No Humans Involved.

I wrote recently about my last day at work. Here’s where it all began.

The Job Interview. Elephant and Castle, London. 1972.

There were three of them. Seated in a half circle, facing the single chair that had been set out for me. Not a fancy chair. Not even particularly comfortable. Just a chair. I sat down, waited. The man at the centre was shuffling papers, the thick buff file in front of him exactly the same in appearance as those lying unopened in front of his colleagues.

My file, I assumed. Dauntingly thick. They knew a great deal more about me than I knew about them. No name cards graced the table which divided us.

They’d asked to see me. The onus was on them. So, I waited.

Up to now I’d been dealing with a man named Rupert. An affable buffoon who turned out to have a Double First from Cambridge in his locker. So much for first impressions. Rupert was why I was here; his interim report on my character and suitability for the post, whatever it was, having been sufficiently glowing to propel me as far as this gloomy room.

The paper-shuffler looked at me over the tops of his glasses for a long moment, looked away again. Brief eye contact, but enough to form an impression. On my part.

His face wore the kind of smug self-satisfied expression that made me want to punch it. I’m not a violent person as a rule, but some faces were just asking for it. I tried to imagine any circumstances under which I could ever work for a man like this and failed dismally. Rupert wouldn’t have been my first choice as an employer; he wouldn’t have been my twentieth choice, but he’d never looked at me as if I were a piece of shit as this man was looking at me right now.

The other two just sat there. Looking at me, but saying nothing. A man and a woman. Both younger than their colleague, not as well dressed, neither showing any inclination to start talking.

‘Good morning,’ the man in the centre said, finally, closing the file.

I nodded a reply. Said nothing.

‘I’ve read your file,’ the man continued. ‘I’ll be frank. There are many areas that concern me.’

I said nothing. These areas of concern had yet to be specified. I could wait. The man facing me took a deep breath and then launched into a tirade of character assassination in which just about every aspect of my life was called into question. I’d already decided I’d hear him out, see where this was going, say nothing.

A tumultuous gust of wind rattled the frame of the large bay window but the man facing me obviously regarded the elements as being under the control of a rival concern and deigned to respond to this assault He continued to drone away, the sound of his own voice seemingly all the stimulation he required. The wind repeatedly battered the windows but failed to disturb his ingrained insouciance.

After thirty minutes, give or take, my new friend stopped talking. He’d managed to suggest deficiencies I’d never even thought about, torn my academic record to shreds, cast serious doubts on my entitlement to be here in this dingy room and openly mocked my performance in the weeks of testing that I’d already endured.

‘A week in a squat, wall to wall addicts, that got to you, didn’t it? Couldn’t hack it, could you? Life on the streets, not your cup of tea either, it appears, eh? Banged up in a cell for a week? Crying for your mum, it says here.’

I waited him out, said nothing. He was pushing it too hard. I hadn’t seen my file, but I’d done all the things he was talking about, and much else. It hadn’t bothered me.

‘Not my decision,’ the man concluded. ‘If it were, I wouldn’t touch you with a bargepole.’

I nodded. Shrugged my shoulders. He stood, not looking at either myself or his colleagues, left the room. As if at a prearranged signal the other two shuffled their chairs closer together. The woman smiled at me, but it was the man who spoke.

‘Just us now,’ he said. ‘My colleague has had his say. You’re one of the very few I’ve seen in this room who didn’t react.’

I said nothing, waited him out.

‘As you know, we select candidates on their IQ, their fitness levels, their ability to withstand pressure,’ he said. ‘You come highly recommended. Rupert speaks highly of your ability to absorb problems, deal with them.’ He nodded at the doorway. ‘I think we just had confirmation of that.’

‘Was that what it was all about?’ I enquired.

‘Not entirely. Our colleague plays a part and plays it very well, but he does indeed represent a point of view within the Department. There’s a feeling you may be resistant to a command structure.’

Before I could respond, the woman spoke for the first time. ‘For me, that’s a bonus,’ she said. ‘The interview process ends here. That aspect is concluded. As far as we’re concerned, we’re talking about the specifics of the job now.’

Over the next hour we had a wide ranging discussion. We agreed my IQ level demonstrated a capacity to absorb and process information, but was merely an indicator of suitability and would not be discussed again. My fitness levels had been rated in the top ten percentile, but would have to improve. I wondered where this was going.

I’d already had the appeals to my patriotism and sense of public duty from Rupert. Now there was more. Much more. I said little; let them say what they wanted to say. Needed to say. They spoke without notes, deferred to specific expertise where necessary. It was impressive. The man asked me to call him Thomas. First name, last name, wasn’t specified. Just Thomas.

I’d met men like Thomas before. Not often, but they were men who I remembered. When Thomas spoke, people paid attention. They put away whatever they were holding, hung up telephones, allowed cups of coffee to go cold and listened. It wasn’t just his voice or his body language; it was an assumption of command that was completely natural and unforced. Thomas would never need  to raise his voice or bang tables for emphasis; his audience were invariably hanging on his every word. When Thomas told me he would be my supervising officer, my Control, I was relieved. I’d be in good hands.

The woman hadn’t yet told me her name. She was clever, incisive, asked probing questions. She impressed me too. She’d be the person responsible for my support system.

‘What about consequences?’ I asked at one stage. ‘I’ve been in a cell. Will that be a regular part of the job?’

Thomas smiled. “Quite possibly. We’re not police officers. When you go undercover, you’re very much on your own. There may be consequences. Arrest is just one possibility.’

I nodded. All this had been explained to me at an early stage.

‘We’ll get you out, obviously, but it may be inappropriate for your character to be released at an early stage, you know?’

I nodded. That made sense. ‘As regards what I get up to, what’s expected of me, in character, so to speak?’

Thomas and the woman shared a glance. ‘Ah, the grey areas,’ Thomas said. ‘You’ll be an unpleasant person, most of the time. Violent, amoral, without conscience. We’re happy you can deal with that, but you’ll be sharing your new life with similiarly unpleasant characters who’ll expect you to have as few scruples as themselves.’

I nodded. This had all been explained in depth already. I was okay with it. ‘Means to an end,’ I said.

The woman grinned at me, revealing a side of herself I’d not seen before. “Yes,’ she said. ‘The end justifies the means, but we have a little saying here that sums up our approach. NHI.’

‘NHI?’ I repeated.

‘No Humans Involved. You may be out there, causing havoc, but collateral damage will be limited to the criminal fraternity, hence…’

‘No humans involved.’

‘Exactly.’