‘Is he in?’ - Asked the Chief Inspector to the assistant seated at a desk outside the large double rosewood doors.

‘Ah, yes Chief Inspector’ - the assistant replied, leaping out of his seat and standing to attention.

‘Sit down comrade’ said the Chief Inspector - ‘Is she with him?’

The assistant re-seated himself. He had a young, boyish face.

‘The deputy-minister?’ The assistant said.

‘Yes comrade, the deputy-minister.’

‘Yes Chief Inspector - the deputy-minister arrived about 30 minutes ago.’

‘And..is the deputy-minister in a good mood, comrade?’

‘Erm...the Superintendent ordered some tea, and the deputy-minister said “thank you” when she was given her cup, sir.’

‘Well, we can deduce from that, comrade, that the deputy-minister is perhaps not in a bad mood - but maybe not a good mood.’

‘Shall I sir, shall I inform the Superintendent that you are here sir?’

‘Yes please, comrade.’

‘What happened to your hand sir?’ - The assistant asked, looking closely at the Chief Inspector’s bandaged hand.

‘Oh this? Nothing serious. Fishing accident!’’

The Chief Inspector went over to a leather sofa and sat down - he placed the three files on the coffee table, crossed his legs and waited.

The assistant stood from the desk, and walked to the rosewood doors and knocked twice.

‘Yes?’ - Came a distant and muffled voice.

The assistant opened the door, stepped inside the office and closed the door behind him.

The Chief Inspector and the Superintendent had served together during the war - Naval Intelligence. They had been on the losing side, but had realized which side their bread was buttered. They had been held as prisoners of war, and then offered reeducation or a bullet or gassing. They chose reeducation, and were reeducated and embraced by the People’s Republic. All their past crimes were forgotten and they were now citizens of the People’s Republic.

The reeducation was tiresome - but pretty standard stuff. Having worked in naval intelligence the Chief Inspector had undergone extensive training on what to expect during enemy capture - including imprisonment and indoctrination. The Chief Inspector had to write a book about himself - a long winded and elaborate confession of all his past crimes. He would have to stand, and apologize to the others in reeducation for his misdeeds. Crying and wailing was encouraged. He had to learn the values of the People’s Republic - and had to write another long-winded book about how he would contribute to the People’s Republic. His teachers were strict and absolute in their commitment. They were experts at detecting even the slightest insincerity in a wailed apology or heartfelt written confession. Insincerity could cost you everything. The Chief Inspector remembered his first week at the reeducation camp. Standing to attention at 6 AM, and watching the public executions of three of his fellow students for mocking the People’s Republic. Single gunshots to the back of the head.

Things were better now. Well, better than a POW camp and a bowl of cold gruel, or a bullet to the back of the head, or a gas chamber, or a reeducation camp.

The People’s Republic didn’t have a navy except for a few old submarines - so there was no need for naval intelligence officers. The job the Chief Inspector did in naval intelligence was useful though. The Chief Inspector and Superintendent ran a surveillance, covert operations, and direct actions unit. These skills were useful in the peaceful and harmonious People’s Republic, so it would turn out. After graduating from reeducation they were then assigned to the People’s Ministry of State Security and Policing.

They joined the party, were assigned a house in the suburbs, kept their rank and set about investigating, surveilling, and taking direct action against the citizens of the People’s Republic.

The rose wood door opened - ‘The Superintendent is ready for you Chief Inspector.’

‘Thank you comrade’ - said the Chief Inspector pleasantly. He stood, collected his files and strode through the open door.

‘Ah, there you are’ - said an older, chubby, balding, tall man. He was sitting behind a huge desk at the far side of a huge office, and was wearing a black police uniform with silver buttons, epaulets with a silver star on each shoulder, and a white shirt and black tie. A silver chain went from his breast pocket to the inside of his jacket. Above the breast pocket were several medal ribbons, and across his chest were the leather straps of a Sam Browne belt - which were attached to a leather belt around his large waist. On his right hand side was an empty pistol holster. The pistol was sitting on his desk. The Superintendent was the second in command at the Operations Division. The Commander was in charge of the Operations Division, but The Commander was sick, and had been away from work for quite a while.

Sitting on the opposite side of the desk was a younger woman, wearing a long Harris tweed trouser suit. The suit had a bold weave of ruddy reds, burnt ochre, and browns. The woman was smoking a thin cigar, and had a gray cravat tucked inside the top of the jacket. She was blond, hair cut at shoulder length, and wore calf high zip-up black boots with a Cuban heel.

‘Good morning Superintendent, deputy-minister’ - said the Chief Inspector, bowing his head.

‘Care for some tea, comrade?’ - Asked the Superintendent.

‘No thank you sir - I’ve just had some.’

‘What happened to your hand old boy?’ - Asked the Superintendent

‘Nothing serious sir - just bashed it up fixing the lawnmower.’

‘Let’s move to the lounge’ - said the Superintendent, standing.

The deputy-minister puffed on her cigar, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the Superintendent’s desk without taking her eyes off of the Chief Inspector.

The office was vast. All of the walls were paneled in rose wood, and the floor covered in a deep, rich carpet. Behind the huge desk was an even larger bookcase, which contained hundreds of leather bound volumes that were interspersed with photos of the Superintendent shaking hands with various People’s Republic officials, receiving awards and curios.

Along one side of the office were huge bay windows overlooking - from high above - the City of Victorious. In the middle of the office were two long overstuffed brown leather sofas. Between the two sofas was an elegant glass coffee table. Against the other side of the office was a drinks cabinet, and on the walls were impressionist paintings of peaceful scenes of country living.

