Stephen Leather - Tango One

"A lifetime ago."

"And you didn't think that being a prostitute would preclude you from becoming a police officer?"

"I was fifteen!" she protested.

Latham sat back in his chair.

"Which doesn't actually make it any better, Tina. Does it?"

A lone tear trickled down Tina's cheek. She shook her head, angry with herself for the way she was behaving, but she'd been so looking forward to joining the Met. It was going to be a new start. A new life. Now it had been snatched away from her at the last minute. She groped for her handbag on the floor and fumbled for her cigarettes and disposable lighter.

"I think this is a non-smoking office," said Latham as she tapped out a cigarette and slipped it between her lips.

"Fuck you," she hissed, clicking the lighter.

"I need a fag." She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, then blew a plume of smoke at the ceiling.

"You knew that if your criminal record came to light, you'd be in trouble," said Latham quietly.

Tina glared at him.

"I don't have a criminal record," she spat.

"I was cautioned for soliciting. Twice. Under a different name. I wasn't even charged."

"You were a prostitute for more than a year, Tina," said Latham.

"You were known to Vice. You were known on the streets."

"I did what I did to survive. I did what I had to do."

"I understand that."

"Do you?" said Tina.

"I doubt it. Do you know what it's like to have to fend for yourself when you're still a kid? To have to leave home because your stepfather spends all his time trying to get into your knickers and your mum's so drunk she can't stop him even if she wants to? Do you know what's it like to arrive in London with nowhere to stay and a couple of quid in your pocket? Do you? I don't fucking think so. So don't sit there in your made-to-measure uniform with your shiny silver buttons and your pimp's fingernails and your pension and your little wife with her Volvo and her flower-arranging classes and tell me that you understand, because you don't."

Tina leaned forward.

"Don't think I haven't met your sort before, because I have. Squeaky clean on the outside, pillar of the fucking community, but what you really want is a blow job from an underage girl in the front seat of your car because your little wife hasn't had her mouth near your dick since England won the World Cup."

She took another long pull on her cigarette. Her hand was shaking and she blew smoke straight at Latham. He didn't react, just kept looking at her through the cloud of smoke.

Tina closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'd expect you to lash out, Tina," said Latham.

Tina opened her eyes again. She took another drag on her cigarette, this time taking care to blow the smoke away from the Assistant Commissioner.

"If I could turn the clock back, I would. But back then, I didn't have a choice," she said. Tina looked around the office, her eyes settling on the large clock on the wall, the red hand ticking away the seconds of her life.

"You had to bring me here to tell me this, yeah?" she said.

"You couldn't have written? Or phoned?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

She turned to look at him and fixed him with her dark green eyes.

"You wanted to see me squirm?"

Latham shook his head.

"It's not that, Tina."

"So what is it, then?"

"I've a proposition for you."

"I knew it!" Tina hissed.

"You're all the bloody same. I do it for you, you turn a blind eye to my past. Quid pro fucking quo."

Latham smiled sadly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm probably the most happily married man you've ever met. Just listen to what I have to say. Okay?"

Tina nodded. She looked around for an ashtray, but there wasn't one so she stubbed the cigarette out on the underside of the desk, grimacing apologetically.

"Okay," she said.

"Your past precludes you from joining the Metropolitan Police as a normal entrant," Latham continued.

"You can understand why. Suppose you had to arrest someone who knew you from your previous life? Suppose your past became public knowledge? Every case you'd ever worked on would be compromised. It wouldn't matter how good a police officer you were. All that would matter is that you used to be a prostitute. It would also leave you open to blackmail."

"I know," sighed Tina.

"I just hoped…" She left the sentence hanging.

"That it would remain a secret for ever?"

Tina nodded.

"Pretty naive, yeah?"

Latham smiled thinly.

"Why did you apply to join the police, Tina? Of all the jobs that you could have done."

"Like what? Serving in a shop? Waitressing?"

"There's nothing wrong with either of those jobs. You can't be afraid of hard work or you wouldn't have applied to join the Met. I've seen your CV, Tina. I've seen the jobs you've done to make a living and the courses you've taken to get the qualifications you never got at school."

Tina shrugged.

"Why the police?" Latham asked again.

"Why not the army? The civil service? Nursing?"

"Because I want to help people like me. People who were shat on when they were kids."

"So why didn't you become a social worker?"

"I want to make a difference. I want to help put away the bastards who break the rules. Who think it's okay to molest kids or steal from old ladies." Tina rubbed the back of her neck with both hands.

"Why all these questions? You've already said that I can't join the police."

"That's not what I said," said Latham.

"I said you couldn't join as a uniformed constable, but there are other opportunities available to you within the force."

"Washing up in the staff canteen?"

Latham gave her a frosty look.

"It's been obvious to us for some time that our undercover operations are being compromised more often than not. The reason for that is quite simple villains, the good ones, can always spot a police officer, no matter how good their cover. Police officers all undergo the same training, and pretty much have the same experiences on the job. It's that shared experience that binds them together, but it also shapes them, it gives them a standard way of behaving, common mannerisms. They become a type."

Tina nodded.

"We could always spot Vice on the streets," she said.

"Stuck out like sore thumbs." She grinned.

"Thumbs weren't the only things sticking out."

For a moment Tina thought that the Assistant Commissioner was going to accuse her of flippancy again, but he smiled and nodded.

"Exactly," he said.

"So what we want to do is to set up a unit of police officers who haven't been through the standard Hendon training. We need a special sort of undercover officer," said Latham.

"We need people who have enough strength of character to work virtually alone, people who have enough, how shall I describe it… life experience… to cope with whatever gets thrown at them, and we need them with a background that isn't manufactured. A background that will stand up to any scrutiny."

"Like a former prostitute?"

"While your background precludes you from serving as a regular officer, it's perfect for an undercover operative," said Latham.

"The very same contacts that would damage you as a regular officer will be a major advantage in your role under cover."

"Because no one would ever believe that the Met would hire a former prostitute?"

Latham nodded.

"I have to tell you, Tina, it won't be easy. Hardly anyone will know what you're doing; you won't be able to tell anyone, family or friends.

So far as anyone will know, you'll be on the wrong side of the tracks."

"What if anything went wrong?"

"You'd have back-up," said Latham, 'but that's down the line. What I need now is your commitment to join the unit. Then your handler will take over."