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  Her eyes widened. “But surely—”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that,” said Gaffney. “All the documentation’s been taken care of; you will have a copy of your marriage certificate, and it’ll be genuine. Once he’s arrested, Jack Armitage will be in prison on remand. I don’t know how long that will be for, but it will hit the Press, no matter what we do to try and stop it. That means that you’ll be bothered by them. When that happens, we shall, quite properly, put a uniformed man on the door, so to speak. Don’t let him – or anyone else in the job – know that you’re a police officer. One of the reasons I chose Battersea for you to live in, is that you’ve never served here, but that’s not foolproof. If anyone should recognize you, let me know immediately, and I’ll deal with it. Any questions so far?”

  She shook her head, slightly mystified, and smiled. “This all sounds a bit like James Bond, sir.”

  “That is one thing it is not. This is real, it’s boring, and it could go wrong. We might all be wasting our time, but for reasons which needn’t concern you, it is very important. All right, Mrs Armitage?”

  She laughed. “I suppose I’ll get used to that.”

  “You better had. It’s what you’ve been for two years now.”

  *

  “I want you to meet your wife,” said Gaffney. He had telephoned Armitage as soon as he had got the girl’s agreement to her part in the operation.

  Armitage carefully appraised the woman detective. “Well,” he said, “I take it all back.”

  “This is Marilyn Armitage, nee Lester. She’s a detective constable, and she has a degree in medieval history.”

  “Among other things,” said Armitage. “Hallo.”

  “How d’you do?” Remaining seated, Marilyn Lester extended a hand. Armitage was surprised how cool it was, and at the firmness of her grip.

  “You both know what this is about,” said Gaffney. “The operation will begin on Monday week. That’ll give you time to get moved in and settled. Arrangements have been made for your personal belongings to be collected and then put together before they arrive here on the same van as the furniture. Then it’ll look as though you’ve both just arrived from somewhere else, if you follow my drift.”

  Armitage and the girl both nodded. “What about expenses, sir?” she asked.

  Gaffney laughed. “That’s one dead giveaway with a copper – they always worry about expenses. All the bills will be paid, but don’t go mad. Remember that you’re an army officer’s wife, and this particular army officer is in debt up to his eyes.”

  “And he’s not joking,” said Armitage. “Incidentally, what about a belated honeymoon?”

  “That’s up to her,” said Gaffney casually. “As far as the Metropolitan Police is concerned, I think we could run to dinner for two.”

  *

  “I must say that this is one of the best things to have happened to me since I joined the army,” said Armitage. “Unbelievable.” He shook his head.

  “I’m glad you’re pleased,” said Marilyn, studying the menu.

  “Well it’s not every day that I’m detailed off to live with an attractive girl.”

  “Oh!” She looked up. “I thought you were talking about the free meal.”

  “My dear girl—”

  She closed the menu and laid it on the table. “Now then,” she said. “Can we get something quite clear from the outset? As far as I am concerned this whole thing is just another duty assignment. What we are doing requires us to appear to be man and wife. Appear to be! That does not include you sleeping with me, and it does not include you calling me ‘My dear girl’. I’ll settle for ‘darling’ – in public, as that seems to be what most husbands call their wives, and that’s what I shall call you, or ‘Jack’, or ‘love’, or whatever else comes to mind and seems appropriate. But don’t read anything into it. The nearest we’ll get to intimacy is what we’re doing right now – talking in whispers across the table in a not-very-good restaurant.”

  “Yes, ma’am darling,” said Armitage.

  Chapter Four

  “We have set the hare running, Sir Edward. It is now a case of sitting back and waiting.”

  “What form does your hare take, Mr Gaffney?” Sir Edward Griffin was clearly unhappy about the way things were going.

  “There is an army officer who, to use police parlance, is putting himself about in the Whitehall area. He has all the appropriate character defects that will make him an attractive proposition to the enemy, so it’s merely a question of waiting to see what happens next.”

  “Who is this army officer?”

  Gaffney shook his head slowly. “I’m not telling you, sir. For a very good reason – well two, really; at worst he could be put in jeopardy, at best the ploy wouldn’t work.”

  “But good God, Mr Gaffney, surely you don’t think that I shall tell anyone, do you?”

  “I have no idea, Sir Edward,” said Gaffney, blandly, “but I’m not prepared to take the chance. You, I am sure, would do exactly the same in my position…” Griffin nodded; Gaffney was quite right. “And in any event, you’ll find out soon enough if all goes according to plan.”

  “What do we do now, then?”

  “Nothing! We sit back and play a waiting game. I should know before you do if the opposition shows some interest – although with your impeccable sources, it might just be the other way round.” He half smiled. “Then, I presume, you will assign a team. That’s when you and I will talk again, because I shall want to know who has been deployed. And incidentally, I shall want as much background on each of them as you can provide. That’ll save my foot-soldiers a lot of unnecessary work.”

  Griffin nodded miserably. “I really don’t see why you can’t be more forthcoming, Mr Gaffney. I am the Director-General, after all.”

