Cast No Shadow

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  He sighed deeply. “If she wants to.”

  A Chance Encounter

  Thunder growled its presence in the night sky over London. Dan Kelly’s mood was as black as the overhead clouds. He had used up most of the money he had accumulated to fund his search and was seriously concerned about his future direction. He turned into the Savoy and made his way to the cocktail bar.

  He sipped his vodka and soda slowly, pondering his options. As on previous occasions the exercise filled him with despair. He could not see himself as a banker or a car salesman, and certainly not a civil servant, but what else was open?

  He had toyed with the idea of using his linguistic skills to maintain himself, but that would only keep him busy for a short time. As countries emerged from the ruins and debris of the war, there was a surfeit of well-educated citizens who could act as interpreters for wages which left Kelly simply uncompetitive.

  He took another sip of his vodka and determined that he would make a decision before he finished his drink. At that moment, the sound of someone calling his name interrupted his reverie. It had been a few years since he had heard that voice, but he remembered it immediately.

  “Kelly, old chap?” said Archie Jenkins.

  Kelly sprang from his bar stool and clasped the outstretched hand, shaking it warmly.

  “Commodore Jenkins, Sir! It is so good to see you. Is it still Commodore? Or are congratulations in order?”

  Jenkins was dressed in a lounge suit, which looked incongruous on him. The hair had thinned further and there was the hint of a stoop, but he still looked every inch the naval officer.

  “Well, it’s nothing now as I’ve retired, though I suppose we do hold our ranks after retirement. But yes. I did manage to rise to the dizzy heights of Vice Admiral before they booted me into retirement a year ago!” He grinned. “Something about being promoted to your highest level of incompetence springs to mind, does it not?”

  He laughed. “Never mind about me,” he continued before Kelly could respond. “I want to hear about you. But let me fill up your glass first, then if you’ve no objection we’ll join a friend of mine over in the corner.” He gestured towards a table as he ordered drinks.

  Kelly picked up two of the drinks and walked with Jenkins to the table he had indicated. The man seated there stood as they approached. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, of medium build with rather untidy dark hair. The face was full of character with intelligent sharp eyes. He smiled thinly as they approached.

  “Let me do the introductions,” said Jenkins. “Jack, this is Dan Kelly, Dan this is Jack Donnelly.” Turning to Kelly he said, “Jack works in the Civil Service.” To Donnelly he said, “Dan is just about to tell us what he does. Haven’t seen him for a few years.”

  They sat down, Kelly feeling slightly embarrassed. “Fact of the matter is,” said Kelly, “there isn’t a lot to tell. After I left the Navy at the end of hostilities I travelled for a while, mainly in Scandinavia and Northern Europe. It was all pretty mundane stuff really.”

  “So, what are you doing now?” asked Jenkins.

  “Nothing currently,” said Kelly. “I still have the wanderlust, but I really must settle down and find a new direction.”

  Jenkins looked surprised. “Easily fixed, old man. I am now ensconced in a fairly senior civil service post. If you’re interested, I can probably get you an interview.”

  “I’m not sure I am, Admiral,” responded Kelly, truthfully. “I need to mull things over.”

  Jenkins nodded and inevitably the conversation turned to the war. Kelly and Jenkins reminisced about some of the raids and the work of the Commandos and the SBS. Donnelly contributed little but appeared engrossed in what they were discussing.

  It was a further hour before the little group broke up, promising to meet again without specifying time or place. As Kelly started to move to the door, Donnelly grasped his arm and moved with him for a few paces then stopped.

  “I may also be able to help with employment, Dan. Let me have your telephone number and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Kelly thanked him and wrote the number of his hotel on a page of his notebook. He tore it out and handed it to Donnelly, taking pains not to appear ungrateful; it was indeed kind of this total stranger to consider his welfare.

  As he strode towards his hotel, he considered the kindness of his two companions, both of whom had indicated their willingness to find him employment. However, if, as seemed likely, both offers would be for tedious civil service jobs, he was doubtful he would be interested. He would need to find a form of words that said ‘no!’ without appearing unappreciative.

