Amber Nine by Gardner John

Author:Gardner, John [Gardner, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2014-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

*

The Chief’s Silver Shadow turned into the Mall. The rain had stopped just before midnight, leaving the road a wide grey mirror streaked with irregular splurges of yellow from the street lamps. The Chief of the Department of Special Security had been in many tight corners during his tempestuous life. If it was not for the Official Secrets Act he might have written a remarkable autobiography. In one of his more egotistical moments he had even drafted a first chapter and title—From the High Seas to High Places. The chapter began: ‘I was born a child of fortune ...’

Now, the Chief tried to look reality steadily in the eyes. It was bad enough in the Navy, but the responsibilities of Security were beginning to take their toll on his leather mind and body. At this particular moment, surrounded by all the smooth luxury of a Rolls Royce, he felt undeniably dodgy. It was difficult to recall a time when he had felt so dodgy. Perhaps during the Russian convoys. Or maybe that night at the Savoy when his wife telephoned and the soubrette (previously fourth on the bill at Collins Music Hall) had answered. ‘Charmin’ girl,’ thought the Chief. ‘Delightful way of ...’ He pulled his reluctant mind back to matters in hand. It was late, and the Director of Supreme Control had been more than acid over the telephone.

‘Chief of Special Security?’ The unmistakable gravelled, gruff voice through the earpiece—the instrument clutched for on the verge of sleep.

‘Yes.’ The Chief was not fully awake.

‘DSC. I’m calling an immediate conference—all Chiefs of Departments.’

The Chief looked at his watch. ‘At this time of ...?’

‘Immediate.’ The line went dead, as though the DSC had exploded in a little shower of irritability.

A sudden conference of Chiefs of Departments was as extraordinary as a Beatles concert in the Wigmore Hall. There were, of course, the biannual get-togethers in Dorset; and Departmental heads expected to be called upon from time to time. But a crash meeting like this was unnerving: boding shake-ups, Royal Commissions, talk of mismanagement of duties—public funds even. It was all very disturbing, and could only mean one thing. Somewhere, someone had blundered horribly; and the Chief knew that events during the previous day pointed to a rapid rise in clanger-dropping—some of it heading nastily near home. Really, he mused, this should not come as a surprise. Her Majesty’s Security Service—like all military and government departments—was an unwieldly and disseminated organisation. Countless tightening projects failed to undermine the staunch conservative attitudes existing in the executive of what is now Britain’s front-line weapon in the cold war. To begin with, there is the major headache of an establishment administered partly by Service personnel and partly by members of the Civil Service, Home and Foreign Offices.

A dozen central departments—including MI5, MI6, Special Branch, Management and Support Intelligence and Special Security—had expanded over the years. Throwing off minor shoots. Creating new branches. For the Director of Supreme Control (the Chief often thought) the job of co-ordinating the whole complex must be a nightmare.

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