Percy Crow

by Daniel Kemp

  * * *

  Although I do not contribute anything of worth to industry nowadays, I am, by professional qualification, an analytical chemist, dealing predominantly with polymers and their application and derivatives in, and from, the petrochemical industry. I have my own laboratory at The Hall where I escape the wider world and the myriad affairs of the estate at home. By default of having a background and commission in the military intelligence community, I have done work for the intelligent service, or SIS, of Great Britain in which I have been employed for many years now.

  During the course of the investigation that Townsend briefly referred to I discovered an asset of our own in a foreign country who was an embarrassing liability to the corresponding American secret service. Because of this the relationship between Great Britain and the United States was now at best strained and at worse; touching permanent desolation. None of that had ever been discussed with anyone outside those immediately concerned and involved. This decline in the often quoted special relationship that existed between our two countries was worrying, as told to me by an old family friend, one night when he unexpectedly visited my family home, on the periphery of Harrogate, Yorkshire.

  I had just returned to The Hall from a boring civic meeting in Harrogate and was in the process of handing the keys of the Bentley to Joseph, when I saw a car emerge from the rhododendron-lined, concealed drive leading to the house. I was in a shocking temper, not receptive to uninvited guests until I recognised the waving back seat passenger. Then my frame of mind changed from one of irritation to intrigue.

  “Sorry to barge in on you at this late hour, Harry, but I took for granted your renowned congeniality. Any chance that the intrinsic God's own county of Yorkshire's warm-heartedness would stretch to a chair at your fine dining table? A mere soupçon would suffice, old bean, but I'm utterly starving! Not eaten all day since I was told that I have news to mull over with you.” I alternated my stare of fascination between him and Joseph, my butler, who read my thoughts as he usually did. “I'll get Mrs Franks to serve an extra plate, sir.” Adding my thanks to those of my guest I escorted him in from the hall.

  “Trust went out the door, Harry, when you finished that last investigation of yours. When that's gone it's all over, don't you agree?”

  Sir Michael Riven had known my late father, Elliot, from their Cambridge days together. Elliot had taken his predestined route into the banking arm of the family at Annie's, whilst Sir Michael had risen within the echelons of the civil service, becoming its overall head some ten years previously. He was now retired, far detached from any responsibility in the recent scandal I had uncovered.

  “The not so funny thing is, Harry, is that the Americans want you on their side again in the fight for what they see as fair trade, and our lot at Legoland are wetting their pants in anticipation. There was even speculation of a ticker-tape welcoming parade at the White House for you. Ice cream on the front lawn, then lunch on a space mission around the moon and back. You are their bright-eyed boy, that's for sure. As for us, they are throwing meagre scraps from what appears to be a delectable feast our way. Mere nibbles, dear boy but nevertheless, we're thankful for what falls from their table. The intelligence pipeline must be unplugged, and you, young man, are to be the expert plumber we need on the job. I received word from voices not so far off, that their placement here has something that may be of interest to you.

  Gobbledygook really, but the essence is that they have been holding a certain acquaintance of yours; a Katherine Friedal. Remember her, Harry, do you? Daughter of the mysterious Paulo? Of course you do, silly question really. Vancouver, the two of you met, was it not? I was briefed on the main essentials prior to coming, Harry. Only the relevant ones, you understand. I hope I'm not treading on your toes at all by quoting in-house speech? They could have changed all the dialogue by now. I've been away from the throne many a day.”

  He sounded somewhat regretful in that last statement, and I felt a tang of sympathy for him. For some, the descent from the top of a tree is more difficult than the ascent had been. He had aged badly since I had last seen him. The excitement of control that had sustained his youthfulness had abandoned his perception, leaving his vision blurred by the mediocrity of ordinary life. I shook my head, adding. “Not at all, Michael, all old hat that sort of speech to me, as well. And yes, vaguely I recall that name,” I said, with a broad grin. A deep laugh proceeded another sip of wine, before he continued in the prearranged inducement.

