Death's Foot Forward

by George B Mair

  Grant smacked him gratefully on the back. ‘O.K. And let’s keep our fingers crossed.’

  He was given a day bed and within seconds was asleep. The sergeant wakened him with enough time for a shave, a snack breakfast and a good wash. But he also reported that the National had parted only reluctantly with his kit and the sergeant felt that someone high up would wish to see him at the airport. ‘Something’s cookin’, sir, an’ I don’t want to know nothin’ about it. Not officially like anyhow. But we’re laying on a couple of pals o’ mine to see you through as far as possible and if H.E. don’t like it ’e can flippin’ well lump it. An’ don’t worry about the lady. If she crosses my bows we’ll see her O.K.’

  They calculated time to the last second and he left in an official car which arrived at the airport with less than fifteen minutes in which to clear baggage and papers.

  He was hardly surprised to find Sokolnikov waiting when he was escorted into a private room. The General was in an evil temper. ‘I detest having my sleep disturbed, Grant. But I was wakened a short time ago to learn that you didn’t return last night to your hotel and that your baggage had been collected by a messenger from the British Embassy. You must know that your visa is granted only on condition that you sleep one night in a pre-arranged place for every day that it is valid, so you are therefore guilty of a technical offence in that you changed your residence without notifying the police.’

  Grant looked surprised. ‘I was jostled by crowds when leaving the theatre and my arm began to give trouble so I went to my Embassy for medical treatment.’

  Sokolnikov lifted the phone and abruptly dialled the number. Fortunately, thought Grant, the sergeant knew his cover story perfectly and would still be at the desk. He listened to the conversation impassively, hoping only that the plane would wait for him. It was an extra flight and his chauffeur would have spread the news at the K.L.M. desk that there might be a hitch. If they had any decency they would hold it.

  Sokolnikov’s manner on the phone was persuasive, but he got little change out of the other end and Grant could hear the sergeant’s voice smacking out crisp formal replies to every double edged question with a skill which baffled reproach. Doctor Grant had arrived shortly after midnight feeling very ropey. Some treatment had been given. An English doctor had advised a sedative and they had put him up for the night. Perhaps it was unusual but he was a personal friend of many people at the Embassy and everyone was anxious to help. No the Ambassador was not available. He would not be available for some hours. He had approved giving the doctor an official car to go to the airport because his position in N.A.T.O. lent him a semi-official status. Certainly the Ambassador had been informed and, of course, he was a stickler for protocol but the fact remained that he had personally ordered an Embassy car for Doctor Grant’s personal use. The sergeant also hoped that the Doctor would catch the plane in good time as it was important for him to return to England without delay.

  Sokolnikov replaced the receiver. ‘Five hours ago a man was found dead in Leo Tolstoy Street.’

  ‘And what has that to do with me?’

  ‘He was ordered to watch your movements, and when I find that your shadow is dead, that you have failed to sleep in your hotel and that you’ve taken refuge in your Embassy I’m entitled to ask questions.’

  ‘How did he die? What makes you think I bumped him?’

  Sokolnikov scowled with irritation. ‘I am told that he died of heart disease. But I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The Russian walked round the desk, lifted his right wrist and baring his brass armlet suddenly flicked it right and left striking Grant on either side of the chest. ‘I don’t know how you did it,’ he said slowly, ‘but I know you did it. And I know you have had several hours alone tonight in spite of what your Embassy says. I’m going to crack a rib for each of them.’

  His arm darted right and left again and Grant felt the same agonising stabs of pain as two more ribs snapped below the brass cuff.

  ‘But I made a promise,’ continued Sokolnikov in the same grim voice, ‘and I’ll keep it. If ever you do return I’ll put you up against a wall and shoot you as soon as I’ve discovered what you’re up to.’

  His hand made to move again and then it stopped almost in mid air. ‘But you’re looking green, Doctor. Maybe you’ve been punished enough.’

  He turned to his aide and rapped out an order.

