Gavin Lyall - The Conduct of Major Maxim

"I agree he acted hastily -"

"He acted very deliberately and to a plan. The ammonia proves it."

"Let's say that he should have come to me first," George said in a heavy, measured tone, "and let me sort the whole thing out. I assume that your service would immediately have acknowledged responsibility?"

"Of course."

Liar, Agnes thought. But George had to accept it.

"Very well. But what do you want now? – for me to send him round to say sorry?"

"We'd certainly like him sent round, but to say a little more than sorry."

"Such as what?"

"We would like to know what connection he has or had with the target of the original surveillance."

Sir Bruce leant forward so that he could see past Agnes to George, but didn't say anything.

George said: "Major Maxim is still working to the Private Office."

"If he was working for the Private Office in South London on the afternoon in question I should be very surprised indeed. '

"Whereabouts in South London?"

"Rotherhithe."

Sladen was looking from George to Husband and back again, twitching his head from side to side like a tennis umpire. There was a ball being knocked back and forth, all right, but only Husband and, Agnes now realised, George knew what it was.

"Who is your target?" George asked.

Husband paused, cocked his head slightly and peered at George as if he were assessing his artistic value. "Are you quite certain you don't know?"

The room tensed, but George shrugged and let it go past, perhaps admitting that was a ball he couldn't reach.

Sladen waited nervously for somebody to say something, then asked tentatively: "Well… if we aren't to discoverwho, is it possible to find out something aboutwhy T'

Why so nervous? Agnes wondered, then suddenly realised. As a number two to the Cabinet Secretary, who was the most powerful of all civil servants, Sladen's career was almost in orbit. One final boost and he would be up among the true stars, all guidance systems go for a seat in the House of Lords upon retirement. But final-stage rockets had misfired before, and at a time when people were whispering about a change of Prime Minister and the shake-out that would bring, the very last thing Sladen must want was to be caught up in a brawl between Number 10, the Foreign Office, Defence and the secret services. That way lay nothing but the chairmanship of a minor merchant bank.

"I think Guy might fill in some of the background," Scott-Scobie agreed.

But then there was a knock on the door, the messenger unlocked it and stuck his head in, asking: "Is it all right for coffee now, sir?"

Sladen nodded, maybe a little relieved. "Since it would be now or never, yes, it's all right now." The meeting collapsed into muttering groups. The coffee lady, in a green nylon uniform, pushed in her trolley and began handing out ready-filled cups. Agnes got hers with the pale coffee already slopped over into the two sugar lumps and two hard little biscuits in the saucer. Luckily, she took neither sugar nor biscuits.

"May I have mineblack, please?" Sladen called. Sims wanted his black, too. The coffee lady sighed loudly.

Sir Bruce sipped, made a face, and whispered to Agnes: "And, I thought we suffered at Mo D. Have you any idea of what we're talking about?"

"Not a thing. We've heard nothing about this."

He grunted. "Dothey often set up surveillance operations in this country?"

"I didn't think so. My own service was under the impression that it had thehuntin'and shootin' rights in this country. It didn't seem too much to expect, whenthey have all the rest of the world." She was wearing a brave but sad little smile. Outnumbered three to one – if you counted swinging S-S as One Of Them-she might need all the allies available.

Sir Bruce made another Highland noise. "I never could get on with those people; they appear entirely obsessed with sex. They will not get it into their heads that what the military wants ismilitary information, not the phone number of some general's girlfriend. I don't believe there's a one of them could tell the difference between a T-J2 and a kiddie's tricycle. "

Agnes nodded sympathetically. As the coffee lady trundled out, the messenger poked his head in. "Shall I lock up now, sir, or wait until she's collected the cups?"

"Oh Good God!" Sladen almost lost his temper. "It doesn'tmatter about the cups. She can get them when we've finished, if we ever have the chance. Just leave usalone."

Husband whacked out his pipe in a big glass ashtray, making a sound like a gong, then walked around the Assistant Secretary to mutter into Sladen's ear. Agnes flashed a smile at Sims and leant across after it.

"Look – the next time you want to set up a surveillance in London, do remember that we're here tohelp. We have an awful lot of experience in these things, and we can do you quite a big show at very short notice. "

Sims smiled back. His teeth were very even and, of course, very clean. "Thank you, but I think we can do all right." He had a faint German accent.

"I'm talking about a dozen sets of wheels, thirty or forty bods. Not just two old men in a van."

Sims stayed impeccably grateful. "You are very kind, but I do assure you we can manage."

"You really are getting that section organised," Agnes said admiringly.

Scott-Scobie suddenly woke up from behind his Financial Times and asked: "What was that? What did you say?"

Agnes smiled at him. "Just a little liaising at the lower levels."

S-S stared suspiciously at Sims, who lit another cigarette.

Husband came back, also distributing suspicious looks, and sat down. Sladen tapped his papers together into a squared-off pile, spread them out again, and said: "Miss Algar, gentlemen, can we get back down the mineshaft? I believe Mr Husband was going to…?"

Agnes interrupted. "Could I sort out one little problem first? I gather that the Rotherhithe operation was a full-scale affair, lots of wheels, thirty or forty personnel. Can I assume that it was cleared through the Cabinet Office? Obviously one can check, but…"

Sladen's eyes searched for comfort. A few doors down from his own room sat a Co-ordinator of Intelligence whose task it was to try and keep MI6, 5 and the true military organisations from duplicating each other's efforts and spitting in each other's beer. His main control was money, since he turned the taps of the Secret Funds, but that was rather long-term. When relations grew particularly bad he became the child go-between in a household of warring parents: "Ask your father if it would break his heart to change channels so I can watch the news." By the unwritten laws of an unadmitted game, Sixshould never have sent a war-party into Five's tribal land without at least telling the Co-ordinator.

"Or perhaps," Agnes added, "they went through the Yard?"

Everybody knew they hadn't. Nobody told Scotland Yard anything they would mind seeing as next day's headlines.

Husband wriggled himself comfortable and reached for his pipe. "Dieter?" he said to Sims.

"I arranged for the surveillance," Sims said evenly. "It was done from my section and I am afraid I did not ask for sufficient permission. I am sorry."

The can is carried here, Agnes thought.

"I think Dieter's been a bit naughty, " Husband puffed, "but it was a direct follow-up to an incident abroad, so you might say it came under the doctrine of'hot pursuit'."

"But if my Director-General asks what happened to the agreement that no operation of anything approaching this scale was to be mounted in this country without our knowledge…?"

"You don'tknow what scale it was, but you can tell him Dieter says he's sorry. " Husband waved his pipe, making brief smoke trails.

George muttered: "Drop it. Leave it lay. "

Agnes stared at him, amazed. This was just the sort of thing – a secret service playing God – that usually had George registering 9 on the Richter Scale. But then it came to her just how much of George's power flowed from the Prime Minister in person. Now that the PM was on his Scottish sickbed, George was a near-flat battery, hoarding his last sparks for really crucial issues. Scott-Scobie's strength was that of the Foreign Office, faceless but continuous while PM's came and went like lantern slides.