  Kelly was about to leave the hotel on the following morning when the concierge intercepted him.

  “Telephone call, Mr Kelly,” he said. “A Mister Donnelly.”

  Kelly walked to the reception desk and took the proffered phone. “Hello,” he said, “Dan Kelly speaking. It’s good of you to call, Jack.” The voice in the earpiece spoke quietly and concisely; there was no exchange of unnecessary pleasantries.

  “Listen Dan, I am fully aware that if I suggest a civil service job you will find some way of saying no without offending me.” Kelly wondered if Donnelly was a mind reader. The voice continued, “The job I have in mind is quite specialised, but I can’t discuss it over the phone. Would you take lunch with me today at Jackson’s? It’s on the corner near your hotel.”

  Intrigued, Kelly readily agreed. “Twelve thirty at Jackson’s. Bye!”

  The line went dead.

  Kelly strode into Jackson’s at twelve twenty-nine. Donnelly was already seated at a table. Like Kelly’s hotel, Jackson’s was of moderate standard, but had gained a reputation for good value and reasonable fare. Kelly sat down opposite Donnelly and they exchanged pleasantries. There was a brief silence as they perused the menu, Donnelly choosing a poached egg on a single slice of toast and Kelly, feeling extravagant, plumped for the smoked salmon salad.

  Once the waiter had retreated with the order Donnelly spoke, “I don’t intend to waste your time and mine by beating about the bush. I think I can secure you a position in Military Intelligence. MI5 to be precise. If you are interested?”

  Kelly blinked, thunderstruck. “Thank you,” he said, unsure how else to respond. “What’s involved?”

  “Let me say from the off,” said Donnelly, ignoring the question, “that the reasons we can have this conversation are twofold. Firstly, I have a personal recommendation from Admiral Jenkins and, secondly, I have pulled your file and had your war record scrutinised.” He paused before adding, “Impressive by the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Kelly again. “I take it that the meeting last night was not pure chance.”

  “Heavens no!” responded Donnelly. “You will find that extraordinarily little of what happens in Military Intelligence is by chance. You are a man of habit, Mr Kelly. You enjoy a glass of vodka in the Savoy most evenings. You attend O’Sullivan’s Gym in the East End four times per week where you box and lift ludicrously heavy weights. You occasionally smoke, but not heavily. You run along the embankment most evenings and you have recently travelled extensively, mainly in Scandinavia, though we are not entirely sure why.”

  Donnelly broke off as the waiter returned and served them with their food. A wine waiter bearing a bottle of white wine in an ice cooler quickly followed him.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your favourite Hock which I understand you enjoy with lunch.” Donnelly tasted it, nodded to the waiter, and waited in silence until he had poured the wine into their glasses. Once alone Donnelly continued again before Kelly, somewhat bewildered, could comment. “If you are interested, I will arrange an interview with the head of G Branch, who will assess your suitability for a role in the department.”

  “I see,” said Kelly, “but you haven’t told me what’s involved.”

  “Intelligence gathering in the main. Can’t go into too much detail at this time,” said Donnelly. “But I rather
think you can work it out for yourself.”

  “Very well,” said Kelly. “What’s the next step?” Donnelly produced a typewritten sheet from his jacket pocket and handed it to Kelly. On it was a specific address located on the banks of the Thames and a room number. Underneath that were a time and a date two days hence.

  “The Branch Head will see you then,” he said simply.

  “I’m grateful,” said Kelly. “If this all goes through, will I be working with you?”

  “Unlikely,” said Donnelly. “I’m in a different department. Whatever you decide I wish you luck for the future and, if you do join the Service, I will watch your career with interest.”

  The man at the reception desk was dressed in a sober hotel style uniform, but his bearing and the double row of medal ribbons on the jacket confirmed his military past. Beside him was a man in a plain grey suit, about thirty with a hard face. The bulge in the left side of his jacket suggested he either had a very thick wallet or he was carrying a pistol.

