Undersea Prison by Duncan Falconer Read Free Book Online Page A

selected a chair and sat down in it, straightening the razor crease in his trousers and ignoring Sumners altogether. Van der Seiff ’s nickname within the lower echelons of the SIS was ‘The Spectre’ but it referred more to the coldly calculating way he talked and moved than to his actual personality. His pale complexion might also have contributed to the phantom-like impression.
    Sumners arranged some papers on the podium and checked his watch as another man entered the bubble. This new arrival looked downright scruffy compared with the others. His suit was clearly off the peg, the knot of his tie was too small and his worn shirt lapels were askew. But if a stranger was to form a lowly opinion of the man based on his clothing he would be making a great miscalculation. His eyes alone threw any negative assessment into confusion. At first glance they appeared weasel-like but on closer inspection they more closely resembled those of a shark.
    His name was Jervis and he scrutinised the backs of Sir Charles and Van der Seiff before looking coldly at Sumners. ‘This gonna take long?’ he asked in a distinct South London accent that was nonetheless far more refined than it had been in his younger days.
    Sir Charles and Van der Seiff did not look around at the man although it was clear from their reactions that they knew who he was.
    ‘Hard to say, sir,’ Sumners said, trying to sound matter-of-fact but unable to disguise his grudging respect for the man.
    Jervis’s gaze returned to the backs of the other two men. ‘Mornin’, gentlemen,’ he said as if it were a mild taunt.
    ‘Good morning,’ Van der Seiff replied without shifting the direction of his stare, which was fixed ahead at nothing in particular.
    Sir Charles gave a grunt without looking up from his file.
    Jervis sat down in the armchair furthest from the podium. ‘Don’t suppose you can smoke in ’ere?’ he asked.
    Sir Charles frowned.
    ‘I’m afraid not,’ Sumners said.‘Apparently it can interfere with the bubble’s instrumentation,’ he added by way of an apology for denying his superior a chance to indulge his habit.
    Jervis smiled thinly. He was well aware of the rules but liked to take every opportunity to rub the toffs up the wrong way.
    Sumners busied himself checking various cable connections in order to distance himself from the tension-tainted atmosphere. The hostility sometimes displayed by certain department heads towards each other never ceased to perturb him. This was a particularly bad lot and he put it down to their extremely diverse pedigrees. Sir Charles was ex-army, Hussars, a retired general, very old school, tough as marching boots and a consultant to the Ministry of Defence and certain lords and monarchs. His brand of diplomacy and numerous highly placed contacts in Europe and America made him very useful in certain areas.
    Unlike the other two,Van der Seiff had no military experience. On paper he was the classic brilliant Intelligence recruit: an Oxford graduate, fluent in French, Italian and Spanish with masters degrees in both classics and history.The abilities that placed him a notch above those with similar credentials were an extraordinary geopolitical vision, outstanding analytical skills and a cold, ruthlessly logical mind unhindered by emotion. Van der Seiff had been in MI for eight years and was currently with the Directorate of International Special Services. He was tipped to go all the way to the top of the intelligence ladder.
    Jervis was more like a common urban fox but with some very un common qualities.The events of his earliest years were shrouded in rumours, one of which gave him gypsy origins and another a criminal record. Strangely, all documentation of his life before the age of nineteen no longer existed, the result of either catastrophic bureaucratic failure on several levels or the work of a very senior government official. Jervis had found his way into the Secret Service through the army, signing up to