Chapter 3: Midnight

July 1973, age 18

It was late Monday night by the time I arrived home from Italy. I had spent the whole journey deep in thought. Stewing, as Ewan put it. Dan had waited up for me, but when I sank into an armchair across from him, I didn’t know what to say.

Eventually, he interrupted my thoughts. “Come on, Finn. Talk to me.”

I shrugged and told him, “I’m angry at myself”.

He looked surprised. “Why? This wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m angry at you too. There’s plenty of blame to go around. We should have anticipated this.”

“We did, to an extent. There was always a chance that someone would follow you to Italy. The villa’s land perimeter is secure, but the price of an open waterfront is that it’s not very private. We did catch the guy though. We had a patrol boat on the lake, and guards with binoculars on the shoreline. He didn’t stand much chance of going unnoticed.”

“And what if there’d been more?”, I asked. “What if more turn up this week?”

“We could have dealt with a hundred, Finn, with the assistance of our friends in the local police if necessary. One thing you can say for the Italians is that they’re very open to incentives, as that photographer found out when they arrested him.”

I sank back into thought for a moment, before asking, “Tell me about the work we do for MI6.”

“You sure you want to do this now? It’s nearly midnight”, Dan evaded.

“Midnight seems the perfect time for sharing deep dark secrets”, I answered. “Don’t you think?”

He didn’t look convinced, but acquiesced. “The stuff we do for Six is mainly routine observation. If they need someone tailing in a foreign city where we have a hotel, we have plenty of guys that can do it. For some jobs, you need lots of bodies so they can keep handing-off to avoid detection. The other stuff we do is about quietly extracting information. That might mean breaking into an office to steal papers, or perhaps lifting someone and interrogating them.”

I asked, “So we break the law? What if we get caught?”

“Where are you going with all this?”

“I’m worried about our exposure. What I did today, what I had the guys do to that photographer, if the shit had hit the fan it would have been messy. Still could, I suppose. What happens if one of our guys gets arrested abroad, or we end up in the newspapers, or we get sued?”

“Lie and deny”, Dan answered. “Or, if it came to it, disavow our people as infiltrators secretly working for the CIA.”

I fought a smile. “And legal problems?”

“The security division is technically a Limited Company in its own right. All our other divisions have contracts with them to provide security services. As the last line of defence, it would be the security company that took the hit legally, not the hotels or Marvel or whatever.”

“And who’s the managing director of the security company?”

“Me”, Dan answered.

I shook my head. “We need to change that. You’re too valuable to be involved.”

“That’s a reasonable point”, Dan conceded. “It was my job as your grandfather’s head of security. The only reason I’ve still got it is that I’ve never had a suitable candidate to fill the post.”

That left me nothing to argue, so I turned to my next thought. “How secure is this place really?”

“Depends on the risk you’re assessing against.”

I snapped, “For fuck’s sake, Dan! Straight answers!”

He didn’t rise to my anger. “Security is never 100%. This house is very secure, by design. Your grandfather built it with bulletproof windows and old oak doors that have armoured steel cores and anchored frames. The estate as a whole ... it would take some effort to get over the ten-foot perimeter walls, especially with a guard house at the front and electric fence topping the side and back walls. The neighbouring buildings are closer than I’d like, and the distance between the perimeter and the house could be covered by an intruder very quickly. But we’re in the suburbs. It’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“So, for paparazzi?”

“They’d never get in, but then they wouldn’t need to. Easiest thing would be to hire a helicopter. Nothing we can do to stop that.”

“And the penthouse?”

“Is the most secure residence we have. The height gives isolation. And it’s restricted airspace being so close to Parliament and Buckingham Palace, so less chance of a prying helicopter.”

That made sense. “What about Donington?”

“All we’ve got there right now is a small team covering Harry. No perimeter.”

“Could it be made secure?”

He considered it. “It wouldn’t be cheap, but yes. It’s 200+ acres if you include the deer park and fields. That’s without the racetrack. Big perimeter to enclose. On the plus side, it’s controlled airspace again because of the airport next door.”

I made a decision. “Have a team put a plan together for top-level security there. I want to see options.”

“Okay”, he replied. “Are you actually considering living there? It’s a bit ... well ... pretentious for you, isn’t it?”

“It is, and far too big, needs masses of work, and doesn’t have a pool. But it does have the airfield. And Harry. And it’s closer to Charlie.”

Dan gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll get something together for you.”

I slipped back into my thoughts. Though it was late, there was too much going on in my head to be sleepy. “Do we know which newspaper the guy was working for?”

“Your old friends.”

My shoulders slumped as I let out a breath. “Again? We’re going to have to do something about this.”

“Agreed”, Dan replied, surprising me a little. “They do seem to have a bit of an obsession with you. Though, to be fair, nothing so far has crossed the line of tenacious journalism. It could be an editor with an axe to grind against the Standard. It could equally just be a junior journalist using juicy stories about you as a step up the ladder.”

I nodded. “So, perhaps a little fire at their Fleet Street offices to send a message?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Finn, you’ve got to get out of this pattern of jumping straight to an extreme measure. It’s the equivalent of you waking up in the morning, deciding you want to swim, so driving down to Dover to swim the English Channel! There are usually better alternatives.”

I acted humble and said, straight-faced, “Okay, I stand corrected. So we send some boys to the editor’s home and just set fire to his house instead?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “Much better. Glad you’re getting the idea.” He stood up. “Come with me.”

We went to the study, which was still his these days, though I was entitled to claim it as my own now the house was mine. He found a number in a book, picked up the phone and dialled. After a moment’s delay, he said, “It’s Dan Porter. Sorry to call so late. Got a job that needs doing overnight if you’re available? A message that needs delivering by a reliable courier. Could you come to the house?”