The Chief Inspector and the deputy-minister sat on opposite sides of the coffee table - whilst the Superintendent opened the drinks cabinet - ‘If no tea - perhaps something a little stronger comrades?’

‘You’re not in the navy anymore, Superintendent’ - the deputy-minister said, lighting another cigar and blowing a plume of smoke into the air above the Chief Inspector’s head.

‘We are celebrating - deputy-minister. A blow has been struck against the Unit’ - the Superintendent turned towards the Chief Inspector - ‘Victory, old boy?’

‘Yes, thank you sir’ - said the Chief Inspector.

‘Are you sure I cannot tempt you deputy-minister…?’

The deputy-minister puffed again on her cigar, and eyed the Chief Inspector - blowing smoke above his head again - ‘With water and ice. The whiskey you keep on the 16th floor tastes like gasoline.’

The Superintendent poured three Victory whiskeys - adding ice to one of them, and a squirt from the soda water bottle. He placed the drinks on a silver tray and walked over to join the others.

The Superintendent sat next to the Chief Inspector - and handed out the drinks.

‘To the People’s peace, comrades.’

‘The People’s peace’ - echoed the Chief Inspector.

The deputy-minister raised her glass, but said nothing and took a sip.

‘I understand congratulations are in order, Chief Inspector’ - said the deputy minister - ‘You have shot and killed another innocent prole - well-done! The streets are safe again!’

She puffed on her cigar, sat back - crossed her legs and smiled holding her drink up in a faux cheer.

‘Be kind, deputy-minister’ - said the Superintendent.

‘Be kind? All we have from your operations team are dead proles and magically escaped Unit members’ - the deputy-minister snapped, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward - drink in one hand and her cigar in the other jabbing towards the Chief Inspector.

‘Chief Inspector - why don’t you brief the deputy-minister and I on last night's operation in a bit more detail’ - the Superintendent held his drink and sat back stretching out over the leather sofa.

‘Certainly sir’ - the chief inspector placed his drink down on the table, and took the Inspector’s cover sheet report from one of the files. ‘Whilst on patrol in the Victory docks area of the city, an operations two-man team met with a confidential informant…’

“Confidential informant - what is that? Some kind of operations code word for a drunk sailor down by the docks who your thugs beat up, so he made up some bullshit to save his own life…?’ - The deputy-minister sneered at the Chief Inspector.

‘Deputy-minister’ - the Superintendent said - ‘we are on the same side, and the Chief Inspector’s operations team has delivered valuable information regarding Unit operations. I understand your frustration at the past...at past disappointments, but I think you will be happy with the contents of the Chief Inspector’s report. Please continue Chief Inspector.’

‘As I was saying…’ - The Chief Inspector went on to retell the events of the previous night.

The deputy-minister drained her drink and puffed on her cigar, more relaxed and sitting back on the comfortable leather sofa. Her legs were crossed while she stared at the ceiling with its elegant cornices and mini-chandelier.

‘Witnesses…?’ - The deputy-minister asked.

‘None’ - said the Chief Inspector.

‘And the body?’

‘From what I understand, it was released this morning by evidence collection to waste management - and is on the way to the farm.’

‘Good - any chance of a refill comrade?’ - The deputy-minister rattled the ice cubes in her empty glass in the direction of the Superintendent.

“Certainly, comrade’ - the Superintendent stood, collected the deputy-minister’s glass and walked to the drinks cabinet.

‘More gasoline this time’ - the deputy-minister said, still staring at the ceiling.

‘Certainly, comrade’ - the Superintendent replied- ‘And you, Chief Inspector? Fancy a bit more gasoline?’

‘Just a small one sir.’

The Superintendent fixed three new drinks and returned to the lounge. The deputy-minister was stubbing out her cigar, and in the same motion was lighting another one. She collected her new drink from the Superintendent and said - ‘I speak for the minister here - and the minister speaks for the buro. If indeed you have a lead on the Unit - we want this done properly. None of your usual “shoot first ask questions later”. Do you understand?’

The two men sipped their drinks and nodded.

‘Operations have the green light to move ahead with the following; 1. Make contact with the deceased’s work supervisor at the docks, and identify and apprehend known work associates. 2. Locate and apprehend this mysterious C Ellis. And 3. And this is non-negotiable - provide access to the confidential informant for the SS’ - the deputy-minister sat back, took a swig from her drink and a puff of her cigar - ‘4. The operations team is not authorized to use lethal force during the course of the aforementioned operations - all suspects MUST be handed over ALIVE to the SS. The operations team are tasked with the identification and apprehension - ALIVE - of suspects. All interrogations will be conducted by the secret service, and all subsequent prosecutions will be conducted by the Ministry’s secret justice department at the People’s secret court. Are we agreed comrades?’

‘Agreed comrade’ - said the Superintendent.

‘Agreed deputy-minister’ - said the Chief Inspector.

‘Superintendent - I expect you to convene a working group as soon as possible with Number Two over at the secret service - I want these Unit bastards rounded up and in SS custody spilling their guts, and then I want them up in front of the judge, after which they will be taken on a one-way trip to the farm for the woodchipper. I want daily updates from you for the minister - do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes comrade’ - said the Superintendent, smiling.

‘Yes deputy-minister’ - said the Chief Inspector.

‘What is the time?’ - Asked the deputy-minister.

‘12:30’ - said the Superintendent.

The deputy-minister gulped back her drink, puffed her cigar a couple of times and then stubbed it out. ‘I am off comrades - the minister is heading out to his place in the country for a few days to do some shooting - I have to brief him in on this, and a few other things before his car leaves.’

The deputy-minister gathered her things - and headed for the door. She turned and repeated - ‘Remember - everyone alive, no killing!’

‘Yes comrade’ - said the Superintendent.