CHAPTER TWELVE

The Commander

Two weeks later David’s wife departed for Australia and the evening for showing the film of the wedding to the Commander at David’s house near Brockenhurst had arrived. Miss Kershaw had said that the Commander and his colleague would be there by 6.30 p.m. They were.

‘Step inside, please,’ invited David.

The Commander introduced Captain Leonard Montague, RN retired. Captain Montague was on the short side but lean like his companion, though with little hair and a distinct limp. David had him at about his own age or a little younger.

‘Captain Montague is happy to be known as Monty,’ continued the Commander.

They moved into the dining room, where David had set up his cine equipment.

‘We only expect to be here just long enough to see the film. As you know, I have arranged a private dinner party for the three of us in my private suite at the hotel, not more than a couple of miles or so down the road from here.’

David’s projector was at one end of his dining room and the screen at the other. The two visitors sat either side of the table in the middle of the room, where they pulled pads and pencils from their briefcases preparing to make notes.

The opening shots showed the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. David’s two guests leaned forward with keen interest.

‘Please give us a running commentary, David,’ said the Commander, ‘particularly the names of those filmed.’

There was no soundtrack. From time to time the Commander spoke to Monty. As David announced the names of the people in the film the other two present were writing them down. Several times the Commander asked for the film to be stopped, or for a rerun or freeze-frame to study. The total running time was only about five minutes, but with stops and brief questions it took about three quarters of an hour to get to the last frame.

The Commander spoke again: ‘You can now destroy that film, please. You will find a suitable excuse to tell the happy couple, if they ask, why you failed in some way to get it developed. Neither you, myself, Monty, nor anyone else, will keep that record. It was entirely for Monty’s benefit. He is taking over from me. Miss Kershaw told you, I think, that I have a sitting room in my suite at the hotel where we will have a farewell dinner together and can talk in private. Come with us in my car and I will arrange for you to have a taxi back.’

The Commander had a well-stocked minibar in his private sitting room and invited them to help themselves whilst he visited the bathroom.

With a Scotch in his hand, Monty was quick to fill David in on his own service background: ‘I’d been in submarines for nearly twenty years when the Commander invited me into the firm. He probably thought that stealth and silence came as second nature to me.’

They laughed at that together.

‘My spell underwater came to an end when I ignominiously fell down the conning tower.’

David managed to disguise his suppressed mirth at the thought of the skipper falling down his own companionway.

‘The limp?’ he said, mustering a look of concern.

‘Quite.’

Monty continued by explaining that he had finished his service in the Royal Navy Procurement Office, which taught him bureaucracy of monumental proportions.

‘Glad you two are getting acquainted,’ said the Commander on returning. ‘There will not be another opportunity for the three of us to socialise; and no, I am not going to hark on about the golden rule. We all know why it’s there.’ And turning to Monty he added, ‘David has rendered valuable service over many years, as I have told you, so this occasion fulfils two functions: a chance for you to meet one of our most successful operatives, and an opportunity for me to say thank you to David, and farewell. Tell us all you know about the Harry character, please, David.’

‘My guess’, said David ‘is that you saw a recent front page of the News of the World.’

The other two nodded in agreement.

‘He is the brother of Chris Curnow, the shipyard and marina owner with whom we at QC have a brokerage agreement. Greg Norfield is our sales manager. Mary, as you saw in the film, is Greg’s wife. The article that went with the picture was correct about Harry’s past, but I am satisfied that he is now totally reformed. His brother has given him a responsible job at the shipyard and keeps a close eye on him.’

‘I realise’, said the Commander, ‘that there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent either the photographer doing his job or the consequences. The golden rule was invented to protect all of us. What can you tell us about the late Selby.’

‘Absolutely nothing, other than what you have read in the paper. I was as surprised as anyone when I saw the picture. I am now making discreet enquiries.’

The Commander reached for a pile of menus. ‘Let us turn to more prosaic matters,’ he said as he invited them to study what was on offer from an extensive menu.

A waiter was summoned to take the order and at the Commander’s suggestion they went along with the “Chef’s Choice” on the menu and recharged their glasses.

‘Commander,’ said David, ‘you have instructed me to destroy my film. I have never knowingly disobeyed any order from you and tonight you have spoken well of me. I am now asking you for a little discretion. I fully understand the reason for your order. I know Greg Norfield and his wife very well, as you can imagine. I wonder if you would allow me to let them have a gift - just the first minute or so of my film, which features only the bride and groom. I will explain to them that I stupidly made an alteration to a setting on the camera resulting in the rest being unprintable. They are very much in love and would still have a memento, however short, of their big day. I will destroy the unwanted remainder of the film. Nobody else but they will be featured.’

The Commander looked to Monty with raised eyebrows. Monty nodded his assent.

‘There - you have your answer.’

At this point the waiters entered the room. It may have been that David and Monty had wanted to please their host but for whatever reason the “Chef’s Choice” turned out to be excellent.

After the meal and exchanges of their naval service experiences the three of them settled into more comfortable chairs.

‘I have a reputation for being brief,’ said the Commander as he lit a cigar, ‘and I know at times my manner has been taken for rudeness; the latter never was my intention. I believe the very nature of the job calls for brevity. However, I would like to take this opportunity to just say a little on what I think about the future and how it may affect our operations. The Chernobyl incident last year concentrated minds in the Soviet Union,’ continued the Commander to his guests. ‘I can see an end to the Cold War. I think Britain will become more interested in the Middle and Far East, where threats to our country are on the increase. Finally, a free press is both a friend to democracy and an enemy to security. You sit, as you have seen, uncomfortably between the two.’

He rang down to reception to arrange a car to take David home. When the call came that the taxi was ready he took David’s hand warmly.

‘Monty will run things his way no doubt. I hope I haven’t put you in too much danger during our long association. Goodbye and good luck.’

‘It is a paradox’, said the Commander to Monty after David had left, ‘that we tell as little as possible to those we trust most. That way our enemies, and the public who pay us to protect them, and our operatives, are least likely to foul up the whole dirty business.’

‘Tell me,’ said Monty: ‘would you agree that you have succeeded in hiding from our friend just departed the fact that at the party he so ably filmed were two of our operatives of whom even he was not aware?’

‘Absolutely,’ replied the Commander. ‘Quite amazing really that five of our people should be in that same room together and none of them aware of more than two others present. Quite an achievement really. Perhaps I’ll get a seat in the Lords one day!’