by Daniel Kemp
“Angel Dust, Douglas calls it, does he! That's apt for a guardian angel without any mercy, ain't it, Charlie.”
“What about the two nuns locked in their room, Percy? Want me to chop 'em up like I did the Somerset woman?”
“ Let them roast in hell. Go put something against the door so it can't be opened.”
Neither of those nuns were around when Rachel had died in this place, never having heard of her or the other children treated in the hospital by nuns long departed. It simply never mattered to either Percy or the lovestruck Charlie. It did matter to Thomas Crowther, but he was unable to hear or see what was happening and by the time he did he believed he'd started the fire. So did the Garda. Why wouldn't they? The evidence of three empty cans of petrol, a singed coat cuff and sleeve, along with spent matches around Crowther's unconscious body, only backed up his confession.
* * *
“He's some man, that Canadian you met fighting in Spain, Pingo. Do you know what? He wants to set you up in London as a photographer in exchange for any juicy snaps you'll get after you've worked your magical charms in climbing the ladder to greatness. I've told him that's where your destiny lies, greatness. And he believed me. He works for anyone who pays him, Percy, no scruples whatsoever. Says he'll pin your snaps in an album and sell 'em to the highest bidder. Works out of a company in Panama City called…Appendia. It smells of the money coming in from all parts of the world.
Appendia: Where everyone became aware of everyone else in the game, without knowing who anyone else was.
* * *
“That man you put us onto in Ireland was a bit of a stubborn young thing, Toby. Took a lot of persuasion to simply get him to open his mouth. He said he only knew of a code name, never contacting his source in that place of yours, just waited to hear. Nothing regular, no timetable or anything like that. Spontaneous stuff! Rubbish to him, apparently. Series of numbers and the like. Equations mostly, he said. My man asked why it went through him and not direct to Moscow centre, came up with something interesting there. Said he never passed it on to Russia at all. Said he posted whatever he had to a mailbox; The Appendia Corporation, 12 Calle 74 Este, Panama City, Panama. I have someone who knows someone there, very well indeed. I'm at this very moment about to place an asset closer to a man who raises funds for the Irish rebels in that so called Republic Army of theirs. Handy to have you on our side in curtailing the money supply, old chap. Any chance? The code name? Oh yes Toby, almost forgot; Lionel.”
Appendia: Where some people were becoming aware of some people without being aware of who some people were.
* * *
Meredith Paine seldom wrote memos, preferring the spoken word to anything that may be unearthed in the future and found to be by assessment a mistake, but this time he did. He quoted its precise wording when he telephoned the director of the Foreign Instrumentation Signals Intelligence unit at Gawcott, in Buckinghamshire.
'I want an eyes on, ears open surveillance of the Central American corporation that I'm sending you by dispatch. Nothing traceable by that country's biggest neighbour to the north you understand. Reports for my eyes only. Do not address those reports to the Chief of Intelligence Staff. Mark it for the Guardsman. That will get to me.' His written record did not included the reference he made to either the Chief of Intelligence Staff, or the Guardsman.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Pinks and Blues
The Harrogate estate was beginning to resemble the venue for a medieval jousting tournament with large coloured marquees spread out on the rear lawns, and a series of matting across the front two for parking armour-carrying wagons. Or, as Tanta had told me, cars. I contemplated extending the stable block to accommodate the shire horses. “No need,” he'd said, “everything's in hand.” My knees almost buckled upon hearing that word 'everything' again.
The inside of The Hall had been transformed from one of pompous tradition to one of ceremonial showiness. Garlands of pink and blue flowers had been hanging from picture rails and chandeliers for the past week, keeping to the pageantry that the marquees would represent. The bunting added the regal touch with the proposed strolling minstrels adding the aristocratic feel of spectacle. Overall I liked it, but that didn't mean I would willing approve. My outward appearance may have been changed by clothing, but nothing would shield my truculence, especially towards Tanta. I was in the estate office looking at the plans laid out on all three desks, when Joseph decided to enter and throw in his pennyworth.