  Two men fell in beside Grant and escorted him to the plane. His baggage was already stored and the Embassy people watched, deadpan, as he passed the office. He was sick with reaction and shock, and paused only at the bottom of the stairs into the jet to pull himself together whilst a stewardess looked at him sympathetically. Fortunately the aircraft was half empty and he had three seats to himself. Stiffly he lay down and tried to relax.

  At Schiphol, whilst changing planes, he asked for a radio signal to be sent and an ambulance was waiting for him when they finally touched down in Paris.

  He slept that night in the English Hospital and a week later returned to his flat in Avenue de Villiers with his chest heavily strapped and a light-weight plaster on his forearm. His office had given him an extension of leave, but late on his first night home his chief paid an official visit.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, ‘but if I’ve got the dope right you’ve a lot to report, son.’

  Grant was no respecter of persons but in so far as it was possible for a man of his calibre to love another he was devoted to his chief. He gestured towards a deep arm-chair. ‘Sit down, sir. It’s a long story.’

  The older man looked at him sympathetically. ‘To put you in the picture David, this is my appreciation of the set-up. You went to Moscow for a well-earned holiday and became involved with a prima ballerina. For some reason or other the G.R.U. then stepped in and one of our people has reported that you were taken to Lubianka and that you were off the map for twenty-four hours. You then returned to your hotel, passed the next day probably playing somebody for a sucker and finally disappeared after attending the drama theatre. Next thing we hear is that a man who is believed to have been your shadow was found dead. You then turned up at the British Embassy where H.E. is still raising hell and brimstone because his staff gave you an official car to go to the airport, at which place you were beaten up by either General Sokolnikov or one of his men before being allowed to go to your plane. Now give. What’s it all about?’

  Grant looked at the walnut brown face and relaxed contentedly. The old man had his ear pretty close to the ground! His crinkly lined cheeks were creased into a friendly smile but his fine blue eyes were missing nothing.

  ‘And finally,’ added the old man slowly, ‘your ballerina, who is still in trouble, was also being watched, and her tail has also disappeared. Where the hell did he go?’

  Grant knew that the old man would take a poor view of the incident. ‘I killed him and dropped him into a well.’

  ‘Why?’ The voice was dangerously soft.

  ‘Let me tell you the story in my own way, sir, and then you’ll get it into better focus,’ said Grant.

  ‘The Chief’, as Admiral John Silas Cooper was usually known to all his staff, stretched out his legs and began to pack his briar with flaking Virginian tobacco. ‘Shoot,’ he ordered, ‘but keep to essentials.’

  His face was thoughtful as he listened to Grant’s crisp report, but as he methodically tabbed the points for future reference and blended them with all the other information in his possession the drama began to make some sense, even if just a little and he listened without interruption. When it was over he struck a match and with the force of habit born from years at sea cupped it in his hand as though in a gale and gently lighted the bowl. When the room was comfortably filling with smoke he turned again towards the bed. ‘So it adds up to this. Sokolnikov had a personal reason for turning on the heat, but he couldn’t let it become “official” because he felt that the girl might be used as a bait to hook you and all your supposed loc
al contacts.’

  Grant doubted if things were so simple, but it was up to the older man to set the pace. ‘Possibly, sir. Very probably, in fact.’

  The Admiral had begun to smoke matches and was striking his third in two minutes. ‘But then, of course, there was that business about looking for something, how they went over you searching for something which might even have been swallowed.’

  ‘Perhaps a capsule of some sort.’

  ‘Could be. But whatever it is must be mighty small and capable of being inserted even beneath the skin. And then, of course, there was also that crack about state secrets which could be written on a scrap of paper.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Was he serious?’

  Grant shrugged his shoulders, a habit which he could not break and which now caused a shooting pain in his chest every time he did it. ‘I think he was fishing.’

  ‘But it could still be true,’ persisted the Admiral. ‘And if so there may be something very top level lying on a scrap of paper somewhere in Moscow.’

  ‘Like finding a needle in a prairie of wheat, sir,’ drawled Grant.

  ‘You know only one bit of the jig-saw, son, but this might tie up with some other data, and it might just be true.’

