Stephen Leather: Tango One

"So you have random sexual partners?"

Warren's lips tightened. It appeared that Latham was determined to keep testing him, but Warren couldn't fathom what was going on. The time for such questions had long passed: all the Met had to do was to say that his services weren't required. There was no need for such taunting, especially from a senior officer like Latham.

"I'm not sure that my sexual history is relevant, sir," said Warren.

"With respect."

"It might be if it left you open to blackmail," said Latham.

"Homosexuality isn't illegal, sir."

"I'm aware of that, Warren, but any deviation from the norm makes an officer vulnerable."

"Again, sir, I don't think that homosexuality is regarded as a deviation any more. These days it's seen as a lifestyle choice."

Latham nodded slowly.

"One that you're not ashamed of?"

"I'm not ashamed of being black and I'm not ashamed of being gay, sir.

So far as revealing my sexuality, I wasn't asked and I didn't tell. I certainly didn't lie."

"And your criminal record? How do you feel about that?"

"Do you mean am I ashamed of what I did?"

Latham didn't react to the question, clearly regarding it as rhetorical, and continued looking at Warren.

Warren shrugged.

"Of course I'm ashamed. I was stupid. I was undisciplined, I was running wild, I was just an angry teenager out looking for kicks who didn't know how close he was coming to ruining his whole life. I was lucky not to be sent down, and if it wasn't for the fact that I was assigned one of the few social workers who actually appeared to care about her work, I'd probably be behind bars right now and not sitting here in your office." Warren looked around the bare office.

"This office," he corrected himself.

"Wherever we are, I assume this isn't where you normally conduct your business. What's this about, sir? My criminal record's an open book, and I don't see that my being gay is a bar to me joining the Met."

Latham tapped his manicured nails silently on the desktop. The windows were double-glazed and sealed so no sound penetrated from the outside.

It was so quiet that Warren could hear his own breathing, slow and regular.

"What sort of criminal do you think you would have made, Warren?"

Latham said eventually.

"Back then? A very bad one. If I'd been any good at it, I wouldn't have been caught so often."

"And now?"

Warren raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Now?" he repeated.

"Suppose you hadn't been turned around by the altruistic social worker assigned to you. Suppose you'd continued along the road you'd started on. Petty crime. Stealing. Where do you think it would have led to?"

"Difficult to say, sir."

"Try."

Warren shrugged.

"Drugs, I guess. Dealing. That's what most crime comes down to these days. Everything from car break-ins to guns to prostitution, it's all drugs."

"And what sort of drug dealer do you think you'd make?"

Warren frowned. It wasn't a question he'd ever considered.

"Probably quite a good one."

"Because?"

"Because I'm not stupid any more. Because now I'm better educated than the average villain. I've a knowledge of criminal law and police procedure that most villains don't have. And to be quite honest, I consider I'm a hell of a lot smarter than most of the police officers I've come across."

"I don't suppose you were that blunt at your interviews," said Latham.

"I think we've moved beyond my being interviewed, sir. Whatever it is you want from me, it's not dependent on my being politically correct.

I'm not going to Hendon, am I?"

"Not today, no," said Latham, 'but this isn't about stopping you becoming a police officer, Warren, I can promise you that. You scored highly on all counts during the selection procedure, you're exactly the sort of material we want." Latham pulled on his right ear, then scratched the lobe.

"The question is, exactly how would you be able to serve us best?"

Warren's forehead creased into a frown, but he didn't say anything.

"You see, Warren, putting you in a uniform and having you walk a beat might make for good public relations, but realistically it's going to make precious little difference to the crime figures." Latham took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly.

"What we'd like, Warren, is for you to consider becoming an undercover agent for us. Deep undercover. So deep, in fact, that hardly anyone will know that you work for the Met."

Warren's eyes narrowed.

"You're asking me to pretend to be a criminal?"

Latham shook his head.

"No, I'm asking you to become a criminal. To cross the line."

"To be a grass?"

"No, you'll still be a police officer. A grass is a criminal who provides information on other criminals. You'll be a fully functioning police officer who will be keeping us informed of the activities of the criminals you come across."

"But I won't wear a uniform, I won't go to Hendon? No probationary period?"

"You'll never pound a beat. And the only time you'll go anywhere near a police station is if you get arrested. The number of people who'll know that you are a serving police officer will be counted on the fingers of one hand."

"For how long?"

"For as long as you can take it. Hopefully years. Ideally, you'll spend your whole career undercover."

Warren ran his hand over his black hair, closely cropped only two days earlier in anticipation of his new career.

"So I'd be a police officer, but undercover? I'd never be in uniform?"

"That would be the intention, yes."

"If I'm not going to Hendon, how would I be trained?"

"You wouldn't," said Latham.

"That's the whole point. We don't want you tainted."

Tainted?"

"At present undercover operatives are drawn from the ranks," said Latham.

"We spend years training them to be policemen, then we send them undercover and expect them to act like criminals. It's no wonder it doesn't work. Doesn't matter how long they grow their hair or how they try to blend, they're still policemen acting as criminals. We don't want you to put on an act, Warren. We want you to become a criminal.

You already have the perfect cover you have a criminal record. We want you to build on that."

"I can break the law? Is that what you're saying?"

For the first time Latham looked uncomfortable.

"That's not a conversation we should be having," he said, adjusting his cuffs.

"That'll come later with your handler. I'm here to ask you to take on this assignment. I have a high profile: you know that if you have my word that the Met is behind you one hundred per cent, then you're not going to be left hanging in the wind down the line, if that's not mixing too many metaphors."

"And if I refuse?"

Latham grimaced.

"As I've already said, you'll be an asset to the force. You can start at Hendon tomorrow, just one day late. I'm sure you'll have an exemplary career, but what I'm offering you is a chance to make a real difference."

Warren nodded.

"How much time do I have to think about it?"

Latham looked at the large clock on the wall.

"I'd like your decision now," said the Assistant Commissioner.

"If you have to talk yourself into the job, you're not the person that we're looking for."

"Can I just get one thing straight?" asked Tina, fidgeting with the small gold stud earring in her left ear.

"Am I joining the Met or not?"

"Not as a uniformed constable, no," said Assistant Commissioner Latham softly.

Tears pricked Tina's eyes, but she refused to allow herself to cry,

"It's not fair," she said, her lower lip trembling.

"You shouldn't have lied, Tina. Did you seriously believe we wouldn't find out?"

"It was a long time ago," said Tina, looking over the senior policeman's shoulder at the tower block opposite.