by Jeremy Duns
The other two didn’t flinch.
Montcrieff adjusted his cuffs and smiled innocently. ‘What we want to know,’ he went on, ‘is how long you thought you could get away with playing us all for fools.’
‘“Us”?’ I said. ‘Sorry, who the fuck are you again?’ I turned to Osborne: ‘William, I thought this was Service business.’
Osborne was stony-faced. ‘Sandy’s been with Five for years,’ he said. ‘And he was appointed Foreign Secretary two weeks ago.’
So. Not just a Mirror hack, then, but one of Cecil King’s men in Five, and these two – along with Pritchard – had been plotting with him from the beginning. It was a repeat of King’s coup attempt from last year, only this time the idea had been to have Wilson assassinated and then exposed as a Russian agent – and this time they had succeeded. Mountbatten was merely the figurehead: these three and a handful of other right-wing crackpots were in power now. No swastikas waving over The Mall – just a few desks moved. I imagined Chief would have been given the option of carrying on under the new regime or being shunted into retirement.
‘You know I didn’t kill Wilson,’ I said. ‘The Grigorieva woman pulled the trigger before I got to her.’
‘We only have your word for that. According to Smale, you were holding the gun when he came in.’
‘And he’s willing to testify to that, is he?’
Montcrieff laughed. ‘I don’t think you fully understand the situation,’ he said. ‘We don’t need to try you. The public is distraught, and crying out for revenge. We could have you hanged in Wembley stadium and sell tickets if we wanted.’ He leaned down and took a rolled-up Standard from a briefcase by his legs. He slapped it onto the table and pointed to the headline: ‘BRITAIN BACKS UNITY GOVERNMENT’. It was the twenty-eighth of April, I noticed – exactly a month since Udi.
‘What do you want?’ I asked, though I had a fair idea.
‘We found Templeton’s body,’ said Osborne, referring to Chief by his surname; presumably he had the title now. ‘Washed up near Limehouse.’ He threw some photographs onto the desk. I picked them up and forced myself to look at them. They were as grim as could be expected.
‘Well?’ I said. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Henry killed him.’
‘And why would he do something like that?’
‘Because he was Radnya, of course.’
‘We also found this in the clinic in Udi,’ said Osborne, making the recommended sudden leap of subject to disorient me. He placed the Tokarev on the table; it spun for a moment on the surface before coming to a stop. ‘Do you usually favour Soviet weaponry?’
‘That’s not mine,’ I said. ‘It belonged to a man called Akuji.’
‘Yes, we know about him – Henry’s contact with Ojukwu. We received his report a few days ago. He has shown no signs of developing the disease you had, thankfully.’ He nodded at the gun. ‘So what do you normally use, then? Henry told us you shot someone on a golf course.’
‘I didn’t shoot him,’ I said. ‘He took a pill.’
Osborne turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘What weapon do you use?’
They had me. They must have searched my flat, found the safe, cracked it open.
‘A Luger P08,’ I said. ‘As I presume you already know.’
‘Indeed,’ said Farraday, and he took it out and placed it next to the Tokarev. ‘Did you get a chit from Armoury for this? Because I wasn’t aware we kept a stock of antique German pistols.’
I smiled tolerantly. ‘You haven’t brought me here for carrying a non-regulation weapon. Presumably you’re about to tell me that Chief’s bullet-wound is consistent with it being fired from this gun.’
‘Bingo,’ said Montcrieff.
‘Most officers have their own weapons,’ I said. ‘No doubt you all have your own, somewhere, in case of emergencies.’ None of them reacted, so I went on. ‘These little things’ – I gestured airily at the Luger – ‘were highly prized in their day, and are still very efficient. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Pritchard also had one.’
‘So where is it?’ said Farraday.
‘How the hell should I know?’ I asked. ‘Have you tried searching his home? It’s interesting that he told you about Akuji, though. “Henry’s contact with the Biafrans”, my arse – don’t you remember Henry told us we didn’t have any contacts on the Biafran side? That’s because we don’t: the KGB does. Akuji is a Moscow man. He’s closely related to and physically resembles Ojukwu. His role was to pose as Ojukwu to any British representatives sent to try to arrange peace talks with the Biafrans – I suspect Geoffrey Manning had just such a meeting arranged on the day I met him. My guess is that Akuji was to agree to whatever Manning proposed regarding talks, naturally without informing Ojukwu or anyone else in the Biafran hierarchy about it. Then whoever from the PM’s party had gone along to meet him would either have found themselves stood up or wasting a lot of time trying to negotiate peace with an impostor – all of which would have drawn away vital resources and attention from the security arrangements for the visit to Udi.’
