Tim Stevens - Jokerman

‘When was that, exactly?’ said Rossiter.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to clarify that point.’ Purkiss counted off on his fingers. ‘But let’s say he was undergoing medical treatment for three months. That’s probably an underestimate, given the apparent extent of his injuries, but we’ll say three months. He’s recruited by the Security Service in May 2005. He told me he worked for them for two years. Till May 2007, that would be. It doesn’t tally with when you say you hired him.’

‘It’s close, though’ said Rossiter. ‘When he told you two years, it might have been an estimate.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘But I take your point. And if he did come to work for me immediately after the Security Service work, it means the last job on his CV — the one in Saudi — was fake.’

Purkiss drew a long breath, released it through his nose. He sifted through the information, trying to find something of use.

‘Why would Arkwright have mentioned you with his dying breath?’ he asked.

‘I’ve been wondering that myself,’ Rossiter said, sounding genuinely intrigued. ‘He obviously wanted you to speak to me, but it’s hard to fathom why.’

‘Did you ever have anything to do with Mohammed Al-Bayati?’

‘No. I hadn’t heard of him until you mentioned his name. I didn’t have a great deal of involvement in the Iraq arena.’

Purkiss ran through the sequence in his mind again. Al-Bayati gets killed. Arkwright, when confronted with Al-Bayati’s name, confesses to torturing him and dozens of others. After being shot, and presumably knowing he’s dying, Arkwright mentions the name of Rossiter, a man he was hired by only after doing the torture work for the Security Service.

It didn’t add up.

Purkiss transferred his gaze to Rossiter across the table.

‘You haven’t told me why you’re interested in this, by the way.’

‘Because it’s a puzzle, and I always like those,’ Rossiter said.

Purkiss shook his head. ‘That’s not the only reason.’

‘No. It isn’t.’ Once more, the cold blaze behind the eyes. ‘The mention of Sir Guy Strang is what got me.’

Purkiss waited.

‘Strang represents everything that’s wrong with the Security Service.’

‘How would you know?’ said Purkiss. ‘You were SIS. You had nothing to do with them.’

Rossiter smiled faintly. ‘Not wanting to boast, John, but an SIS operative of my seniority starts to get roped into interdepartmental liaison more and more. Particularly since the start of the new terror threat, Five and Six have been forging closer links, even as they’ve come to detest one another increasingly. I’ve seen the workings of the Security Service up close.’

‘So what’s wrong with Sir Guy?’

‘Strang is, on the surface, a Churchillian figure. A big, bluff, no-nonsense ox of a man who enjoys a drink and a cigar and has little time for the oily corporatism and middle-management mentality which seems to be suffusing both our services at the moment. He’s a clichéd hate figure, a privileged white middle-class male with High Tory political views and no sensitive feminine side whatsoever.

‘The immense irony is, he’s exactly the same as the careerists and opportunists he affects to despise. He’s all image. All style and no substance. His image is a rebellious, snook-cocking one… but it’s an image, ultimately, and that’s all it is. He’s not serious about the job. He has no principles. He’s easily led. And at a time when the head of Britain’s Security Service cannot afford to be weak, or even show weakness… he’s exactly the wrong person for the job.’

‘It sounds as though he was decisive enough, supervising the torture of prisoners.’

Rossiter wagged his finger again. ‘Don’t confuse ambition with suitability , John. Plenty of ferociously ambitious people have clawed their way into jobs they were eminently unfit for. Look at most of the Cabinets of the last couple of decades. Strang was ruthless enough when he was bulldozing his way to the top job. But now that he’s there… he’s achieved his goal. All his efforts are now focused not on getting the job done, but on staying where he is.’

‘Have you ever met him?’ asked Purkiss.

‘I have, as a matter of fact. Three years ago, about six months before he was appointed as his service’s head. Some joint policy meeting or other. He was both a boor and a bore. I listened to his stupid quips and his pig-ignorant opinions and I thought, my God, we’re doomed .’ Rossiter tilted his head as though realising something for the first time. ‘In fact, that may have partly influenced my decision to do what I did in Tallinn. I came to understand that if Britain was destined to have a third-rate Security Service, it had better have an absolutely top-notch foreign intelligence agency.’

‘Really,’ said Purkiss. ‘I thought you told everyone the reason you tried to murder the Russian president was to avert a nuclear war.’

Rossiter tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Ultimately, yes. Nuclear destruction is the only issue that matters in the end. All else is fluff. And nobody’s willing to face up to the fact.’

Purkiss glanced where his watch should be, remembered he’d handed it in at the front. ‘We’re digressing.’

‘Indeed. But I just wanted to answer your question, as to why I’m cooperating with you. You’re unearthing evidence which could well bring Strang down. I’m all for that, in the interests of the body politic.’ Rossiter clapped his hands together. ‘So. Your man Morrow discovers, through his links with Al-Bayati, that Arkwright was a torturer who not only tortured Al-Bayati himself, but did so at the behest of Strang, the head of Five. He — ’

‘We don’t know that,’ said Purkiss.

‘What?’

‘We don’t know Morrow found out about Strang. He may have learned from Al-Bayati only that Arkwright was carrying out the torture on behalf of Five.’

‘Fair point. In either case, Morrow decides to blow the whistle. He requests a clandestine meeting with the Home Secretary. Strang finds out about the meeting — he could have done so in any number of ways, the simplest being that the Home Secretary told him — and arranges to have Morrow killed.’

‘That makes sense so far,’ said Purkiss. ‘But it doesn’t explain how the gunman got on to me, and tried to kill me at my home.’

‘You’re sure Mo Kasabian didn’t send him?’

‘Yes,’ said Purkiss. ‘There’s the evidence of the polygraph, and my own eyes. She was telling the truth.’

‘Then her security’s been breached,’ said Rossiter. ‘Somehow Strang’s found out that you’ve become involved.’

Purkiss sighed. ‘Rossiter, this is all stuff I’ve already figured out. Is there anything you can give me that might help?’

Rossiter thought for a moment. Then: ‘The security firm Arkwright said he was working for at the time I recruited him. The one in Saudi.’

‘What about it?’

‘It exists. I checked it when I hired Arkwright. Even got a reference for him. But if he was really doing Strang’s dirty work at the time, then the firm might be a front. A shell company, designed to provide cover for other activities.’

Purkiss considered it. ‘Yes. It’s a possibility.’

‘The firm’s called Scipio Rand Security. It’s based in Riyadh. I can’t recall its address or contact details but you should be able to find it without difficulty.’

‘All right.’ Purkiss couldn’t bring himself to say thanks.

He studied Rossiter. There really wasn’t anything more to ask, or say.

Purkiss stood. Rossiter gave it a second and then rose too.

Behind Purkiss, the door opened and he felt the warder’s presence.