation like a monk in a cloister garden. He did not seem to notice Lindsay and it looked as if he might pass without a word but, an arm’s length away from him and almost as an after thought, he turned and said: ‘I suppose I should congratulate you.’

But I don’t want you to, Lindsay thought, and the unspoken words seemed to hang in the air between them.

‘Thank you, sir.’

Winn stared at him for a moment, his eyes lost behind the reflection in his glasses, then he turned and walked on without another word. Mary. He knew it was Mary and the little knot of anxiety he had been trying to ignore tightened in his stomach. He was on the point of following Winn but footsteps were echoing along the corridor towards him: ‘Sorry to keep you.’

Fleming gave him a friendly slap on the arm: ‘Let’s stretch our legs, take some air, what do you say?’

The knot in Lindsay’s stomach tightened even more.

‘Is this something to do with Mary?’

Fleming took his arm: ‘Come on, let’s walk.’

It had rained heavily and yellow plane leaves were floating in the pools still forming in the gutters. A fitful sun was breaking through the grey, glinting in the fine spray thrown up by traffic sweeping up the Mall towards the Palace. They crossed Horse Guards and walked in uneasy silence until they reached the white stone memorial to those of the Household Division who had died in the Great War.

‘I never tire of this view,’ said Fleming, nodding towards the parade ground opposite, ‘even the bloody balloons can’t spoil it. Horse Guards, the Admiralty, Downing Street and Whitehall. Can you imagine that lot goose-stepping here? I’d do anything to make sure it never happens.’

He reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes: ‘Would you like to smoke one of these?’

Lindsay shook his head. Why was he taking so long to get to the point? A special torment. He watched as Fleming tried to protect his lighter flame from the stiff breeze. It was some time before he managed to light his cigarette and sensing Lindsay’s impatience he held out a hand as if to steady him: ‘You did well in the end. You took some chances and this time they were worth taking. But if you’d got it wrong the Director would have hung you out to dry. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mary took chances too. She got it wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, please,’ and Fleming gave a short cynical laugh. ‘Please don’t play the innocent. You know perfectly well that Mary told you we were reading the German Enigma ciphers. She also slipped you a piece of special intelligence that suggested at least one of our own codes was compromised. You’re not going to deny it, are you?’

The answer was evident in Lindsay’s face. It was one of the signs he never missed across a table from a prisoner. What was it American card players called it? ‘A tell.’ He felt hot with guilt.

‘You betrayed her in your report, but you know that, don’t you? And Winn has confronted her and she admitted it at once and told him she gave you help with our codes too. That little piece of paper?’

‘For God’s sake, what does it matter whether she helped me or not?’ Lindsay made no attempt to disguise his anger. This was madness. Both of them had taken risks, yes, but they were worth taking, Fleming had just said as much: ‘Mary broke the rules to help me and it was the right decision to take.’

‘The Director and Winn don’t agree,’ he said with a little shake of the head. ‘It was not information you needed to know. And she should have known better…’

‘She wasn’t handing it over to a spy…’

‘Mary knows how precious special intelligence is to us, to this…’ and Fleming gestured theatrically to the scene before them. ‘She was one of just a handful at the heart of our operations with access to the most secret intelligence. If we lose special intelligence we may lose the war at sea. Do you think Winn goes home and talks to his wife about it?’

‘She doesn’t work for Naval Intelligence.’

Fleming stepped forward to drop his cigarette in the gutter, then turned again to look at Lindsay: ‘I’m fond of Mary but her position was impossible. She couldn’t go back to the Tracking Room. She understood that perfectly.’ He spoke sharply and quickly, clearly anxious to bring the conversation to a close. ‘No one wants to take it further, thank God. Ah, you shake your head — people have been sent to prison for less.’ He glanced at his watch: ‘Look, I must be getting back.’

‘So what will happen to Mary, sir?’ Lindsay’s voice cracked a little.

‘She’s left the Division.’ He paused for a moment as if in two minds whether to say more. There was the distinctive little frown again: ‘You know she feels badly let down.’

‘Yes,’ said Lindsay flatly. ‘I expect she does.’