After a few words of confirmation, he put the phone down and looked at me. “The chap you’re about to meet is one of the most dangerous men on the planet. He is disarmingly charming, has a double-barrelled surname with good family connections, and would be quite at home at a fancy dinner party with lords and ladies. He’s also an expert marksman and martial artist who knows more ways to kill a man than I’d care to think about. Plus he’s my best friend.”

I was surprised. “Really?”

He smiled fondly. “He was my room-mate at Sandhurst. The smartest guy I’ve ever met. Unfortunately, he doesn’t tolerate idiots very well. Got booted out the army as a Lieutenant for taking revenge against his CO in a disturbingly creative way.”

“What did he do?”, I asked, wide-eyed.

“Don’t ever piss off this guy. Let’s just say that the family dog came to a sticky end.”

“Yuck. So what did he do between the Army and working for us?”

“He doesn’t work for us. At least not officially. Wish he did. Ed came to SIB’s attention when they investigated the dog incident. They couldn’t prove anything, so there was never a court-martial. But they flagged him, and a few months later he was recruited to a section of the army that suited him perfectly.”

“You said he got kicked out.”

“Well, yes and no. The unit he went to doesn’t officially exist. You’d never have seen him in dress uniform trooping the colour.”

He picked up the phone again and rang the gate about our expected visitor.

“So, is this guy a spook?”, I asked when he was finished.

“More like a general purpose troubleshooter for the government. As I said, he’s a very clever guy. His creative solutions are legendary.”

That confused me. “So, how come he’s doing jobs for us?”

Dan shrugged it off. “Occasional favours for an old friend.”

I was suspicious. “And what favours do you do in return?”

He didn’t answer. Then it clicked. “The stuff we do for MI6.”

Dan grinned. “You’re getting good at connecting the dots. Ed is my most senior friend within the British establishment, and yes he was instrumental in getting us that particular contract. He thinks it was his idea, which is why he owes me favours.”

“It wasn’t?”, I asked.

“No. I was deliberately indiscreet when hiring ex-servicemen and spooks to form our security section. It was a trail of breadcrumbs.”

He told me more of the details about our security work for another ten or fifteen minutes until the phone rang. It was the gate saying our guest was here. We both got up, him telling me to wait in the lounge as he answered the door.

The man Dan brought back with him was an undeniably handsome fellow about the same age as Dan, early forties. He had laughter lines and sparkling blue eyes, and didn’t fit my picture of a dangerous assassin.

“Finn, meet Sir Edward Tedbury-Smith. Ed, this is Finnley Harrison MBE.”

The man offered me his hand with a warm smile. “Great to finally meet you, Finn. May I call you Finn? You must call me Ed. All my friends do. None of this ‘Sir Edward’ crap.”

I liked him immediately. But then, Dan had warned me about his charm. “A knight of the realm. I’m impressed.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be if I were you. It’s a hereditary baronetcy. All I did to earn it was be my late father’s son.”

We sat and chatted amiably. “Danny’s told me a lot about you. He’s very proud of you, you know. You’re the son he never had, and never will do knowing how bad he is with the ladies!”

“Ha!”, Dan exclaimed. “This coming from the man with three ex-wives! Finn, don’t let him give you any of his bad attitude. He’s a gentleman in title only.”

“I never claimed to be a gentleman”, Ed told me mischievously. “Much more fun to be a scoundrel.”

“Is that what you teach your kids?”, I asked innocently.

“Absolutely”, he replied with a laugh. “My eldest boy is fifteen now and a chip off the old block. His mother despairs of him!”

Dan told me, “Ed married well when he was still in the army: the youngest daughter of a Lord who owns half of Wiltshire. And Ed’s father owned a good block of Somerset, except most of that has gone on Ed’s divorce settlements and school fees for his sprogs.” Dan faced his friend to ask, “Is Hugo still at Eton or have they finally expelled him?”

He chuckled. “Still there, terrorising his housemaster. Only a matter of time though. Somehow, I can’t see him being an academic.” He faced me. “You’ve done well in your A-Levels I hear. An A in Art and B in History. Very commendable.”

I was stunned, and Dan exclaimed, “Ed!”, annoyed.

“Oh come on, he didn’t really want to wait another month to find out.” To me, “Did you, Finn?”

I had to ask, “You’re serious?”

“Of course. I should tell you I’m involved in Operation Editor, at least on the periphery. The RAF asked the exam board to expedite marking your work and let them know the results. I suspect some interested parties might have meddled with things if you’d failed, but as it turns out there was no need.”

I was both pleased and shocked. “Wow.”

“Hard work pays off young man. Perhaps Hugo would benefit from meeting you.

“Actually,” I replied, a thought occurring, “I could seriously do with some lessons on how to blend in with toffs. It was an issue at officer selection, and I dread to think what Cranwell will be like. Maybe spending some time with an Eton brat might help. No offence.”

“Excellent”, Ed said, a little too enthusiastically. “He can teach you about polite society, and you can teach him about the real world. Be good for you both.”

The look on Dan’s face said otherwise, but his only words were to change the subject. “Anyway, to business. We’ve got a little problem that needs resolving, emanating from 30 Bouverie Street.”

Ed was now stern-faced and all business. “Ah, yes. I wondered when that would come to a head. What’s the latest?”

“They sent a pap to the villa in Italy, where Finn was staying with a group of friends. We need to convey the message that while our business dealings might be fair game, invading Finn’s personal privacy crosses a line that will cause reprisals.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I’ve talked Finn out of fire-bombing their headquarters. Perhaps a quiet chat with someone from senior management?”