They just stared at me, and I kept looking from one to the other.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ I said. ‘I’m not the double. Look, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Chief must have called Henry out to Swanwick to discuss Slavin, and during their conversation twigged that he was Radnya. So Henry shot him, took a few of his clothes, dumped his body and pretended he’d gone missing.’
Osborne sighed. ‘No. That is precisely what you did.’
It was my turn to stare. He sounded certain of it.
‘As well as the gun, we have three witnesses. The firmest is a local solicitor, who lives in the village and was passing on the way into town. But all three described a black sports car very much like your little toy.’
‘Impossible,’ I said. ‘It was in my garage. Did they get a licence plate?’
Osborne spread his hands on the desk.
‘Well, then!’
‘But they did identify the car in other ways. Our solicitor friend told us that it had no boot. There are very few models with that feature. Yours is one.’
‘Who questioned him?’
‘That is immaterial.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘It’s not. I’ll wager that whoever questioned him had already come up with the theory that the car was mine, and the solicitor was just doing his best to give the answers he thought would satisfy the man from London. It’s a classic investigative error.’
‘Don’t be so bloody patronizing,’ said Osborne, and I knew he’d done the interview. Farraday’s scornful glance in his direction confirmed it.
‘Henry admitted to going out there – and admitted to the timing of the witnesses, if I remember rightly,’ I said. ‘It was also in the middle of the night, so anyone who saw a black car would have had to have been looking very closely. And as none of your “witnesses” took a number down, that seems unlikely.’
‘Then,’ said Osborne softly, ‘there are the fingerprints. We took yours when you were in your coma. And then we compared them to all the sets we found in Templeton’s house. Care to hazard a guess at what we discovered?’
‘That some of them matched. Bravo – I’ve probably visited that house fifty times in the last three years. I was there the weekend before Chief disappeared.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘I don’t have to. You have to prove I wasn’t.’
He raised his arm and for a moment I thought he was going to try to punch me, but he brought the palm of his hand down on a small bell on the table, the kind you see in hotel receptions, and a few seconds later the soldiers marched in. They aimed truncheons at my solar plexus, sending a jolt of pain through me and making me vomit. I tried to reach Montcrieff’s shoes but he was too far away.
‘Get him a towel or something,’ said Farraday. I wondered what his reward had been – one of the more important ministries, no doubt. I remembered his little spat with Osborne over whether Pritchard or I sh
ould be allowed to go out to Lagos. They’d played it well, the three of them. If the coup hadn’t come off perhaps they could have set up a small theatrical company.
I raised my head. Osborne was consulting a small leather-backed notebook. ‘You hadn’t visited Templeton in months,’ he said. ‘According to his daughter.’
I wiped my mouth with the cloth that had been handed me. ‘How would she know?’ I said.
‘Well, you were sleeping with her, weren’t you?’
‘Where do you get these absurd—’
‘She told us all about it,’ said Farraday, chipping in.
‘I hardly know her. She isn’t my type.’
‘Very suave,’ said Montcrieff. He pushed forward another set of photographs. ‘How do you explain these, then?’
In the car, rehearsing all the possible questions they could ask me, traps they could set, paths I could and could not take, this was one eventuality I hadn’t envisaged.
She’d hanged herself, the poor cow. Her final few hours must have been hell. I remembered the look on her face as she had stood on the steps of her flat. Sorrow and despair. I had known it – and done nothing, too wrapped up in my own problems.
‘Did she leave a note?’ I asked, my lips tight.
Osborne nodded solemnly. ‘Something about not being able to live with the fact that her boyfriend had killed her father.’
I leapt towards him, something like a scream coming from deep down in my throat, but I hadn’t even reached the desk before I felt the thump. The soldier helped me back into my seat.
‘So you were sleeping with her,’ said Osborne, taking the cap off his fountain pen and noting it down neatly in his book.
