Guy Fawkes Day

by KJ Griffin

  Chapter 29: Downing Street: 3:00 p.m.

  The policeman outside Number 9 greeted the man he usually saw when he worked Wednesday mornings. Unusually, it was Monday afternoon.

  ‘You’re two days early, sir,’ he chuckled.

  Clayton winked at the officer, though he would have preferred to shove the sharp end of his umbrella into those cheery yellow teeth. Inside, the minister’s residence was much as it was on a Wednesday morning, only today the vulture was not on its roost; it was flapping in the middle of the room, pacing angrily, cracking the odd bony talon while it moved.

  ‘What the devil are they up to, Max?’ McPherson asked. ‘And why has Douglas Easterby made such an ass of himself? Surely the Ramlis know we can’t just accept this preposterous execution as a fait accompli, whatever the truth behind the Easterby story.’

  Clayton grunted half-heartedly. He wasn’t concerned with the diplomatic niceties of the Ramli crisis; there was something more personal on his mind.

  ‘Yes, but did you hear who they executed, James?’ he asked morosely.

  ‘One of Easterby’s BDS boys?’

  ‘Well… maybe BDS… but only a brief connection there. Try going back a little further: to the Paras, for example.’

  The vulture cocked its neck. Clayton met its stare.

  ‘Name of Phil Goss. Sergeant Phil Goss. Bring back any memories?’

  ‘Good God, Max, yes: Easterby’s freckly-faced sergeant at the court-martial! Christ, what an extraordinary coincidence!’

  The MI6 man nodded and looked McPherson up and down, wondering if there could be any better time to unmask a ghoul that had been tormenting him incessantly since Cairo.

  But it was McPherson who broke the silence, the excitement of recognition having matured to something more sinister.

  ‘I’ve never cared much for coincidences, you know, Max,’ he brooded. ‘Too illogical for my liking.’

  Clayton saw his cue, sighed ominously, and took a seat on the bed of nails, waiting for the big bird to roost similarly opposite.

  ‘I think you’d better sit down, James,’ he sighed. ‘I’m going to put something to you that may sound a little far-fetched.’