  “Indeed, Sir Edward, and you don’t know who your traitor is – otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Until your renegade is identified, we cannot afford to take any chances – any chances whatsoever, sir.”

  *

  “Let me get you a drink.”

  “Thanks.” Armitage pushed his glass across. “Scotch.”

  “I’m celebrating tonight.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yes, silly isn’t it?” The man held Armitage’s glass under the soda syphon and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Just a splash. What are you celebrating?”

  “Landed a damned good order today.” He shot a sideways glance at the soldier. “Computers, you know.”

  Armitage took a swig of his whisky and groaned. “Don’t talk to me about bloody computers,” he said. “I’m sick of ’em.”

  “I didn’t realize you were in computers. I thought you were a civil servant or something. Aren’t you over there?” He cocked a thumb in the direction of the Ministry of Defence building.

  “Yes – but it’s ‘or something’. I’m in the army, as a matter of fact.” He dropped his voice as though he had said too much. “But it’s not generally known, if you take my point?”

  “Secret’s safe with me, old boy. Seen you in here quite regularly – just assumed you were a pen-pusher. Name’s Peter Dickson – with a C and a K, not an X.” He extended a hand.

  “Jack Amiitage.”

  “Captain, I’d guess?”

  “Major.” It was true that Armitage had seen Dickson in the pub, most evenings after work, and they had exchanged greetings from time to time, once even had a brief conversation about the test match.

  “Look,” said Dickson, as if the thought had at that moment come to him, “I’ve just got a contract that’s worth thousands, and I’ve got no one to celebrate with. I’m thinking of going on to a night club, or something. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Armitage laughed. “There are two problems there,” he said. “One is the little lady at home, and the other is money. I can’t afford to go night-clubbing.” Inwardly, he laughed at the thought of anyone describing Marilyn Lester as “the little lady
”. She was slim, and of medium height, and indisputably very attractive, but “little lady” was not a term – with all that it implied – that anyone knowing her would have used.

  “Put your foot down,” said Dickson with a laugh. “Ring her up and tell her that war’s broken out – sounds better than working late at the office. And as far as money’s concerned – it’s on me. Well on the company really – they give me a very generous entertainment allowance. Not that I don’t earn it, of course.”

  Armitage appeared to waver. “I don’t know, I’d half promised – ach, to hell with it. Why not? Work too bloody hard as it is.”

  “Never know,” said Dickson, “We might even do a bit of business over dinner.”

  “I don’t buy the damned things,” said Armitage, his eyes narrowing. “Just use them.”

  “Finish your drink, and I’ll get a cab.”

  “Not before I’ve made a phone call.”

  Marilyn Lester was too much of a professional to respond to Armitage’s call other than in the way a put-out wife would have done, half complaining, half disbelieving, and telling him that his dinner would be in the oven. It wouldn’t, of course, because if Armitage’s bait had been taken he could well be out all night. But you could never tell who was listening.

  *

  They entered a discreet doorway and descended a flight of richly carpeted stairs.

  “It’s actually a gambling club,” said Dickson. “Not that I ever gamble – that’s a mug’s game.”

  “Mr Dickson, good to see you again, sir.” The head waiter hovered, clutching an armful of menus. “A drink first, sir?” He nodded deferentially at Armitage and led the way to the bar area.

  The service was impressive; the drinks waiter arrived the moment they sat down, and Dickson ordered a bottle of champagne without consulting Armitage.

  Dickson had taken only a sip of his wine when he stood up. “I thought a little female company wouldn’t go amiss,” he said as the head waiter conducted two young women towards their table. He kissed them both on the cheek and then turned to Armitage. “Jack, I’d like you to meet Tessa and Fiona.” Two more glasses were brought and they all sat down.

  Dickson had obviously arranged for the girls to join him before he had invited Armitage to dinner; he certainly hadn’t made any phone calls after they’d met in the pub. It was beginning to look promising, both from the professional point of view and, Armitage had to admit, from the social angle too. They were both good-looking girls, probably around thirty years old; Tessa was a statuesque brunette, and Fiona a willowy blonde.

  They dined in a softly lighted alcove in the corner of the restaurant, Dickson maintaining a sparkling conversation, and often stressing a point by holding one or other of the girls’ hands on the table. From time to time the conversation divided, so that Dickson was talking to Tessa, the brunette, with whom he obviously had a more intimate relationship, and Armitage found himself chatting to Fiona, clearly invited to be his partner.

  “Do you live in London?” It was the first of a long series of questions that Dickson was to ask during the course of the evening, and which were so cleverly woven into the general conversation that Armitage might have missed them, had it not been for Gaffney’s intensive briefing.

  “Battersea.”

  “Very nice.”

  “It’s not – but it’s handy for the office. Just hop on a bus – damned sight better than driving; parking’s a nightmare. What about you – d’you live in London?”

  “Yes – not far from here, as a matter of fact.”

  Both the girls refused brandy, but were content to drink more coffee while the men consumed theirs.

  “Peter tells me you’re in the army,” said Fiona.

