The Old Man had gone to his club, the sort of place where people like him liked to have hushed conversations with other people like him.
"Is it just me or have you noticed something funny in these surveillance reports on our stamp man, Ginge?"
Gallagher threw him a glance.
Sandy stared resolutely down at his monthly expenses form but said, "There are two cafes in that place and he's only ever visited one of them and it’s the furthest from his house. Unless he's fallen out with the owners, I think he's deliberately avoiding the 'Pot and Kettle'."
Gally squeezed the tea bag and threw it in the bin.
"So, you'd agree that's where we should start then?"
Sandy swivelled his head over his shoulder and replied, "It would be foolish not to."
Later, they sat in a back office of the Farralland building as Sandy briefed the crew of Dave T, Billy, Mick and Tich. Gally thought if there'd been one more they could have formed a band.
52
"Right, we need two in the liveried Morris LD and two as hikers. The GPO Investigations have given us keys to open the one post box in the village; it's only a small wall type so we won't have much mail to sift through if we need to. The public phone is almost alongside so we need to put a listening device in it and monitor it from the van as and when we can. Make sure you sign out the appropriate gear from Stan across the road in Harrington's. The hikers can use the Anglia as transport and we all need to sign out some five oh two radios, one for each vehicle and two spares for obs purposes which Billy will cover. Accommodation is in local B and Bs, Dave T and Tich, as the hikers, will be in Radfordley, the next place up, and the rest of us in the village itself so the van becomes an acceptable feature. Photos and maps are in your packages and there'll be no firearms, pick helves only, although Gally and I will be carrying, just in case."
Billy, the senior ranking military man stood up and removed the blanket from a board on an easel. "Right, the target's house is here in a short lane that faces these woods across the field. We're going to put an obs point 53
in that wood, probably about here." He tapped the map.
"We'll sort the fine details out later but basically on this job rank has its privileges." A short groan went up from the others. "You conveniently forget I did most of the last one and it wasn't pleasant, I can tell you.
"Anyway, cover stories are on your sheets in the packages you've been given but, in short, me and Mick in the van are returning from Bristol on a removal job but we're on hold for a bigger one in the Cotswolds, so we're touting around the area for small stuff to keep us ticking over until we get word. Dave T and Tich are walking the local trails, Sandy's looking round the area for a holiday home and Gally is an agricultural rep. Me and Mick will head down there straight away and make ourselves known and that's why we're first in for the kit issue."
Gallagher pitched in. "Look, I know it's not the normal number of people for this sort of job and we might appear a bit short-handed but I'm counting on the fact they know they've been surveilled. They've gone out of their way to encourage it, as far as I'm concerned.
Their aim was to arrive at the point where the target is 54
seen as no longer being of any significance. I'm pretty sure our man will have noted the expected interest in him and I'm fairly certain he'll have recognised the sudden lack of it now Box have withdrawn.
"What I'm betting on is his resuming normal play because they know they're on a timer. So, we slip in, subtly make people aware of our cover stories, and become as invisible as possible in daily village life by simply becoming a temporary piece of local furniture.
Essentially, we go about our business by not being there often, apart from the van boys."
They filed out into the corridor; Sandy calling after them: "And if anyone needs an advance on expenses, see me across the way before we set off."
Bringing up the rear, Gally's eye was taken to an old wooden sign propped precariously in a corner by the exit door. Ornate in its day, it bore the words, 'Farrall and' but on closer inspection, he discovered what came next had long ago been defaced in a wild attempt to remove it, obviously with something sharp and dangerous judging by the holes and gouges. The readable remnant made him think the word had been 55
'Nugent'. As he moved it to a more secure position, he suspected such a passionate and frenzied act could only be the result of treachery, and one so foul that a woman had to be the cause.
The village wasn't one of the most popular in the area from a tourist point of view, there wasn't much to see, but its position just off a series of public rights of way made it a handy stopping place for tired walkers in need of some refreshment. A post box, public phone, village shop and a pub completed the metropolis that was Bardley.
Late afternoon, Gally and Sandy arrived separately at their bed and breakfast accommodation. The place was billed as 'luxury' based on the sink in the room, the tea making facilities and the little black and white television sat on the dresser. The bed seemed comfy.
Sandy had a similar room but his television was pink.
They shared a bathroom and toilet. Playing affable, social strangers they went for a pint.
In the pub, they sat at a table by the window.
"Cheers," Gallagher said as he raised his glass. Sandy 56
wiped his mouth and returned his pint to the beer mat.
"What's your overall plan then, Gally?"
"Well, I thought we'd give it three days then play it by ear and if he makes a move sooner rather than later so much the better. All his mail is still being intercepted and I think they'll be aware that might happen so I'm counting on him having to make personal contact with someone. I think our postman in London will be posting the extras he's collecting on to a third party. It's a big assumption, I know, but it's the easiest thing to do, doesn't involve any sneaking around which might attract unwanted attention. Maybe we can identify the contact from this end."
He sipped his drink before continuing. "After that, it's a simple case of who is he communicating with and how's he doing it?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"There has to be someone else involved, Ginge. From the photos, he's too fat to be a proper assassin. You need someone a bit more nimble for that."
57
19th July
Billy read the newspaper whilst Mick perused the breakfast menu in the 'Pot and Kettle'; the small post box and telephone kiosk opposite in plain view to both of them. The van was parked in the gravel lay-by on what passed as a main street, set to automatically record anything the phone box generated.
Sandy did circuits of neighbouring villages, Dave T
forced a second breakfast down his neck in 'Doreen's Cafe' whilst Tich quickly prepped his hide in the woods. Gallagher, watching the lane in which the target's house lay, read his farm machinery catalogue as he waited for Tich's call to say he was settled in position.
Stamp man ventured out just after midday and headed for 'Doreen's Cafe'. Thirty minutes later, he wandered into the village shop. Billy and Mick pulled up outside in the van. Mick went in for cold meats and some soft rolls.
Marjorie, slightly plump and cheerful, remarked from behind her counter, "We've just been talking about 58
you and your friend, haven't we, Mister Shelby?" She smiled at the stamp man who was perusing the tinned veg; returning the gesture, he nodded.
Slicing the ham and weighing it, she continued,
"Three slices enough or shall I make it four? Have you had much success getting any business?"
"Best make it four, Marj, Billy's a bit hungry today.
No, we tried a few places but only came up with someone who wants a farmhouse type kitchen table if we come across one." He turned to the stamp man. "I don't suppose you've got one you want to get rid of? We pay decent money."
Shelby shook his head, "Sorry, but if I do hear anything I'll let Marjorie know," then he moved on to the fresh bread. Mick paid up and bid them both a cheery farewell.
The following morning brought some subtle changes. Dave T bimbled through the village, now and then unfolding the little seat strapped to his rucksack then settling down to record local architecture on his sketchpad. Tich had an extra breakfast in 'Doreen's whilst he read his newspaper and let anyone who cared 59
to listen know what he was doing and what trails he'd done. Sandy watched the house for a while then, when Mick called to say he was in position, he went mobile.
Gally wandered into the 'Pot and Kettle' just before 11
am for soup and a read of the local history book he'd bought from the village shop. The place was empty apart from an old bloke, mid-seventies, sat at the far end with his overweight but visibly pleased ageing black Labrador.
"Hello, love. What can I get you?"
"What's the soup of the day?"
"Vegetable."
"Do you get a roll with it?"
"Yes and a knob of fresh butter, love. Would you like a pot of tea with it or should I bring it over when you've finished the soup?" she said with a winning smile.
Her sales technique had won him over. "I'll have it when I've finished the soup, please."
She disappeared briefly then returned with a steaming bowl and a side plate for the roll. Carefully placing them on the table, she went back to the counter.
60
He looked up as she held the basket out to him. "Poppy seed, Crusty or Barm?" He took the crusty cob.
"Do you ever get busy in here?" he asked her.
"Of a morning? Not generally. Sometimes, we get the odd coach party of old age pensioners stopping off for a cuppa on the way to somewhere else; you know what they're like with their cups of tea. This time of year, it's mainly after one o'clock when the walkers have had time to get here, so, yeah, between one and three it can get quite busy. Are you just passing through or staying a few days?"
He returned her smile. "Just a few days. I'm a salesman for agricultural products."
When he'd finished the soup, she brought him his pot and he paid up, it gave him freedom of movement.
Although Mick had notified the others when the stamp man stepped out of his drive, Gallagher's radio was still firmly fitted in his car so he was mildly surprised to see him. Stamp man ordered a cup of tea and sat by the front window, reading his newspaper. The pensioner fed his dog digestive biscuits.
61
At his table, back to the wall, facing the counter, Gally could see the whole room but after 15 minutes, he knew he'd have to make a move soon or it would become awkward. The old bloke got up and disappeared through the narrow door opposite his seat.
The dog remained, sniffed its paws then the floor before resting its head. A young couple in hiking gear entered and took a place between him and the stamp man. The pensioner, on his return, picked up his shopping bag and the dog's lead, exchanged pleasantries with the waitress and left. Gally knew it was time to do the same.
"Excuse me, where are the toilets?"
"Far end, love, through that narrow door and up the stairs, they're on your left," the waitress replied.
Toilets were always a good place to leave things for others to retrieve so Gallagher had a swift but efficient look around and found the letter, in a plain envelope, tucked behind the cistern. When he came back, the
‘stamp man’ was paying for his tea and then took the stairs. Gally stepped out onto the street to be passed on his way in by Dave T; a whispered, "Check the bogs 62
when he's gone." The van pulled in just beyond the village shop. He strolled away and took the side street he'd parked his car in. Once inside, he called up Sandy to be told:
"He's just crossed the street and is heading back home."
"Where did the old bloke with the dog go?"
"He's still in the village shop."
"Gally to Billy, keep a discreet eye on ‘dog man’
when he comes out but don't blow it. There are other ways we can find out who he is."
The pensioner and his dog walked up the hill and disappeared into one of two houses forming part of a long terrace. Mick called up, "Stamp man's in his car, it's an Austin Cambridge A40, bottle green."
Sandy interrupted. "Yes, got him. He’s heading out of the village towards Radfordley. Hang on! He's pulled in at the phone box."
"Billy – I'm on it."
Less than two minutes and they heard, "He's back in the car and off down the Radfordley road."
63
Gally replied. "Everyone else stand off as best you can. Sandy – take the lead and get after him, I'll follow at a discreet distance. Gally to Billy. What did he say?"
"Something about archery practice being back on and now was the time to think of the past sacrifices of others. I've got it recorded."
It wasn't a long drive. Stamp man stopped in a little lay-by that stood in front of a small memorial, on the brow of a hill. Sandy sailed on past and by the time Gallagher drove by the target was out of his vehicle laying some flowers or something at the monument’s base.
"Gally to all callsigns. Our man has stopped at a memorial on the hill, about two miles out of Bardley. It backs directly onto a wood. It's the only one for miles.
Can anyone get in there and do some close work on it.”
"Dave T to Gally, me and Tich can box that off, we're at the rear of that wood now."
"Gally, roger. We'll give it two hours max from when you're in position. The rest of us, plot off."
