Ranulph Fiennes - Killer Elite

The don’s face was grave. “You had this man tortured, then?”

Spike explained the means used by Hallett and Mason. He did not mention their names, since Mantell, who had laid the ground rules, stressed that only Spike must know Locals’ identities. Then, should any Local turn sour, he or she would be able to recognize Spike but none of the other committee members. No Local knew Spike’s real name, nor his address-only the number of his answering machine and a postbox number. Should Spike die, his trustees would send Bletchley and Macpherson sealed envelopes containing the contact details of the Locals.

“Never mind the lack of scars,” the don persisted. “To all intents and purposes we, the committee, have condoned the use of torture. Yes or no?”

“Hang on, mate.” It was August, with a reddish tinge to his cheeks. “Spike was tasked to get rid of this bastard, this child-killer, without injuring him. Well, he has and I say congratulations to Spike and his lads in the West Country. Blimey, what d’you expect, Don?” He hit the table with his folder. “You don’t crack a nut with a pair of scissors, do you?”

The don remained calm. “Nobody’s talking of scissors. But hook-hanging is a favorite with the world’s most unpleasant regimes. The Nazis used it and today it is popular throughout the Middle East. Just read through any Amnesty International report. The hook-hang can drive a person insane overnight. It is an inhumanity that I would not condone for my worst enemy.”

The fatter of the two twins muttered, “Your worst bloody enemy, Don, is probably your tax inspector. Your head’s in the sand, man. The heavy stuff is the only thing these druggies understand. If Spikey hadn’t scared him rigid, he’d not have turned a hair and he’d be latching himself back onto the Bristol kiddies as though nothing had ever happened.” He subsided, having made the longest speech any committee member remembered ever coming from either twin.

“We exist to deal with men of this ilk,” the don countered, “but not by trading violence for violence. We could, I am sure, have scared him off equally well with a heavy dose of fear. I’m not advocating cracking nuts with scissors, August, but I am recommending that we shatter glasses by emitting the right frequency. Ours should be a game of chess, of emotion and timing. First we obtain up-to-date, accurate information, then we strike by guile not force. That way we stay legal and we retain our decency.”

“Perhaps,” Bletchley suggested smoothly, “Spike could not obtain sufficient information and had to overreact as a result?” Macpherson noticed that Bletchley’s eyes were performing disconcerting saccades.

“My information was detailed and sufficient for our purposes,” Spike replied. “Our sources in Bristol are first-class. They confirmed that our target would not respond to verbal warnings and threats alone.”

“In that case,” Bletchley snapped, “should you not have come back to the committee at once? We could have looked at the operation again. Chosen a different path or even aborted.”

The chairman raised his arms in an abrupt gesture and spilled his coffee. Jane was at once on her feet to fetch paper from the nearby lavatory.

“You are raising the issue of our general policy, are you not?” Macpherson’s voice was cold. “Can we take it you have moved on from the specific subject of Bristol?”

Spike listened with interest. He made a point of not participating in the intermittent heated exchanges between committee members, but he never missed a nuance. Over the past three years he felt that Bletchley had become increasingly dogmatic. Only Macpherson, in Spike’s opinion, had the influence to prevent Bletchley from dampening the spirits of the committee to the point of emasculation.

Bletchley could normally count on the support of Mantell and Panny where a matter of law and order was concerned, but Macpherson, as a last resort, could fall back on the casting vote of the founder, absent but still the eminence grise.

Mantell had recruited and run the first few Locals in the early seventies, but then an operation on his hips had partially failed. Spike was taken on at Mantell’s suggestion and became the only salaried member of the team. Macpherson alone knew the identity of the sponsor who provided Spike’s pay. Spike had grown to dislike Mantell and his rigid toeing of the line laid down by Bletchley. As far as Spike was concerned, strict adherence to the law could and often did hamper their efficiency. It could also endanger his Locals. That they should never carry firearms, even if as individuals they possessed licenses, was a major bugbear and one that Spike rigidly, if unwillingly, enforced. Even the least important of his operations was always recorded and, after discussion by the committee, filed and logged at Jane’s home.

Bletchley was not to be diverted by Macpherson on this occasion. Bristol should never have happened. “The ethics of the committee and the disgraceful goings-on in Bristol are inextricably entwined,” he growled at the meeting in general and Macpherson in particular. “We have enough high-level contacts between us to manipulate events of this nature. A word in the ear of the Bristol constabulary would probably have been every bit as effective.” He turned to Spike. “Was any approach made to the police?”

The committee, according to Bletchley, were so blessed with prestigious acquaintances that they could steamroller their way almost anywhere by a series of strategic string pulls. To him all criminals could be outwitted by cunning, by disinformation and checkmates. The right pressure at the right time could achieve the committee’s every aim.

Spike knew that this had been the original concept of the founder and of Macpherson too, but unlike Bletchley and his disciples, they had adapted to the demands of reality when the concept proved largely a pipe dream.

“No. We did not tip off the police,” Spike replied. “You may remember that my report last October made it clear that the police knew our target was involved in drugs long before we became involved. But they had nothing at all to hang on him, so they were powerless to move against him.”

“Chairman.” Macpherson sounded irritated. He was a man of action and could not stand time wasted in dithering. “This matter comes down yet again to the simple question of whether we as a committee are prepared to be flexible and move with the times. Of course, I do not mean we should lower our basic moral tenets to those of the unpleasant people we attempt to frustrate. But we should look to the likes of Churchill and Kennedy, both leaders of democracy who clearly believed that some ends justify some means. The nastiness that can threaten our ex-SAS people is becoming more varied and our enemies are more sophisticated at finding loopholes in the law. If and where the police cannot provide adequate protection, we have to try to find an appropriate way to do so.”

There was silence but for the strains of a bagpipe lesson mingled with the muted screams of Hill House School children playing football on the grass outside.

Macpherson spoke again. “In the last war our best Special Forces leaders were those who studied Lenin, whose saying included ‘the need for “all-sidedness” is a safeguard against rigidity.’ And Chairman Mao echoed this theme with ‘We must learn to see the reverse side of things. In given conditions a bad thing can lead to good results.’ This Committee will get nowhere if we remain hidebound by rules we ourselves set nearly a decade ago.”

For thirty minutes the matter of Bristol was thrashed out. Bletchley’s final recommendation did not include censure of the methods used. He merely suggested a periodic check to ensure the target did not return to Bristol and that the time was ripe to notify their friend in Chippenham that his daughter’s killer had been hounded from the city and would trouble no more youngsters there in the future.