“But shouldn’t have got even that far. There are procedures, Dame Ingrid. The moment he was approached, your boy should have escalated the matter upwards. He didn’t. That’s a severe lapse by anyone’s standards. And by the standards I expect to appertain while I am minister in charge, it’s a shortcoming that requires action.”
After several years of dealing with a minister who could be reduced to jelly by the very thought of taking action, it was salutary to be reminded that not all politicians covered arse first and made decisions afterwards. It was galling that it had to happen on her watch, though.
“This . . . tiger team,” she said. “Who, precisely, are we talking about?”
“Chap called Sylvester Monteith.” Judd had the air of one explaining that he’d had a little man from the village round to prune his hedge. “He runs an outfit called Black Arrow. Ridiculous, really. Still, goes with the territory, I suppose.”
“Black Arrow.”
“No reason it should have crossed your radar. Mostly corporate security, to date. You know the kind of thing, give the company firewalls a rattle, see what’s loose. All on home turf, mind. No foreign adventures.” Judd placed his cup and saucer on his left knee, which he’d crossed over his right. “Gave the Afghan shenanigans a wide berth, sensibly, if you want my opinion. Plenty of money in that line, of course, but the premiums are crippling.”
“How very distressing for all involved,” Tearney said. “And you’re telling me you hired this man?”
“Damn reasonable rate, too. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to more tea?”
“Yes. And I suppose this Sylvester Monteith is an old crony of yours.”
“He prefers Sly.”
“Which answers my question.”
“We both know how Westminster works, Ingrid. It’s not called a village for nothing. Obviously we’ve crossed paths in the past.”
“Like I said. A crony.”
“That’s not a useful term in my book. No successful business, no thriving corporation, can afford to ignore networking. It’s how things get done.”
“Eton?”
“I’m not going to play this game.”
“Twenty seconds after leaving this office, I’ll know his inside leg measurement.”
“Well then. Yes. As it happens.”
“Oxford?”
“No, actually.” He picked up his cup once more. “Well, yes, but St. Anne’s for Christ’s sake.”
“In the eyes of most people, that would still count.”
“That’s why we don’t let ‘most people’ take the important decisions.”
“An interesting slant on the democratic process.”
“Don’t pretend to be naïve. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Let’s stay on topic then, shall we? You decided, without consultation, to hire an old school chum to set an, ah,
“None at all. Consultation would have undermined the whole purpose. When was the last time you didn’t have the minutes of a closed-door meeting in your hands before the principals were out of the gates? The slightest sniff of this and you’d have gone to a war footing.”
She couldn’t fault his logic.
“Besides,” he said. “As you say, I have ministerial responsibility. Confirming the Service’s fitness for purpose is well within my remit. An obligation, even.”
“One minor lapse in protocol is hardly—”
“One minor lapse is more than enough, even if I agreed it was minor. But you had an unauthorised entry into Regent’s Park, which in anyone’s eyes is a serious breach of security.”
“By a member of the Service. Not by one of your mercenaries.”
“It remains an unauthorised entry. And the young man in question is hardly an agent in good standing, is he? From what I hear, he has his grandfather to thank for the fact that he wasn’t drummed out before he’d finished his training. He crashed King’s Cross, I gather. In rush hour. At the very least, that’s a demarcation issue. Buggering up the transport infrastructure is the mayor’s job.”
A line Dame Ingrid suspected he’d used before, or would again, with a bigger audience.
She said, “I’d take issue with his entry being unauthorised. It was approved by one of our Second Desks. Diana Taverner, I believe.”
“And having gained entry, he went walkabout. Let’s not split hairs, Ingrid. He was found attempting to access classified information. He should be in a cell. I think we could guarantee him ten years minimum.”
“And what about your merry band of friends? They ‘took’ an agent? Kidnapping carries a tariff too.”
He waved a hand as if shooing a wasp. “There’ll be a waiver. And it will be signed.”
“You’re very sure of that.”
He graced her with a bland smile.