64
The walker appeared from the public right of way running alongside the wood. Once over the stile, he stood and read his map then surveyed the area with a pair of small binoculars before he wandered across to the memorial. With a handkerchief, he wiped the inscription and squatted down as if to read it. Standing up, he checked his watch then returned to the stile, disappearing along the footpath.
From the overgrown drainage ditch 20 feet away, a whispered: "Dave T – Gally. This could be our man.
He's taken the card that was clipped to the flowers and is now going back down the path alongside the wood. If he sticks to it, he'll come out near the two cottages on the far side of the fields."
An interruption: "Billy – I've just driven past there.
Nothing parked up. Must be the houses he's heading for."
"Gally – Billy, can you get back there before he exits and throw Mick out somewhere to get an eyeball?"
"Thirty seconds."
65
Stopping briefly on the bend, just before gaining a view of the footpath, Mick dived over the bushes into the field and quickly concealed himself in the long grass at its edge. The airwaves fell silent. Twenty-minute circuits the agreed drill.
Mick emerged from a tree line three hundred yards from where he'd bailed out just as Tich in the Anglia approached the bend. Safely on board, they collected Dave T and headed for Radfordley.
In the garden of the Crown, they shared a large bench table whilst they drank and exchanged information. Dave T hadn't been able to read what the card said, even with his binos, but there wasn't much written; he thought it was probably, 'Lest we forget'.
The next news was more startling. On reaching the road, their hiker had been picked up by a passing car, driven by a woman. Mick handed over a scrap of paper containing a registration number and the words 'maroon Austin Farina Mk2'.
Gallagher tutted and said, "Bollocks!"
Sandy silently interrogated his face. "There's a problem with that?"
66
Gally gave him a weak smile. "Maybe. I passed them at a junction when I was doing circuits. I was turning left, they were turning right. She's a good looking girl.
We made eyeball contact, I couldn't help it, but seconds later I knew she'd just sucked my entire life right out of me."
They shook their heads in disbelief. Billy offered, "It could have happened to anyone."
Gally looked him in the eyes and said, "You really think that?" half hoping, half knowing.
Billy drained his pint. "No, you wanker. Go get the beer in!"
Later, lying on his bed, the newspaper-wrapped fish and chips he'd bought in Radfordley open on his lap, Gally watched the highlights of the England v France group qualifier. A win would secure the home side a position in the quarter-final. The French had abandoned their previous concrete defensive position. Not having won a game so far, they probably noticed it wasn't working.
The England defender Nobby Stiles was not known for his mastery of finesse but he displayed unknown 67
talent when he danced and tiptoed his way through a tackle in the French box and slid the ball for Greaves to lazily stroke a beautiful pass over to an onside Jack Charlton at the far post. Jack's header hit the woodwork and bounced to Roger Hunt who, with nothing else to do, decided he'd best tap it into the net.
The French tried to invoke the offside rule. The referee probably agreed Hunt had been offside when Greaves kicked the ball but must have decided he hadn't interfered with proceedings at that point. Brought back onside and into play by the errant French goalpost, Hunt's goal remained. Gally found himself cheering; a sudden disturbing new interest in the 'beautiful game'.
Having already had a Greaves goal disallowed, he thought it a just decision.
He licked his fingers and dug his little wooden fork into the crispy, battered fish. Now, this was what good food was all about. Fish and chips, cooked to perfection, expertly drained, with salt and vinegar, and it had to be in that order, not vinegar and then the salt.
No, that would be the sort of mistake a foreign spy might make, he mused, a bit like asking for three beers 68
in a wartime Gestapo filled pub using three fingers instead of the continental two fingers and a thumb.
In the second half, a Bobby Charlton goal was ruled offside, surely the French couldn't complain, but when he later found Ian Callaghan, in space and willing to lob it over to Hunt, the resulting close-range header was fumbled into the back of the net by the French goalie.
The quarter-finals were assured.
He screwed up the now empty wrapping and pushed it in the corner bin then rinsed his hands in the room sink before heading for a pee. As he walked down the short corridor it became obvious that Sandy had just used the loo. He'd give it half an hour. Better still, he'd just use his sink.
69
21st July
"Sit down, Gallagher." The Old Man didn't look up until he reached the final page. "It's an interesting report and well written. Is there something you're not telling me though?"
Gally managed to look thoughtful and replied, "I don't think so, Sir."
Pipe clamped between his teeth, the Old Man countered, "You don't think the fact you've compromised the surveillance with your inability not to flirt, even when at the wheel, is important then?"
He shifted slightly in his seat. "Well, Sir, it has a small measure of importance but I don't consider it to be on such a scale as to merit special mention. What I mean is, they already know or strongly suspect they're being monitored but they also know their game isn't up until we've traced them all. They're not after secrets, they're an assassination team and they still have a viable mission. We just have to pick them off, one by one."
The Old Man seemed placated. "What's going to happen 70
with the stamp man, Sir? Are Box going to have him hoiked in or are they going to let it run?"
"For the time being, Gallagher, they're going to keep an eye on him and his contact. They still have the Home Office warrant going for his post and home phone tapping. On the downside, the call box in the village has been refused by the Home Secretary, invasion of the public's privacy, so we'll have to use other means in respect of that. I take it you recovered our device?"
"We did, Sir. About his contact, the pensioner, anything come back as yet?"
The Old Man removed the pipe and waved it at Gally. "Yes, former member of the British Communist Party back in the thirties, but he didn't stay long at all.
We almost missed it. Of course, none of us can say whether he did leave the letter behind the cistern, it may have been there before, but you saw it and our Farralland chap confirms it had gone after the ‘stamp man’ left so he's of interest to our colleagues now. In the meantime, go and speak to Reg, he'll give you an update on what he and Clive have been up to."
71
Gally accepted a mug of steaming tea from Reg and asked, "What you're telling me, Clive, is that the owner of that registration number says she had it stolen a month ago and the motor she has parked up is a Morris Minor?"
Clive sat down and dunked a biscuit. "Exactly."
"Who did the enquiry, visited the house? County SB?"
Clive gave a little shake of his head. "No, they did the trace for us and then arranged for a local plod to give her a visit. That's when she said she'd reported it.
Confirmed as well."
Gallagher sipped his tea, his feet resting on the chair opposite. "Did he give us a description of her?"
"You never asked for one and I wasn't aware of the significance of it."
Gally caught the subtle eye contact between Clive and Reg. "Up yours, Clive. It's common knowledge now, isn't it? Yes, I fucked up but, in my defence, I did get a good look at her." The others laughed.
"No one's perfect, Gally," Clive replied. "Actually, I did get one from him. She's about five feet six inches, 72
slim with ginger hair just touching her shoulders, green eyes and he says she’s very attractive."
Gally rubbed his hand around his mouth and chin.
"Well, the woman I saw was sat down and maybe I didn't get that good a look at her. She didn't have ginger hair though. She was a brunette." He swivelled his head around to glance at Reg who was sifting through the filing cabinet in the corner. "Anything on Eddlestone yet, Reg?"
"I've put the file on your desk in the office, son. I thought you'd seen it?"
"No, I was a bit late this morning and had to go and see the Old Man first thing. What's happening about the search for our next victim?"
Reg shook his head. "At the moment, it's not. We've a ton of stuff to go through. It's going to take a couple of days, at least, I should think."
For the rest of the morning, he read the Eddlestone file. Around midday, he found himself a phone number and dialled. "Hello, John Gallagher from Special Branch, can I speak to the Detective dealing with the death of Timothy Eddlestone, please?”
73
Three o'clock and he was wandering around Eddlestone's cottage with Detective Constable Leighton in hot pursuit.
"Right, what's your first name again, mate? Dennis?
Right, Dennis, if my understanding of the situation is correct, the front door was bolted and locked from the inside, he was found hanging from the stairs by his tie and the back door was locked from the inside?"
"That's right. The first officers to arrive had to kick it in."
"Is that the same lock and key?"
"Yeah, the damage was all done to the frame which you'll see has been repaired. If you don't mind me asking, why the renewed interest in this job? Your lot were all over this at one point then they seemed to get bored and I ended up with it. Suicide they said. I can't say I disagree. There was no note but I’m told he'd been a bit depressed and no signs of forced entry."
"I'll give you that, Dennis. As you know, his security clearance caused the initial excitement, it usually does, but when the circus leaves town and the dust settles someone has to sweep it up. That's you and me, mate."
74
He'd reached the back door and squatted down to examine the lock. "He was found by his best mate, Jeremy Copeland, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, well you've read the file. Eddlestone hadn't turned up at a social meeting the night before, pub or something. Copeland came round to check on him, found it all locked up but could see his legs and feet sticking out into the kitchen doorway, so then he runs around to the neighbour who tried the spare backdoor key he'd been given so he could feed the cats when Eddlestone went on holiday. It didn’t work because the proper key was still in the lock. That's when they phoned the Police."
"Why didn't they just kick the door in?"
"Well, the neighbour's an old fella and he did try with his shoulder but it wouldn't budge. That's when Copeland went to the phone box. What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it doesn't feel right. Look, this doorframe. It's been repaired around the lock site but the top and bottom bolts couldn't have been on because they're pristine. No damage, no repairs. That paint has 75
been there for years and these are the original fittings so that means the bolts weren't on. Let me show you something."
Using the key, he turned the door lock several times.
"See how easy that is? And, if you look closely, you can see traces of oil. I'd bet that was applied quite recently."
He delved in his pocket and produced a set of long, fine, needle-nosed pliers.
With the door open, key still in the lock on the inside, he knelt down and inserted the pliers into the outside key opening then looked up at his colleague.
"There's the possibility I could end up looking a right tart if this doesn’t work but I was only shown how to do it the other day." It took him two attempts and a shift in position before he succeeded in causing the deadbolt to activate. Having perfected the technique, he closed the door and repeatedly locked and unlocked the mechanism. Dennis was impressed but looked concerned. "Blimey, do you think I should have spotted that?"
Gally shook his head. "No. Nobody else did so why should you fare any better."
76
"So, are you saying it was his mate murdered him and staged everything?"
"To be honest, that's exactly what I think he did.
Proving it is another matter." He stood up. "I don't know what went on exactly but what's in my file, and I suspect not in yours, is that Copeland isn't just a Government scientist. He was the Finance Director of a project I can't discuss. That rings alarm bells in my head. Position and seemingly unlimited money coming in, the temptation must have been difficult to resist.
Maybe our Timothy found out. Maybe he was blackmailing him or maybe he just threatened to tell someone. We'll probably never really know but I think Copeland was here the night Eddlestone died." He strolled over to the garden shed, no hasp, simple catch, and stepped in.
"I'll be kind to the pair of them. Perhaps old Jeremy came to plead with Tim not to say anything about his pilfering. They'd had a few drinks, probably too many.
We know from the post-mortem report that Eddlestone had consumed a considerable amount. Things get out of hand. Jerry loses it and then does a runner but, when he 77
gets home, he realises he's left traces so he comes back later on, stages it and cleans the glasses, puts them back in the cupboard, wipes down whatever he can to remove the telltale fingerprints then thinks about the back door.
He might have been going to leave by the front but knows the lock here is quite free. He gets an idea and comes in the shed, finds some three in one oil and the needle-nose pliers. He's got time. The neighbour, we know from his statement, goes to bed early, takes some sleeping 'aid' as he put it and rises late. When done, Copeland puts the stuff back."
