In Treacherous Waters

by Richard V Frankland

  “Where is Leonard now?”

  “In Spain I think, said he had some things to ‘cover up’ whatever that means.”

  “Bodies knowing Leonard, he made a real job of topping my stepdaughter’s nosy ’usband,” said Vermeulen, thoughtlessly introducing a little too much honesty to his comments now that the job offer to Alice had been rejected.

  Alice looked shocked and almost spilt her drink. “He killed someone?”

  “You didn't know ’im very well obviously.”

  Alice put her glass down, she was feeling sick. The odd dodgy deal was bad enough but murder, no, she couldn’t really handle that.

  “Are you all right, Alice? You’re very pale.”

  “Could I have some water please?”

  “Pieter.”

  The big minder got to his feet instantly and hurried to the bar. It was as he was returning to the table with his back to the door that the four men walked in swiftly, making their way straight to where Alice and Vermeulen sat. As Pieter put the glass on the table he suddenly became aware of bodies behind him and turning, was already reaching for his gun.

  “Don’t even think about it,” said the man in the dark navy blue suit nearest to him pointing a pistol at him.

  “What is the meaning of this!” shouted Vermeulen, knocking his chair over as he got to his feet.

  Smiling slightly, another man stepped forward showing his badge. “Jan Vermeulen, I am arresting you for the illegal trading in arms. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Thinking that his police guard’s attention may have wavered a fraction Pieter made a lunge at the blue suited officer only to find himself moments later face down on the floor with his left hand pinned painfully behind his back. Alice meanwhile just put her head in her hands and wept.

  Several seconds passed during which you could have heard a pin drop as the other customers in the bar stood frozen with all eyes focused on the group in the corner. Then the manager from reception came bustling in.

  “What’s going on here,” he demanded to know.

  The senior officer, Detective Inspector James Paxton, who had hung back from the rest turned and raised his badge for the manager to inspect. “It is police business, sir, if you don’t mind waiting I will explain in a minute or two.”

  “You ’ave got the wrong man,” said Vermeulen, sounding very indignant. “’ere is my passport, you will find that I am Henri Vanderkloof, now let me and my colleague go immediately.”

  “He is Jan Vermeulen all right and like all men lies to get his way out of anything,” screamed Alice Morgan.

  “Don’t believe her.”

  “It’s the truth I tell you, this will prove I am right,” she said, pushing the black notebook across the table. “He was willing to pay a lot of money to get that back.”

  Vermeulen made a grab across the table at her but was restrained and cuffed.

  Waving to three uniformed policemen who had just entered the bar, D.I Paxton said, “Take them away.” Then turning to Alice he said, “Alice Morgan I am arresting you for breach of the Official Secrets Act. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Alice stood up shakily and walked, head bowed, with Paxton towards a waiting WPC, without saying a word. It was over now and as she walked out of the hotel entrance she felt a strange sense of relief. She would turn Queen’s evidence, she was determined on that.

  On seeing her leave the Ritz handcuffed to a WPC, Emre Yilmaz signalled to his two men to return to the car and put a forged Chilean passport into his pocket for burning on the barbecue later.

  ***

  At MI6 headquarters Alex Campbell took his seat between section heads Angela Merivale-Atkin and newly appointed Michael Porter. In front of them were two clerks, one to act as a messenger and the other monitoring dual recording devices.

  “Are we all ready?” asked Campbell.

  The clerks nodded just as a red light showed up on the messenger’s desk.

  “Shall I get that, Sir?”

  “Yes please, Miss Khan.”

  She smiled, he had remembered her name, not many senior bosses do that after a break of two or three months. Crossing the room she opened the door and received a message slip and hurried back to place it in front of the Commodore.

  Looking at the message Campbell smiled, “Thank you, Miss Khan. We can proceed now, would you invite Sir Andrew Averrille to join us please.”

  When Sir Andrew entered he looked surprised to see the formal set-up. “If this is how it is being played, Campbell, I insist upon having legal representation.”

