The Day of the Jackal

«Sir?»

His PA's voice came through from the adjoining office.

«Come in here a minute, would you, John?»

The charcoal-grey-suited young detective inspector came in, notebook in hand.

«John, I want you to get on to Central Records. Speak to Chief Superintendent Markham personally. Tell him the request is from me personally, and that I cannot explain for the moment why I am making it. Ask him to check every existing record of known living professional assassins in this country.…»

«Assassins, sir?»

The PA looked as if the Assistant Commissioner had asked for a routine check on all known Martians.

«Yes, assassins. Not, repeat not, run-of-the-mill gangland thugs who either have or are known to be capable of knocking off somebody in a feud in the underworld. Political killers, John, men or a man capable of assassinating a well-guarded politician or statesman for money.»

«That sounds more like Special Branch customers, sir.»

«Yes, I know. I want to pass the whole thing to Special Branch. But we had better do a routine check first. Oh, and I want an answer one way or the other by midday. OK?»

'Right, sir, I'll get on to it.»

Fifteen minutes later Assistant Commissioner Mallinson took his seat at the morning conference.

When he returned to his office he flicked through the mail, pushed it to one side of the desk and ordered the PA to bring him in a typewriter. Sitting alone, he typed out a brief report for the Commissioner of Metropolitan Police. It mentioned briefly the morning call to his home, the person-to-person call over the Interpol link at nine in the morning, and the nature of Lebel's enquiry. He left the bottom of the memorandum form empty, and locked it away in his desk to get on with the day's work.

Shortly before twelve the PA knocked and entered.

«Superintendent Markham's just been on from CRO,» he said.

«Apparently there's no one on Criminal Records who can fit that description. Seventeen known contract hire killers from the under world, sir; ten in jail and seven on the loose. But they all work for the big gangs, either here or in the main cities. The Super says none would fit for a job against a visiting politician. He suggested Special Branch too, sir.»

«Right, John, thank you. That's all I needed.»

With the PA dismissed, Mallinson took the half-finished memo from his drawer and re-inserted it into the typewriter. On the bottom he wrote «Criminal Records reported upon enquiry that no person fitting the description of type submitted by Commissaire Lebel could be traced in their files. The enquiry was then passed to the Assistant Commissioner, Special Branch.»

He signed the memorandum and took the top three copies. The remainder went into the waste-paper basket for classified waste, later to be shredded into millions of particles and destroyed.

One of the copies he folded into an envelope and addressed to the Commissioner. The second he filed in the «Secret Correspondence' file and locked it into the wall-safe. The third he folded and placed in his inside pocket.

On his desk note-pad he scribbled a message.

'To: Commissaire Claude Lebel, Deputy Director-General, Police judiciaire, Paris.

'From: Assistant Commissioner Anthony Mallinson, A.C. Crime, Scotland Yard, London.

'Message: Following your enquiry this date fullest research criminal records reveals no such personage known to us. stop. request passed to Special Branch for further checking. stop. any useful information will be passed to you soonest. stop. mallinson.

«Time sent:… 12.8.63.»

It was just gone half past twelve. He picked up the phone, and when the operator answered, asked for Assistant Commissioner Dixon, head of Special Branch.

«Hallo, Alec? Tony Mallinson. Can you spare me a minute? I'd love to but I can't. I shall have to keep lunch down to a sandwich. It's going to be one of those days. No, I just want to see you for a few minutes before you go. Fine, good, I'll come right along.»

On his way through the office he dropped the envelope addressed to the Commissioner on the PA's desk.

«I'm just going up to see Dixon of the SB. Get that along to the Commissioner's office would you, John? Personally. And get this message off to the addressee. Type it out yourself in the proper style.»

'Yessir.»

Mallinson stood over the desk while the detective inspector's eyes ran through the message. They widened as they reached the end.

'John…

«Sir?»

«And keep quiet about it, please.»

«Yes, sir.»

«Very quiet, John.»

«Not a word, sir.»

Mallinson gave him a brief smile and left the office. The PA read the message to Lebel a second time, thought back to the enquiries he had made with Records that morning for Mallinson, worked it out for himself, and whispered «Bloody hell.»

Mallinson spent twenty minutes with Dixon and effectively ruined the other's forthcoming club lunch. He passed over to the Head of Special Branch the remaining copy of the memorandum to the Commissioner. As he rose to leave he turned at the door, hand on the knob.