He began turning various tools on the shed's peg board. "Look at that, Dennis? Needle-nose pliers and they're the only ones different from the rest."
The DC studied the board. "How do you mean? They all seem to be the same brand. They look the same to me."
Gallagher called him over with a finger. "All the others are placed with the brand name facing forward but these pliers are the other way around. And look, three in one oil. He'll have wiped the door lock with his hanky probably but I wonder if he remembered to do 78
the oil can. It might be worth getting it fingerprinted. I would if I were you."
"But why didn't he just bolt the back door and leave by the front, much easier?"
Gally smiled. "Because, judging by the number of locks on the front door, Timothy Eddlestone was security conscious and Copeland, being his best mate, would have known it. It was probably the first thing Timothy did every time he got home. The bolts and the door chain not being on would have been too easy to spot. It would have stood out that he'd opened the door to someone and probably someone he knew. Callers usually come to the front door. The rear? Well, people tend to lock their front door but leave the back open for their own use, especially in the summer and especially when you've got a nice yard or garden. The back door top and bottom bolts being on or not could be easily overlooked in all the excitement of kicking the door in, just as it has been, actually."
Stepping out, he closed the shed door and took a look around. "Yeah, only the next-door neighbour is in a position to overlook the garden. I think Copeland was 79
like a pig in shit once he'd calmed down and thought it over. Then he goes home, gets changed and when he's sobered up a bit more he makes his reappearance as the concerned friend. The two basics of investigation are, Dennis, the first people worthy of closer inspection are always the last to see them alive and the first to find them dead."
He relocked the back door with the key and handed it to the detective. "Of course, this is all supposition but there's enough circumstantial evidence there to attract someone's attention. Oh, and have a look at Copeland's motor. I'll bet when he normally called he parked right outside but this time I think he would have parked somewhere not too far away but out of view. That little track down the road with the big willow over it looks inviting. No chance of tyre tracks now but a few soil and debris samples wouldn't hurt any."
"How do you manage to notice all that?"
"You just have to be looking for it, besides, I have an advantage." He became conspiratorial, a quick look left and right. "This is just between the two of us. If you tell anyone I may have to send someone back to kill you."
80
They both laughed but Dennis had no idea how close to the truth that could become. Without divulging anything important, Gally told him of the recent issues regarding supposedly depressed government scientists apparently committing suicide and how, as the Director of Finances, Copeland would have been aware of the situation. "So, Dennis, I think, once he'd got his act together, he came up with a master plan and it's not a bad one at that. Then again, it could be suicide but usually there's something that points to a reason and I can't find one. Never mind, no one's perfect."
DC Leighton looked worried. He didn't mind a challenge but dabbling in the murky world of 'spies and Government secrets' left him with a bit of a cold chill.
Gallagher recognised the symptoms.
"Don't worry, Dennis. Just do what I've suggested and my report will give you all the credit. You won't be stuck with it long. SB will be all over it but you'll have the detection. C'mon!” he beckoned. “Have you got a Dennis friendly Sergeant or Inspector we can run this by? I don't want it to be a nasty surprise and it would be nice for you to have a 'mate' on board."
81
He phoned in and they had nothing to tell him so he went home, parked the car and had a brief chat with the television hard man actor who told him of his up and coming appearances in Dixon of Dock Green and the Avengers.
Checking the cupboards failed to tickle his taste buds so he walked down to the local supermarket to see if they had anything that would entice him.
He hadn't been there long when she caught his eye.
Naturally pretty, dark hair almost touching her shoulders, nice figure. He wasn't sure if she was wearing makeup or not. He liked subtlety and the confused look on her face as she perused the instructions on a pack of Vesta chow mein just made her more alluring.
He dawdled at the shelves. "That's one of my favourites, very simple to make. The crispy noodles might seem a bit difficult but any pan with a bit of hot oil will do. I'd open the windows though, might get a bit smoky if the oil's too hot." He smiled and she 82
responded. "Thank you, I just fancy something easy but nice."
"Well, I'm an expert in easy but nice. Do you live around here? It's just I've a funny feeling I've seen you before."
"No, I've just been visiting my friend. She lives in the mews down the road. That's where you live isn't it?"
"Yes, not been there long. You're the girl with the green coat aren't you?"
"I do have others but yes, it's my favourite." Her eyes sparkled, which only served to raise his interest even further.
"Well, err, I have to get on." He lifted his empty basket as evidence of the urgency. "Nice to speak to you, finally." Pointing at the packet she still held, he added, "I'd recommend that, I don't think you'll be disappointed."
He left her and, after wandering along several aisles, found himself at the checkout with a Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie and a tin of peas. She was behind him.
He nodded. "Look, let me pay for that, the chow mein I mean. I feel some responsibility for the suggestion and 83
if you didn't like it I wouldn't feel right, you wasting your money." She tried to protest but eventually gave in. He counted out the change and handed it over to the cashier.
As he left, he turned and said, "Maybe we'll see each other again, sometime?"
She smiled and replied, "Yes, that would be nice."
Back home, he placed his revolver, holster and speed loaders in his bedside cabinet, read the instructions on the pie tin and put the oven on. He briefly stood pushing the buttons to change the two channels on the TV and decided James Stewart in 'Carbine Williams' was the lesser of two evils but couldn't really concentrate on it.
He was thinking about the stolen number plates.
They'd lost their targets for now and the only way forward would be to identify a probable next victim and wait it out or ... something bothered him. To get a set of number plates you'd need documentation or to know someone who'd make them no questions asked. That made stealing them an easier choice but he wasn't so sure that lying on someone's street in a reasonably rural town, where the neighbours might be a tadge nosier 84
than the city, was actually the easiest option. It’d be simpler to use your own, or even a remote contact’s, and just say they'd been stolen.
It wasn't a foolproof lead but it was one worth pursuing. Besides, he wanted to know just how attractive this woman was.
85
22nd July
He parked the car up in the Farralland yard, nodded to two of the blokes who were sheltering from the rain under a canopy, and briskly crossed the road. In the office, he shook his coat and hung it up on the shared stand.
"The kettle's just boiled," Winston informed him, passing him a cup. "Mind topping me up from the pot, I like it a bit stewed."
Gallagher glanced at the photograph on the desk as he took the offering. "That your dog, Winston? Looks a nice little fella."
His colleague chuckled. "No, wish it was. It's Pickles."
He knew it was supposed to mean something to him but it didn't. Winston picked up on the facial expression. "You know? It's the dog that found the World Cup when it got nicked."
"Oh! Yeah, I recognise it now. It was his grin that threw me. Do you want milk and sugar in this?"
86
Sandy entered and rummaged around on his desk then looked up. "Morning Gally. I nearly forgot. Reg is looking for you."
Mug in hand, he found Reg manoeuvring a filing cabinet away from the wall.
"You moving house, Reg?"
"Nah! I dropped a file down the back. Do me a favour, you're a big strapping lad, hold this while I get it back out."
Done, he sat down and sipped his tea. "Is that all you wanted me for, Reg, or was there something else?"
Reg pulled bits of fluff off the file he retrieved then put it back on top of the cabinets. "Something else.
Clive and I made a bit of headway yesterday so I wanted to update you. The Old Man already knows.
He's going to his club later on to do some liaison."
"So, what have you got?"
He passed him two files in buff folders from a tray on the table. "These are the most significant cryptologists we've found. Take these two off the game board and they reckon it would set the project back years. There's talk, as well, of the possibility of one of 87
them being loaned to the Americans so it's even more essential we don't lose whoever doesn't go."
"You know, Reg, what gets me is that one way or another they're going to come up with this new code and its associated communication system so why doesn't the Warsaw Pact just put up with it, gives them more time to break it?"
Reg smiled. "A bit too simplistic, Gally. It's quite obvious in some quarters that they're able to read our existing stuff. What exactly, no one is entirely sure. In fact, if they hadn't started this caper we might not have realised for quite a while. Have you read Catch 22?"
Gally nodded. "I have actually. I wouldn't have thought it would be on your reading list?"
Reg laughed. "You are a cocky little sod sometimes, Gally. I'll have you know, I have an eclectic taste in books." He got up and put the kettle on. "Well, that's it.
Catch 22 for them was, in order to keep reading our code they needed to delay the introduction of a new one but in doing so they recognised they might alert us to the facts. If they did nothing, they'd soon be shut out from vital intelligence."
88
Gallagher mulled it over then flicked through the files whilst Reg made himself a brew, sat down, opened a new packet of biscuits and began munching on one.
Eventually, "I sent Clive out to interview staff members, get us a better insight, particularly into these two, Petterson and Reddington-Taylour. We wanted to be sure we haven't overlooked anything and although my files are good I think we're missing some fine detail that could be useful. What have you been up to anyway? What happened at Eddlestone's?"
Gally sat back and put his feet on the spare chair.
"Not much, but I think I've solved it. You were right, Reg, it wasn't part of the mainstream. When they take a closer look, I think they'll find Timothy Eddlestone's mate, old Jeremy Copeland, the finance director, has been helping himself from the 'pot'. I’m guessing, Tim somehow found out, threatened to tell someone, Jerry panicked and things went from bloody awkward to fucking ghastly. It's a theory anyway, and the bonus is the local lads are looking into it, safe in the knowledge that as soon as they lock Copeland up Special Branch will swoop in and take it off their hands. Result all 89
round, I think. We've binned it, the police get the detection and the local SB get to feel important."
He finished his tea and stood up. "Of course all that could turn out to be a load of old bollocks but I do know this. It's not part of what we're looking at." He waved the buff folders. "Can I take these with me for a bit of light reading before I write my report up?"
After a lunch of two Wimpy burgers sat at his desk, he returned the folders to Reg and plonked himself on the edge of Sandy's, explaining his thoughts from the night before.
"So what do you think? Would you drive me out there? I've already spoken to the constable who gave her a visit last time and he's willing to go round again, on the pretext of updating her with the result of the crime report. I don't want to take my motor because if she is the woman I saw she'll definitely suss it. I think if I saw her in person I'd be able to say whether it was her or not despite the change in hair colour, which I have to admit has thrown me once or twice in the past with embarrassing results."
Sandy looked at him quizzically.
90
Gally waved him off. "Oh, it's nothing really. Just at least once I almost chatted up a bird I'd been trying to avoid."
His colleague smiled. "Doesn't sound very promising. Yeah, I can do that. Give me half an hour."
91
The rest of the day hadn't been a total washout. At least the scenery had been nice. Sat off in Sandy's motor, they'd watched the local officer chat to the redhead and Gally knew it wasn't his life sucker. There was no doubt, she was a very attractive woman but she wasn't 'the one'. As the officer had said, later when they thanked him, "Red hair and green eyes, a dangerous combination, difficult for anyone to resist."
Back at the office, Reg wanted to know if he cared for an evening at the railway enthusiasts meeting in Clapham. Gallagher declined, claiming the excitement might be too much for him. No, he'd be going for a quieter night at a drinking establishment he knew on the Kings Road.