  “Apparently she mentioned something that her father, Paulo, had spoken of. Precisely what that was, I'm unaware. I'm just a go-between, you understand. Anyway, the long and short of it all is, they, the Americans, want to know if you would be receptive to an approach they want to make towards your possible inclusion into that part of their investigation. They made it clear, as only they can, that it's a personal invitation, no threesomes in beds, as it were. They love you, and why not indeed? Unfortunately, we're the pariahs having defaced God's love, apparently. Incidentally, allow me to compliment your cook, splendid meal. The hospitality you have showered on me is outstanding and much appreciated. I hope you understand why I couldn't risk telephoning before coming, which makes your welcome here all the more remarkable. An impromptu meal such as this one deserves proper recognition.” I wasn't sure if the raised glass in my direction was a sign of respectful gratitude or another effusive compliment designed purely as a way of tempting me to accept the offer.

  “I'm sure that you would help out in this matter but I know your circumstances are somewhat different now, what with Elliot and your brother Edward's death to contend with. You must be busy here on your estate. Perhaps even your faith in the establishment has been shaken or destroyed. We didn't exactly shower you with accolades, did we. We are in desperate need of your help, Harry. There's a new administration in power, with ultra-modern ideas to face the new threats to security. All has changed at the Box for a start. Sir David Haig is now the omnipotent overlord of all the security services sheltered from any parliamentary committees. That increased authority is set in tablets of stone. Dangerous but justified I my opinion, given the extraordinary circumstances created by the depth of treachery you unearthed. GCHQ has been empowered with a specific irrevocable licence to deal with certain previously untouchable areas concerned with internet traffic, and Millbank has been double-staffed by personnel from its backstairs military branches. We tend to be dealing with quite a different adversary in defence of the realm today. All in all it's a lot more stable and secure than my day, some of that you are obviously aware of, but the new regime's intentions and goodwill are wasted without the Yanks' full collaboration. As Churchill quite rightly said; we need 'em. You are the key to unlock that closed door, Harry. Are you in?”

  “Has Haig still got that blonde goddess as his secretary, Michael? I never had a proper chance to invite her out to dinner,” beaming indecorously I answered.

  Chapter Two: The American

  “Good evening! Harry Paterson here. I believe you wanted me to call you?” My voice echoed around the deserted piano room at The Hall.

  “Hi there, Sir Harry, how you doing?” The insincerity was almost tangible from the tired voice at the American Embassy telephone number. “Have you got the original card that you were given in that pub on the moors with you?”

  “Yes, I have,” I replied.

  “Okay, let the night's performance begin. He we go, your Lordship. I'm going to send you a numerical code. Reading from the left, second line down on that card, take the letters that the code directly relates to, and turn them back into numbers from a twenty-six letter alphabet. You following me so far, HP?” The gall of the man. HP indeed!

  “I think I am. If the first number that you send is a one, and the first letter on that second line is a B, then I want a number two. Is that what you're saying?” I was thinking that it all amounted to a number two, if you catch my meaning, but I played along.

  “You really are on fire tonight, your L
ordship, better keep it blazing before your favourite whisky extinguishes it. Wouldn't like to lose touch with you on that Scottish island of Jura.” Was the sarcasm really necessary, I wondered? But I had no time to ponder on that as he hastily carried on with the instructions.

  “Okay, once you have the ten numbers you call it. Leave your cellular on traceable, as it is now. The man will call you back on your number. The timing of that call will also be in the numeric code. There will be a line break in what I send you. Then one number all on its own. Reading from the right this time, second line. The time of that call will correlate to the exact hour this evening the man will return your call. Is that all clear?”

  It was, but for the life of me I could see no reason for such a complicated arrangement. Whoever was speaking was well briefed about my personal preferences and it did cross my mind as to how that had come about, but nothing ventured nothing gained, I thought, as I went along with it.

