The Fourth Cart Page 11

  Chapter Eleven

  Brigadier Bernard Armstrong’s skills at intelligence gathering had first come to light whilst serving in the British Army as a young officer during the Malayan Emergency. Although it had been many a year since he’d been anywhere near a jungle, his skills were nevertheless honed to perfection and as sharp as ever. As the clock on the wall outside the Home Secretary’s office struck the appointed hour of four o’clock, he rose from a chair on which he’d been waiting, knocked on the door and entered with the confident stride of a man half his age.

  ‘Brigadier Armstrong,’ Rees Smith said cordially. ‘Thank you so much for coming over.’ He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. ‘Do please sit down.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Brigadier Armstrong replied. He eased his slender frame into a leather chair, returned a courteous smile and waited patiently, though slightly uncomfortably, for the Home Secretary to finish the task of sizing him up.

  The door behind him opened and an assistant breezed in bearing a tray of refreshments.

  ‘Coffee, Brigadier?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That would be most kind.’ Brigadier Armstrong helped himself to a cup off the tray and sat in a contemplative mood, stirring in a teaspoon of sugar. He eyed the Home Secretary surreptitiously, already disliking the man for the pompous way he was resting his hands against his mouth as if in prayer.

  ‘I have a problem, Brigadier.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘What is your brief? In relation to me, that is.’

  ‘I am at your service, sir.’

  ‘Who do you report to?’

  ‘My department is autonomous. However, you, as Home Secretary, are the head of that department. Notional head that is.’

  ‘I see,’ the Home Secretary replied. He fell silent for a couple of seconds, apparently chewing his lip. ‘So you wouldn't have to report anything you did for me to anyone else?’

  ‘No, sir. Not unless I thought it was in the national interest, that is.’

  ‘And in that situation, who would you report to?’

  ‘The Prime Minister, probably. Maybe MI5. It would depend on the circumstances, really.’

  ‘And if you thought something shouldn't be reported?’

  Brigadier Armstrong frowned. ‘Then it wouldn't get reported, would it, sir.’

  ‘But would it nevertheless get documented?’

  Brigadier Armstrong prickled in discomfort as he observed the Home Secretary’s eyebrows rising. ‘Most of my department’s activities result in paperwork, of one sort or another. It’s unavoidable these days. But once filed, our records are kept secure. In a vault, deep underground.’

  ‘Who could gain access to your records?’

  ‘I am the only one with authorized access codes to the vault, sir. And in the event of my unexpected demise, I imagine it would take the Prime Minister's personal presence to get it open.’

  Rees Smith’s eyebrows rose again. ‘Not even your secretary can gain access?’

  ‘Certainly not, sir!’

  ‘No documents can be leaked then, once a case is closed?’

  ‘If a leak of a classified document occurred, then technically it could only have originated from me. And I am quite happy with the security arrangements in place for me to assume that responsibility.’

  ‘Very well, Brigadier,’ said the Home Secretary breaking into a false smile. ‘Now then, there is a very serious assignment I want you to take on.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘I want you to report direct to me. No intermediaries, you understand?’

  ‘Of course not, sir.’

  ‘I want no one else in your department to know that I requested this assignment.’

  ‘That goes without saying, sir.’

  ‘And I want no written records to be kept.’

  Brigadier Armstrong paused a moment to wipe away a drop of coffee from the corner of his mouth. ‘That would be very difficult, sir. I do not possess a photographic memory. I would like full and proper information to hand when I report to you.’

  Rees Smith returned a curt smile. ‘No reports to be retained, then. Everything to be destroyed once the case is closed?’

  ‘That would be acceptable, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now then, I want you to keep an eye on three people. Firstly, Nick Price, a one-time petty crook from the East End of London. He’s now a wealthy property developer and night club owner down in Brighton. You may well have heard of him. He’s occasionally featured in the tabloids. Journalists like to have the odd bash at him, probing the origins of his wealth, asking how come he manages to secure so many council contracts, that sort of thing.’

  Brigadier Armstrong’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘The name certainly rings a bell. A few years ago, didn’t his name go through clearance for party donations?’

  The Home Secretary nodded. ‘I believe he has indeed made substantial donations in the past.’