He was partial to an early evening pint and wasn't one for staying out much past ten. In his opinion, the riff-raff started crawling out of their holes around then so it was no surprise for him to be walking back to Sloane Square for the tube just after 9 pm.
He'd almost made the junction when he saw Clive, standing on the opposite pavement with a uniformed 92
policeman, close to the local military barracks. The officer held Clive's arm and it didn't look good. He checked the traffic and crossed over, reaching the pair just as the officer was about to call in on his radio.
Clive looked agitated, like he wished he was invisible.
Police identification already out, Gally said,
"Alright, Officer, John Gallagher, Special Branch. Can I ask you what you think you're doing?"
Taken aback, the young constable asked to see the warrant card again and read it carefully before offering,
"I've arrested this man for importuning. I watched him from that alley over there..."
Gally
interrupted
with
authority,
"Very
commendable, but sadly you've walked right into a surveillance we're doing. This man is a colleague of mine from the Security Service. Now, I can't tell you too much but we've been watching someone who's just gone into the bistro up there and we're waiting for his contact to arrive shortly, so it would be nice if you could make yourself scarce then we can recover something from a long, hard day."
93
The officer gave him a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry, I wasn't to know."
"No, you weren't, son, and standing around asking for the time doesn't quite qualify as importuning in my book, but I'm going to forgive you and say nothing further."
He put his hand to his ear faking receipt of a radio message, signalling with his other for the officer to stay quiet. He milked the moment for as long as he could, glancing up and down the street as if gaining his bearings before pronouncing, "Right, that was my controller, our man is only two streets away and will be here any minute. You'd better do one and make it quick." He gave him an encouraging palm on his shoulder.
With another hurried apology, the constable crossed the road and briskly walked off, disappearing into the side street opposite.
Gally looked at his colleague. "I don't need to know why you're here, Clive. It's your business. Where's your motor?"
94
They walked back and into another side street in silence. As Clive unlocked his car, Gally said, "Look, if you need to find somewhere safe to frequent, I know some decent sorts who could help you out. They're nice people and you never know they might be able to introduce you to the man of your dreams. Go home and avoid these back streets because our mate in the big hat will probably still be lurking somewhere."
Clive gave him a weak smile. "Thanks, Gally. I appreciate it, I really do. Don't tell the Old Man."
95
23rd July
From behind the bedroom curtain, she watched him leave then quietly slid back under the covers.
He'd tell his wife it had been another all-night brainstorming session, take a shower and head into work once she'd made him breakfast. In the meantime, he was in no rush, he'd stop off at the little news-stand at the station and get a paper. The man there knew him by now and, although not officially open, he'd happily give the well-spoken gentleman a free copy knowing men of that calibre rarely carried small change and, anyway, he'd need all his 'float' money for his regular customers.
With his paper on the passenger seat, Reddington-Taylour joined the main road again, just in time to slip in front of some approaching military vehicles and settled down to enjoy the drive home.
He saw the grey car as he rounded the bend. It could have safely got out of the side road in front of him but chose not to. He remained mildly aware of its presence; it seemed in no hurry either. He briefly toyed with the 96
idea that it may be a 'fellow traveller' in the game of infidelity but dismissed it when he realised there were two people on board. It sat respectfully back and he felt under no pressure to drive faster or encourage it to pass.
As he reached the bend, he checked his mirror. There was nothing there. He was still trying to figure out where his companions had gone when they smashed into the side of him. His last memory was of long grass, some sort of fence and bushes.
The grey car stopped. No squeal of brakes, no tyre marks. It reversed back to the bend. The passenger leapt out, gun in hand and fired three shots into the car that lay in the hedge.
97
He breezed in, hung his coat up and tucked a business card into Clive's shirt pocket, whilst murmuring, "Ask for Glenroy, big Jamaican fella, runs the place. Mention my name and tell him you're a friend and don't get in any card games with the Chinese guys."
He greeted the others and made himself a brew.
Winston sat back and unwrapped a Mars bar. "Who'd you fancy to win this afternoon then, Gally?"
Gallagher idly tapped the dachshund's head with his finger and watched it wobble as it seemed to consider the question. When it settled to a slow sage-like nod the decision was made.
"It's a difficult one. I don't normally follow football closely but I must admit this competition has caught my interest. I reckon the Germans will manage to beat Uruguay and Portugal will thrash the Koreans easily.
Now, the Russians, who let's face it are probably mostly KGB, will probably beat the Hungarians who won't want to win anyway in case it brings on another invasion and the Argentines will simply kick us all over the pitch."
98
The Old Man appeared in the doorway. "Thank you for that thorough analysis of current sporting events, Gallagher. I'm no longer surprised you never made it to Corporal." He turned his attention to Ralph and Winston. "How are you two getting along with the stats for the Minister?"
They were doing fine, they said. Their report should be ready late afternoon. The Old Man nodded. "Well, he's looking for answers so just make sure you don't give him any important ones. Fudge the budget issues, usual drill."
He caught Gallagher's eye. "My office, now. You too, Clive."
They stood and waited whilst he straightened the papers on his desk. Done, he fixed them both with a stare. After only a few seconds it became unnerving.
Gallagher proffered an inquisitive, "Sir?"
The Old Man retorted, "What?"
Gally countered with, "Do you want me to say something?"
He was rewarded with a quizzical eye and, "Do you need to say something?"
99
"No, Sir. I just..." He got no further.
"Ah! Sandy, Reg. Come in! Right! Let's get on with it. I've not had a chance to read Clive's report on his background enquiries regarding our cryptologists as yet and I'm afraid things have been taken out of our hands, somewhat. Reddington-Taylour was forced off the road early this morning. That's only a day since Petterson left for the USA. The timing was near perfect and I'm convinced, as is Sir Martin, that there's someone within the project passing information. He's putting someone in there to try and give us all a clearer picture but in the meantime get down to Marlborough Infirmary and make sure the local SB have got the place secure. He's described as being stable at the moment. We're making arrangements to move him to a military hospital, probably the psychiatric one at Netley which is better suited to our isolating him. Reg, you'll remain here of course and collate what the others are reporting back."
Thirty minutes later they were on their way, a convoy of three vehicles with three sleeping bags, three 24 hour ration packs, 'ready kit' from the lockers and an 100
address for an unoccupied police house in a village not far from Marlborough.
They'd arranged to meet their liaison at the hospital.
As they strode towards the entrance, Gallagher asked,
"So, what's this chap like then, Clive, and who the hell is Sir Martin when he's not at home?"
Sandy opened the door for the others. "Sir Martin?
He's the DG for Box."
Clive had stopped just clear of it. "Listen, I wanted to speak to the pair of you about Reddington-Taylour.
He's not a pleasant man. In a word? Bully. I wasn't able to speak to his staff without his being present and it soon became obvious to me that there's something happening under the surface. He wouldn't even let me speak to his wife alone. Now, she's a nice woman but very timid. I did get some useful info however, from one of his junior colleagues on another team. They say he's a serial womaniser."
Gally frowned in mock seriousness. "It doesn't make you a bad person, you know."
Clive blushed. "Oh no, I wasn't trying to make a point or saying..."
101
Sandy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Clive, take no notice of him. He's just winding you up. Come on, let's go and get this sorted."
A quick tour of the area Reddington-Taylour was being kept in satisfied them Special Branch had their hands firmly on the reins. Their SB liaison briefed them on the incident.
"We haven't been able to ascertain where he'd been coming back from exactly but he'd been on the road from Amesbury to Marlborough when he got forced off around six o'clock. Some army boys came across it, they reckon not long after it happened."
Sandy: "Why do they think that?"
The SB man responded, "They'd had a car pull out in front of them not too long before it happened. They could see, at a couple of points, this car and what turns out to be Reddington's Rover in front of them but lost sight of them on the hills and bends."
Gally: "What sort of car was it?" He was hoping for an Austin Farina but suspected it would be too lightweight to take the Rover off the road. He was right.
102
"Humber Hawk, two-tone grey, didn't catch the number plate."
Clive butted in. "Have you got the details of the army chaps? I think we should speak to them personally."
The SB man nodded. "The uniform lads did all that but I wouldn't bother with all of them because the majority were in the back of two lorries. I've got the names, if you want? We've taken statements from the convoy commander, his driver and the two in the cab of the lorry behind. I'll get you those before I take you to your new home. There was one other soldier but he was the radio operator in the back of the commander's Landrover, didn't see bugger all. Tomorrow, I'll take you to look at the scene, if you like?" They did.
Expecting a bare house, they found the accommodation much better than they feared.
Furnished like an army quarter, it had everything needed for a short stay less food, TV and a fridge.
Used by the SB to house a defector at some point but latterly the playground of the scenes of crime department it was commendably clean, if the doors and 103
frames, along with some furniture which still bore the traces and smudges of fingerprint dust, were ignored.
After arranging the timings for the following day and receiving the directions for the village shop and pub, Clive found the whistle for the kettle in the cutlery drawer and they set about deciding what would be their evening meal.
There were pros and cons to all the Army's ration packs. In this case, it was menu 'A' for Clive and Gally, menu 'D' for Sandy. This meant chicken curry and rice for two of them with minced steak and mixed vegetables for the other. They'd share the chocolate pudding as the apple flakes did nothing for any of them and if still hungry a chocolate bar, in some stage of turning white through prolonged storage, would suffice to fill them up.
Over their brew, they read through the statements, passing them to and fro as they finished each one, after which they decided to go to the pub to discuss any issues.
Pleasant late afternoon drinks were always, well, pleasant and although it had rained earlier the tables and 104
benches in the garden were now dry thanks to the newly released sun.
Sandy led off as he laid three pints on the beer mats.
"So, what do we make of the job so far?"
Clive was studying the map. "Well, the road the Humber came out of does lead back to Pewsey so I'd guess that's where he'd been. Probably towards the south of the town and that's why they took that particular route to cut him off. I'd have thought at that time of the morning they'd not encounter any traffic so the extra distance wouldn't be an issue."
Gally sipped his pint. "I agree, Clive. I think tomorrow we'll get a better idea when we take a look at the crash scene and have a drive along that road. I'm not entirely sure who he was visiting is necessarily so important to us at present but we should look into it. To be honest, it wouldn't be a surprise if it was someone from the project, given the nature of the man. I'll give Reg a bell when we get the bread and eggs from the shop. The phone box is just round the corner."
After another pint, they called it a day and wandered up the road to the little shop that doubled as the 105
newsagent and post office. Whilst the others went in, Gallagher made his call.
"Ok, Gally, I'll make those enquiries and make sure you call me earlier tomorrow because I've got a bird watcher's AGM to go to."
"I'll do my best, Reg. Oh, and by the way, I know they may have thought of this but mention it to Box. If the project has a tea lady they might want to give her a bit of close attention, any cleaners as well. I've come across this before. They become almost invisible, if you know what I mean."
106
England's quarter-final game against Argentina was an ill-tempered affair. Their captain, Rattin, cautioned for a foul on Bobby Charlton, soon found himself in trouble when he started an argument with the German referee that he felt unable to finish. The result was the ref eventually got bored and gave him his marching orders. He refused to go. In the end, Fifa officials and the police had to escort him from the field of play.
Playing with only ten men for most of the match the Argentines persevered and even came close but with ten minutes to go a Hurst glancing header sealed the deal.
