obscure reasons promoted Cowgill’s reserve towards Passy’s Bureau Central de Renseignements et d’Action, the Gaullist intelligence organization. But when the political situation burst in our faces, when Darlan and Giraud became friends, not enemies, Cowgill passionately embraced a certain Commandant Paillole, a Vichy counter-espionage officer. In fact, Paillole proved to be a most attractive character, and his anti-Axis feeling was beyond reproach. Yet I could never understand what good intelligence purpose was served by the mountain of work involved in Cowgill’s self-imposed commitment to defend Paillole against all comers. It was probably just that he could not adopt any attitude falling short of total involvement. What came of it all in the end, I do not know. Before the issue was resolved, if it ever was, I was immersed in the problems of the Italian campaign, and the Paillole Affair reduced itself to its proper parochial level.
The fact that in the year 1942–3 Cowgill had enlarged my field of responsibility to include first North Africa, and then Italy, suggested to me that I was beginning to make a career in the secret service. This was confirmed shortly after our move to London. Until then, Cowgill had delegated his work, during his rare absences on leave or duty, to his deputy, Ferguson. Ferguson had also come to us from the Indian police, though at one or two removes, and had impressed chiefly by his terror of taking decisions. It was time for Cowgill to pay an official visit to the United States, where he proposed to spend two or three weeks. On the eve of his departure, hecirculated a minute to all officers in Section V. It informed them that during his absence, Ferguson would act as deputy in administrative matters, myself in the same capacity in all intelligence matters. This was the first formal intimation that I was on the ladder for promotion. Poor Cowgill!
V. O N THE U P AND U P
A shrewd MI5 officer once minuted a paper: “This case is of the highest possible importance and must therefore be handled on the lowest possible level.” During the two or three weeks of Cowgill’s absence in the United States, when I sat in his chair, I had good cause to reflect on that dictum. It was not an auspicious introduction to the higher levels. Most of the routine work was relatively simple. The other heads of sub-sections seemed well on top of their intelligence problems, and required little guidance from me. But when I turned to Cowgill’s own work, I ran straight into a horrible muddle, which proved an object lesson on the malign influence of office politics on intelligence. It was a foretaste of headaches to come, and is therefore worth notice in some detail.
Some weeks before his departure, Cowgill had summoned a special meeting of his sub-section heads. He informed us that he was working on a case in conjunction with Claude Dansey. The case was of great potential importance, with such marked political overtones that he proposed to go on handling it in person. But he thought that we should know the general outline, in case our own work threw up anything which might have a bearing on it. Theoutline given us by Cowgill was exceedingly blurred. He was obviously tired and rambled on without making much sense. It appeared that some hostile service was preparing, or had prepared, a gigantic plant. The nature and purpose of the plant was obscure. “My own view,” Cowgill concluded with a sudden flash of life, “is that it has something to do with the Arabs. Whenever I look at this case, I see Arabs!” Richard Hannay was with us again.
In an hour or two I had forgotten all about the case, but Cowgill reminded me of it when briefing me immediately before his departure. From his private safe he produced a fat file, and handed it over. He asked me to go into it during his absence and “see what I made of it.” I was told that it would be advisable to keep in touch with Dansey, as he was taking a personal
The fact that in the year 1942–3 Cowgill had enlarged my field of responsibility to include first North Africa, and then Italy, suggested to me that I was beginning to make a career in the secret service. This was confirmed shortly after our move to London. Until then, Cowgill had delegated his work, during his rare absences on leave or duty, to his deputy, Ferguson. Ferguson had also come to us from the Indian police, though at one or two removes, and had impressed chiefly by his terror of taking decisions. It was time for Cowgill to pay an official visit to the United States, where he proposed to spend two or three weeks. On the eve of his departure, hecirculated a minute to all officers in Section V. It informed them that during his absence, Ferguson would act as deputy in administrative matters, myself in the same capacity in all intelligence matters. This was the first formal intimation that I was on the ladder for promotion. Poor Cowgill!
V. O N THE U P AND U P
A shrewd MI5 officer once minuted a paper: “This case is of the highest possible importance and must therefore be handled on the lowest possible level.” During the two or three weeks of Cowgill’s absence in the United States, when I sat in his chair, I had good cause to reflect on that dictum. It was not an auspicious introduction to the higher levels. Most of the routine work was relatively simple. The other heads of sub-sections seemed well on top of their intelligence problems, and required little guidance from me. But when I turned to Cowgill’s own work, I ran straight into a horrible muddle, which proved an object lesson on the malign influence of office politics on intelligence. It was a foretaste of headaches to come, and is therefore worth notice in some detail.
Some weeks before his departure, Cowgill had summoned a special meeting of his sub-section heads. He informed us that he was working on a case in conjunction with Claude Dansey. The case was of great potential importance, with such marked political overtones that he proposed to go on handling it in person. But he thought that we should know the general outline, in case our own work threw up anything which might have a bearing on it. Theoutline given us by Cowgill was exceedingly blurred. He was obviously tired and rambled on without making much sense. It appeared that some hostile service was preparing, or had prepared, a gigantic plant. The nature and purpose of the plant was obscure. “My own view,” Cowgill concluded with a sudden flash of life, “is that it has something to do with the Arabs. Whenever I look at this case, I see Arabs!” Richard Hannay was with us again.
In an hour or two I had forgotten all about the case, but Cowgill reminded me of it when briefing me immediately before his departure. From his private safe he produced a fat file, and handed it over. He asked me to go into it during his absence and “see what I made of it.” I was told that it would be advisable to keep in touch with Dansey, as he was taking a personal
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