  “Thank you, Mr Kelly,” the receptionist was saying. “I can confirm that you are expected, would you please take a seat?” Kelly moved to the waiting area and sat down, looking at his watch as he did so. He was five minutes early.

  Promptly, at the time specified on his note, a man came down the curved staircase and walked the short distance across the hall to him. He was about Kelly’s age with a fresh complexion, dark lank hair and wearing a grey suit seemingly identical to the one worn by the man at reception. Kelly wondered if this was some sort of uniform.

  “Lieutenant Kelly?” the man asked, approaching with his hand outstretched. “Addison, G Branch.” Kelly took his hand. “The Boss is expecting you; shall we go?”

  Kelly nodded, but Addison was already making his way towards the stairs. Kelly followed him up the stairs and along a corridor. He noticed that all of the doors had their number prefixed by either ‘G2’ or ‘G3’. Eventually they stopped outside an office marked simply ‘G Branch’ and underneath, ‘Head of Department’.

  Addison tapped gently on the door and immediately walked in. Kelly found himself in an anteroom containing a desk and chair, a few filing cabinets and little else. Sitting at the desk was a woman of about fifty who was typing steadily. She paused and looked up smiling, scrutinising the two intruders through her thick spectacles. Behind the woman was a door obviously leading into an inner office with a sign that again read, ‘Head of Department’. Below it was a location for a second sign, presumably for a name, but it was empty.

  “Oh, hallo Mr Addison,” said the lady, “and this must be Mr Kelly. I’ll let Mr Davis know you are here.”

  Addison smiled and said, “Thank you Irene,” but Irene was already operating a switch on the control panel on her desk and speaking into a small microphone.

  “Please go in Mr Kelly.” She commenced typing again.

  “Good luck, Kelly,” said Addison. “I’ll pick you up after your meeting.”

  Kelly thanked him, then nodded to Irene, who appeared not to notice, and walked through the door to the inner office.

  Kelly drummed his fingers as he waited for the phone to be answered. It was Jenkins’ home number. He had left a message at Kelly’s hotel asking him to ring that evening. There was a click and a man spoke. It was definitely Jenkins, but the voice was curt and serious.

  “Jenkins. Who speaks?”

  “It’s Dan Kelly, Admiral. You asked me to call.”

  “Indeed I did, old chap,” said the Seaman, the tone of voice changing immediately. “Idle curiosity I’m afraid Dan. It’s just that I heard you had had an interview and I wondered how you got on?”

  “Well, I think, Admiral,” said Kelly. “The Head of Department has indicated that he feels I can make a contribution to the department and has all but offered me a post.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Jenkins. “You’ll take it I assume?”

  “Yes, I will,” said Kelly without hesitation. “Some of it sounds pretty mundane, even boring, but it also intrigues me and there is the chance to travel.”

  “Stick with it, Dan, however boring it may appear. Consider it a sort of apprenticeship. Other things will follow.”

  Kelly was curious about Jenkins’ last statement, but the old Seaman would not be drawn further. Kelly gave Jenkins a brief outline of the interview, leaving out the bits that he had been warned were secret.

  “Davis seems to think that the best way in, is to have my Naval Commission reinstated and then transferred to an Army Commission. They can then have me seconded to the Branch. It all seems rather complicated but apparently it’s a lot quicker and a lot less messy than coming through the Civil Service route.”

  “Yes, I can imagine that. Seems eminently sensible to me.”

  Kelly was suspicious, he continued, “It appears that I qualify for an immediate promotion to major. He explained it by saying that all of the ranks in Military Intelligence, including the civil servants, are at major equivalent or above.”

  “Is that really the case?” queried Jenkins. “I suppose it must be. Still, you deserve it old chap. Your war record speaks for itself.”

  “Admiral,” Kelly mused aloud, “did you have anything to do with the promotion?”