England had made it to the semi-finals.
Devastating as it was for Rattin at least his behaviour brought about a change in the laws of football. Neither he nor the referee spoke the same language and the Argentinian captain later claimed he was simply asking for an interpreter so the earlier decision could be explained to him and hadn't realised he was being sent off. Unfortunately, his Latin temper and expansive hand movements failed to get this across to the German who, possibly rightly, felt he'd no need to explain anything 107
especially when he thought he was about to be throttled by an angry man.
To prevent future repetition of such unfortunate
'confusion', shortly after this, a Fifa official invented the red and yellow card system.
108
24th July
They woke to rain but the sky was clearing by the time they'd made a joint effort which produced breakfast: fried eggs, compo sausage, beans with slices of baconburger and toast on the side.
The liaison arrived at eight-thirty and, in Gally's car, they followed him to a local garage where they stood and viewed Reddington-Taylour's P6 blue rover.
The SB man waved them over. "Note the bullet holes. It looks like after forcing him off the road they got out and tried to finish him off. Probably disturbed by the army lads, I should think."
Gallagher bent down and poked his finger in one of the two holes in the rear door. "Did they recover the bullets?"
The SB man popped his head up from the front of the vehicle where he'd been pointing out damage to Clive. "Sorry, I should have said. The Lab boys say it's a .455 bullet and with there being no empty cases found at the scene it tells them the weapon was probably a Webley."
109
Sandy whispered to Gally, "Webley revolver chambered for that bullet? Bit of an old weapon. I think they stopped using it in forty-seven. The later ones were a different calibre."
Gally murmured back, "Yeah, I know."
Sandy thought it over. "Do you reckon they’re trying to make us think they're independent and struggling for resources when the reality is they're not?"
"Probably, Ginge. Nothing says 'spy' more than the likes of a PPK semi-automatic, so I think, by using the old Webley, they've attempted to distance themselves from any Eastern Bloc embassies. Commendable effort but it's only worth three stars."
Their liaison ambled over. "The forensic chaps believe they fired another through the driver's side window, that's what smashed it, not the crash. I mean, the windscreen's only damaged because he headbutted it. Shall we go?" He took them to the crash site where he made his excuses and left.
After wandering around, looking at it from all angles, they drove the route then returned to the scene.
Gallagher stood off and surveyed the general area.
110
"What're you thinking, Gally?" Clive called to him.
He returned with a thoughtful look. "I'm thinking it's not what I would've done. Whoever did this is either incompetent or it was meant to not succeed."
Sandy joined them. "How come?"
Gally blew a breath out of the side of his mouth. "I'm no expert but why didn't they take him out further back down the road just before the hill. It's much better.
There are two bends there and the army lads say they lost sight of them at that point. I mean, they could have forced him into the copse. Some nice sturdy trees there and his chances of missing all of them would have been almost impossible. But no, instead, they wait until they get here."
He walked to the bend and stood on the grass, calling back. "Gentle sloping bend. Good view for oncoming traffic. Little gravel lay-by leading to a slight slope and a bloody big hedge. Nice buffer. Good view back as well, they'd be able to see anything coming up behind them for quite a way." He rejoined them, hands in pockets. "No, I'm not buying it. It's not right for me.
111
And then they've gone to the car to shoot him, only I don't think that's what they really tried to do."
Sandy interrupted. "You think it was just for show? I must admit I thought it odd myself. Didn't they say when they found him he was lying on his left side across the passenger seat?"
Clive nodded. " So you're saying they staged it?
Why?"
Gally smiled. "Because without the bullet holes we might think it was just an unfortunate accident but with them, no chance of that happening. They had the opportunity to kill him but didn't? In my mind, that means he's not their real target. Come and take a look at this?"
They walked back to the Cambridge parked in the lay-by. "If they'd reversed to more or less where we are now it wouldn't have taken more than thirty seconds, at the most, to get up close and personal, do the business and get back in the car and be off. Meanwhile, they've a good view of what's coming back up the road, so there'd be no real surprises."
112
"And," Sandy enthused, "the back of the Rover poking out of the hedge would have gone unnoticed to the lead military vehicle anyway because it would’ve been shielded from this angle by our assassins motor.
The blokes in the cab of the first three tonner might have caught a glimpse but they'd have to notify the commander in front if they'd wanted to stop which would've taken a little while of flashing headlights and horn sounding. Same if anyone in the back saw anything. Meanwhile, all our people had to do was get it done then sweep their car round on the bend and head off back towards Pewsey."
"Precisely, Ginge. They had more than enough time to finish the job but didn't. They're trying to distract us."
"Then," Clive interjected. " Who is the real target?"
Gally placed a hand on his shoulder. "That I can't answer but I think we need to go back to the project and take another look at those people you interviewed."
Just after midday, Gally called Reg from the phone box by the village shop to update him on the theory and their progress. Told to stay put and await a return call, he guarded the kiosk by bimbling to and fro kicking the 113
gravel back and forth. Ten minutes later, the phone rang.
It was the Old Man. "Gallagher? Interesting theory but it's only that, a theory. Best to keep the protection on Reddington in case you've got it wrong, plus with having moved him somewhere more secure his isolation might make someone more inclined to talk freely. You and Sandy will not be participating in that however because I want you both to return to the office immediately. Leave Clive to deal with the follow up enquires. I've read his report and he's obviously got a finger on the pulse of things there and if anyone can make them feel at ease then it'll be Clive."
"May I ask what the urgency is, Sir?"
"All I can tell you is, we need to take someone out."
"Would that be just for a walk or a full sit down meal, Sir?"
His reward was a terse, "Don't be flippant, Gallagher." The phone went dead.
114
In his office, the Old Man was in an unforgiving mood. "What kept you?"
Gallagher thought saying nothing was his best option. The Old Man ignored the lack of reply. "There have been further developments. Two of our East Germans flew out early this morning but Radler is still here and currently having a late lunch with the Russian cultural attaché at the Langham on Portland Place. With the Polish embassy not being too far away and his partiality for a walk, after a meal especially, we've come up with a plan of sorts."
Gally nodded understanding then asked, "This plan of sorts, Sir? Does it involve me and Sandy asking him nicely to step into a car?"
Radler and his Soviet colleague finished their after-meal coffees, shook hands and, as the East German left the restaurant, the Russian waved a waiter over.
"Another cognac and the bill, if you would be so kind."
Harald Radler was in his early fifties with slicked-back thinning grey hair and a set of eyebrows that arched to give him the look of a man who was 115
permanently mildly inquisitive. His paid for paunch preceded him as he strolled along Portland Place fully aware of his MI5 usual shadows. With 100 yards to the Embassy, Gallagher startled him by stepping into his sphere of consciousness. "Be a nice chap and get into the car, please, Herr Radler."
The East German briefly looked over his shoulder and saw Sandy, standing a few feet away, a Farralland tough lounging casually fore and aft. After a heavy meal, he’d no inclination to try and avoid them, besides, he knew the game. They'd keep him for a while, try to get him to tell them something they could use and when he didn't they'd exchange him for one of theirs. Perhaps that was already the whole point. He climbed in the rear of the Cambridge.
At the safehouse, they told him to make himself comfortable and Sandy put the kettle on.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Herr Radler?"
Gallagher asked as he dusted the settee off with a copy of the Radio Times.
116
Radler laughed. "Is this part of your British interrogation techniques? Confuse your victims with pleasantries?"
Gally found the page for the day's television and dropped it on the coffee table. "No, I don't think so. It's just I'm parched and I didn't want you to think you were being left out. No milk and two sugars, if I remember rightly? You speak English very well, Herr Radler.
Hardly a trace of an accent but then again your mother was English, wasn't she?"
Radler grinned. "I feel we know each other so well, you can call me Harald. And your name is?"
Straight faced Gallagher replied, "I'm not allowed to tell you that but you can call me Gally. My colleague is called Ginge. Anyway, we've been given strict instructions to engage you in small talk only. I suppose it's in case you try to fill our heads with naughty communist thoughts. I mean, I'm particularly susceptible myself, not having my own car. I quite like the look of your old Wartburgs. A classic look but maybe I'm flying a little too high on my salary. Do you think I should stick with the Trabant? An estate would 117
be nice. Do they do that type? With one of them, I could go hunting at the weekends."
Radler plonked himself down in the armchair. "I think you are playing games with me."
Gally smiled, "No, I think you're playing games with me, Herr Radler. You've sat in the power chair and you know I've just dusted the settee off specially for you. It's where you'll be sleeping after all." He stood and gazed at him until he got up and moved then continued, "I'm afraid it being a Sunday, there isn't much on the box tonight. Outside London, Britain's closed on Sundays.
We could always play charades though, if you're interested? Ginge loves charades. He's a real wizard at it."
The German smiled. "Is this it? You're going to keep me here until boredom, your inane musings or that awful wallpaper gets the better of me?"
"You won't be here long enough for that." Gallagher accepted his cup of tea and took a sip as Sandy handed Radler his and told him, "I'd be careful, it's going to be hot without the milk."
118
Gally sat down in the armchair. "Are you following the World Cup, Harald? I don't suppose you are, seeing as your lot aren't in it. Are the Russian team mainly from the KGB Sports and Social Club?"
Radler looked back at him with mock consternation.
"How am I to know? I'm a simple East German, not a Russian. Would you pass me the newspaper please, Gally? I can see this is going to be a long night."
119
25th July
They woke him at three-thirty with a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, escorted him to the toilet and watched him pee. Time to go.
The street was dark and empty. There was a chill in the air that wasn't helped by the fine drizzle. The two Farralland men did a sweep and clean of the building as Sandy and Gallagher bundled Radler into the car.
Escorted by a fresh crew, they began their two-hour journey to the almost deserted former prisoner of war camp and decaying barracks in a dank wood that perched awkwardly on the side of a small hill.
Turning off the tarmac road, they took the stone track into the wood and pulled up in front of an old chain-link gate. A uniformed soldier in a poncho, guard dog by his side, passively looked on as a civilian pulled the wobbling gate open, checked Gally's paperwork then directed him to pull up in front of the third building they came to on the left.
They were met and waved in by two men in civilian clothes. Gally saw a nod of recognition pass between 120
one of them and the Farralland chap nearest him.
Intelligence Corps, probably met each other during escape and evasion training on opposite sides of a dimly lit table in a garlic-infused room, he mused.
After a few minor formalities, signatures given on several bits of paper, Radler's new 'friends' began to lead him away. He turned and held his hand out to Gallagher then Sandy.
"Thank you. It has been an interesting experience.
Perhaps, we will meet again, though at this moment I'm not so sure."
Gally put a hand on Radler's shoulder with a reassuring smile. "You take care, Harald."
Back in London, he dropped Sandy off at his car and went home to clean up and get changed. Done, he returned to the office.
The Old Man greeted him. "Where've you been?
Sandy's been back here at least ten minutes."
"Shit, shave and shower, Sir. Sandy's got less to wash than I have."
"Well, I want your report on my desk in thirty minutes."
121
Gally went to walk away but then didn't. "Why did we have to go, Sir? The Radler job? Box could have done it. Is there something I might be allowed to know?"
