by James Hume
Chasing Aquila
by
James Hume
Copyright © 2019, Jim McCallum Publishing Ltd. (JMPL)
Editing by Kerry Barrett
Cover Design by Victoria Bushby
Book Design by JMPL
Thanks to Alastair Dinsmor at Glasgow Police Museum
First JMPL electronic publication: 20 May, 2019
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental.
English Edition
ISBN No:
Published in the UK by Jim McCallum Publishing, 2019.
For
SANDRA
The real-life one
My soulmate!
Chapter 1. Tommy
They’d just washed and cleared away the dinner dishes when the phone rang. Jane picked up the receiver, ‘Hello?’
‘Jane? It’s Grandpa Thomson here. How are things over there in Nuremberg?’
He didn’t seem his usual cheerful self, she thought. ‘They’re fine. That’s two weeks since the trial started and it’s . . .well . . . a bit harrowing at times to interpret and translate.’
‘I’m sure it must be. And how are my boys? Looking forward to Christmas?’
She sensed a choke in his voice and wondered why.
‘Yes, only three weeks to go now. It all starts here tomorrow night when they put a shoe out for St Nicholas to leave treats if they’ve been good.’
‘And have they been good?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, they have. They’ve settled in well at the international school, and even speak some German already. So with a bit of luck, they’ll also be bilingual. They’re asleep now or you could have spoken to them.’
‘Yeah, sorry to call so late, but I have some . . . sad news for you. Tommy was found dead on Saturday morning.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘What happened?’
‘He drowned in the River Clyde at the Dalmarnock Power Station. The police have investigated and confirmed he was very drunk on Friday night – even more than usual. It seems he staggered past his close, went down the side of Dalmarnock Bridge towards the river, banged his head on the bridge, and fell into the water. The police say it was an accidental death under extreme intoxication.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s Grandma Thomson?’
‘She’s very upset, and just wishes she could give the kids a hug.’
‘Oh, please tell her I’m so sorry. He didn’t deserve to end like that.’
‘I know. But he’d been unhappy for a long time now. I know you’ve had your differences with him in the past few years, but I hope, when you tell the boys, they’ll remember their dad for his good points and not for his bad points.’
‘I will. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘Thanks. Grandma will try to call and talk to the boys later in the week.’
‘Okay. We’ll talk again then.’
She hung up and turned to her mother. To her surprise, she felt a tear in her eye. She told her mother about the call, speaking in Czech, their mother tongue.
Her mother didn’t comment. Jane knew her mother had never liked Tommy, so she just focused her thoughts on the happy early years of their marriage, rather than the loveless husk she’d walked away from a couple of years ago in ‘43.
***
Every Wednesday, Commander Sir Jonathan Porritt, head of the British delegation at the Nuremberg War Trials, had lunch with his translator group. The huge volume of work meant they’d had to find a new faster way of coping. He’d proposed the use of simultaneous interpretation, where the translators listened to the speaker on a headset, interpreted what they said, and spoke their translation into a microphone. It demanded much more from the translators compared to their usual roles, where they translated each phrase separately.
Porritt knew some of his translators struggled to keep up the pace and avoid errors to ensure justice was done. The evidence would also become more harrowing as the trial progressed, so he wanted to keep close to the group and ensure they were kept as calm and comfortable as possible.
After lunch, as the group broke up, Jane Thomson, one of his senior German-English interpreters came over and sat beside him. They’d worked together for years.
‘I just wanted a word, sir. I had a call from my father-in-law in Glasgow last night. My ex-husband was found dead on Saturday morning, drowned in the River Clyde.’ She gave him the details.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, though I know you didn’t have much of a marriage in the last few years.’
‘Yeah. After the Aquila incident, we never got together again.’
‘Are you okay to carry on here?’
‘Of course, sir. I just wanted to keep you up to date.’
‘Well, remember, if you need any help, particularly with the children, just let me know.’
‘Will do, sir. And thanks.’ She got up and moved away.
He watched her go, and thought back to the night they’d rescued her from Aquila. The spy gang had disguised her appearance, and he’d been struck by her resemblance to the actress Rita Hayworth, but with more prominent cheekbones. Since then, she’d retained that hairstyle and make-up, and the vague likeness still stuck with him.
Within a few minutes, Porritt rose and headed back to his office. From his background in Admiralty intelligence and the Special Branch, he always suspected anything that seemed a little out of the ordinary. Jane’s comment on the Aquila incident triggered a memory he wanted to check out.
He picked up the phone and eventually got through to the right person.
‘Maxwell’.
‘Sandra, it’s Jonathan Porritt here. How’re you today?’
‘I’m very well, sir. What can I do for you?’
‘Do you remember the Aquila incident, about two and a half years ago?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Well, I’ve just talked with Jane over here in Nuremberg.’ He took Sandra through the conversation. ‘Now, why would her ex-husband stagger drunk from the pub, pass the entry to his flat – a route he must have followed hundreds of times – go down to the river and accidentally fall in? It just doesn’t feel right.’
