Dominion (43 page)

He returned to Senate House. As he went through the main door he saw Syme sitting on the same bench he had occupied a few days before, watching as a delegation of German businessmen were
welcomed by embassy staff. There was a thoughtful smile on his thin face, one foot jigging up and down as usual. Gunther went over to him. Syme looked up and said, in a quiet voice, ‘I think
we’ve identified one of Muncaster’s friends.’

Muncaster’s old tutor, just back from Denmark, had provided the crucial information. ‘He remembered this David Fitzgerald better than he did Muncaster. He taught
him.’ Syme imitated, very well, an effete upper-class English drawl: ‘
Fitzgerald was a very personable young fellow; could have been quite charismatic if he’d bothered. But he
was one of those serious grammar-school boys, he mixed with a rather dull crowd. Muncaster shared rooms with him and Fitzgerald took him under his wing. Personally, Muncaster gave me the
shivers.
’ Syme resumed his normal voice. ‘Got the impression the old poof might have fancied Fitzgerald.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Fitzgerald’s crowd was
anti-appeasement, he remembers.’

‘What about the other man? The fair-haired one? Identified as Geoffrey Drax.’

‘He doesn’t remember him.’

‘And we still don’t know about the woman. Still . . .’ Gunther looked at the notes he had made on the students, turned to David Fitzgerald’s. ‘A civil
servant,’ he mused. ‘Dominions Office.’

‘Yes,’ Syme repeated. ‘A civil servant.’ He gave Gunther an odd, calculating look. He seemed even more tense and jittery today. ‘I got this,’ Syme added,
laying a photograph on the desk. It was one of the boys in the picture taken from the flat, the image blown up to full size, grainy. A handsome face, serious-looking as the tutor had said. Dark,
curly hair. Irish-looking. Syme said, ‘I got a courier to drive that photograph up to the old man at Muncaster’s flat this morning. The message is that he is definite Fitzgerald was one
of the visitors.’

‘Thank you,’ Gunther said sincerely.

‘We Brits can be efficient too.’

‘I know.’

‘Of course there’s still the possibility Muncaster did just telephone Fitzgerald, as an old friend, to ask him to help him out of the hole he’s in. Fitzgerald has no Resistance
links we know of. Nor Drax, if he was the other one at the flat.’

‘Then why search his flat? That’s what I keep coming back to.’ Gunther looked at his notes again. ‘I see his wife comes from a pacifist family.’

‘But the pacifists don’t like the Resistance. Too much violence. Did you hear an armoured car was blown up in Liverpool yesterday, by the way? The bastards,’ Syme added.
‘And Fitzgerald’s been in the Civil Service since 1938, apart from war service.’

‘Yes. In Norway.’

Syme took a deep breath. He said, ‘If Fitzgerald is Resistance, and he’s working in the Civil Service, then he’s a security risk for Britain. We don’t know what
information he could have access to in his job, which he might be passing on to them. My superintendent says we have to question him about that. Us, Special Branch. We can’t just let you have
him.’ Syme gave a quick smile, half-nervous, half-challenging.

Gunther said, ‘I understand your point. I think I should speak with Standartenführer Gessler.’

‘All right.’ Syme smiled again, meanly now. ‘But I believe the Special Branch Commissioner may already have spoken to him.’

When Gunther went up to Gessler’s office the Standartenführer looked drawn and exhausted, too tired to shout and curse. The Special Branch Commissioner had indeed
spoken to him on the telephone about Fitzgerald, and they had reached a compromise: Fitzgerald as a civil servant should be jointly questioned by Gunther and Syme. Serious issues of domestic
security could be involved. ‘And the Health Department is still making problems over Muncaster,’ Gessler said. ‘Someone from Berlin is going to have to speak to the minister, but
there’s a hold-up there. I don’t know what’s happening to everyone in Berlin. If this goes wrong you know who’ll get the blame.’ He looked at Gunther with a touch of
his old fierceness. ‘Well, the deal with the commissioner is that you and Syme go to Whitehall, ask this man Fitzgerald’s superior about him. Alerting the Dominions Office to the fact
they may have a Resistance man in their ranks would be a feather in the Special Branch cap.’

‘Help them in their turf war with MI5?’

‘Exactly.’ Gessler smiled sourly. ‘And we in the embassy know all about turf wars, don’t we? After that, if you still feel he’s the man you want, the two of you can
arrest him for questioning.’

