Noose (18 page)

‘Some guidance about my posting from whom?' Ian said. ‘Not God, I take it.'

Fisher had a fractional laugh, the kind of laugh that said he'd heard this sally fifty times previously, and hadn't thought it funny even the first time. ‘This connection with service matters of a confidential, secret category will be as relevant to your CV as the Sword of Honour – on the winning of which very post-event congrats, by the way,' Fisher said. ‘I'd love to have seen that passing-out show.'

‘Oh, yes,' she said.

‘All that gallimaufry put into brilliant order,' Fisher said. ‘Some people in our business abhor all uniforms and display. For them, brass bands are anathema, swinging arms a farce. That's understandable, I suppose, though narrow, negative. Our objective has to be achieved – if it can be achieved at all – and too often it can't! It has to be achieved in shadowy, even subfusc style. But, for myself, I love a good parade and the brilliant concerted subordination in that “Eyes right!” to some gold-leaf chieftain. People having to look one way and march another! This is flair. This is potential shambles. This is induced skill. Would there have been a band, too? Did you have to shout commands above its rotund din while flashing your indisputably earned Sword? Resplendent! Cohesion! Cohesion is the
sine qua non
in such displays. I believe in cohesion, but rarely see it.'

They would both be in their late twenties, Fisher's accent educated Midlands, Underhill's very educated cockney. He had on a suede jacket, made-to-measure Ian would say, tan trousers, brown lace-up shoes, white shirt, beige and green striped tie; she was in a navy skirt, navy hip-length jacket over a light-blue silk blouse, moderately high-heeled glossy black shoes. When Fisher spoke about the parade and the band his face became suddenly animated and slightly flushed, as though the pleasure he took in imagining it might be depraved. Part of that harmoniousness between them must come from a shared, illicit pleasure in military ceremonial. He was dark-haired, small-featured, square-built, thick-necked. He'd be another front-row prop forward if he played rugby, with possibly a nasty side to his game, perhaps eye-gouging and/or ear-biting. Ian thought Ray Bain would not have gone in for those, except retaliating, of course.

She was about his height but slimmer, auburn hair cut fairly short, straight though not prominent nose, blue, intent eyes, pleasantly uneven teeth with a minor gap to the right, probably not the result of a punch or catapult ball-bearing in the school yard, but kept like that because she thought it distinctive and intriguing. And Ian did like it – thought of it as the kind of opening you'd love to squirt something through. Also, the space caused a certain delightful, muted whistling around some of her spoken consonants, like the sharp whirr of a well-spun cricket ball. ‘We've worked out you'll quit the Air Force in fifty-seven days unless you re-engage,' Underhill said.

‘I'm not counting,' Ian said.

‘And we gather you've no intention of re-engaging,' Fisher said, ‘although we're sure they'd like to have you.'

‘Gather where?' Ian said.

‘You're thinking of journalism,' Underhill replied.

‘Pathfinding there already done by the girlfriend, Lucy Armitage, and her effectively caustic writing style,' Fisher said. ‘We're happy that relationship seems settled again and satisfying after some differences. There are bound to be episodes of uncertainty.'

‘I'm glad you're happy,' Charteris said.

‘Now, I'm certainly not going to argue that there aren't good careers in the Press – if you can put up with a double negative,' Fisher replied. He made it sound as if Ian had better put up with it or he'd trample his balls and put the relationship with Lucy in peril once more.

‘Journalism, though, is what it sounds – of the
jour
, as the French would put it – of the day. Immediacy, nowness, is its essential and its strength, its
raison d'être
no less,' Underhill said. ‘These are certainly not qualities to be totally discounted. The instant report has its value. Think of Hemingway in the Spanish Civil War, reporting what he saw. Merit, too in the kind of considered “think piece”, as a comment article is often described. Lucy is very telling with her think pieces. Here is intelligent opinion, here is well-based attitude vigorously expressed.'

‘Undoubtedly,' Fisher said.

