passed back.
' I'll take three sugars, please.'
Three sugar cubes went into the cup. It was returned, then stirred vigorously. 'Thank you - it's the way my father always took it.'
'The recommendations wrap round, and protect, a considerable reputation.'
'That's for others to say . . . and I don't believe compliments, sincere or otherwise, ever contributed much.'
The CIO liked him. His office was temperature-controlled: a new system he'd had put in when the suite was refurbished - at expense - enabled him to be shirt-sleeved and comfortable. He thought it displayed eccentricity and character that the guest still wore the heavy tweed jacket and the buttoned waistcoat with its watch-chain. They were bright eyes facing him, a little rheumy with age, but they were hard, and when they were fastened on him he found them difficult to meet.
'You've read yourself in?'
'I've read as much as I can in two and a half days of a three-year investigation.'
'It's wounded us.'
'When a man like that walks it's always hurtful, particularly if you have to account for the expenditure.'
If the CIO had been looking to be rewarded with sympathy he would have been disappointed. He doubted this man was big on commiseration. It was hardness he wanted, and chilling coldness - and leadership. He pressed on. 'You are fifty-nine years old, facing retirement. You have done us the kindness of travelling south at short notice, personal inconvenience, and now I am asking you - it is a request to spend a few weeks, maybe a month, of your last year with us, to squat down here. A last tilt at Packer while the iron's still moderately warm, if you know what I mean. If it all goes cold then it might be years before I can justify the same level of resources to target him - a final throw. Will you?'
It was a plea for help. He was offering the best and most responsible job in the Service, and the most difficult. Short of getting down on bended bloody knee he could hardly have gilded that particular lily further. The guest pondered, took his time. It seemed an age. The CIO drummed carelessly at his desk top with a pencil. A frown had cut the man's forehead; his fingers were locked together and creaked as he opened and closed the palms of his hands. Then he sipped the tea, and made up his mind.
'My way, without let or hindrance.'
'Any way you want, within the law. I don't know how often you'll get back-up there . . . '
'They'll still be there when I've finished.'
The CIO imagined mountains and sea cliffs that were as remote and inhospitable as the eyes that were again locked on him. The file told him this dour man spent his weekends away on a peninsula up the north-west coast from Glasgow. He supposed, a flight of fancy, that the terrain and the seascape, harsh and without charity, had moulded the character of the man. The response was a challenge.
'It'll be a new team.'
'Agreed.'
'Chosen by me, from outside London, from outside the Custom House.'
'Agreed.' He started to beam his charm. 'But with one exception.'
'I'm not hearing you.'
He hadn't wanted to recruit an easy man to take over Sierra Quebec Golf. He wanted a man who was contrary, awkward and dogmatic, a man who bullied.
'A new team from outside London, chosen by you, is what you'll get - with one exception.'
'I'm not a negotiator.' The response, rasped back, was immediate.
'The record says, which is why you're here, that you don't compromise. The one exception - I think you should consider it - was described to me as "an arrogant shite". At least meet him.'
Joey Cann sat alone in the room, with the empty lockers, clean walls and blank computer screens, and waited. He did not know what to expect.
Chapter Four
His head rested on his hands in front of the screen. He heard the door open and the beat of heavy shoes on the floor. He felt the presence of the man behind him.
'Are you Joey Cann?'
'That's right.'
'The name's Douglas Gough - Dougie to friends, but slow to make them.'
He had
' I'll take three sugars, please.'
Three sugar cubes went into the cup. It was returned, then stirred vigorously. 'Thank you - it's the way my father always took it.'
'The recommendations wrap round, and protect, a considerable reputation.'
'That's for others to say . . . and I don't believe compliments, sincere or otherwise, ever contributed much.'
The CIO liked him. His office was temperature-controlled: a new system he'd had put in when the suite was refurbished - at expense - enabled him to be shirt-sleeved and comfortable. He thought it displayed eccentricity and character that the guest still wore the heavy tweed jacket and the buttoned waistcoat with its watch-chain. They were bright eyes facing him, a little rheumy with age, but they were hard, and when they were fastened on him he found them difficult to meet.
'You've read yourself in?'
'I've read as much as I can in two and a half days of a three-year investigation.'
'It's wounded us.'
'When a man like that walks it's always hurtful, particularly if you have to account for the expenditure.'
If the CIO had been looking to be rewarded with sympathy he would have been disappointed. He doubted this man was big on commiseration. It was hardness he wanted, and chilling coldness - and leadership. He pressed on. 'You are fifty-nine years old, facing retirement. You have done us the kindness of travelling south at short notice, personal inconvenience, and now I am asking you - it is a request to spend a few weeks, maybe a month, of your last year with us, to squat down here. A last tilt at Packer while the iron's still moderately warm, if you know what I mean. If it all goes cold then it might be years before I can justify the same level of resources to target him - a final throw. Will you?'
It was a plea for help. He was offering the best and most responsible job in the Service, and the most difficult. Short of getting down on bended bloody knee he could hardly have gilded that particular lily further. The guest pondered, took his time. It seemed an age. The CIO drummed carelessly at his desk top with a pencil. A frown had cut the man's forehead; his fingers were locked together and creaked as he opened and closed the palms of his hands. Then he sipped the tea, and made up his mind.
'My way, without let or hindrance.'
'Any way you want, within the law. I don't know how often you'll get back-up there . . . '
'They'll still be there when I've finished.'
The CIO imagined mountains and sea cliffs that were as remote and inhospitable as the eyes that were again locked on him. The file told him this dour man spent his weekends away on a peninsula up the north-west coast from Glasgow. He supposed, a flight of fancy, that the terrain and the seascape, harsh and without charity, had moulded the character of the man. The response was a challenge.
'It'll be a new team.'
'Agreed.'
'Chosen by me, from outside London, from outside the Custom House.'
'Agreed.' He started to beam his charm. 'But with one exception.'
'I'm not hearing you.'
He hadn't wanted to recruit an easy man to take over Sierra Quebec Golf. He wanted a man who was contrary, awkward and dogmatic, a man who bullied.
'A new team from outside London, chosen by you, is what you'll get - with one exception.'
'I'm not a negotiator.' The response, rasped back, was immediate.
'The record says, which is why you're here, that you don't compromise. The one exception - I think you should consider it - was described to me as "an arrogant shite". At least meet him.'
Joey Cann sat alone in the room, with the empty lockers, clean walls and blank computer screens, and waited. He did not know what to expect.
Chapter Four
His head rested on his hands in front of the screen. He heard the door open and the beat of heavy shoes on the floor. He felt the presence of the man behind him.
'Are you Joey Cann?'
'That's right.'
'The name's Douglas Gough - Dougie to friends, but slow to make them.'
He had
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