  “Sir Andrew, this is merely an enquiry to lay out the facts regarding the activities of former agent Leonard Staunton and former communications clerk, Alice Morgan.” The mention of Alice Morgan made Sir Andrew’s face pale noticeably. “Please take a seat,” said Campbell gesturing towards a desk and chair in the centre of the room.

  Campbell, noticing the change in Sir Andrew’s complexion followed by the lack of a further challenge to proceedings turned to Merivale-Atkin and nodded.

  “Sir Andrew, we have gone back to the initial appointment of Leonard Staunton and noted that he was recommended for recruitment by Captain Jonathan Fitzpatrick who we now understand to be your son-in-law.”

  “I do not like the insinuation you have just made, Madam. Jonathan, at that time, had no connection with my family at all.”

  “You were not aware then that at that time his London address given for all mail was your daughter’s flat in the Lesson Grove area of London.”

  “No, I was not.” Sir Andrew looked genuinely shocked at the revelation. “Were the usual checks carried out at the time?”

  “Yes, they were, Sir Andrew, but please understand we believe that Staunton applied pressure in some way upon your future son-in-law in order to gain the recommendation.”

  “I assume that you have asked Jonathan about this?”

  “He is being interviewed at the moment, Sir Andrew.”

  “I suppose you are enjoying this, Campbell.”

  “Not in the least, Sir Andrew, in fact I am extremely disappointed that this meeting is actually taking place, but a rotten apple had been allowed to be selected for work with this organisation and that person has apparently been supported in a programme of rapid promotion.”

  “What are you accusing Staunton and myself of?”

  “Staunton’s list includes murder of a fellow agent, illegal arms trading, blackmail and collusion with a political coup aimed to destabilise the government of a friendly nation and co-member of the European Union.”

  “Good God, that is impossible to believe.”

  “Two hours ago police arrested former communications clerk Alice Morgan. Under questioning she informed officers that a Jan Vermeulen told her that Leonard Staunton, I quote, ‘Topped his stepdaughter’s nosy husband.’ Her husband was David Patterson, an agent of ours sent into Angola along with Staunton to trace illegal arms dealers, one of whom was Jan Vermeulen,” said Campbell.

  “Patterson was one of your DELCO group if I remember correctly.”

  “As you well know, Sir Andrew, DELCO is just a safe reporting location for agents who, because of their cover, would be unwise to report here except under special circumstances.”

  “Is this woman to be believed?”

  “I would think so, Sir Andrew, after all, she is your daughter,” said Campbell, as Porter got up and placed two DNA profiles in front of Sir Andrew. “Staunton, we believe, discovered your relationship to Alice Morgan and let you know of his discovery at the garden party you held shortly after your promotion to Head of Service.”

  There was a long silence whilst Sir Andrew stared at the profiles tracing each telltale line with a s
lender forefinger.

  “Following a meeting I had with Mrs Patterson some months ago she willingly became an informant against her stepfather providing information that triggered an international warrant for his arrest. It appears, however, that he was tipped off and escaped Angola taking with him his wife and Patterson’s widow, Anna-Maria. During their journey Mrs Patterson escaped and despite efforts to kill her made contact with our agent, Ian Vaughan, near to the Salvage Islands. She was successfully taken to Gibraltar where she was met by a member of my team for an RAF transfer to the UK,” said Campbell. “Whilst they were being taken by the Navy to the airport both women were abducted and the Marine driver killed by a gang acting on behalf of someone who must have been a member of this organisation, as only someone connected with SIS would have had the time to react and arrange such an attack.” Campbell looked up from his notes, but saw no reaction from Sir Andrew. “They were taken by sea to the port of Lagos, Portugal, then to a house in the town of Burgau, where they were imprisoned by an ex SAS soldier named Barry Jacobs. When a search was made for the file on Jacobs it was learnt that it had been pulled suggesting that SIS had recruited him. Further investigation eventually revealed however that the file had been pulled by none other than Leonard Staunton acting way above his authority. We then learnt that during an attempt by Jacobs to rape Mrs Patterson she managed to kill him in an act of self defence. Shortly after this harrowing event, agent Ian Vaughan, acting on his own initiative, located both ladies and volunteered to bring them to safety. During the questioning by the Portuguese authorities of those assisting in their imprisonment, it was revealed that the mastermind behind the abduction and imprisonment was a person, known as Leonardo in Portugal, associated with the Galician Mafia. Leonard Staunton’s arrival in Gibraltar and his use of SIS personnel strongly suggested that he was this mysterious Leonardo and knew of the planned abduction. A note passed to me just prior to this meeting confirms that your daughter had intercepted Vaughan’s coded approach message and passed that information to Staunton who I understand was, at the time, under your orders in Madeira.”

