Page 56 of The Final Vow (Washington Poe #7)
‘You don’t know what he looks like, do you, Alastor?’ Poe said. ‘It’s why your jackboots grabbed me instead of observing me. It’s why one of them took my picture.’
Locke didn’t respond.
‘How can you not know what he looks like?’ Poe said. He grabbed Locke’s file, ripped through the documents. ‘Why isn’t his photograph in here?’
Locke had the grace to look embarrassed. And considering the utterly shameful things Poe had witnessed him do, this was a big deal.
‘ Mea culpa , Poe,’ Locke said. ‘ Mea culpa .’
‘I know that one, you overeducated prick. It means “my fault”. So, tell me, how can MI5 not know what one of their most dangerous employees looks like? I’d love to hear this.’
‘Pipe down, Poe. It’s not as outrageous as you might think.
The very nature of Puck’s job meant that the fewer people who knew what he looked like, the better.
The safer . He wasn’t always ruining marriages in absentia .
Sometimes he had contact with his targets.
His image was highly restricted. All the mischief makers’ images were highly restricted.
If you didn’t need to know what they looked like, you didn’t get to know what they looked like.
They were on our IT systems under their codenames.
The legends they used in the field were used once and discarded. ’
‘I suppose it’s a bit like how we manage protected witnesses,’ Poe conceded.
‘Then you understand.’
‘Still . . .’
Locke sighed. ‘Before he was managed out of the service, Ezekiel Puck breached our systems. He deleted his personnel records. And then he deleted the backups. Which in itself isn’t as insidious as it might seem.
The sensibilities of the public, and therefore our bandwagoner elected officials, change on an almost daily basis.
What was acceptable practice last week might be deemed abhorrent the following week.
You know this to be true, Poe. Just look at how hot the water got for the undercover police officer who infiltrated that environmental protest group.
He was labelled agent provocateur , was he not? ’
Poe took Locke’s point. A tribunal had said that Mark Kennedy’s sanctioned undercover operation had been ‘an abuse of the highest order’ and that by entering a sexual relationship with one of his targets, he’d ‘grossly debased, degraded and humiliated’ her.
The National Public Order Intelligence Unit had declared Kennedy a loose cannon while simultaneously refusing to release any internal documents that supported their position.
Locke took Poe’s silence as understanding. He said, ‘The mischief makers were a paranoid bunch. They had to be to stay alive and that mindset never leaves you.’
‘Do you remember what he looks like?’ Poe said.
‘I’d recognise him if I saw him,’ Locke said. ‘But I wouldn’t be able to help with a visual reconstruction.’
‘Great,’ Poe said. ‘I’ll put out a locate/trace on a tall chap that no one remembers, shall I? It’ll be over by teatime.’
‘Don’t let him ruffle your feathers, Poe,’ Locke said.
‘Ezekiel Puck is intelligent and he’s well trained, but he’s not omniscient.
And in that regard, he’s no different to the scores of rapscallions you’ve hunted down and brought to justice.
Do what you do best – work the man while Miss Bradshaw works the data. ’
Which was easier said than done, Poe thought. Ezekiel Puck’s brain wasn’t wired like anyone else’s he’d come across. He was intelligent, he was sadistic, and he’d been through a unique training programme. An unholy trifecta.
Poe put his head in his hands and blew through his fingers. ‘I don’t know how to catch a man like this, Alastor.’
Locke took his time replying. He reached out and touched Poe’s arm. ‘Nor do we, Poe,’ he said quietly. ‘Nor do we.’
Poe’s phone alerted him to a text. It was from Bradshaw. It said: WHERE ARE YOU, POE? HOW DID IT GO WITH DR CLARA LANG?
He stared at the screen for a moment then put the phone face down on the table. ‘But I know someone who might,’ he said.