The Old Man scowled at him then relaxed. "There's a history between us, Gallagher. I just needed to assert our interest in him. Now, that report, get it done."
He found Reg watching an electric toaster in the main office. "Hello, Gally. Fancy some toast?"
Taking his coat off, he replied, "I wouldn't say no.
I'm starving."
Sandy threw in, "It's lovely with a bit of butter and jam." He waved a slice from his plate.
Gally: "I'm not talking to you anymore, Ginge. You shower too quick."
Sandy retorted, "Maybe you just spend too long admiring yourself in the mirror."
Gally took his colleague’s last slice. "Sandy needs more toast, Reg." He sat down, hit the dachshund on the head with a pen and pulled some forms from his drawer. "Blimey, this is good," he mumbled as he 122
chewed. "Can I have another as well, Reg? Did we win the pools or something?"
Studiously buttering two toasts and spreading them with jam, Reg replied, "A niece of mine wondered if I could use it. She's bought a new one. It’s what youngsters do these days"
123
Mid-morning and his thoughts had kept wandering back to the green-eyed redhead. There was something not quite right there, it was the registration plates. They needed to take a closer look at her, best for his peace of mind.
"You do know we're a bit thin on the ground, don't you?" Sandy looked up from his desk.
Gally nodded. "Yes, I do and that's why I thought the Farralland boys could do it. They're used to sneaky beaky stuff and they'd blend in much better than you or I sitting there in a motor. We can leave it with them.
Will you speak to the Old Man? I don't seem to be able to get on the right side of him at the moment. He likes you, Ginge." He squeezed past Winston and sat down at his desk.
Sandy huffed. "Yeah, right. Ok, I'll do it but you owe me one."
Gally searched through his top drawer. "Anyone seen my stapler? It was on my desk yesterday."
"Ralph's got it. He's using it on some files in the storeroom. I said you wouldn't mind." Sandy replied.
124
"Why didn't you give him yours?"
"I needed it."
"Incidentally, Ginge, have we heard anything from Clive?"
Winston interrupted. "He's in with the Old Man now, should be out soon."
Midday and they sat in the briefing room, a soulless place, window looking out onto a brick wall, a table and a stack of less than comfortable metal and pressed plywood chairs. An easel mounted blackboard guarded the corner.
"That's about it," Clive said as he gathered the copies of his report back in.
Gally leant back in his chair. "Right, so, what we have is the bird he's having his little night-time sessions with is a secretary on one of the other syndicates?" He saw Clive thumbing through the papers and knew what he was looking for. "It's ok, Clive, I don't want to know which one exactly but what about the girl you mentioned in your report who one of them says is the real source of Reddington-Taylour's work material, the 125
one who he's pinching all the ideas from? Has she not said anything to you about it?"
Clive shook his head then Sandy broke in, "Maybe that's because it's not going to get her anywhere. It's her word against his. You know what these places are like, top-heavy men’s club sort of places. Best to hang on in there than be stitched up like a kipper."
"Yeah, you're probably right. But what if our Stasi friends know she's the real genius?" Gallagher looked at his colleague. "What was it one of the others mentioned about her possibly having 'an outside interest'?"
Clive mumbled something and pulled his papers back out of the envelope he'd just stuffed them in. "Um, give me a sec." He paused then said, "Here it is. Yeah, her name's Marion Ward. They say she's been to a hairdresser, nothing radical, but she normally does it herself apparently and she's started wearing a little bit of makeup. The girl who told me said we'd probably not notice but they did."
Gally got up and wrote Reddington's name on the blackboard then circled it. He wrote 'secretary' and 126
'Ward' circling them also. Chalk lines connected them with a question mark between the secretary and Ward.
"Ok, let's make some assumptions for now." With the chalk, he stabbed Ward's circle. "She's the source of what Reddington's doing." He stabbed another circle.
"And this one could be gleaning information from him in pillow talk. What we need to know is, are Ward and the secretary connected in any way? They probably know each other by sight but it's not a given."
He drew two more circles, one connected with the secretary, the other with Ward. "We know there's someone else in this mix because it seems Ward is seeing someone. Who is it? And, what about the mistress? What significant others does she have?
They're our two priorities for now. Anyone disagree?"
No one did.
Reg had been sat quietly nibbling the chocolate off a Club biscuit. Gallagher caught his attention. "Have you had anything back from Box regarding their extra vetting enquiries?"
Reg nodded."They tell me one of the tea ladies, a widow, took up with a bloke nearly two years ago and 127
they're now shacked up together. She didn't let anyone know though, so they want to take a closer look at him.
I have mentioned the mistress to my contact but I had to wait until there was one of my club meetings before I could pass it over, hence the delay. I've got to distance us from the recovery of the information. If I speak to him openly too often someone will pick up on it."
Gally quickly thought it over. "Even if the new man in the tea lady's life turns out to be suspect it still means there was already someone inside, in the system, feeding information out well before he turned up on the scene. It makes sense to have more than one source, probably totally unknown to each other."
He started to pace the room. "Can we close Farralland down for two weeks at least? Box will look at the secretary and it'll keep them occupied. We keep the Ward information to ourselves for the time being and put surveillance on her. Farralland are best at doing this but with them also doing the redhead we're going to need all their resources."
Their heads bobbed in agreement. It was Sandy who spoke. "It can be done. We've done it before. You 128
remember, Reg? It was before Clive got here. They throw some excuse up in their front window and farm out their legitimate work to people they know."
Clive spoke up. "What about our sleeper agents?
Anyone any thoughts on them?"
Gally pointed the chalk at him. "Good thinking, Clive. Let's not forget them in all the excitement." He looked at Reg for possible input but received a shake of the head so continued, "Right, what do we think? Can we get any closer? Are the ones who drove Reddington off the road another two from a group of four or do they simply have access to two motors and how do you cover up the damage they must have had to the Humber. They've got to garage it out of sight somewhere or get it fixed."
"They could have access to a lock-up or a scrap yard?" Sandy offered.
"Good idea," Gally replied. "Or they could just have access to a mechanic, perhaps? Reg, have we explored that with the local Bill at all?"
"You never asked me to and the Old Man has got me doing some other stuff for him so I've been a bit too 129
busy to free think this one for you boys. I'll get on it this afternoon. Lock-ups, scrap yards and repair garages.
What sort of radius will you be looking at?"
"What do you think?" Gally asked the others.
"Personally, I reckon they won't have wanted to travel too far with a damaged car. Who knows, the wing might have been hanging off. Too noticeable." He examined the map on the wall. "A fifteen-mile radius from the scene would probably take in Swindon. Maybe that's too much to deal with at present so I think ten miles is a better option. We could probably handle that."
Clive and Sandy agreed.
"Anything else?" Reg asked with a weary smile as he stood up.
Sandy flashed him what he hoped was a disarming grin. "Well now you mention it, Reg, any chance you could broach the Farralland subject with the Old Man?
If I go back in again he might think we're only trying to screw the expenses. He listens to you. You've always been able to manage him better than the rest of us."
Reg laughed. "You know I'm susceptible to a bit of flattery. Ok, I'll go make him a cup of tea and mention it 130
when I take it in. Now, unless you want to shove a broom up my arse and sweep the corridor as well, I'll be off."
****
The Old Man entered the main office: sandwiches decorated the desks along with Tupperware, cutlery poking out. Gallagher munched his way through a couple of Wimpy's. They made to stand up but he waved them down again."Sit easy, chaps. I just wanted to let you know our stamp man, the pensioner and the postman have all been lifted in raids today. This not only pressurises our quarry and puts them on a fast-moving timer but it means the same for us. With the exception of Winston and Ralph, I think we might have to start sleeping here, so make sure your 'ready kits' are updated and you've signed out sleeping bags each and anything else you may think useful."
He watched for any adverse reactions. "I've decided, after consultation with Reg, that we should extend our surveillance onto someone he's identified as being of extreme interest. With the other work Farralland have at 131
present with the redheaded woman, it's going to need all our resources so I think it's prudent for them to close their legitimate work and farm it out. However, we do have a slight resilience and can keep a small standby crew across there, so like yourselves, there will always be someone, at least, available for tasking as seen fit. I'll confirm exactly when we'll need to start sleeping here later. In the meantime, just carry on." Understanding nods and general agreement.
"What happened to the dog, Sir?" Gally enquired, wiping his hands on his Wimpy serviette.
The Old man looked at him blankly. "Which dog?"
"The old fellow's, Sir? The pensioner we've just had hoiked."
"A neighbour took it in."
"I'm glad," Gally replied. "He was a nice old sort.
The dog I mean. The old bloke looked a bit grumpy but he was kind to his dog so I'll give him that."
"Your sudden concern for animals is commendable, Gallagher." The Old Man gave one of his forced smiles and turned to walk away again.
132
Gally called after him. "That's another reason why I was fairly certain the old bloke was the contact, Sir. His dog was called Leonard."
"Leonard?"
"Yes, Sir. In Russian, it translates as Leon."
The lack of comprehension was apparent.
"Trotsky, Sir? Leon Trotsky? He was one of the Russian leaders of the revolution."
"I know who Trotsky was, Gallagher! Is there a point to this?" he glared.
Gally surrendered. "I don't suppose there is, Sir."
"Right, well, you'd all better start preparing." He closed the door behind him.
133
John Cherney sat in his office wading through the paperwork. Not the career he'd felt destined for when he walked through the 'doors' of Cambridge University on a scholarship but it was one he was making a decent living from all the same. It wasn't the University that introduced him to Socialism and the Communists, that was his parents, but it had introduced him to his wife and it was there they fell into each other's company and several student societies.
She was in her last year of a law degree when the young handsome undergraduate caught her eye.
Already on the prowl for a wife to add to his cover, it wasn't just her beauty that attracted him; her politics were a bonus he'd be a fool to resist. So, he didn't.
She graduated the following year and he 'dropped out'. He didn't particularly want to but his handler was pretty insistent. They'd had enough of male Cambridge graduates, for the time being, Burgess and Maclean had seen to that. No, they were heading for another route.
His parents had managed to make it to Britain in the twenties, escaping from the horrors of the revolution 134
and its infighting. The family surname was formally changed from Chernikoff to Cherney to assimilate them into society and his father gained employment printing Socialist newspapers. His mother remained a housewife and ensured that young John studied hard both academically and politically with the insistence he never spoke of the latter. Their NKVD pay had been collected twice yearly on her visits to a 'maiden aunt' in Belgium and it always paid to travel from diverse ports whilst looking slightly pregnant. The war years were endured like everyone else and naturally, the payments became impossible to collect. Afterwards, the NKVD
forgot about the wages and, as it mutated eventually to the KGB, no one seemed inclined to remember.
His wife Helen, of good middle-class stock, had resented her parents' snobbish attitude and fell easily for the allure of Socialism, the rest becoming a natural progression for her rebellious nature. Following their marriage in 1957, they ostensibly honeymooned in Italy but travelled on to Corfu where, one very dark night, they took a short, clandestine boat trip to Albania where Russian military advisors completed their political 135
training and taught them the skills that were necessary for their future mission, should it ever be activated.
Returning home through Italy, she started working for a local law firm before finding employment with the county police as one of the force solicitors.