  “For an American you make yourself abundantly clear for a change, old sport.” I couldn't resist the derision.

  “Then I wish you farewell, Lord Harry Paterson. Sail well on a steady breeze, and have a great evening with that very beautiful young lady I saw you with earlier, but I don't suppose that will be too difficult for you.” There was an almost imperceptible snigger to his emotionless voice. “Oops, I almost forgot, Harry. Add a zero before the ten numbers I'll be sending you.” The line went dead, but not so my mobile, as his message arrived almost immediately.

  I followed the instructions precisely, this time dealing with a sterile recorded automated message with a much heavier American accent. On the Sunday I drove into town and as instructed by that recorded message used a public telephone and called the number I'd been given.

  “Pick a time and place, Lord Harry. After all, it's your country and I'm just a visiting spook.” Other than it was an American male who spoke I gained nothing from his voice.

  * * *

  As I was staying overnight in Reading the following Friday, meeting the editor of The Acorn, my old regiment's, The Life Guards, magazine at the publications offices there, I arranged to meet him at a local Starbucks I knew of on the Saturday. Those seven days of waiting were spent in far from ecstatic memories of both Paulo and Katherine. Apart from her, the whole of the investigation into who murdered my father and brother and was the traitor inside our intelligence services had left me low-spirited and surrounded by bad dreams. Even Serena failed to distract my mind for a good part of that time, but I was careful not to arouse suspicions that might interfere with our intimate relationship.

  On the Friday morning I drove to my appointment through wind and heavy rain that only worsened the mood that engulfed my thoughts; why now and why me? At best I was a part-time spy who had simply got lucky, and at worst an incompetent fool who had a master of espionage as a distant relative and was still pulling my strings! Although I was far from a heavy drinker, I had brought a bottle of Isle of Jura single malt with me, fearing that none would be available in the hotel and by two am on the Saturday two-thirds of it was gone. I was of a foul disposition when I entered the busy coffee shop at the appointed time, not helped by the hangover from which I suffered. The coffee would be appreciated but I doubted the company would be.

  * * *

  He was a short man, about five foot six inches tall, thin, with a grey, pasty coloured bony face. The only thing that struck me to be in his favour was that he was fairly punctual, arriving three minutes after the agreed time. I assessed his age to be somewhere between late thirties and late fifties. My uncertainty was solely because his appearance was so confusing. Whitish hair with a receding hairline that looked to have been permanent, rather than coming about through age. Heavy black-rimmed glasses behind which were small brown-coloured, pinched eyes, with weighty bangs of wrinkled skin hanging from beneath them. Disregarding the colour, he had a youthful face with no blemishes nor scars. I did, however, consider physical exhaustion to be the cause of his inanimate sickly appearance.

  On shaking his proffered hand I immediately considered him as being grossly underfed. A weak, unenthusiastic grip, that he quickly pulled away from as if in pain, only served to strengthen that opinion. He looked the type of man that any form of excitement would exhaust. An indoor man, not a John Wayne type on the battlements fighting hand-to-hand combat. He was immaculately dressed, grey suited and grey booted, polished and stylish, whereas I was my usual scruffy self. As he took his seat he smoothed the flaps of his suit jacket carefully behind, then meticulously adjusted his trousers by pulling the sharp creases towards himself, before laying his hands, with his spread fingers pointing straight towards me, flatly on the table. A ritual he must have done a thousand times. That firmed up my guess about him not being a frontiersman, but a man with a sedentary job used to a long day sitting with everything in the right place.

  There was none of the preamble of perfunctory niceties before Katherine's name was brought firmly to the table, just as the two frothy coffees arrived that I'd ordered.

  “Katherine may be a distant relative of yours, but we're not sharing her with you or anyone. She is ours, and ours alone to do with as we please, when we please. Got that, Lord Harry?” He was stirring his coffee left-handed, dissolving the six spoonfuls of cubed sugar that he had added; slowly and purposely. The analogy in my mind was not perfect, but he reminded me of a fly fisherman stretching his fishing line until fully satisfied it was ready to cast.