“I must say that you're very relaxed by all of this, sir. I would have thought you to be more,”
“More what, Joseph?” I hadn't allowed him to finish his analysis of my mood. “Jumping up and down pulling my hair out by the roots? Bit too late for that, old chap. We've been taken over by Tanta's naval invasion, being dragged along by his grappling irons.”
“Hooves come to mind, sir,” he replied, relying on his once home town's cockney rhyming slang.
“I'm off for a ride whilst we still have grounds to ride in. If Miss Serena asks about my whereabouts, tell her I'm riding to Portsmouth to find a ship bound for Australia. Be back sometime next decade. And do not answer the door to representatives from the National Car Park company. I am not selling!”
“While you're on that subject, sir, you and Miss Serena seem to be getting along really well. Mrs Franks and I were wondering if anything was in the wind, as it were?”
“Not unless the two of you have eaten too many Brussel sprouts, Joseph.”
“There are none on the caterer's menus, but if you want I can call them and have them added.” Tanta, our wedding directing planner stroke coordinator had arrived for his appointment, hair now worn in a plait beyond his knees which complimented his overall scruffy appearance.
“I hope you're dressing better than that on the day, Tanta. I have to. So see no reason to excuse you for that obligation.”
“You'll be pleasantly surprised, Harry. Worry not.”… Harry, oh how I missed discipline.
“Did we really need a separate tent for a band and a disco, Tanta, can't they share?”
“There are three rock bands and an operatic group for the evening, Harry, but the disco will be going afternoon and into the early hours of Sunday. In fact, it will be playing as the guests arrive until everyone's gone. It will stop for the ceremony, then off it goes again.”
I could imagine Maudlin, Phillip, Elliot along with Alice, my mother, and the others dancing along in the nearby family mausoleum, with Elliot smiling. He would be happy that his own, and that of his last lady friend, the classical violinist, taste of opera had been included. None of the names of the rock bands registered with me and I hoped that anonymity reflected in their price.
“Cheap are they, these rock bands, Tanta?”
“Most certainly not, Harry! Nothing I do is cheap.”
I caught Joseph in one of his all too common looking towards heaven moments. I felt like doing the same, but any look of mine would be in way of asking for leniency .
“What about that bloody great thing that's for the breakfast? Can't it double up for the buffet in the evening? Don't need the two of them, surely?”
“The caterers say that how's it done. Said it was a logistical problem. Otherwise there's too much coming and going, apparently. Incidentally, there will be more parking areas to the rear that's not shown on the map for all the TV broadcasting equipment and their own catering wagons. I'm having it screened off by a line of hired trees. They should have arrived today but there's a delay. I ordered palms. None suitable growing in Yorkshire unfortunately, having to be transported from London.”
“What about the lances, helmets and battle-axes? Locally sourced or coming from Norway, are they?” I sarcastically asked, but it was wasted by the bland look on his face.
The Paterson chapel seated only forty people and as there were three hundred and eighty guests for the breakfast and wedding ceremony, Serena had hired the same TV company that had covered her father's funeral to broadcast the event
onto a big covered screen inside the marquee used for the meal. It was to be replayed throughout the evening for those who had been invited later; to eat my food. Tradition said that all noteworthy locals had to be included at the wedding of a Paterson family member, and as George had descended from my mother's family, the Northcliffes, everyone from our butcher to the chairman of the local racing pigeon association was on that list.
“Did we really need blue and pink-coloured tented cubicles for the loos, Tanta? What was wrong with simple metal ones marked Ladies and Gents?”
“Harry, you're a philistine. Serena said the same about you. It's because it looks pretty,” he said, then turned to Joseph and added, “I'd have trouble knowing which one to use if they were marked like that, don't you think, Joseph? I was thinking of have a boxing ring erected, but couldn't think of anyone to punch. I'm having a change of mind on that now after your remark about hooves. I caught the connotation you implied, iron hooves rhyming with….” he didn't finish as we were all aware of what came next. He turned his attention back to me, explaining more about the colours.