She changed tone. Her voice got touched by super-rationality, and by contempt. ‘Yet some might allege journalism gives only extremely short-term gratification to its practitioners,' Underhill said. ‘The word “journalism” can be derogatory, can't it, equating with opportunistic, shallow, sensational? Literary critics, for instance, condemn material as “mere journalism” in work that is trying unsuccessfully to be something deeper. My brother was a barrister and not making much at it. My mother – not highly educated, but bright – said that whenever she heard the word “barrister” as a youngster it was accompanied by the word “impecunious” – an impecunious barrister. Skint. Likewise, I think, the word “journalism” is tied to the word “mere” – mere journalism. There are, Charles and I believe, those who seek a return on their work which is more lasting, more solid, basically more worthwhile.'

‘True,' Ian said, ‘and they wouldn't have to learn shorthand.' The three were in his office overlooking the patrolled gates and double-layer, twelve-feet-high barbed-wire fencing below. For this tail-end of his service, he'd been posted away from the OCTU and to a camp in Yorkshire. RAF Norton, Gleadless, Sheffield had no airfield to guard, but a very high security rating – ‘matters of a confidential, secret, category' operated from here, as Fisher had said.

‘Obviously, Lorna-Jane doesn't want to pile on the flattery, but she feels, as I do, that you might be wasted in the journalistic game,' he said, ‘even supposing you could get on to the kind of paper you'd like. It's not always easy, and Lucy's advice and influence could only help up to a point. This is why we're here.'

‘It's not the first time we've been to Norton,' Lorna-Jane said.

‘Hardly,' Fisher said.

‘Norton is what you might call our sort of hunting ground,' she said. ‘Its officers tend to be our kind of people.'

‘Which kind?' Charteris said, but he could make a guess.

‘Norton's record with us is exemplary. Its people are naturally accustomed to the clandestine,' she said. ‘The role of Norton demands it. This and its sister outfits around GB lie outside the general three-tier command structure of the RAF – Fighter, Bomber and Coastal – don't they? Norton, and its sister establishments, stand separate, a bit shady, even – confidential, secret, as Charles puts it. These units are Ninety Group, a title which calculatedly tells nobody anything about the nature of its members' work: not fighter, bomber or coastal duties; not to do with aircraft at all in fact, or only the potential enemy's aircraft. The urgent role of Norton and its comparable stations is to prepare, extend and service the country's network of radar defences against a Cold War Russian threat.'

‘You're not supposed to know this,' Ian replied.

‘It's the type of thing we
do
know and specialize in,' Fisher said.

‘We've advised on some of the security,' Lorna-Jane said. ‘I don't mean your Alsatians. But, for instance, the Ninety Group's headquarters is in that delightful, innocent-seeming, seventeenth-century former country manor house with high, ornate ceilings and glowing mahogany panelled doors, at Membury, near Marlow, in Buckinghamshire, yes? We suggested that as an unnoticeable spot. I expect you've been there for a briefing pre-Norton. Of course you have. We laid it down that every new joiner at Norton should be given a thorough preparatory Membury session first. You'll have noticed that the travel warrant actually named two stops beyond where you left the train, so as to prevent evidence in the rail company offices of a slinky visitors' build up at HQ. That's a routine precaution recommended by us.

‘You and your contingent of RAF Regiment troops, plus the military police platoon and their doggies, look after Norton and the radar installations its technical crews set up and monitor in north-east Britain. That would probably be the airway route for any Soviet plane or rocket attack. If possible, the existence and location of Norton and the other linked stations should be concealed from the Russians, as well as the areas of Britain where the radar fields are at their most effective. You'll surely see what we mean when we say you're already accustomed to operating in an area of vital and sensitive State secrets.'

‘You're a natural,' Lorna-Jane put in.

‘No, not exactly a natural,' Fisher said. ‘He's been shaped and directed towards this kind of work, and has grown to be efficient at it.'

‘Perhaps more than efficient,' she said.

Ian said: ‘Perhaps. But I—'

‘But you think a newspaper future,' Fisher said. ‘Sure, sure the Press does useful work now and then. Naturally, we've undertaken quite a bit of research into your early days, including a dedicated scan of old newspapers in your locality then, and—'

‘Dedicated to what?' Ian said.

