Ranulph Fiennes - Killer Elite

“Before I make further comment,” he said to Spike, “have you finished your report?”

Spike shook his head. “I believe the suspects intend to kill Major Marman. He served in Dhofar with the Sultan’s Armed Forces, as did the other two officers. The motive may lie in some knowledge possessed by all three targets. It may even have to do with revenge or blackmail. I ask that the committee sanction an immediate and close watch over Marman until such time as we have enough evidence of intent to murder or I am proved to be wrong.” Spike sat back and several people spoke at once.

As Bletchley was again gripped by a palsied shuddering, Bob Mantell became his mouthpiece.

“As the chairman noted and I repeat, ‘This has nothing to do with us.’ May I remind you all that my friends at the Yard looked very closely at the Kealy case. They found absolutely no evidence of foul play and the South Powys police have closed the matter for good. I must remind you further that a majority of this committee agreed at that time to have nothing further to do with the Dhofar Connection, as the don insisted on calling the two killings.”

Mantell paused, shifting his gammy hip before continuing on a new tack. “I also have to ask you… does this Marman have any link with our flock? Should we feel motivated in any way to protect him? What I am querying is: did he or did he not serve with an SAS unit?”

“Negative,” said Spike, “but he is our only link with the men who killed Kealy, and therefore our only chance of obtaining justice for the killing of an SAS officer.”

“With due respect to our Regular brethren,” Mantell countered, “we exist to look after living individuals with SAS histories and their families. The pursuit of justice for Kealy’s killers, though laudable, is not our concern. The Marman case is outside our terms of reference and purely a matter for the police.”

“We have been through all this before.” Macpherson’s voice was low and controlled, but Spike, who knew him better than the others did, could see that he was angry. “Since Mantell has engaged in repeating the rationale for inaction, let me remind old members, and suggest to our newer colleagues, that the police simply cannot act upon vague threats, with no known motivation, to non-VIP members of the public and by unidentified persons. Therefore, if we have good reason to believe Major Marman’s life is in danger, we should help him. No one else will. Major Kealy was a very brave SAS officer and I do believe we should extend our activities to putting his killers where they belong, should they again fall into our laps.”

“ ’Ere, ’ere,” shouted Graves, who had become very hard of hearing. “We can’t just let these greasy buggers slip through our ’ands.”

“May I speak, Mr. Chairman?” The more pallid and elongated of the two gray men looked up from behind rimless half spectacles and Bletchley mouthed an affirmative.

“The police commissioner, Sir Kenneth Newman, only last month gave official warning that he had instigated new moves to clamp down on what he called ‘private security organizations operating at the very frontiers of official tolerance.’ ”

“He was talking about the registered groups, not us,” Macpherson interrupted. “Our existence remains unknown to the commissioner.”

“Yes, but the burgeoning of semiclandestine security outfits is causing growing alarm to Special Branch. Blue-chip companies have begun to hire high-tech spies from these firms to check up on each other inside the UK. As the Cold War recedes, unethical home-based organizations will find themselves more and more under the official searchlight. Signs of this have already begun. The Home Office last year authorized significantly fewer phone taps and mail intercepts against left-wing subversive suspects and a correspondingly greater number against certain domestic elements worrisome to Special Branch.”

Mike Panny decided not to be outdone in the field of in-depth know-how. “I agree. These security mobs are now so numerous and their activities so questionable that a clampdown is inevitable. In London alone we now have the KMS ‘Keeny-Meenies,’ Alistair Morrison’s Defense Systems, Control Risks, Winguard, DSI, Saladin, Lawnwest, Cornhill Mangement, SCI, Paladin, Argen, Delta, and of course the grandmother of them all, active since 1967, Watchguard.” He waved an admonitory finger around the table. “Mark my words, although many of them take care to stay legit, not all can effectively leash their hounds. Scandals will result.”

Macpherson had recognized a growing tendency in some of the longer-serving committee members to fight shy of any course of action that might conceivably backfire on their personal reputations. This applied especially to Bletchley. Like Macpherson, he had become a senior player in the City with a string of prestigious nonexecutive directorships, various high-profile charity presidencies and, until he was recently curtailed by his strange indisposition, rode an exacting social merry-go-round with the highest in the land. It was apparent to Macpherson that Panny, the don, and Mantell were suffering on a lower plane from the same aversion to the sanctioning of any course of action by the Feather Men that carried a risk of publicity that might compromise their untarnished reputations. All had much to lose and little to gain, a very different situation from what had existed at the time of their induction to the committee all those years ago.

Only Spike, August and Jane remained largely unaltered by the passage of time, by changing circumstances and fashions, Macpherson thought. Maybe it was time for a spring cleaning. Even as the idea crossed his mind, it was discounted. The founder, a man of intense loyalty to old friends, would never sanction it. The founder was himself none too well these days, and Macpherson would not willingly approach him with contentious points unless there was no alternative.

The matter of Marman was thrashed out and put to the vote with an inconclusive result.

“On a decision which involves life or death, I exercise my right to request that we reconvene with the full committee tomorrow.” Macpherson made his move as soon as the tie vote was announced. He had been expecting it and had reluctantly made up his mind to bring out his only trump card.

The absent founder’s casting vote in favor of the Marman watch was implemented at the next meeting, a perfectly correct procedure, and the word went out immediately to John Smythe and five other Locals in the Southeast. Spike was taking no chances this time.

Meier’s technical brilliance was an undeniable money-earner for the Clinic. The agencies they used were aware, for instance, that he had designed a sleeper bomb of the type used to attack the Conservative Party Conference in Brighton in 1984. This he could preset to go off a year after he had planted it. With quartz chronometers, standard VCRs and long-delay batteries linked in tandem, he could place the bomb kit during the dismantlement by contractors of the grandstand of some annual royal event. Without any further action, he could be certain that the explosion would detonate a year later to within a minute of a preset time and date.

In Boston in 1974, Meier had spent three months planning a staged road accident by an ingenious “third-party” method that became known within the Clinic as the “Boston brakes” and which, after rehearsals had honed it to perfection, was aborted, much to Meier’s frustration. Now that he had the chance to resurrect the system, he was full of the joys of life.

“This is Jake, who has worked with Tadnams for four years. Though I say so myself, he is a genius with cars. He designs transmissions and is not put off by unethical improvisation. He is at home with what you”-Meier looked at de Villiers-“would describe as the Rube Goldberg factor, and our Welsh colleague might scornfully call Heath Robinson.”