The Eleventh Commandment

Jackson gave him a thin smile before removing an envelope from an inside pocket and sliding it under the table. The Chief of Police glanced inside it, unbuttoned a tunic pocket and slipped the envelope out of sight.

‘I see that your new masters have not, alas, allowed you the same degree of latitude when it comes to - expenses.’

‘One decent lead, that’s all I ask,’ repeated Jackson.

The Chief of Police held up his empty glass and waited until the barman had filled it to the brim. He took another long gulp. ‘I have always believed, Chris, that if you’re looking for a bargain, there’s no better place to start than a pawn shop.’ He smiled, drained his glass and rose from the table. ‘And remembering the dilemma you are currently facing, my old friend, I would begin in the San Victorina district, and I wouldn’t bother to do much more than window-shop.’

Once Connor had finished reading the details of the confidential memorandum, he passed the file back to the Director.

Her first question took him by surprise. ‘How long is it before you’re due to retire from the service?’

‘I come off the active list on the first of January next year, but naturally I hope to remain with the Company.’

‘It may not be quite that easy to accommodate your particular talents at the present time,’ Dexter said matter-of-factly. ‘However, I do have a vacancy I would feel able to recommend you for.’ She paused. ‘As director of our Cleveland office.’

‘Cleveland?’

‘Yes.’

‘After twenty-eight years’ service with the Company,’ said Connor, ‘I was rather hoping you might be able to find me something in Washington. I’m sure you know that my wife is the Dean of Admissions at Georgetown. It would be almost impossible for her to find an equivalent post in … Ohio.’

A long silence followed.

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‘I’d like to help,’ Dexter said in the same flat tone, ‘but there’s nothing suitable for you at Langley at the present time. If you did feel able to take up the appointment in Cleveland, it might be possible to bring you back in a couple of years.’

Connor stared across the table at the woman he had served for the past twenty-six years, painfully aware that she was now using the same lethal blade on him as she had on so many of his colleagues in the past. But why, when he had always carried out her orders to the letter? He glanced at the file. Had the President demanded that someone should be sacrificed after he had been questioned so closely about the CIA’s activities in Colombia? Was Cleveland to be his reward for all his years of service?

‘Is there any alternative?’ he asked.

The Director didn’t hesitate. ‘You could always opt for early retirement.’ She sounded as if she was suggesting the replacement of a sixty-year-old janitor in her apartment building.

Connor sat in silence, unable to believe what he was hearing. He’d given his whole life to the Company, and like so many of its officers, he’d put that life on the line several times.

Helen Dexter rose from her place. ‘Perhaps you’d let me know when you’ve reached a decision.’ She left the room without another word.

Connor sat alone at his desk for some time, trying to take in the full implications of the Director’s words. He recalled that Chris Jackson had told him of an almost identical conversation he had had with her eight months before. In his case, the position he’d been offered was in Milwaukee. ‘It could never happen to me,’ he remembered telling Chris at the time. ‘After all, I’m a team player, and no one would suspect me of wanting her job.’ But Connor had committed an even graver sin. By carrying out Dexter’s orders, he had unwittingly become the cause of her possible downfall. If he were no longer around to embarrass her, she might survive yet again. How many other good officers had been sacrificed over the years, he wondered, on the altar of her ego?

Connor’s thoughts were interrupted when Joan entered the room. She didn’t need to be told that the meeting had gone badly.

‘Anything I can do?’ she asked quietly.

‘No, not a thing, thanks, Joan.’ After a short silence he added, ‘You know I’m due to come off the active list soon.’

‘On the first of January,’ she said. ‘But with your record, the Company’s certain to offer you a large desk, civilised hours for a change, and perhaps a long-legged secretary thrown in.’

‘It seems not,’ said Connor. ‘The only job the Director had in mind for me was to head up the office in Cleveland, and there certainly wasn’t any mention of a long-legged secretary.’

‘Cleveland?’ repeated Joan incredulously.

Connor nodded.

‘The bitch.’

Connor glanced up at his long-serving secretary, unable to hide a look of surprise. This was the strongest language he had heard her use about anyone in nineteen years, let alone the Director.

Joan looked him in the eye and said, ‘What will you tell Maggie?’