‘Where?’ Gunther asked quietly.

‘Here, in Senate House. But by both of you. That’s as far as I could get the Special Branch Commissioner to go.’

Gunther said, ‘If Fitzgerald knows whatever secret it is that Muncaster is carrying, then Syme will get to know, too.’

‘Then, as I told you before, Syme will have to be dealt with. If you bring Fitzgerald back here take a gun to the interview,’ he concluded brutally.

‘But how would we explain shooting Syme?’

‘That’ll be Berlin’s problem,’ Gessler answered brusquely. ‘They’ve been quite definite. Any information Muncaster has is for us alone.’

Back in his office, Gunther told Syme about the joint questioning. There was a new cockiness about the inspector; the relationship between them had changed, or at least Syme
thought it had. Gunther accepted that it might, now, be necessary to dispose of him. Well, the man was trying to play off German and British agencies against each other; he had told his
commissioner about the Civil Service angle without mentioning it first to Gunther. He should have realized where that might lead. He’s blinded by arrogance, Gunther thought.

‘So we’re off to Whitehall,’ Syme said. ‘They all go home at five, so I’ll get the Branch to make an appointment with Fitzgerald’s boss first thing tomorrow
morning.’

Gunther gave him a long, hard look. ‘Tell him to keep it strictly confidential. Don’t mention Fitzgerald’s name.’

Syme grinned. ‘We’ll see to that.’

‘What will my role be? A silent sergeant again?’ Careful, he thought, don’t show too much annoyance.

‘No. We thought it might be useful to say the German police are helping us on overseas aspects of the case.’ Syme smiled, provokingly.

E
ARLY ON
F
RIDAY MORNING
S
YME
drove Gunther to Whitehall, along the busy central London streets. It was
another cold day, the sky blanketed with grey cloud. Gunther asked, ‘Have you worked on investigations involving government departments before?’

‘No. It’s MI5 territory still. Though there haven’t been any spy cases in Whitehall since that Resistance group in the Home Office a few years ago; and they were double agents.
The Whitehall bosses weeded out anyone potentially unreliable years ago. Or thought they had.’

‘Who is it we’re meeting?’

‘Fitzgerald’s Head of Department. Hubbold. Time-serving old fart heading for retirement, my boss said. Hubbold sounded apprehensive when he got the call. I don’t think
he’ll give us any problems.’

‘What’s he been told?’

‘Just that there’s some suspicion about one of his department’s staff. It’s all right, we didn’t give Fitzgerald’s name.’

They drove down Whitehall, past the Cenotaph, stopping on the corner of Downing Street. Going up the steps of the Dominions Office, Gunther looked up at the frieze outside, the Africans and
Indians and Imperial figures, all covered now in soot. Syme gave his name to the old janitor at the reception desk, saying they had an appointment with Mr Hubbold. The old man telephoned his office
and told them a clerk would be down in a minute to take them up. He asked them to sign a visitor’s book; Gunther made an incomprehensible squiggle. They stood watching the brown-overalled
messengers, civil servants in their black jackets and pinstriped trousers. Syme said quietly, ‘What a crew. Look at those fusty clothes.’

Gunther smiled. ‘Some government servants still look like that in Germany. Though not so many now.’

A young clerk appeared and took them upstairs in an ancient, creaking lift. Looking through the grille Gunther saw partitioned rooms, cubbyholes, long, dark passages. They were led to a door
with the name
Mr A. Hubbold
picked out in gold letters. The clerk knocked, and a deep voice called, ‘Enter.’

Syme introduced himself and showed Hubbold his warrant card. Then he introduced Gunther as a German colleague. Hubbold started visibly.

‘I didn’t know the German authorities were involved here.’

Syme said, ‘Our information on this matter comes from Germany. We are working with our German colleagues.’

Hubbold swallowed. ‘Has the Permanent Secretary been informed?’

‘All in good time,’ Syme replied firmly. Gunther had to admire the way he took control. ‘For now, sir, you are to keep this matter entirely confidential. As the commissioner
told you last night, under the Special Powers Act the security organizations have power to direct any citizen—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Hubbold said quietly. ‘I cannot believe one of my staff could be involved in – treachery.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Who is it? Who are you
investigating?’

‘His name is David Fitzgerald.’

Hubbold stared at them, eyes still with shock behind his glasses. ‘Mr Fitzgerald has an exemplary record,’ he spluttered.

‘How long has he worked for you, sir?’ Syme asked.

