Read Online The Ambassador by Edwina Currie - Free Book Online

and at once.
     
    The office of Rottweiler Security Services, situated in the heart of political London, was busy. On the wall the big vidscreen zizzed, untuned. A radio crackled; a voice could be heard, gruff and staccato, barking out orders in a drill room nearby. Mugs of instant coffee steamed untouched as Captain Wilt Finkelstein stood scratching his head.
    For all that he cultivated the style and manners of a New York police chief (which, in another incarnation, Finkelstein was convinced he had been), he was purebred Essex Man, born Charlie Cooper. He had retired from the Met with a medal, a pension and a bullet-holein his groin. Active service, despite the bulging holster on his hip, was out of the question. The Met, however, looked after its own. What the public services could not provide was the fiefdom of private security firms. The best and biggest was Rottweiler, known for the splendid beast’s head on its leather jackets and for the uniformly stolid appearance of their guards. RSS operatives had a reputation as hard men who fulfilled orders efficiently and without haggling, a necessary consideration for the government contracts in which it specialised. Its chief executive, a former Met commander, was delighted to ensure that heroes such as Cooper/Finkelstein could continue in lucrative and respectable employment.
    The door crashed open. In came the colleague Finkelstein thought of as his sidekick, Dave ‘Dozy’ Kowalsky. His real surname was Manningham-Buller, but the two men had agreed that it did not have quite the right ring. The adoption of another, harmless identity was quite common when men joined RSS. Kowalsky was carrying a chipped china plate piled high with pastries.
    ‘I shouldn’t,’ Finkelstein muttered, as he helped himself. ‘I’m not an NT, you know. My doctor says if I carry on like this my arteries will fur up, and it’s a bypass next. Maybe even a new heart.’
    ‘Sod it.’ Kowalsky was already chewing. ‘We need the energy. And we’re both in our prime.’ Since both men’s bellies sagged over their belts, that was not strictly true.
    ‘I won’t be if the big jobs keep coming in at this rate.’ Finkelstein indicated the electronic telefax machine. ‘Where do they think we’re going to get the staff? Protecting Parliament from outside is one thing. Uniforms, laser weapons, shoulders back: we’re used to that. Putting our men on the inside needs a different type altogether. Undercover, they say. I don’t like it. What for?’
    Kowalsky wiped his chin with the back of his hand. ‘I shouldn’t bother your head about it, Wilt,’ he advised. ‘Ours not to reason why. They pay the bills, we do the contract. Maybe recruit a couple of smart girls, yeah? Kit ’em out in posh tunics from Harrods. Then they’ll look the part, blend into the background with all them MPs.’
    Finkelstein glowered. ‘We’ll lose ’em. They’ll want to become MPs themselves. Or marry one. Lord knows what they see in politicians – must be the whiff of power. They don’t get no prettier.’ He paused. ‘And what about this? New American Ambassador. Got to keep an eye on him too.’
    Kowalsky peered over his shoulder at the photograph and DNA details. ‘No problem.’ He shrugged. ‘Standard stuff, that. Nothing he’ll get up to that we won’t know about. And the automatic eyes keep most things in sight. Those cameras give me the creeps, so God knows what effect they have on the criminal fraternity.’
    ‘The eyes are the main reason for the fall in recorded crime as you well know, which is why you and me have reason to be grateful for these security jobs.’ Finkelstein was permitted by his rank to be portentous.
    ‘But Jeez, Wilt, d’you think anybody ever actually checks out the stuff we dig up?’
    ‘Nah,’ his captain agreed. ‘You’re right. It’s for show, and to keep the natives docile. Mostly, you an’ me, we’re wasting our time. So let’s get on with it, shall