  “Me!” the Admiral exclaimed. “Hardly, old chap. I seem to carry no influence these days. Civil service pen pusher.”

  They spoke for a little while longer before Jenkins closed the conversation by wishing Kelly good luck in his new career, assuming of course that the post was offered. Kelly thanked him but remained deeply suspicious.

  The following morning Kelly was summoned to the reception desk of the hotel to receive an incoming telephone call.

  It was Davis, Head of G Branch, MI5, formally offering Kelly a post in the G2 Section of G Branch, Military Intelligence.

  McFarlane Calls

  Breathing heavily, Dragan Kelly slumped down on a rocky outcrop on the top of the hill he had just run up. He surveyed the glistening blue water below and shook his head. Kelly was unsettled. The problem was, he wasn’t sure why.

  He considered his position. He had just bathed in the beautiful waters of Cable Bay off the coast of New Providence Island and was about to go to his quarters in Nassau to shower and dress for dinner. He would have a stiff Vodka and then stroll into the dining room for an excellent meal.

  Though not wealthy, his salary as a major, coupled with his overseas allowance, meant he was at least comfortable. There was even the opportunity on occasions to practise his boxing at a couple of the gyms in Nassau.

  The problem was the ‘day job’. Information gathering turned out to be ninety nine percent boredom and one percent satisfaction.

  There had been no training or rehearsal for his new job. Although there had been a one-month induction programme when he had joined G Branch, held entirely within the MI5 building, he had received no formal training to prepare him for his new role. He was taken on as an operative in the G2 section—Information Gathering and Processing—of G Branch and had been strongly encouraged not to make acquaintances within MI5 outside of this section.

  After a month of, what turned out to be, ‘Sitting by Nellie’ with most of the operatives within G2, he was delighted to receive notification of a field posting. He was even more delighted when that posting turned out to be The Bahamas. He operated in a government building on the outskirts of Nassau and was quartered nearby in what in effect was an Officers Mess, which he and his two fellow operatives shared with colonial officials.

  The three MI5 men were referred to behind hands as the ‘Sneaky Beakies’ and he was often pumped by some of the others as to the nature of his work, but as ordered, he was unforthcoming.

  In reality, the work was pretty low-key information gathering. It consisted of intercepting radio and telephone conversations between various people, some of significant ranking, within certain countries where surveillance was deemed necessary. Kelly’s job was then to sift the information and analyse it to find any snippets that c
ould be of value to the British or US Secret Services. Most of the information was useless, but just occasionally there would be a gem. The problem was that the gems were few and far between, whilst the constant barrage of information was unrelenting.

  Such was Kelly’s state of mind when he returned to his quarters in Nassau. As he walked into the building, Simmonds, one of his fellow operatives, met him.

  “Something’s up, Dan. Just had a telephone call. You have to ring McFarlane in G3 in Government House A.S.A.P.” He smiled and added, “What have you been up to then?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know,” Kelly shrugged. “Probably delivered some duff information to G3, so I shall prepare myself for the requisite bollocking.”

  “Good luck!” Simmonds laughed as he turned for the stairs. Kelly went immediately to his room and picked up the phone provided only to his section, much to the envy of the colonial officers who shared the building, all of whom, except the most senior, had to use a communal phone in the foyer.

  Kelly rang the G3 number in Nassau and waited for the receptionist to answer.

  “McFarlane,” he said sharply to the receptionist before she had fully completed her prepared intro speech.

  “Who’s speaking please?” she asked

  “Kelly.” Immediately the line went dead for a second, then there was a dull intermittent burring as McFarlane’s phone was activated. Kelly wondered about the summons. McFarlane was the head “G” man on the island. Officially he was G3, but he outranked Kelly’s G2 Line Manager.

  “McFarlane,” said a distant voice on the telephone.

  “Kelly. You wanted me, Bob?”

  “Yes, thanks for ringing Dan. Something fairly urgent has come up. Any chance you could dine with me in Government House tonight? There are one or two issues I need to discuss.”