  “I don't want her. Had enough trouble last time with her and her father. You're very welcome to her.” I watched as the milk swirled around in synchrony with his deliberation. Those mouse-like eyes of his were fixed firmly on me.

  “That surprises me, Harry, she spoke very fondly of you. Where I come from you don't screw a lady then dump her in someone else's lap without an offer of help. I thought you might have put up more of a fight to save her honour. Has the gallantry of the English been flushed down the toilet pan along with that vast Empire you once ruled?”

  “Are you going to tell me that now, as you rule the world instead of us, you're all things chivalrous and sweet smelling? Because if so, you are preaching to a cynical heathen. Incidentally, while we're discussing different cultures, where I come from one man does not comment on another man's behaviour with a lady, without being directly involved, or in possession of all the facts. When you are, then you can! I certainly don't need a lesson in morals from anyone like you, whoever you are. It was not I who asked for this meeting, it was you lot. Why so? Was it simply for some historical reminiscences? I'm a tireless energetic man, but I slept through any reference to Paul Revere other than Longfellow's poem. None too keen on patriotic propaganda, nor activists in general. Have you in mind discussing something more current, or shall I order a candied fruit biscuit to help swallow the bullshit?” He offered no answer before continuing, with a supercilious smile across his face.

  “She was inhibited at first, slow to divulge much of value or significance. I felt her fear. Then the dam burst and we couldn't stop her. She was good for the Soviet Russians. Your name first came up a few months back. The meeting where you cracked that line about her beauty making everyone else in the room look so ugly that the management asked you to escort her from it. I laughed at that one. Loved it! She had a certain look about her when she told. Could see the two you there, walking away arm in arm off to some libidinous pleasure under twinkling Canadian stars. I do so hope you did. Have pleasure, the two of you, I mean. Beautiful woman, our Katherine, hate to think of her as cannon fodder for selfish ends. Are all the English silver-tongued Lotharios or just those with a Lordship appended before their common names? No need to answer, Harry, I wouldn't like you to think that I despised all the English and not just the incompetent fools who staff your not so secret desks.” A slow taste of satisfying coffee preceded his next assault.

  “I'm your ex-lover's confessor, priest and the one that ultimately absolves any of her many sins. Been in my exclusive manicured hands onl
y, since day one. She's been my only concern for over a year; until now. Three weeks ago she opens up again, for no reason that I could explain. I'd offered nothing new, in fact I hadn't been close to her highness for days. But I get a call; Kathy the Russian doll wants words. 'Wants to spill her heart out now!' Number one babysitter shouts down the scrabbled phone line at three in the morning to me lying peacefully in bed.” He sat back and tasted the concoction that he had made once again. Confirming his first approval, he authoritatively summoned a waitress, ordering another, his eyes never wavering or deviating from my own whilst he smoothed out his jacket lapels. Then he continued.

  “Need the caffeine, I flew in late last night. I'm tired as hell. Caught a few z's in the car coming here from the embassy, but I'm bushed and in need of life-saving sleep. Bloody long boring drive it was too. Does it ever stop raining here?” The black rimmed glasses were removed, rubbing both eyes vigorously as if to emphasis the point. I gestured to the waitress that I too would take another coffee.

  “I couldn't find a thing in what she said, Harry. That's why I'm throwing you the ball. But, I'm the quarterback in this game and you're the running back. Understand the simile?”

  “I'm not thick, old boy, and I couldn't give a toss about how tired you are, or whether your balls are twisted in your knickers. Nor am I an insensitive lover, as you insinuated. I have, however, as little time for egocentric Americans as you have for true, blue-bloodied English aficionados of the female species. Plant your flag and get to the point! I'm a busy man.”