“All the invitations to George's friends and family, were sent with a blue ribbon and a pink one for Sophie's. Staff will have to put up with knowing each, wearing their uniforms instead of one of my ribbons. There will be a tiny, white painted, picket fence with matching coloured pendants from the security checkpoint to the reception marquee, could I place your man Joseph there to pick out anyone with my sexual orientation then having him point them my way, Harry? His prejudice might just make my day.”
It wouldn't take an excess of wisdom to guess who would be the victor between the sixty-four-year-old Joseph, and the younger, by thirty odd years, Tanta, as both looked ferociously at each other. I thought I'd throw the police in between them, just in case.
“Have you provided enough amenities for the Special Branch officers and local police, Tanta?”
“Taken from my hands, Harry. They're doing the lot on their own. I complained about their lack of colour coordination, being all in the wrong shade of blue, but they took no notice of me. They have their dogs sniffing around here already, and there's still five days to go. While I'm on that subject, who picks up the dogs' shite, as I'm not.” I had no immediate answer to that and neither, I'm pleased to say, did Joseph.
Sir David Haig and his wife were coming, as were other politicians I knew, hence the security. Rosemary Haig was to wear a Zabreno gown which had delighted Serena.
Sofie's dress had been chosen from a London specialist, along with the two for her bridesmaids, which again had pleased Serena not only because of the attention she needed for the forthcoming fashion show but also because of doubts she had about Sophie's choice.
“It's not so much her shape, Harry, that's easily overcome, but how could I dress a woman more dedicated to cerebral attraction than one of feminine appeal. Just could not see her in anything I'd design at all. Low cut bust heaving, waist pinched, fishtail gowns are not her style. And I won't do plain! I have persuaded her to wear some of the showy jewellery I use at shows, that should help. Must say it came as a bit of a surprise when she agreed. She'll look splendid on the day.”
George had kept the single slim wedding band that his mother Loti had worn, and Sophie was to accept it, replacing her late husband's on her wedding finger, which had made George happy and therefore me. Surprisingly, it had fitted perfectly.
“Did you know, Harry, that Paulo had Loti switch it from her right hand to left when she escaped to this country. Small detail I know, but a very astute one nevertheless.” George was, perhaps, growing in his admiration for his father.
I cannot say that any of my remaining family held my admiration, especially not my brother. Maurice had not taken well to my decision to settle the Eton Square home in George's favour. Rose and Elizabeth were different, having no objection at the time I made it, nor subsequently as Maurice had done. I imagined his wife had raised the protest, as it wasn't until he had returned to America that he complained. It seemed to me that no matter how wealthy he was, she was not satisfied. I was not looking forward to the inescapable family dispute whilst they were all billeted at The Hall.
“Everything on hand for the extra work inside the house, Joseph, whilst we have guests staying?”
“It is, my Lord. It's good to see Mrs Squires settled in on the estate. Mrs Franks will be pleased with the extra pair of hands in the kitchen. She knows that she doesn't have to, but volunteered just the same.” I nodded my acceptance of the truth in that but I was concerned with the preparations for the family.
“What about the rooms? Are all allocations taken care of?”
“They are, my Lord.” I guessed Joseph wasn't quite feeling in charge with Tanta still in our company.
“Maurice and his tribe?”
“North wing, my Lord. In your father's old room and the one adjoining.” Joseph declared.
“Rose and Elizabeth with families etc?”
“Yes, my Lord. All in hand.”
“By the way, Harry, Serena told me of your liking for magic. I've laid on a troupe of magicians just for you. They'll be walking around all day.” As his last comment faded, Tanta left.