  Grant gazed at the fine linen sheet folded across his chest and decided to say nothing. He guessed that he was still on the mat and that anything might happen.

  ‘You see,’ continued the Admiral, ‘one way and another we do get quite a bit of news out of Russia. Much of it is trivial, but since almost anything can turn up in the U.S.S.R. we can’t afford to neglect anything which might help us to keep really on top of them.’

  Grant decided to put out a feeler. ‘What had you in mind, sir?’

  The old man carefully pressed his wad of glowing ash deep into the bulge of his briar. ‘Old Sir Jonah Lyveden is a pretty close friend of yours, isn’t he?’

  Grant smiled. He owed Sir Jonah more than he was likely ever to repay. Lyveden had been top ace of the British Intelligence Service during the twenties and thirties, and as a youth he had come under his wing shortly after the war. He had always been unable to keep his nose out of intrigue, and a few lucky guesses had interested Lyveden enough to fish him out of the camps and train him in everything which mattered before fixing a job with W.H.O. Later it was he who had first introduced Grant as a young protégé to the American Admiral after several testing years in a dozen hot spots all over Afro-Asia. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘he’s been pretty good to me.’

  ‘And you’ve heard of Chang Hung?’

  ‘Yes. One couldn’t go around in South-East Asia as I did without learning plenty. He’s one of the top men in Formosa now. Or so I believe.’

  The Admiral dropped his hooded seaman’s eyelids even further and his lips tightened with determination. ‘Well Chang seems to have an idea about what matters most in Russia today, though how he got it I don’t know. But he and Lyveden have been buddies for years and he arrived back in Europe a few weeks ago. The two men got together and Lyveden has reported that he is worried sick. He hasn’t been able to winkle out the secret yet but he has discovered one vital fact, that Chang wants to contact a really reliable man for some sort of mission against the Soviet Union.’

  Grant tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘Did he ask for names?’

  ‘Yep. And you can guess the rest. Being British, Sir Jonah gave him your own as first choice, and he wants to meet you fairly soon. Chang knows a lot about your official record, though nothing of your actual N.A.T.O. commitments, and Lyveden tells me that he’s interested.’

  ‘You don’t know what he’s after, sir?’

  ‘No. But it must be something big, because he’s also brought in my Uncle Sam in the shape of John G. Alvis no less, and they are going to meet at Lyveden Hall during Lyveden’s annual partridge shoot. Chang has refused to say anything about what he has in mind until Alvis has joined them, and then, of course, we’ll know where we stand.’

  ‘And how does this tie up with Sokolnikov?’

  ‘No idea,’ said the Admiral, ‘but this guy Sokolnikov seems to have felt you were being too curious.’

  ‘But I did nothing suspicious at all. I was the complete tourist.’

  ‘Except that Russia figures there were several days when you might have done almost anything. And there’s also the business about your last night and where you spent it. He’ll never believe you were with a woman. No, son, the General sees it this way. You were up to no good and he wants to know the worst. That being so he humiliates you, he scares you and he takes away your girl hoping that you’ll do something rash. Now this isn’t how the Russians usually react, so the secret, whatever it may be, must be more than usually vital, and Sokolnikov must be completely obsessed with his need to discover your contacts in case there has been a leak. Everything points to something quite special developing.’

  ‘And if they offer me the job?’ Grant’s eyes were glinting with anticipation. It was a dangerous question.

  ‘You serve N.A.T.O. Which means me,’ said the Admiral curtly. ‘And we don’t hire help out to private organisations, but, of course, if I was satisfied that it was in the interests of the Alliance to lead Chang up the garden path and let you act as a double agent something might be done. A lot must depend on what sort of stuff he’s got on his mind.’

  ‘I heard from Sir Jonah today,’ said Grant, pointing to a small desk. ‘Open the top drawer, sir. There’s a letter in it which will interest you.’

  The Admiral looked inside and pointed sourly to a tidy bundle of Esquires and an old Vie Parisienne. ‘Changed a lot in recent years. It used to be good.’ And then he lifted the envelope. ‘This?’

