not work.”
“Charlotte…” he protested, but the argument died before he could find words for it. What she was suggesting was extreme, but the breaking of trust in government was the beginning of anarchy. And it would not be the first time.
“Frighten people, make them angry,” she went on, “and they can be persuaded to do all kinds of things. If I were in danger and the police would not protect me, wouldn’t you do so yourself?”
“You don’t need to labor the point. I understand,” he said a little sharply. It was the thought he had been trying to reason away. “But all we have so far is one appalling act of violence. It is quite specific. Panic is the last thing we want…”
“I want you to be right,” she insisted. “Always right! I want you to have thought of everything. You have to. It takes only one lunatic with a vision and enough brains to put it into action, and we have twice the battle to fight than if we had seen it coming and acted in time.”
He knew that she meant it. She was fiercely protective in that reckless, wholehearted way only women can be. He put his hand over hers and closed it gently.
“I shall consider that very dangerous possibility,” he promised. “It is one of the many things we need to watch for. As you say, if you want to ruin a nation, begin by ruining their trust in the law. Then each man will take it into his own hands, and you have anarchy. Now I’m going to bed.” He rose to his feet and pulled her up gently also. “And so are you,” he added.
—
T HE NEXT DAY, P ITT mentioned to Stoker the possibility of a diversion created by a foreign group of some sort, but with English help.
“If they exist, they’re damn clever,” Stoker said unhappily, staring at the latest reports on Pitt’s desk.
“Could it be someone we would be very unlikely to suspect?” Pitt suggested. “That’s how we missed him?”
“Like who?” Stoker asked. “A member of Parliament? Or someone in the law, the judiciary?”
“Yes. Or one of us?” Pitt answered more quietly, as if even in here they could be overheard.
Stoker’s bony face went pale. “Yes, I suppose it could. That would mean we couldn’t trust our own reports. And if it’s one of them, then until we know who, it’s all of them. I’ve known these men for years, sir. I don’t believe that.”
“I know,” Pitt agreed. “And Tellman doesn’t believe it of the police. I can’t blame him. Perhaps the real damage would be suspicion itself?”
Stoker shivered. “Once we start turning on each other, that’s really the beginning of the end.”
“We’re not going to entertain that one,” Pitt said bluntly. “But I was thinking, on the way in this morning, if someone really intended to create chaos, and then take over, he would have to have a force of some size behind him. You can’t do that with half a dozen here and there.”
“The police?” Stoker’s eyebrows rose. “No. The odd one might be rotten, but they’re good men and they’d never take to anything like that. They’re part of the people. You’re wrong. Hell! You used to be one of them.” He was angry now.
“I wasn’t suspecting the police,” Pitt corrected him. “Anyway, the police generally have no weapons except truncheons. I’ve been thinking a bit more along the lines of a disaffected group from the army. Ednam used to be army, fifteen years ago.” He saw Stoker’s face tighten. “Thinking back on one or two incidents we got reports of—how about that bit of unpleasantness with General Breward? He’s junior, as generals go, only about forty-five, but pigheaded, much admired by his more bloody-minded juniors. Got a few inflated ideas of his own importance.”
Stoker had been a merchant seaman before joining Special Branch. He was used to authority, but he despised a leader who put his own men in jeopardy unnecessarily. Like most sailors, he had intense respect for the sea. He had the same respect for the terrain
“Charlotte…” he protested, but the argument died before he could find words for it. What she was suggesting was extreme, but the breaking of trust in government was the beginning of anarchy. And it would not be the first time.
“Frighten people, make them angry,” she went on, “and they can be persuaded to do all kinds of things. If I were in danger and the police would not protect me, wouldn’t you do so yourself?”
“You don’t need to labor the point. I understand,” he said a little sharply. It was the thought he had been trying to reason away. “But all we have so far is one appalling act of violence. It is quite specific. Panic is the last thing we want…”
“I want you to be right,” she insisted. “Always right! I want you to have thought of everything. You have to. It takes only one lunatic with a vision and enough brains to put it into action, and we have twice the battle to fight than if we had seen it coming and acted in time.”
He knew that she meant it. She was fiercely protective in that reckless, wholehearted way only women can be. He put his hand over hers and closed it gently.
“I shall consider that very dangerous possibility,” he promised. “It is one of the many things we need to watch for. As you say, if you want to ruin a nation, begin by ruining their trust in the law. Then each man will take it into his own hands, and you have anarchy. Now I’m going to bed.” He rose to his feet and pulled her up gently also. “And so are you,” he added.
—
T HE NEXT DAY, P ITT mentioned to Stoker the possibility of a diversion created by a foreign group of some sort, but with English help.
“If they exist, they’re damn clever,” Stoker said unhappily, staring at the latest reports on Pitt’s desk.
“Could it be someone we would be very unlikely to suspect?” Pitt suggested. “That’s how we missed him?”
“Like who?” Stoker asked. “A member of Parliament? Or someone in the law, the judiciary?”
“Yes. Or one of us?” Pitt answered more quietly, as if even in here they could be overheard.
Stoker’s bony face went pale. “Yes, I suppose it could. That would mean we couldn’t trust our own reports. And if it’s one of them, then until we know who, it’s all of them. I’ve known these men for years, sir. I don’t believe that.”
“I know,” Pitt agreed. “And Tellman doesn’t believe it of the police. I can’t blame him. Perhaps the real damage would be suspicion itself?”
Stoker shivered. “Once we start turning on each other, that’s really the beginning of the end.”
“We’re not going to entertain that one,” Pitt said bluntly. “But I was thinking, on the way in this morning, if someone really intended to create chaos, and then take over, he would have to have a force of some size behind him. You can’t do that with half a dozen here and there.”
“The police?” Stoker’s eyebrows rose. “No. The odd one might be rotten, but they’re good men and they’d never take to anything like that. They’re part of the people. You’re wrong. Hell! You used to be one of them.” He was angry now.
“I wasn’t suspecting the police,” Pitt corrected him. “Anyway, the police generally have no weapons except truncheons. I’ve been thinking a bit more along the lines of a disaffected group from the army. Ednam used to be army, fifteen years ago.” He saw Stoker’s face tighten. “Thinking back on one or two incidents we got reports of—how about that bit of unpleasantness with General Breward? He’s junior, as generals go, only about forty-five, but pigheaded, much admired by his more bloody-minded juniors. Got a few inflated ideas of his own importance.”
Stoker had been a merchant seaman before joining Special Branch. He was used to authority, but he despised a leader who put his own men in jeopardy unnecessarily. Like most sailors, he had intense respect for the sea. He had the same respect for the terrain
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