Cherney looked up at the clock. Time to go, he'd done enough for today and was keen to get home in time to watch the Soviet Union in the semi-final. After locking the office and main door, he wandered over to the attached garage workshop.
"I'm off now, Mike. How's it going with the Humber Hawk? Is she nearly ready?" he enquired.
The mechanic stood wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
"She'll be ready by tomorrow first thing, Mister Cherney. Just waiting for the paint to fully dry before I give her a final wipe over." He threw the rag onto the tool bench. "Have they found who did the damage yet?"
John shook his head. "Haven't heard anything back at present. Have a nice evening, Mike."
"Bloody hit and run drivers. Probably drunk. Don't forget the match is on tonight," Mike called after him.
136
1962
The cart trundled and occasionally rocked along the dirt track, its load of manure at times clinging to it precariously. Edvard halted just before the bend beyond which lay the first checkpoint. He pretended to be adjusting something as he spoke. "Keep perfectly quiet, we are nearly at the guard post."
Mounting back into the 'driving' seat alongside his wife, Pavla, he shook the reins and the journey continued. Beneath the stinking mound lay three men in a wooden box, each wearing a filthy old coat, smeared in dung.
At the barbed wire decorated barrier, they were stopped by a stern-looking border patrol Officer who demanded their papers. Edvard nodded to the soldiers manning the barriers as he handed them over and called,
"Danek, Konstantin. How are you both keeping?"
"I'm ok but Danek's piles are playing him up again,"
Konstantin replied.
Danek rounded on him, "I told you that in confidence. Don't be telling everyone."
137
Pavla dismounted from the cart claiming she had to stretch her legs as a soldier walked around it with a large dog on a leash. The Officer disappeared into the nearby little hut to check the papers.
"Petr, how are you?" she asked the soldier as she bent over and petted his dog. "And how is my little Sverma, today? Yes. Yes, mama has a little something for you." She delved into her skirts and produced a titbit for the animal. "This is a new one, isn't it?" she said, nodding towards the Officer in the hut.
Petr pulled a face. "Yes and he's a bit of a pain in the arse. Insists there's two on the gate at all times."
Pavla smiled. "Well, maybe he'll loosen up when he gets to know us all a bit better."
Edvard was sharing a joke with Danek and Konstantin when the Officer returned with a brisk,
"Alright, they're not on the list. Let them pass."
They continued on their way until out of sight when Edvard slapped the reins and increased their speed.
Another kilometre, then they stopped and unloaded their contraband. Edvard took them into the edge of the wood.
138
"I can't spend too long on this. They know pretty much how long it takes us to get from one checkpoint to the other. Go straight through the woods, in about five hundred metres there's a small stream, cross it and keep going until you reach the old wood burners' clearing.
There's not much of a hut there now but it's somewhere you can rest up until dark. Then, head out in a straight line from the back of the hut until you get to the second stream. Turn left and walk along it for two hundred metres, count it out, turn right and through the woods to the far edge. You should be able to see the silhouette of a guard tower in the distance to your left. They won't be able to see you. If you can't see the outline of a guard tower to your right then you're in the correct place, the blindspot. Get down in the undergrowth and wait.
Around ten o'clock a patrol should go by on foot." He handed one of them a small torch. "When the patrol's gone, go to the fence and give three flashes. The filter is green. You should get one red flash back in answer.
Stay where you are, they will come for you. I have to go now, good luck." They wished him the same.
139
It was further than it had sounded but they managed to find the remains of the hut and settled down to while away the hours. One on watch, two sleeping.
The sun broke through the tree tops; its luminosity like celestial searchlights subtly twisting and turning, fading then being reborn. The forest canopy let it enter but wouldn't let it leave, saving its heat to subdue the already exhausted visitors, a distant woodpecker's occasional rhythmic tapping the only sound.
Havel woke with a start. He could hear dogs barking. "Don! Vistula! Wake up!" he shook them vigorously.
"What! What's happening?" Don was up and on his knees, he could hear people shouting, dogs almost howling with excitement.
"They're onto us. They'll be here any minute." He stuffed something into Havel's trouser pocket. "Don't lose it, it's important. If you have to, swallow it. The pair of you, out the back and run. Do what we were told but leave your coats here. I can use them as a distraction for the dogs. Go!" They both hesitated. "Don't argue!
Go! Now!" he told them forcefully.
140
As they disappeared from the clearing, Don dragged one coat across the open ground and left it in the undergrowth. Scurrying in the opposite direction, he zigzagged through the trees, threw the second coat away in similar fashion and stripped off his own, running at right angles to his original path before dumping it. Another 20 metres, he turned and roughly doubled back then set off in a completely different direction. He knew he couldn't evade them; he was just trying to slow them down, buy the others some time.
The dogs and the shouts were getting closer.
Shots splintered wood off the trees. They'd seen him. In the dying light, he kept running, left then right, pine needles and old cones occasionally danced on the floor momentarily as more rounds impacted.
Havel briefly looked at the small coin Don had shoved in his pocket, ten haleru, barely 18 millimetres in diameter. He instinctively knew it would somehow split in two to reveal its intelligence treasure. He wasn't interested in solving that puzzle and he wasn't looking forward to trying to swallow it either, especially without water. Then they ran. They could hear the 141
commotion behind them; their pursuers were obviously running around the wood burners clearing then seemed to head off in another direction. They heard the shots and more shouting and still they ran.
Vistula took a tumble into a hidden shallow ditch.
Although he was up again quickly, he was limping and it was obvious he was in great pain.
"Havel. Take this." He held out the torch.
"I don't want it. You can lean on me."
"Don't be a bloody fool, Robert. You know there's only you who has any chance of making it now. I have to give you that chance. Take the bloody torch and get going!" Vistula threw it at him then pulled a semi-automatic from his waistband, checked the magazine and racked a round into the chamber.
"Don't do it, Volker." Havel pleaded with him.
Vistula smiled. "We came a long way, Robert.
We've had an interesting journey and I thank you, truly, but for me, it ends here." He waved him away and limped off in the opposite direction. Havel briefly watched him then turned and ran.
142
At the stream, it seemed as if the dogs' incessant noise was getting closer but then shots rang out, loud calls and commands, dogs baying and then the sounds began drifting further away. By the time he'd reached the edge of the wood, the uproar of pursuit was in the distance. He lay in a drainage ditch catching his breath, darkness all around him. He went to check his watch and found he'd lost it. Then he heard voices. He could dimly make them out, coming from his left. When they were almost directly in front one of them broke away and walked towards him. Another was speaking on a radio replying to the tinny voice from the far end of a network.
Coin from his pocket, he summoned as much saliva as time and circumstances allowed and put it in his mouth.
The soldier stood immediately above him whilst Havel buried his head and hands in the undergrowth and concentrated on swallowing. A stream of warm urine cascaded over him. He did nothing. He heard shouting from the others, the guttural voice of a command, the urine stopped, a zip zipped and the figure 143
above him disappeared. The soldier hadn't been able to see him, in the dark that's all he'd been, more darkness.
He raised his head above the edge of the ditch and could just see the rear of the patrol as it broke into a trot in the direction of a renewed disturbance.
He crawled forward and when he reached the fence he took out the torch.
****
Don lay on his back, blood dribbling out of his mouth from where the soldier had struck him with his pistol. He looked up as a figure came into his view.The man smiled down at him. "Good evening, Mister Creech-Kellar. We meet at last. It was a brave attempt but for nothing. We have Vistula in our custody now also, I think."
He looked at the man behind him who nodded. He continued, "Soon, we will find Havel also. You have given me no end of trouble, up and down, back and forth then you cross the Czech border to shake me off but you see it is not that easy. I'm made of sterner stuff, Tristan. May I call you Tristan? I feel I know you so well already. My name is Radler but you may call me 144
Harald. Come," he bent down with his hand offered,
"Let's get that nasty bite to your leg seen to. I must apologise for my colleagues but sometimes it's difficult to control an excited dog." He grimaced as Don rose to his feet. "Perhaps, we could also let you have a little shower. It would be nice for everyone, I think."
145
26th July
A sudden downpour made him run with his coat pulled up over his head. At the entrance to the mews, they almost collided. She jumped back, peering from under her umbrella.
"Oh! Hello, Miss Greencoat. Are you off to see your friend?"
She smiled. "No, actually, I was coming to see you."
She held up a plastic shopping bag. "I thought I'd see if you wanted me to cook you a meal, to pay you back for your kind recommendation and gift."
"Well, best not hang around then," he smiled.
At the door, he shook her brolly and dropped it in the plastic bucket at the foot of the stairs. In the kitchen, he took her coat and hung it with his in the hall.
"There's some wine in that cupboard over there," he said, pointing. "I've a cheeky Blue Nun, a Mateus Rosé and a bottle of Sangria my mate brought back from Spain. He's been to Portugal as well, a right little globe trotter he is." He went to take his jacket off and thought better of it. "Listen, open whichever one you fancy. I 146
have to hang my jacket up properly. The corkscrew is in the second drawer down."
In the bedroom, he slipped the pancake holster off and put it with the revolver and speedloaders in the top of his cupboard. Taking the condoms from another jacket, he threw them in his bedside drawer.
She was still in the kitchen so he briefly thumbed through his albums and selected Matt Munro's 'All My Loving'. Appearing in the doorway, he told her, "I insist on paying for everything if you're doing the cooking."
She looked at the receipt in the bag. "Ok, that's one pound, ten and fourpence then. It might seem a lot but you'll love it, I'm sure." She handed him a glass of Mateus. "We're having Spaghetti Bolognese so I thought the rosé would be appropriate."
He took out his wallet, "Three ten bob notes do you?
I'll have to owe you the fourpence."
She nodded. "Try not to leave town. Do you like the Beatles then?"
He glanced at the record player. "Oh, 'All My Loving'. Yes, I like some of their stuff but I think Matt's version of this one is better."
147
"Have you got any of their records?"
"I've got the 'Hard Day's Night' LP. There's some good songs on it. I thought the film was quite good, to be honest. "
"I wouldn't have thought they'd be your 'thing'."
"I'm not as old as you think I am. I'm just a mere slip of a boy so you'll need to be gentle with me." He sipped his drink and saw her questioning look. "The truth?
This barmaid I quite fancied wanted to see it. I was surprised. I enjoyed it."
"And did she surprise you?"
"Not half. After the film, I bought her fish and chips but she still went home." He affected a sad look then smiled.
She chuckled. "We'll have this, then I've got to start the meal."
***
"You're doing well. Not a mark on your shirt." She toyed with him."I have eaten in an Italian restaurant before and I'm fairly well house trained. The tea towel does help, of course"
148
"No. Just to a restaurant up West. Anyway, where did you get the skills to cook this? It tastes pretty authentic to me."
I had an Italian boyfriend."
"Oh, So, you've been to Italy?"
"No. He worked in a restaurant in the West End."
They looked at each other and said in unison,
"Probably the same one," then laughed.
"He wasn't called Luigi was he?"
"I'm not saying who it was. Anyway, he doesn't work there anymore. He had to go back to Italy."
"Death in the family?"
"No. His wife told him he had to come home, the kids were missing him."
