NINETEEN

August 1971

The drive through London was a blur as Vincent talked me through the format for the show. It would open in the studio with The Passing Parade's new presenter, Andrew Gibson, outlining the allegations. 'We've got to call them allegations just to cover the Beeb's posterior legally, you understand,' Vincent said.

Gibson would do a short interview with Cleary in the studio and then the show would cut to OB where I would try to gain access to the Glasshouse. Alastair Fergus would be standing by outside the courts in case anything came of the habeas corpus writ. 'The judge will throw the writ out of court but that's to our advantage really,' Vincent said. 'It just makes the Government look like they've got something to cover up.'

'What if we can't get into the Glasshouse? I mean, I want us to get inside and show Magister working on one of the poor bastards inside that place,' I said vehemently.

'Calm down, James, calm down,' Vincent replied soothingly. 'That would be brilliant if we could manage it but let's be realistic. If this place is half as sinister as you make it out to be, you'll be lucky to get that camera crew within spitting distance of the front door! This show will cause such a stink they'll have to close the whole place down anyway - Magister or no Magister. Let's just hope we can make this work!'

We turned into the main drive of the BBC headquarters at White City to find an outside broadcast van waiting for me, ready to go. I turned in my seat to give a few final words of encouragement to Cleary. 'Look, just tell the truth and nothing can go wrong. I know you'll be nervous but just tell the truth. It'll all be over soon.'

He looked at me strangely, his eyes shining and happy, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 'I know.'

I got out of the car and ran to the cab of the OB van, climbing in beside the crew. Less than a minute later we were on our way to Evesham, Vincent giving me a thumbs up sign as I left him with Cleary. Normally the drive to Evesham would have taken several hours in daytime traffic but the late hour of our trip cut the travelling time considerably. We were about twenty minutes away from our destination when Vincent's voice crackled through on the van's two-way radio.

'This is Vincent Mortimer to OB van six - can you hear me?'

I picked up the headset and acknowledged his call. 'How's it going at the studio? What's happening with the writ?'

'One thing at a time, James! We're nearly set up here - we'll be going on the air in 25 minutes. Your soldier boy is looking a bit nervous, but he should be okay, Andrew's a very gentle interviewer when he wants to be. No word yet from the courts. It took us three hours just to get a judge to agree to leave his private members club and come down to sit on the bench! So, fingers crossed on that one. How are you doing?'

I relayed the question to the driver who shouted a reply. 'Driver says we should be there in seventeen minutes, maybe less.'

'Great! Call us when you're in position.'

We were delayed by the lack of lighting in the country lanes around Evesham hiding the landmarks that I had fixed in my mind. But twenty minutes later we were parked down the road from the Glasshouse. I recognized the main Tudor-style building through a gap in the trees surrounding it, and led the camera crew into position outside the front gates. The director for the OB team, a thin-faced chain-smoker called Bill Jeffs, explained to me the procedure for the broadcast.

'Basically, we'll do the first insert with a fixed camera and lighting here. When we try to get into the building itself, we'll be using one of the new lightweight video cameras. We've been testing them with some success for the Sports Department.'

'Some success?' I asked warily.

'Don't worry, it'll be fine.' He lit another cigarette while his crew set up the fixed unit. 'Look, if you're right about this place, are there likely to be armed guards? Any shooting?'

I had to admit I did not know. 'To be honest, it hadn't even occurred to me. I've just be intent upon getting back into the Glasshouse and showing the world what's inside.'

Bill rolled his eyes. 'Terrific!'

Before the conversation could go any further the monitors in the OB van flickered into life, relaying on screen what was happening in The Passing Parade studio as well as the broadcast signals for the various channels still on the air. I watched as a make-up assistant put the finishing touches to Cleary's face. The young soldier sat uncomfortably in a swivel chair, facing the programme's presenter, Andrew Gibson.

Gibson was one of Vincent's protégés at BBC3. Poached from Radio Oxford, he had quickly mastered the art of television presenting and was already making a name for himself at BBC3. Rumours were circulating in media circles that he had been approached to read the headlines on the prestigious Nine O'Clock News for BBC1.

Watching him prepare, I could see why Vincent had taken Gibson under his wing. The presenter had a face the camera seemed to love, warm and friendly with intelligent eyes and a sardonic humour about the mouth. His voice could be heard from a speaker beside the monitor, words perfectly formed in that curious BBC accent yet still retaining their own individuality. I just hoped Gibson went gently with Cleary, as Vincent had promised, otherwise we could all be in serious trouble.