‘Suicide, sir?’
Porritt screwed up his face. ‘No, from what I’ve heard, he wasn’t the type. Let me run something past you, Sandra.’
‘Okay.’
‘Maybe I’m just a suspicious old bugger, but I’ve always had a question mark over the death of the Aquila spy, Brenner. I never realised how important he was to the Germans until after he died. The info he carried was like manna from heaven for them. Yet no one from Germany has ever asked about him, not even via the Red Cross. I find that very strange.
‘We wiped out Aquila in the UK, but now the war’s over, maybe there’s a last vestige of it somewhere that now wants to know what happened to Brenner? We kept it very quiet. We made no official statement. So, if someone from Aquila – or even from the man’s family – wanted to find out what happened to him, where would he start?
‘I think he’d first talk to some of the Aquila gang still in prison, and he'd find out from them tha
t Brenner was alone with Jane when he disappeared. The searcher would then have to find Jane. Someone may remember her contact details from Station 19 that gave her address in Glasgow. So, he goes there, but finds she’s moved. What would he do?’
‘Ask her husband, because he’s still there?’
‘Exactly right, Sandra. So, you’re on the spot over there in Glasgow. How would you like to check if there’s anything suspicious about Tommy Thomson’s death, from the point of view that someone targeted him for information on Jane, but he didn’t cooperate. It’s a long shot, but I’d really appreciate it if you could cast your gimlet-eye over this for me. I want to know if I need to protect Jane.’
‘Right, sir. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
He rang off. Maybe it was nothing, but his guts said maybe not.
Chapter 2. Sandra Maxwell
Sandra Maxwell, head of Special Branch for the West of Scotland, hung up the receiver. She’d last met Porritt a few months ago when he’d brought his SB regional heads together to announce his new challenge in Nuremberg, and pass the baton for Special Branch over to Dave Burnett, the head of SB in Yorkshire. Burnett had given an inspired talk on SB’s future in peacetime, and most of them agreed he was the right choice as the new leader. But Porritt was extra special. She’d do anything for him.
She went to her office door and signalled for Tom Hamilton, one of her best Inspectors, to join her. ‘Remember the translator girl, Jane Thomson, we rescued in ‘43?’she asked.
‘Of course. The Aquila case.’
‘That’s right. I’ve just had Commander Porritt on the phone from Nuremberg. She’s working with him over there on the Nazi War Trials, and she’s just told him her ex-husband was fished out of the Clyde at Dalmarnock on Saturday morning. An accident while drunk, according to our local police.’
His eyebrows raised. ‘Blimey.’
‘Could you do two things for me, please, Tom. Find out who’s the senior officer on the case – presumably it’s Eastern Division – and see if we can visit him later today.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Say around five. And would you also get the files on the Aquila case up from the archive? I’ve got to finish a report for the chief, but when the files arrive, come in and we’ll check through them.’
‘Right, ma’am. Will do.’
Ten minutes later, the porter arrived with two large cardboard boxes of files. Tom came into her office. ‘Did you find the SIO?’ she asked.
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s Inspector Jack Bruce, and he’ll see us at five.’
‘Good. Don’t think I’ve ever met him.’
‘Oh, you’d remember if you had, ma’am.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s got a reputation as a hard man and makes sure everyone knows it. He made his name as the one who broke the Bridgeton gangs in the thirties.’
‘Do I sense a ‘but’ coming?’
‘Well, there was always a rumour he got too close to one of the gang leaders.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Dan McFadden.’
‘Mmm. Nasty piece of work. Well, let’s just guard what we say to Bruce in case he’s a blabbermouth to the wrong people. Right, let’s get started.’
‘What’s the story, Ma’am?’
‘The Commander’s suspicious about Thomson’s death.’ She went on to give him Porritt’s concerns. ‘He wants us to check whether someone’s targeted Thomson.’
‘Right, ma’am. So, where do we start?’
‘Let’s find Jane’s original contact info from Station 19. Try Box One.’
They searched the box files. ‘Got it, ma’am.’
Sandra opened the box file and flipped through the documents. ‘Here it is.’
Thomson, Jane. Date of Birth, 18 May 1918. Place of Birth, Prague, Czechoslovakia. Address, 811 Dalmarnock Road, Glasgow SE. Next of Kin, Thomas Thomson (Husband), Date of Birth, 14 March 1918, Married 26 September 1936. Contact Number, Home: Nil, Work: Rutherglen 2000 (Stewarts & Lloyds). Dependants, Stephen (Son), Date of Birth, 29 April 1937, George (Son), Date of Birth, 11 October 1938.
She passed it over to Tom. ‘So, who in the Aquila organisation might remember her address? Obviously, the two guards at Station 19, Brown and Henry, who copied that info in the first place. And the wife of John Kay, the Aquila spymaster in Yorkshire. And of course, the two spies here in Glasgow. So they’re the five people most likely to remember her address and pass it on. And they’re all still in prison. So, if the Commander’s right, someone must have visited one of them – and then contacted the husband.