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Armitage. He couldn’t remember Dickson having mentioned it but assumed that she had been told when the date was arranged. That was interesting: Dickson had professed not to know what Armitage did for a living until their meeting earlier in the evening, and yet he had arranged for these two girls to join them for dinner. It was another indication that, at last, Gaffney’s plan was beginning to work out.

  “I’ve had an idea,” said Dickson, glancing at his watch. “It’s only eleven o’clock – why don’t we jump into a cab and finish off the evening at my place – it’s not far.” He looked at Armitage and grinned. “You don’t want to go all the way back to Battersea, do you, Jack?”

  “Not a lot, no.”

  “Well, there you are then,” said Dickson, and winked broadly at the two girls.

  Armitage sensed the inevitability of the ploy before they reached the flat. It was palatial, but accorded with what Peter Dickson had told him about his income as a high-earning computer salesman.

  “Sit down, Jack.” Dickson waved a hand towards one of the two settees that faced each other across a glass-topped coffee table. Armitage collapsed onto the cushions, and was joined by Fiona, while Tessa sat opposite and waited for Dickson. It seemed to be a well-rehearsed routine.

  Dickson busied himself at the cocktail cabinet. “Why don’t you put some music on the stereo, Tessa?” he said. The brunette pouted and stood up, a little unsteadily; Armitage noticed that she knew exactly where the records were, and how to operate the stereo.

  *

  When Armitage opened his eyes, the sun was streaming through the curtains, but it was the movement of his blonde companion that had woken him. She sat now on the edge of the bed, her naked back towards him, groaning slightly and attempting to untangle her tights.

  “What time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock,” she said.

  “Christ!” said Armitage and quickly swung his legs out of the bed, a movement he instantly regretted. “I’m going to be late for work.”

  “I shouldn’t bother, lover,” said the girl, standing up and starting to get dressed. “Surely the army can do without you for one day.”

  Dickson, looking remarkably fresh, was sitting in the kitchenette, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. He laughed when Armitage appeared. “God Jack, you look awful,” he said.

  Armitage grunted and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Of the brunette, Tessa, there was no sign.

  *

  Two days later, Armitage sat in an armchair at the flat looking at the photographs. It had been earlier that evening that he had known for sure that he had attracted the right person in Peter Dickson. The computer salesman had appeared briefly in the pub, bought Armitage a drink, and handed him an envelope. “Put those in your briefcase,” he had said. “They might amuse you. We might even have a little chat about them some time.” Then he had downed his drink and left.

  They were certainly good, and secretly Armitage was quite proud of himself, although he was mildly irritated at not having detected the hidden cameras. He had glanced briefly around the bedroom at Dickson’s flat when Fiona had led him in there, but had been unable to spot anything. Still, he had to admit that hidden cameras weren’t meant to be seen, but he could see now, from the angle of the shots, that there were at least two installed in the room.

  It had been an enjoyble experience, the more so because it was official and on duty, so to speak. Fiona had told him that she and Tessa were friends of Dickson, and had been invited to join them for a celebration – an invitation which they had received at lunch-time. She had also said, as girls like her always say, that she didn’t make a habit of going to bed with strange men. Armitage had made the standard reply that there was nothing strange about him.

  “What have you got there?” asked Marilyn.

  Armitage debated whether he should show her the photographs, but decided that, as a police officer involved in the case, she was entitled to sec them.

  She studied them for longer than he thought was professionally necessary before handing them back. “Good-looking girl, that,” was all she said.

  “I think we may have scored,” said Armitage.

  “Well you certainly did.”

&n
bsp; *

  Dickson was obviously a professional; he didn’t mention the photographs at their next meeting, didn’t even mention the dinner that had culminated in Armitage bedding Fiona, but that event and the record of it hung there, between them – an unspoken threat.

  But he didn’t hesitate the following evening. “What did you think of the snaps, Jack?” He sipped at his drink and gazed at the range of bottles behind the bar.

  “Very good.” It amazed Armitage that Dickson was now going to try and use them as a lever. Had it not been a part of Gaffney’s elaborate plan, the attempt would not have got off the ground. Armitage was always mildly surprised that otherwise intelligent and worldly men should fall so easily to such a blackmail. Had he been a free agent and about to become the target for entrapment, he would have gone straight to see the brigadier and laid the photographs on his desk. That officer, he knew, would have called him all the names imaginable for being a fool. Then he would have picked up the phone to the Security Service and offered Armitage as bait. Which really, Armitage thought, was what was going to happen now.

  “It was just a little joke, of course, Jack. I’ve done it to a lot of my friends.”

  “Very amusing,” said Armitage. “You’ve got the negatives, I suppose?”

  Dickson nodded. “Yes,” he said. He knew what Armitage did, knew also that blatant womanising and drunkenness of the sort he had indulged in would cause sharply raised eyebrows among the ranks of the humorless – and occasionally hypocritical – vetting officers who had it in their power if not to ruin, certainly severely to curtail the career of an officer engaged in secret work. “As a matter of fact, Jack,” continued Dickson, moving away from the subject of the photographs, “I’ve been transferred up north – on to the development side.”