* * *
Percy used his own special magic a week after being in Ireland, when he met the local brigade commander of the IRA in the room above The Michael Collins pub in Dublin and there discussed his plans for blowing up the police station in Newry. He never mentioned John Williams by name, nor Grange Manor and Drogheda.
“And why would it be, Mr Crow, that we'd be wanting an Englishman to help firebomb an Irish police station?” he asked, to which Percy replied, “I've been persecuted all my life, as Charlie here will tell you. Not only do I sympathise with your cause, I'm better at blowing things up than any of you lot are. Got a reputation for it, you see. I make big, booming, large bangs! Mine will be heard as far as Westminster, having the Royal Family shaking in their garters and stockings.”
The same type of incendiary bomb he devised for Newry nosily reverberated through seventeen other policemen's ears and bodies, in fourteen further Northern Ireland stations of the law, before Percy settled into the studios behind Ludgate Hill that Douglas Simmons paid for through the Appendia account that caught the CIA's intense attention. That attentiveness never wavered for anyone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Scores
For weeks the electricity supply to the apartment block at 173 Tangshaya Street in Moscow's Tagansky 18 district had been cutting off five or six times a day, leading the residents to complain to the municipal electricity company, but none as fervently as widow Lavinsky in apartment number two on the ground floor. When the van arrived a day late from her last call she welcomed them with a barrage of abusive language that left the two engineers in no doubt how inconvenienced she had been.
“I like watching that American series called Awkward and the British show, Geordie Shore on the MTV channel since they both began. I have now missed two episodes of each since your f…… electricity broke down you f…… whores. Fix it, or I write to Putin himself and he f…the lot of you.”
Unlike some engineers in other countries who would have given a mouthful of expletives back at Mrs Lavinsky, the two Russians smiled at her and set about the task in hand, aware of her histrionic behaviour since her husband's cruel, untimely death at Yaroslavskiy railway station seven months ago, when he had thrown himself in front of a Trans-Siberian train. It had been reported in the unionist newspaper that both they and their overseer had read.
“Be careful with her,” he had said. “It's thought that she drove him to jump in front of that train.”
For five days they returned in search of the elusive fault but to no avail, reporting such to their boss who told them to leave it, in the hope it fixed itself. It did and happy widow Lavinsky watched her favourite series uninterrupted for the next three weeks until the last Friday in the month of August 2014 when it tripped again, two-thirds of the way through Awkward. She rang the el
ectricity company in a furious rage that would have made President Putin cower in fear.
“We are so sorry, madam. We will have someone with you within the next few minutes. Your call is that important to us.”
Two different engineers arrived ten minutes later, parked their vehicle opposite the block, then erected their screens around the electricity manhole cover and like the two previous ones began their checks. After an hour, the bravest knocked on widow Lavinsky's door explaining how the fault was not his company's, but originated at the point of supply in the Ukraine.
“It's that separatist movement in Ukraine, madam. They are a law unto themselves, but we can overcome them. We will need to work here for at least a week, mostly outside the apartment block disconnecting then reconnecting the main cables to each separate apartment, but we may have to enter some. You have keys to all the various apartments?” She assured that was the case. “Then there will be no interference to your personal television, madam, as we'll fix up a parallel line right now, especially for you. We can do that this moment. However, please don't tell your neighbours, as there will not be enough supply for them all.”
By the following Thursday Alexi Vasilyev had grown used to seeing the same blue van, with the matching coloured pavement screen, outside the block where he lived in the penthouse suite. Why would he suspect, that when he came home that evening, the problem had not been solved? The van had gone, the manhole cover replaced, and a note of apology for any inconvenience caused lay on his doormat outside his front door. He had other things on his mind as he took his keys from his pocket, smiling at the prospect of spending the evening with the luscious Daphne and her friend from the Izvestiya newspaper. What news will I gather tonight, he wondered, as his key slid silently into the lock. He never saw Daphne, nor had another thought of overhearing tasty information, as one thousand volts of direct current coursed through his body frying him in micro-seconds.