Gerald Seymour - Home Run

"Why?" Park asked.

"Goddammit, Keeper, wash your head out." Parrish snapped.

"Facts of life, young man," the ACIO said sharply. "And don't give me shit about it. The facts of life are that the only child of the Secretary of State for Defence dies from a heroin overdose. That Secretary of State has a good cry on the Home Secretary's shoulder. That Home Secretary pulls a load of rank and calls the shots. That's why… More questions?

No? Bill will give you all the details… Last point, I have laid down for you the priority, adhere to that priority. Thank you, gentlemen."

After the ACIO had left, Parrish sorted out the initial details of the surveillance that would be mounted from late that morning on a third floor council flat in Notting Hill Gate.

Because he had opened his mouth, because he had had too much to say, and because he never seemed to care what hours he worked, it was pretty well inevitable that Park would start the surveillance duty. He wasn't complaining. And he didn't ring Ann to tell her that he didn't know when he'd be home.

He did not ring her because he was not thinking of her. He was studying a photograph, covertly taken, and recent, of Leroy Winston Manvers. Just staring at the photograph and absorbing the features.

"… Our entire land is now engulfed with the bereavement, separation, death, destruction, homelessness, corruption and despair brought about by the clerics' anti-human rule and catastrophic war. The clerics have brought ruination on our people. Do you know, ladies, gentlemen, that because of the chronic economic situation more than 8,000 factories in Iran have had to shut. Our oil revenues were the envy of the world, but we now find that production is down by more than one half, because of the war… Perhaps you are less interested in the cold figures of economics, perhaps you are more interested in the fate of human beings. I tell you, nevertheless, that economics have brought poverty, unemployment and starvation to millions of our people. But I will tell you about the effect on human beings of this cruel war, fought with the cynicism of those clerics while they themselves are safe behind the lines. Do you know that to continue this thirst for blood the clerics now send children to that front line? Don't take my word, take the word of a newspaper. A newspaper wrote:

'Sometimes the children wrapped themselves in blankets, rolling themselves across the minefield, so that fragments of their bodies would not scatter so they could be gathered and taken behind the lines, to be raised over heads in coffins.'

Ladies and gentlemen, have you ever heard anything more obscene? That is the regime of the clerics, a regime of bank-ruptcy, a regime of blood, a regime of callousness… "

When he paused, when he mopped perspiration from his forehead, he was loudly applauded. It surprised him that so many had come to listen to him during a lunch time in the City of London. It saddened him that he did not see his brother in that audience. He had urged his brother at least marginally to involve himself in the political world of the exiles. He could not see his brother, he accepted that failure.

He sipped at a beaker of water.

At the back of the hall was an Iranian student, enrolled at a Bayswater college, and taking a detailed note of all that Jamil Shabro said in his vilification of the reign of clerics.

Jamil Shabro spoke on for twenty minutes. When finally he sat down he was warmly applauded, and his hand was pumped by well-wishers, and he was congratulated for his courage for speaking out against tyranny.

And that afternoon the student in the English language took his written notes to a mosque in West London in which hung a photograph portrait of the Imam, and upon production of his Islamic Republic of Iran passport was admitted to an inner office.

In the outer corridor to the Cabinet room, after the meeting had broken up, the Secretary of State for Defence made the opportunity for a private word in the Home Secretary's ear.

"I'm in Washington for a week, won't be back until the day before the funeral. I'm going home now, pick up my bag, then the airport.. . what can I tell Libby? I have to tell her something."

"It is a police investigation, George. They've got it going."

"What do I tell Libby?"

The Home Secretary said softly, "You can tell her that we have the pusher, that we have a good line into the dealer. You can tell her that the Yard, the National Drugs Intelligence Unit, and Regional Crime Squads are all involved. You may also tell her that one of Customs and Excise's rather useful heroin teams is watching developments in the hope that the dealer will lead us on towards the distributor. If one word of this got out, George, one word, I would be severely embarrassed… "

"That will be a great comfort to her… we cannot shake it off, the guilt. Why didn't we notice things at the start? It's as if the disintegration of a happy child just passed us by, Libby's taken it all fearfully… "

"I hope to have more positive news by the time you come back."

The conversation was ended. The Chancellor and Energy and Education were spilling from the Cabinet room, full of good humour at the latest Opinion Poll which gave government a six point lead, and in mid-term.

Another meeting finishing, another conference table in Whitehall left with empty cups and filled ashtrays, the weekly session of the Joint Intelligence Committee had broken. There had been no politicians present. The Committee was the purlieu of civil servants and permanent officials. Had a politician been present then the meeting would have been severely con-strained. Amongst these men there was a feeling that those who were reliant on the voters' whim were not altogether to be trusted with the nation's fortunes. Present had been the Directors General of the Secret Intelligence Service, the Security Service, Military Intelligence and Government Communications Headquarters, Foreign and Commonwealth officials, and in the chair had been a Deputy Under Secretary with the formal title of Co-ordinator of Intelligence and Security. This Committee decided what the politicians should see, what they should not.

The Co-ordinator had waved back into his chair the Director General from Century, a barely observable gesture to indicate that he should stay behind after the others had gone to their cars and their bodyguards.

"Between ourselves, and I didn't want to express this thought in front of the others, I had no wish to embarrass you, I think you've done rather well," the Co-ordinator beamed. "You were put in to do a job of work at Century, and I'd like to say that I reckon you're at grips with the problems there. From the Prime Minister downwards, we wanted that place shaken out of its complacency, and you are achieving that."

"It would be easier to manipulate a brick wall, but we're getting there," the Director General said grimly.

"It was time for fundamental changes in attitude and direction. We have agreed to get away from the dinosaur belief that the Cold War is still the focus. Agreed?"

"I'm shifting resources from the East European Desks and into all Mid-east areas. There's a measure of resistance…

Do you know Furniss?"

"Doesn't everybody know Mattie Furniss, good fellow."

The Director General was hunched over the table. "He's a very good man, and he's seeing the light."

"Iran is critical to our interests."

"That's why I've packed Mattie off down to the Gulf. I've told him what I want."

"Have you now… " The Co-ordinator rolled back in his chair. "You brought some good stuff to the meeting. Is that Mat tie's stuff?"

"He's running a new agent. Keeping the fellow tight under his wing." The Director General chuckled. "Typical of Mattie. I tell you what, I gave him a good kick up the arse, and he's been good as gold since. He's running a new agent, and he's gone down to the Gulf to sort out those that he has in place inside, and to breathe some fire into our watchers on the perimeter."