The Contract

It was a vulgar scandal when a foreign intelligence service mounted an operation from Federal territory with neither the courtesy of liaison nor the consideration of the repercussions. Vulgar and arrogant.

Since the assault on the Lufthansa jet at Mogadishu, since the British had loaned two 'storm experts' and their equipment, since hostages had been freed and terrorists killed, the British had taken too much for granted. The congratulations and thanks offered by the Chancellor to their Prime Minister had left them with an illusion as to their rights.

Any connivance, official or otherwise, in the use of a commercial organisation to breach the frontier was potentially disastrous. Transit on the corridor autobahn between the Federal Republic and West Berlin was based on a fragile enough agreement, the Soviets had talked only eighteen months before of renouncing the arrangement if the Bonn government did not take acton to curb the escape groups.

The British were blundering onto thinly frozen water, and without authority.

Once in his office the man from BfV switched on his electric kettle, and selected two tea bags from the packet in the lower drawer of his desk. He phoned his clerk to provide him with the file on Hermann Lentzer, he ordered an immediate surveillance put on the man, he started the process of discovering the time schedule of the operation for which the British had employed him.

That done the temper that had lingered with him from the previous evening was improved. He would not have admitted that pique or spite fuelled the remorseless attention he now turned on Lentzer. He regarded himself as a good servant, committed simply to the welfare of his country.

On the table behind his desk the kettle spluttered and the lid bounced over an eruption of steam.

The Prime Minister sat shoulders back, erect and straight.

On the sofa, with his legs crossed and with the unhappi- ness of a man drawn into a dispute for which he has no stomach, was the Secretary to the Cabinet.

'Take a chair, please.' The Prime Minister was aloof.

'Thank you, Prime Minister,' the Deputy-Under-Secre- tary said firmly.

That was what he had learned over the years. The maxim of no surrender. Stare them out and don't whimper. Stand your ground. He looked at the Cabinet Secretary and smiled and received for his pains only a turned head. He would find no ally there; not in this room, not at this moment. Worthwhile to know.

'We had a discussion a few day ago over the areas of consultation that I required between your Service and Downing Street…' Measured words from the Prime Minister.

' I remember, sir. I've asked my people to get something onto paper, there'll be a minute through in the next few days.'

'… Our discussion then followed my complaint that a D notice had been requested without ministerial approval following the disappearance of an East German defector who was in the hands of your people.'

'That's about correct, sir.'

'At that meeting you provided me with a sketchy brief…'

' I explained the young man's relevance. I told you of an area in which he might be of some help to us.'

The Prime Minister ignored the interruption, swept on. 'You led me to understand that this defector was being questioned because he had some slight knowledge of a Soviet anti-tank missile system.'

' I said that, yes.'

' In leaving me with that impression you were at worst lying to me, at best being less than frank…'

'You must be mistaken, sir.' The golden rule of the civil service and practised now by the Deputy-Under-Secretary. Never lose your temper, not with a politician.

' I believe that I am not mistaken. I am informed that at the time we last met the Service was already well started on a project involving the father of this defector. I am informed that a team had been gathered together for a clandestine operation in the German Democratic Republic. I am additionally informed that the objective of this team was the assassination of the father of this defector…'

The Deputy-Under-Secretary gaped. 'That's just not true.'

The Prime Minister gestured him to silence. 'I will not tolerate autonomous action of this type. I will not permit killer squads to be sent abroad.'

' I said it's not true.'

' I demand that this operation, whatever its state of advancement, shall immediately be cancelled. I don't mean postponed, I mean cancelled. Is that clear?'

The Deputy-Under-Secretary closed his eyes, allowed the quiet of the room to swim in his mind. The time for persuasion. No option but conciliation. 'Prime Minister, there is no plan to kill this young man's father. His murder has never been considered. The plan that the Service has initiated is not histrionic. It is a straightforward and, we believe, valuable exercise…'

' I've made my decision.'