‘Now, after trial, they went to Lincoln prison. So, let’s see where they went then.’ She picked up the phone. ‘Can you get me the governor at Lincoln prison please, Gillian?’
A few minutes later her phone rang. ‘Governor Collins, ma’am.’
‘Governor, I’m Superintendent Maxwell of the Special Branch in Glasgow. We’re looking into a death up here that may be the result of contacts with people you held in your special segregation unit about eighteen months ago. We have possibly five prisoners involved, and we’d like to know where they are now, and if they’ve had any visitors in the last few months – say since the end of the war. Could you help us, please?’
‘Well, I’ll certainly do my best. Give me the names and we’ll see what we can do.’
She read out the names.
‘Right. Well, we only have a small special unit here, but we do still have Brown and Henry. We want to move them to Manchester, but they want moved to Belfast, and their appeal has dragged on far too long. So, give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you.’
‘Thanks, governor. Really appreciate your help.’
Sandra and Tom pulled out the rest of the box files and sorted them into sequence. Then her phone rang again.
‘It’s Governor Collins, ma’am.’
He came on the line. ‘Brown’s the only one who’s had visitors in the last six months. Three weeks ago, he had two together, for about an hour. His lawyer, George Slavin from Belfast, and his cousin, Aidan Connor, also from Belfast. I’ve got their addresses.’ He read them out. ‘Now, one other thing. We photograph all visitors in and out the special seg unit. So, we’ve got photos of these men as well, if you want.’
‘Do visitors know they’re photographed?’
‘Well, we state, on our Visitor Terms and Conditions, that we keep an appropriate record of their visit for safety and security reasons, but we don’t spell out the details. And it’s not obvious, so they may not realise it.’
‘Okay. Can you radio telegraph these photos up to me please?’
‘We’ll need to do that from from the central police station in Lincoln. It’ll take about twenty minutes or so.’
‘Which photo’s which, by the way?’
‘We’re not sure. We think the older dark-haired man is the lawyer, and the younger fair-haired man the cousin.’
‘Many thanks for your help, governor. We appreciate it.’
‘No problem, ma’am.’ He rang off.
‘Well, well, well. How about that?’ she said. ‘Tom, could you make sure our people get the photos to us as soon as they arrive, please?’
Sandra thumbed through the Aquila papers. It had been a huge task to put the case together with a team of officers from across the country, but a great result. The files brought it all back. She smiled with satisfaction, then picked up the phone.
‘Could you get me CS McGowan in Belfast, please, Gillian?’
A few minutes later she heard his warm Belfast tones. ‘A pleasure to talk to you, Sandra, so it is. And what can I do for you?’
He’d also been involved in the Aquila case and knew the background. She explained Porritt’s call and gave him the names and addresses of Brown’s two visitors. ‘I’m told Slavin’s a lawyer and Connor’s a cousin of Brown. Could you check them out, please, Alan? Just to make sure they’re kosher? I’ll send you over their photographs in about half an hour.’
‘Sure, Sandra. Call you back later.’
***
Sandra took an instant dislike to DI Bruce. She usually got on well with most people, but he’d irritated her from the start.
He was a big man – well over six feet – with a bullet head and permanent sneer. He welcomed her with, ‘You want to know about the Thomson death, ma’am? You here to check up on us?’ said with a smirk.
Why would he say that? she asked herself. Maybe it was just a misplaced sense of humour. But, as the highest-ranked woman in the Scottish police force by far, some of her male colleagues seemed to regard her as an alien. Yet another over-sensitive gorilla officer, which they still had too many of in the force.
‘Not at all, Inspector. This man Thomson was on the fringe of one of our major cases a few years ago that involved national security.’
Both Bruce and his young assistant, DC Orr, seated alongside him, registered surprise.
She went on, ‘We’d therefore like to review your evidence and talk to your witnesses to see if someone targeted Thomson for certain information.‘
‘What sort of information?’ Bruce asked.
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Uh-huh. Well, of course, ma’am, we’re happy to help where we can. Unfortunately, I’m due at an urgent meeting with my CS right now, so I’ve got to go. I suggest DC Orr, who did all the ground work on the case anyway, helps you as much as possible, and if necessary, I’ll come back later and fill in any blanks. Okay?’
Sandra nodded. ‘Certainly. That’s fine.’
Bruce stood up, leaned over the table and shook hands. ‘Ma’am. Inspector.’ He then turned to his assistant. ‘Give them as much help as you can, Dougie. It’ll do you good to see how other people work.’ He left the room.
Sandra sighed with relief. ‘Right, DC Orr, take us through the case as you see it? Then we’ll look through the case file, go out to the scene and talk to your witnesses. Okay?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘On you go then.’ Tom prepared to take notes.