He liked her sense of humour and tilted the bottle towards her glass. "More wine?" He filled it before she could react. "So, where do you work?"
She took a sip. "I work for the Ministry of Agriculture as a secretary, not very interesting but the money's alright, I suppose. What about you?"
"I'm an insurance salesman."
149
"Is that a euphemism for gangster?"
He feigned a shocked look. "Now, why would you think that?"
She let a little smile whisper across her lips. "It's either that or a Policeman."
He didn't waver. "You'll be swelling my head. No, honestly, I just sell insurance."
She changed the subject. "What about family? We all have a family."
"I hate to disappoint you, but both my parents are dead. I was an only child. My Gran brought me up.
Wonderful woman, she was. I don't remember my Mum because she died when I was very young. That disease people are scared to mention, cancer. My Dad on the other hand I can remember, vaguely. He felt he should join up and do his bit for the war effort. He was a conscientious man and always sent most of his pay home." He paused to negotiate his way around the last forkful.
"I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"
"Well, he joined up to fight the Nazis so they sent him to India to fight the Japs. He died out there."
150
"Was he killed by the Japanese?"
"No, a ton of assorted stores fell off the back of a lorry he was stood next to. Killed him outright."
She broke into laughter then struggled to make an appropriate face. "I'm sorry, it's the way you tell it."
He smiled then placed his spoon and fork side by side on the empty plate and wiped his mouth on the tea towel he'd pulled from his shirt. "I look on the bright side. My Gran told me, he'd always fancied a bit of a travel and had mentioned India often. I keep meaning to go out there sometime, find his grave and have a little chat. Bring him up to date, as it were."
There was a moment of silence then she quietly asked, "Do you ever go back to see things from your past, to see what they look like now?"
He shook his head. "Not any more. I did once. It almost crushed the memory. I had the stupid idea to go back and see the street I lived in with my Gran. She was a proud woman. They all were. Front step cleaned every day, front door seldom closed, kids playing in the street.
It was a long time before I realised the neighbours weren't real aunts and uncles. I knew it was a mistake as 151
soon as I got there. It was all derelict, waiting to be pulled down so they could build some tower block. It had a soul once but not anymore, it'd been sucked clean out of it. I'm not ashamed to say it made my eyes quite misty."
She played with her glass, thoughtfully, and then changed the subject. "Well, at least he got to see India,"
she said, raising it towards him.
"Who? Oh, my Dad? Yes, he did get that, as well as prickly heat and malaria." He stood up and took her plate along with his. "Now, we don't appear to have dessert so can I offer you a biscuit; custard cream or a jammie dodger perhaps? I assume your teeth are all yours?"
She almost spat her wine out. He gave her his best blank expression.
"You'll have to stop it. I nearly choked."
"What about you? Your family?"
She glanced at the clock. "Another time. I'm afraid I have to go now, Gally, but I like a man who makes me laugh. Thank you for a lovely evening."
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"You do know it's cold outside? I'll get Dean Martin to tell you if you give me time to change the record?
Maybe, if I showed you my muscles it would make you laugh even more? You've a beautiful smile."
She'd already retrieved her coat and was putting it on. "No, honestly, I can get the last bus and I've got my umbrella so you just start to tidy up and I'll be off." She kissed him on the cheek. He'd hoped for more.
"I can walk you to the bus stop if you like?"
She turned and blew him a kiss from the doorway.
"It's not needed. You're a lovely man, Gally. I hope we'll meet again, soon. "
"So do I, Clare. I'd like that. We could make a date now but what with work ..."
She interrupted, "...and the insurance business being so unpredictable, I know. I'll find you," she smiled.
He pulled the curtain aside to see her walk up the street and when she turned and briefly waved, he waved back, watching her disappear onto the main road. She was a sweet girl.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he took the pinafore apron from the back of the door, the one with 153
the naked breasts and suspenders, pulled on yellow rubber gloves with the skill of a pathologist about to commence a dissection and began washing the dishes and pans.
A check of the clock, a beer from the fridge and he turned the telly on for the highlights of England's semi-final match against Portugal. This was where it all ended for England, he thought, as he settled down with his feet on the coffee table. It would be a West German and Portuguese final.
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England created the best opportunities and Portugal started nervously, Nobby Stiles closely marking Eusébio, denying him every chance he could.
After 30 minutes, a long ball from England's left-wing caught Roger Hunt near the edge of the penalty area. His deft touch ran it past the last defender and he chased it as the Portuguese keeper, Pereira, came hurtling out to deny him. Unfortunately, in doing so, the ball ricocheted off his legs straight into the path of a waiting Bobby Charlton who side-footed it into the net.
Gally spilt his beer down himself. One-nil. Fourteen minutes to go until half-time.
As far as he could make out the Portuguese strategy appeared to be to try to get high balls onto the head of Torres, the man they called the 'tower', but England had their own in the shape of Jack Charlton, ably assisted by stalwart and captain, Bobby Moore. It was during one of these episodes that the ball fell to Eusébio whose beautiful first-time strike conjured a fine save from the English keeper, Banks, unbeaten in the tournament so far.
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The Portuguese were a dangerous team. Three days before, they'd come back from a three-goal deficit to North Korea to claim a 5-3 victory and everyone knew their potential was enormous.
After the interval, Gally could only wonder what the Portuguese manager had said while they were sucking their oranges because it seemed a different team was now on the pitch. Although the tactics appeared to be largely the same, long and high balls up to Torres to knock down, they now had much more energy and purpose.
Simões's successful run down the right side produced a pass, looking for Eusébio, which hit the hand of Stiles. The Portuguese claimed a penalty, but the French referee wasn't having it and waved their protests away.
And still, they came back.
Fifteen minutes remaining and there were signs of fatigue but the pace didn't waiver. England cleared a long pass up-field to Hurst, who managed to shrug off the defender before laying the ball neatly to Bobby Charlton to rocket home his second and make it 2-0.
Portugal’s keeper didn't stand a chance.
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Two minutes later, the strategy works. The high ball to Torres hits the mark and his header beats Banks for a certain goal. Certain that is until Jack Charlton's reflex handling knocks it away and the penalty is awarded.
Eusébio, the tournament top scorer and acknowledged gentleman of the game steps up, sends Banks the wrong way and the ball hits the back of the net. Gallagher can't help but admire him for the gesture that followed.
There's still time but Eusébio picked the ball from the goal and instead of sprinting to the centre spot he delays and places a hand on Bank's face as if to say 'hard luck'
or maybe 'sorry' for breaking his unbeaten record.
Finally, the whistle and it's done. England celebrates and Gally sat there almost exhausted. For a man who had not been completely connected to the game, he was now doing a reasonable impression of a time-served fan.
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27th July
He delved around the inside of the biscuit tin.
"Reg? Where's the custard creams? There's only a couple of Jammie Dodgers in here and I'm not that keen because the sticky bit in the middle gets stuck on my teeth. It's hard to smile with jam on your teeth."
He looked up from his newspaper. "Do you do a lot of smiling?"
"Not after a Jammie Dodger."
Reg went back to the paper. "I've got to nip out later on and do some shopping, which reminds me, you need to pay your tea money. Two and six. Try not to cry."
Gally rummaged in his pocket producing two bob and a sixpenny piece. "Blimey, this seems to happen every week."
"It's meant to. Do you know what I have to get?
Bread for the toast and butter. I need to buy jam and marmalade, sugar, tea bags, loose tea because Ralph prefers it, biscuits and milk. Don't forget the newspapers. The Old Man refuses to pay for them from the expenses and I've noticed you reading them most 158
days. Anything left over goes into the fund for the Christmas bash."
"We have a 'Christmas bash'? Is it compulsory? I'm not being funny but I just can't see myself having a fun night in here wearing party hats and drinking Watney's Red Barrel with you lot. No offence intended."
"None taken, son. Now, hand over the money."
Gallagher sat down at the table. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Reg dropped the coins in the jar marked 'tea kitty'.
"Well, hurry up. I'm halfway through an interesting article here."
"You seem to be a member of loads of these societies and clubs. Is that just to fill your time up, now your wife's passed on?"
Reg gave him an understanding smile. "No, Gally. I was going to many of these when Maria was alive. She had her interests, the Women's Institute for instance, and I had mine. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time together. But, my involvement in a lot of these things was also part of this job."
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He saw the slight look of confusion on Gallagher's face and continued,
"I'd have thought you might have worked that out by now, especially when I mentioned Bert Hansen at the astronomy club. It's about informal information sharing, son. Sometimes, the people in charge of us have personal likes and dislikes. One Director doesn't like another. Maybe it's at the next level down, one department head harbours animosity for another or even the whole organisation. It happened during the war. The Director of MI6 was no great fan of the Special Operations Executive. You'll have heard of them, no doubt?"
Gally nodded.
Reg continued, "A few of us could see that sort of thing wasn't going to be helpful so were looking for a way round it without it being apparent. My counterpart in Box is a former intelligence officer here and he suggested the stamp society he was a member of so we could meet up in a less obvious and more convivial manner to exchange anything we thought necessary."
He leant back in his chair. "The plus is we also get to 160
learn interesting stuff about stamps, railways and the stars. Sometimes there's nothing to pass on so then we just drink beer instead." He gave him a broad smile.
"It's quite perfect really, however, I do go to the local historical society to fill in time now and then and there's a couple of lads I met that do some 'mudlarking' down the Thames when the tide's out, historical artefacts and the like that have been thrown away: Roman pottery, medieval jug handles, that sort of thing. You should come along one time, it's great fun and there's some really good pubs nearby. You'll need some wellies and scruffs though." He paused. "What brought your question on?"
Gally felt embarrassed and started to redden. "Oh, I just thought maybe I should offer to take you out one day. I was thinking perhaps the seaside; stop off for fish and chips. Stupid idea really."
Reg gave him a fatherly look. "That's a kind thought, son. How old do you think I am? Can I bring my bath chair? Maybe you could wheel me up and down the seafront with a blanket on my knees."
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They both chuckled then Reg said. "No, seriously that's a very nice gesture and I'd love to do it but only if you promise to come mudlarking with me one day."
Gally's face returned to its natural colour, all feelings of foolishness now gone. "Sounds fair enough. I promise."
Reg went back to his paper. Gallagher drummed his fingers on the table. "To change the subject, have you started those enquiries, the garages and that?"
Paper down, a frustrated Reg replied, "Yes. I did it straight after the Old Man's speech." He glanced up at the wall clock. "I'll probably get the result shortly. Be patient."
He put the tea kitty in front of Gally. "Right, go make yourself useful, young man. The list and money are in the jar. Use the little supermarket further along from Harrington's, they've got everything we need. Off you pop now, I need to finish this." He lifted the newspaper back up, from behind which, as Gallagher sat for several seconds doing nothing, he said, "Why are you still here?"
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Shopping bags in hand, he began to walk back to the office and passed the telephone kiosk, which made him think. He stopped, went back and placed the bags on the ground whilst he found the change in his pocket. After a struggle with the door, he crammed himself and his cargo inside to rummage through the phone directory.
Money was shovelled in, a number dialled and answered. He pushed button A.
"Hello? Is that the Ministry of Agriculture? I'm trying to get a message to Clare Johnson. She works for you as a secretary somewhere."