  Grant grinned as he watched him read it. ‘Came this afternoon. Asks me to fly over for luncheon next week. Says he wants me to meet some friends and won’t take “no” for an answer.’

  ‘Oke!’ The Admiral slowly folded up the note and slipped it back into the drawer. ‘You’ll go, of course, and report in the usual way. But play “hard to get”, and I’ll let you have a complete dossier on both Chang and Alvis before zero hour.’ He puffed slowly at his pipe and stared thoughtfully at the bed. ‘How do you feel?’

  Grant marked the calculating look and his now tense expectation. When the Admiral was ‘on’ to something he drove his men to the limit. ‘Improving daily.’

  ‘Then be ready for anything within two weeks.’ It was an order.

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

  The Admiral had become the Chief again. ‘I don’t like that business in Moscow, Doctor, especially when it looks as though you may have to go back. Your duty to myself and my department comes before ballerinas and if you don’t like it that way you can resign. I want to know what Chang and Alvis are up to and I want particularly to know if they’ve discovered anything which may be hatching in Russia. You’ll report for duty to me on the day after your luncheon appointment, and in future keep away from official representatives or Embassies when you get into trouble. This Moscow incident must not be repeated.’

  Grant accepted the inevitable. The old man would have to report to the British F.O. that his unruly subordinate had been officially carpeted and duly ticked off. ‘Understood, sir.’

  The Admiral paused at the door. ‘You don’t think they’ll find that guy in the well, or do you?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. I covered traces pretty carefully.’

  ‘And if they did, could they pin it on you?’

  ‘I don’t see how they could even suspect me.’

  ‘Well I hope you’re right.’ He hesitated again. ‘You say Sokolnikov’s a sadist.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will the girl be safe?’

  ‘Safe enough, I think. A dancer like her is rather important in the U.S.S.R. And from prestige angles Sokolnikov will leave her alone till she returns to the company.’

  The old man grunted his doubts. ‘So do you want to go back?’

  Grant
realised that the carpeting was over. ‘As you think best, sir.’

  ‘Hrmph.’ The Admiral frowned heavily and sparked another match. ‘One gets hunches in this job of mine and I’ve an idea you’ll be in Moscow sooner or later. But if you are,’ he snarled fiercely, ‘you’d better be bloody careful, David. They’ve got it in for you.’

  Chapter Five – Corpses don’t give away secrets. . . .

  It was Grant’s first visit to England for over seven months and the countryside had never seemed more lovely. Lyveden Hall was a show-piece, and the contrast between its glowing elegance and the functional discomfort of his digs in Paris made him wonder if, after all, he had made the right choice in joining N.A.T.O.’s permanent security staff and exchanging the comfort of English country life for the ramshackle insecurity of continental cafés and chromium-plated offices.

  The sharp crack of distant shooting mingled with the tinkle of glasses around the dining-room table whilst a shaft of late autumn sunshine gilded the marble chimney piece and reflected tawny lights within his brandy goblet. The Lyveden Château des Cordoliers had been served with almost sacramental reverence and now the Larranaga Coronas were being offered by a well-trained house-boy. A new one, and probably hired for the season he guessed, as the cabinet paused beside the Chinaman. ‘Sorry, sir,’ smiled Chang, ‘but I’ll pass. I still prefer cigarettes. May I?’

  Sir Jonah Lyveden had no time for cigarette nonsense. ‘Can’t stop you, sir. But I still think you gasper smokers are blasted savages.’

  ‘And aren’t we all savages,’ said a quietly-spoken man with a faint American accent. ‘Indeed, I guess we wouldn’t be here today if the savage bit wasn’t splashing around inside us and getting ready to spill all over the place.’

  The house-boy hesitated. ‘Pardon, but will there be anything more, sir?’

  ‘Nothing, just see we aren’t disturbed for the next couple of hours.’

  As the servant softly closed the door behind him Grant felt a sense of mounting tension. He was out of his plaster and strapping. The hospital had given him an all clear provided he took it easy for another week or so, and he had enjoyed a leisured few days of convalescence broken only by his flight to England and his study of the Admiral’s appreciation of all that was known about his luncheon companions.