  “What is all this about collusion involving a political coup?”

  “My opposite number in the Portuguese Servico de Informaçōes de Segurança, Senhor De Lacerda, has information that suggests that Leonardo and Leonard Staunton are one and the same due to a link with a Portuguese private bank, which they suspect of bankrolling the coup.”

  Campbell sat back in his chair watching Sir Andrew as the man took in the information he had just presented.

  Realising that Campbell had finished what he had to say Sir Andrew looked up from his doodling and just stared at the three people in front of him in turn. “What happens to me now?” he said finally.

  “You accept our findings then, Sir Andrew?” said Porter.

  The man nodded and looked blankly at the floor. “For the record,” said Merivale-Atkin, “Sir Andrew Averrille has nodded his head in agreement.”

  “What your future holds, Sir Andrew, is not for us to decide,” said Campbell. “You are, however, to remain under suspension awaiting the outcome of further enquiries. As before you must not leave the country without permission.”

  “A car will take you to your home, Sir Andrew,” said Merivale-Atkin, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

  Sir Andrew Averrille rose and walking a little unsteadily, left the room.

  “He didn’t put up much of a fight,” said Porter.

  “Ruined all because he hid a love child,” said Merivale-Atkin.

  “He was relatively newly married at the time of the affair with Alice Morgan’s mother and the revelation would undoubtedly have led to a divorce and the loss of a considerable fortune when his then young wife inherited. How do you think he got the Culverdon Estate and its two hundred acres, plus a villa on the French Riviera,” explained Campbell.

  “That will all go now surely,” said Porter, “When this all comes out.”

  “If this all comes out, Porter, if,” replied Campbell. “My betting is that he will either be shuffled onto a security committee for a year or two before requesting early retirement or some minor health issue will be used as an excuse to pension him off now.”

  “You know, Sir, I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that,” said Porter, getting up, very tight-lipped, and looking around for something to punch. “Another Westminster élite cover-up that will cost the taxpayer hundreds of thousands up until he and his wife are dead. So much for open bloody government and fairness for all. You can bet the armourer who mislaid a few boxes of HK417’s in order to pay the rent will get sent down for years and branded for life.”

  Nobody said a word, they were all looking at Campbell. “I think we could all do with a drink,” he said. “Will you join us, Miss Khan. I know Miss Standish enjoys the odd glass of red.”

  “Thank you, Sir, but nothing alcoholic.”

  “Of course. Come on people, coats on, there is a little pub across the river where Chief Inspector Brian Jackson and I would go at a time like this.”

  ***

  Staunton decided to change the identity of the car he was driving immediately after he had checked out of his hotel. No longer wishing to hang around in Funchal he drove to Camacha where he found a car of the same model and colour in a car park near the centre of the town. There was no one about and the switch of plates was straightforward thanks to the screw holes on both sets matching. He drove on to Santana where he found a car parked off the road with flat tyres, from having been left for a long period, and swopped the plates again.

  By the time he had reached Ponta Delgado he was feeling more relaxed and stopped to make a call to Alice Morgan, but her phone was switched off. Checking his watch he smiled and made a call to Emre Yilmaz assuming that all had gone to plan and that Emre was by now enjoying the delights of Alice.