  ‘You have reason to challenge that clearance now?’

  The Home Secretary stared at a document on his desk for a full ten seconds before responding. ‘No. That’s not why I’ve asked you here. I’ve no reason to query the source of his funds.’

  ‘Very well. You said there are three people you want tagged?’

  ‘I did. The second person is Paul Mansell. I don’t know that much about him, except that he’s an associate of Nick Price.’

  ‘Does he have a criminal record?’

  ‘Minor offences as a teenager, I believe. Nick Price took him under his wing as a sixteen year old wayward lad.’ The Home Secretary passed a sheet of paper across his desk. ‘I’ve written a few salient facts down, including their addresses.’

  Brigadier Armstrong took the paper and cast his eyes down the sheet. ‘The third person is John Mansell? A relation I assume?’

  ‘Indeed. The older brother of Paul Mansell.’

  ‘No address though?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘And what exactly is this assignment?’

  ‘I want you to keep Nick Price under surveillance. I’m convinced he’s up to something, but I’m not sure what. And that goes for the Mansell brothers too.’

  ‘But you don’t know where John Mansell is?’

  ‘I imagine you’ll be led to him if you follow his young brother.’

  The Brigadier nodded. ‘You said this is one assignment. Are these three men working together?’

  ‘That’s my guess, although I have no proof. Of course, they may well be acting independently.’

  Brigadier Armstrong scratched the back of his neck. ‘And what in particular am I looking for?’

  Rees Smith fell silent for a few seconds before replying, ‘They might be perpetrators of a blackmail scam. They might also be murdering their victims.’

  ‘I see. It sounds like a case for the police, sir.’

  ‘It may, Brigadier. But I have no evidence. It would therefore be a waste of police resources.’

  Brigadier Armstrong bristled. ‘But not mine?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Brigadier. There have been two identical murders recently. The killer has left no trace of his presence. He is therefore smart. Far too smart for the police, I think. What I need is someone who is equally cunning, someone with an analytical mind who is not rendered incapable merely because of the absence of physical clues.’

  Brigadier Armstrong was shrewd enough to see beyond the flattery. ‘You want a future crime prevented, as opposed to a past crime solved?’

  The Home Secretary grinned. ‘That’s precisely what I’m after, Brigadier.’

  ‘And monitoring the movements of these three men may lead to the exposure of an intended crime?’

  ‘Spot on, Brigadier. I want to know their movements. I want to know where they go, who they telephone and who they meet.’

  ‘I understand, sir. However, if I do uncover a crime, what will be your instructions? With regard to these three men, that is?’

  ‘Nothing. Not
yet anyway. I want proof of their intention first.’

  ‘And if I find proof?’

  ‘I'll think about it then.’

  ‘I see, sir. Do you have any other information to give me?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘It would help to know why you think these men are engaging in blackmail and murder.’

  ‘Information from other sources, my dear Brigadier,’ Rees Smith replied with a smirk on his face. ‘Proven, reliable sources, I might add. Unfortunately, they have a right to their privacy.’

  Brigadier Armstrong nodded his acceptance. ‘So I just observe these men, tap their phones, read their post?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Rees Smith replied, his smirk broadening. ‘Just try to stay undetected.’

  ‘One last point, sir. You mentioned murder just now. What if we come across one or more of these men attempting to murder someone?’

  ‘I leave that situation to your own judgment, Brigadier.’

  ‘I see.’ Brigadier Armstrong tried to conceal his shock. ‘But if we intervene and apprehend the assailant, what would you . . .’

  ‘Brigadier,’ interrupted Rees Smith, ‘sometimes intervention just creates more problems. On the other hand, a lack of intervention can often bring about a most desired conclusion. You have total discretion and obviously my full support in any eventuality.’

  Brigadier Armstrong was incredulous. ‘Very well, sir. If those are your orders, then I shall leave you in peace.’ He pocketed the piece of paper and bade farewell to the Home Secretary. Outside on the street, as he opened his car door, he gave vent to his anger. ‘Bloody politicians!’ he cursed in the direction of his driver. ‘That man’s reputation is well deserved. He truly is one smug creep!’