‘Three years. He has always been hard-working, diligent, quiet. A settled family man.’

‘Do I detect a “but” in there, sir?’ Syme asked, with a little smile.

Hubbold looked down at his hands, which were small and delicate. His jaw worked slightly, then he looked up. ‘There has been a question raised recently, a problem. Mr Fitzgerald is –
well, potentially involved. But only potentially, it’s a problem in Registry, which isn’t under my control.’

Hubbold told them then about the memorandum that had unaccountably appeared in the secret file. He spoke to Syme but the eyes behind the thick glasses kept wandering to Gunther’s impassive
face. ‘It’s been my duty to help make enquiries. But it’s a Registry issue as I said, the Head of Registry is speaking to the woman officer –’ a momentary distaste
entered his voice – ‘in charge of the restricted files room. But the open file, from which the extraneous document came, has been through several hands.’

Gunther said, ‘And Mr Fitzgerald has clearance for that file, but not the confidential files in Registry.’

Hubbold turned and looked at him with his wide, blank gaze. ‘Correct.’

‘What was the secret file about?’

Hubbold sat up, clenching his slim-fingered hands together. ‘I can’t say. Not without clearance from the Permanent Secretary—’

‘Could we have the Head of Registry up here, and the woman officer, see what they have to say?’ Gunther spoke quietly and politely, playing soft policeman to Syme’s hard one.
‘Then perhaps we might talk to Mr Fitzgerald.’

‘Now?’ Hubbold asked.

‘Yes, please,’ Syme said. ‘And perhaps you could have Mr Fitzgerald’s personnel file brought up, too.’

Gunther added, ‘I take it, by the way, he is at work today?’

‘Yes. I came up in the lift with him this morning.’

Gunther turned to Syme, and said mildly, ‘Perhaps the janitor on the desk could be asked to detain Fitzgerald if he sees him going out.’

Syme nodded, and gave Hubbold his nasty smile. ‘Could you do that, sir? Make those phone calls, now?’

‘This is some mistake. Fitzgerald—’

‘The phone calls, sir.’ Syme spoke sharply; he was enjoying bullying the old civil servant. Hubbold picked up the telephone and spoke first to the porter’s desk, then the
personnel office. Finally he asked Dabb to come up and bring Miss Bennett. A slight tremble had appeared in his deep, even voice.

They waited. Hubbold stared at his hands, clutched together now on his blotter. Faintly, from outside, came the sound of workaday voices. Hubbold reached into his pocket, took out a little
silver case, and to Gunther’s surprise emptied two little pyramids of brown powder onto the back of one hand. Syme leaned forward. ‘What are you doing, sir?’

Hubbold stared back at him. ‘Taking some snuff. Do you object, officer?’

Syme shrugged, laughing. ‘I thought that went out with the ark.’

‘Not at all. Much better for you than cigarettes.’ Hubbold sniffed up the powder with a snort. He frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Dabb, the registrar, will tell you that
Fitzgerald is rather friendly with this woman officer, Carol Bennett. Just friends, I’m sure, but – well, I should mention it.’

There was a knock at the door and a clerk appeared with the personnel file. Hubbold took it and, after a moment’s hesitation, passed it across the desk to Syme. He opened it. Gunther bent
forward to read.
Works well with colleagues but displays a certain reserve. Rather a lack of ambition.
As well as the wife, Gunther saw, there had been a child, too, but he had died.
Fitzgerald’s mother was also dead, and his father was in New Zealand. There was a photograph of a young man in military uniform, the same erect pose as in the university photograph. It was
typical of the British not to have updated Fitzgerald’s photograph since 1940.

Gunther memorized Fitzgerald’s home address and looked up to see Hubbold staring at him. ‘All this is –’ Hubbold struggled for a word –
‘distasteful.’

‘Treachery is pretty distasteful, sir,’ Syme said. Hubbold winced.

There was another knock and two people came in, a thin-faced, intelligent-looking woman in her thirties and a stooped old man in an old-fashioned wing collar. Hubbold invited them to sit and
they drew up chairs. He introduced Gunther and Syme as being from Special Branch. The old man’s mouth set in a firm line, and he gave the woman a quick, angry look. Her eyes widened with
fear.

Hubbold spoke first. ‘This is about the – ah – extraneous paper in that secret file.’

Dabb looked aghast. He said, sharply, ‘How has this become a police matter? The internal investigation hasn’t finished yet.’