‘And we'd have to admit – and I'm sure I speak for Lorna-Jane as well as myself here – we'd have to admit that the Press reporting of that air-raid shelter murder and the trial back in 1941 certainly covered very significant ground,' Fisher replied. ‘And, of course, you figured notably there as a witness. You, in fact, made the nationals as well as the town Press. I don't know whether in your boyhood that helped turn your thoughts towards a newspaper career – rather
writing
the material, not being its subject. The crime and trial were given considerable space, despite the shortage of newsprint in those wartime days. And, naturally enough, you followed up that sequence of incidents to the end, and joined the jail gate crowd for the hanging, also covered by the newspapers.'

‘How do you mean “
dedicated
scan”?' Ian said.

‘An affection for and interest in the Press from that kind of experience might seem far-fetched,' Underhill said. ‘But the idea struck both of us, Charles and myself. Quite often these seemingly minor, even quirky, factors lead to very substantial decisions.'

‘And then again, even earlier than this, came the heroic sea rescue by your dad,' Charles Fisher said. ‘That had great Press coverage, too, didn't it – and justifiably so? I expect he'd keep the cuttings and you saw them as a child. You might have developed a sort of subconscious link to the admittedly exciting world of newspapers.'

‘Many are fascinated by that world – the smell of printers' ink and so on, the green eyeshade, “Hold the front page!” – even without your special, emphatic connection to reportage by participation in the shelter case,' Underhill said. ‘Emphatic connection to reportage' came out slightly, intriguingly, shrill through the teeth cleft, the consonants busying themselves around his ear drums like special, excited messengers. ‘And yet is this more than a superficial romanticizing of what is basically a run-of-the-mill trade, like many another run-of-the-mill trade?' she said. ‘Urgently relevant on one day, perhaps, and fish-and-chip wrapping the next. I ask once more, can it provide long-lasting satisfaction for someone of mature outlook? And we take leave, Charles and I, to judge that you
are
of mature outlook. We don't have to rely on our own findings to form that conclusion; we also get extremely credible, reliable advice along those lines.'

‘Journalism's detractors always do the fish-and-chip paper bit,' Ian said. ‘But, by the time yesterday's paper is a wrapper, there's another issue out full of new, topical reading.'

‘I wouldn't say we are
detractors
of journalism,' Underhill replied.

‘Oh,' Ian said.

‘No, indeed,' Fisher said.

‘Are you recruiters?' Ian replied.

‘Recruiters in which sense?' Underhill said.

‘Recruiters in the recruiting sense,' Ian said.

‘It's an interesting suggestion,' Lorna-Jane said.

Ian kept it general for the moment. ‘You go around talking to selected National Service people near the end of their time and try to persuade them to stay on – switch to a career commission? I suppose the Sword of Honour would help put me on your shortlist. You're not in uniform, though. Does the RAF farm out the job to Management Selection firms? Anyway, it's not going to work. I'm leaving. Anyone who's asked about it I've told at once, I don't want that kind of life. Your research into my childhood and so on is brilliantly accurate, but irrelevant – a time-waster, I'm afraid.'

‘No, not that kind of recruiting,' Underhill said.

‘Which other kind is there?' Ian said. He thought he knew, though.

‘Yes, there are other kinds,' Underhill replied. ‘I think you'll come to see what we mean.'

‘Your pal has already said that. I still don't know what it's about,' Ian said.

‘I think you possibly do,' Fisher said.

‘We've given plenty of indications,' she said.

‘We're not here to propose a twenty-two-year commissioned career in the RAF Regiment, excellent as that regiment and career might be,' Fisher said, his cadence branding the regiment and a spell in it as unholy shit.

‘But it
is
about a career, is it?' Ian said.

‘We don't think of it as simply a career,' Underhill said. ‘That might do for journalism. It's too narrow and ordinary a word for what we're talking about.'

‘But I don't know what you're talking about,' Ian said. He did, but enjoyed giving them the tease. He had an electric kettle in his office and some mugs and made tea now.

‘That research you kindly spoke of threw up something else apparently irrelevant – to use your word – yes, irrelevant in a workaday sense,' Fisher replied. ‘Yes, flagrantly irrelevant in a workaday sense.' He waved an arm to give extra force to ‘workaday sense' or ‘flagrantly irrelevant'. The movement made it obvious he wasn't responsible for the nice scent. ‘But perhaps in a mysterious, even mystical way this research finding provides a pointer.'