“There was a front door, but it was infrequently used by officers. On my first visit there I was told to knock at a rear door in an alley off Shaftesbury Avenue.”

“Was there a code pad for entry?”

“No, just a knocker and a small window. The door was opened by a commissionaire—you know what a commissionaire is?”

“Of course. Describe the man.”

“Imposing. Six foot three, sixteen stone, florid complexion, gray hair, quite fit for his age.”

“What was his name?”

“I never asked, and no one ever told me.”

“Describe the route to the director’s office from that rear door.”

“Elevator to six, right turn, thirty feet down the corridor, double doors to the left.”

“And your office?”

“Another thirty feet beyond those doors, facing the corridor.”

“What was on the subbasement floors?”

“A canteen and the armory; that was all I ever saw there.”

“What weapons were you issued?”

“A Colt Government .380 with a silencer, a switchblade knife, and a holster that held all of it.”

“When you left the service were they reclaimed?”

“Yes, on the way out the door.”

“But not your diplomatic passport?”

“No.”

“Did that surprise you?”

“I gave it no thought until I took it out of my pocket and left it in a desk drawer in my flat. I assumed I’d hear from them about it, but I never did.”

“Keep it. It could come in handy,” Alex said. “Describe the director’s office.”

“Big. I should say twenty feet by thirty. A large desk before the windows, with facing armchairs, fireplace at one end, with a seating area; conference table and chairs at the other; naval art on the walls, probably from the National Gallery and the Admiralty; a large, very fine carpet, filled most of the floor; various cupboards and closets behind paneling, probably a lavatory behind a door.”

“What are the electronic defenses of the building?”

“They were not in evidence, but probably rather carefully concealed. I should imagine that the latest in surveillance equipment and recording devices are used.”

“All speech is recorded?”

“That is my assumption. It was never mentioned to me. Rather like this house, I should think.”

—

The questioning continued until lunch, then resumed and lasted until six o’clock.

But there was more to come.

41

Fife-Simpson was wakened before dawn, told to dress immediately without showering or shaving, and given a one-piece, sleeveless boiler suit to wear. There was no breakfast, not even juice, and Jennifer was nowhere to be seen.

Two large men hustled him to the basement of the building, and he was shut up in a small, brightly lit room containing only a steel table and chair, both bolted to the floor. Two other chairs rested opposite. There was a mirror at one end of the room, which Roger assumed was two-way, with observers on the other side. None of these features engendered confidence, and he was vaguely anxious.