  The call connected, “Evet.”

  “Emre, it is Leonardo, are you enjoying the gift?”

  “No, your gift left the Ritz in handcuffs along with two men. Next time you wish to send me a gift just make it cash.”

  “Are you sure it was the right woman?” queried Staunton, suddenly feeling uneasy again.

  “I am certain.”

  “What about the passport?”

  “Cash only now, Leonardo. I do not like being that close to your police force when they are arresting people.”

  “I need it quickly, I will get the money to you as soon as I can.”

  “That is not how it works, Leonardo. I get the money first then I will arrange the passport.”

  “Emre, you know I am good for it, please just let me have the passport, you know I will pay.”

  “I do not know that anymore, Leonardo, you have fast become a risk.”

  “Emre … Emre!?” The phone was dead. “Oh go fuck yourself, you Turkish turd,” Staunton yelled at his phone, before throwing it into the car’s passenger footwell.

  A strange sense of claustrophobia was coming over him as the realisation of his world collapsing in on him became more acutely apparent. He found himself breathing heavily as though he had run a mile and had to make a conscious effort to calm himself. Several minutes passed before he was able to analyse his situation and start to plan a way out.

  Unless they had put someone very stupid on the job he knew that SIS would know that he was in Madeira. Alice would have told them that she had dropped him off at Gatwick, it would not be long before they discovered that he took the Funchal flight instead of the Madrid one. Would they link him to Kazakov and therefore Boris though? That was unlikely, but he would have to be very careful how he made contact again with the man. He assumed that they would only know about his Laurens Van Vuuren passport via the airport, so his use of the Giovanni name was he thought for him, secure.

  His head felt as if it was bursting with questions and he was fearful that nothing now appeared certain. He must make contact with Boris first of all and see if he could stay at the house for at least that nigh
t. Starting the car he drove back to Funchal, parking along the Rua do Lazareto near the Jewish cemetery, then walked along to the top of the Calcada do Socorro and was just about to cross the road to the green when he saw that the gates to the rear courtyard of Kazakov’s house were open and a police van parked just inside. Altering course he went into the café on the corner and ordered a coffee, taking a seat where he could watch the house. Realising that he had not eaten at all that day he added two pieces of cake to the order and sat wondering what to do next.

  A police car came up the hill at high speed and two men got out and went into the courtyard. The girl behind the bar had stopped what she was doing and was looking in the same direction as Staunton, “What is going on?” he asked in Portuguese.

  “They took the bully they call Boris away just now, everyone know his boss was crook but I think he not cause trouble for police so they leave him alone, eh.”

  “Was he dealing drugs?” asked Staunton.

  “I no think so, the rumour is he handled guns,” the girl replied in English, recognising immediately Staunton’s natural language.

  “Huh, is my Portuguese that bad?”

  “No, Senhor, but the accent is er, not so good,” she said, placing the coffee and cake slices in front of him.

  A little while later a taxi pulled up and a middle-aged woman and young girl got out. On seeing the police van the woman cried out and hurried across the road followed more carefully by the young girl.

  “Oh my, that poor Nadezhda, first her father is killed and now Boris he is arrested,” said the bar girl.

  “How old is she?”

  “She maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, she cannot speak poor thing, but she is very sweet you know, nice. I feel so sad for her.”

  At that point two workmen came into the bar who were obviously regulars and the girl moved along to serve them, both gave Staunton a suspicious look before asking the bar girl about what was happening at the Kazakov house.

  Finishing the cake and coffee, Staunton paid the bill and left, walking back to his car deep in thought. At least the weather was hot so sleeping rough would not be too much of a hardship, but where would be safe? Then an idea occurred to him, Sonia, or at least Reshetnikov’s place across the island. He felt sure that Reshetnikov was still being held by the police and probably taken away to Lisbon for questioning, so maybe they took Sonia as well.