‘You really are a shit, Osborne,’ I said, once I’d got my breath back again. ‘Did you know that?’
He didn’t look up from his writing. ‘Murder and treason are more serious crimes.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Conspiring to kill the prime minister is about as serious as it gets.’
That hit something. He pushed back his chair and stood up: his body may have been encased in finest Savile Row wool, but it did little to hide his bulk. He walked over to the plastic bucket and pushed it across the floor with a pointed little shoe, until it was just by my chair.
He yanked my head back by the forelock and brought his face up to mine. ‘Did I ever tell you what we used to do with the Yids in Palestine back in ’47?’ he said, his eyes glazed over. ‘The ones who wouldn’t talk?’
He gestured at the soldiers again, and they stepped forward, took me crisply by the arms and shoved my face into the water, holding me down. I’d counted to twenty and was starting to panic when they jerked me out and dumped me back in the chair.
‘Could we get some sandwiches or something?’ said Montcrieff. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Yes, good idea,’ said Osborne, whose face was flushed. He turned to one of the soldiers. ‘Anderson, see if they have any decent food they can send down. Sandwiches or something.’
‘Sir!’ The soldier saluted and he and the others turned on their heels and left the room.
There was silence for a moment, then Farraday cleared his throat. ‘Listen, Paul,’ he said reasonably. ‘We don’t want to spend all day on this. We know you’re working for the Russians. We just want the details. The name of your handler, where you meet him, how often. What information you’ve passed over. You know the drill. I can’t guarantee immunity, but if you cooperate now it will be a lot better for you.’
I’d got my breathing back now, and I summoned up my energy to look up at him. He was busy adjusting one of his shirt-cuffs, which had unpardonably jutted against the bevel of his wristwatch. It was twenty past one. So I could at least place myself: it was twenty past one on the twenty-eighth of April.
‘The smoked salmon and cucumber ones are good here,’ I said. ‘Could we have some tea as well?’
‘This isn’t funny, Dark,’ said Osborne. He held out his hand in a fist and then opened it, like a child playing a game. ‘Do you recognize this?’ he said. It was a small green booklet about the size of a box of matches. He flipped it open, revealing a string of numbers and other figures. ‘A one-time pad. To be used in conjunction with a radio transmitter. Care to explain?’
I was still catching up with a thought I’d had a few seconds earlier. I wasn’t certain of it, but I played it anyway.
‘By all means,’ I said. ‘But before I do, perhaps you can all answer one question that has been troubling me. Who was the poor chap who had his head shot off in Udi – one of the PM’s bodyguards? I presume there’s a D-notice on it.’
Osborne made to stand up, but Montcrieff gestured at him to stay seated.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said.
‘It was bloody good,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you that. The posters at the traffic lights were a nice touch. How long did that take you to put into place? Was it just the one kiosk, or did you set up several along the route between here and the hospital?’
None of them answered.
‘It was this that gave it away,’ I said, tapping the copy of the Standard on the desk. ‘You’re a newspaperman, Sandy, so I’m a little disappointed. I’m sure all the details in it are perfect, but you over-egged the pudding making it today’s West End Final. That edition doesn’t come off the presses until two o’clock, and according to John’s watch we’re a good half-hour away from then. Careless, really – yesterday’s edition would have done the trick just as well.’
They stared at me for a moment, and I savoured it.
‘Fuck you, Dark!’ spat Montcrieff, the first time I had seen him angry. ‘This doesn’t change that you’re a traitor. Confess now and…’
‘And what? You won’t arrange my hanging at Wembley? Something tells me the PM might not be too keen to sign the chit for that whatever I say, and even if it were signed by the real Foreign Secretary.’ I turned the screw. ‘Perhaps he’d be more interested in hearing how you planned to kill him. I bet you all loved it when Henry proposed the idea – it was Henry’s idea, wasn’t it? Kill Wilson, then pin the blame on Moscow and claim he had double-crossed his masters at the KGB. Masterful. Did he tell you an actual KGB agent would do the job, though?’ They didn’t respond. ‘How do you think he got her to do that? Did it not occur to you that his more-fascist-than-thou act might have been just that – an act – and that he was, in fact, leading you straight into a position in which the KGB could send a sniper to assassinate our prime minister?’
I let it sink in for a moment. Osborne rallied from the shock of me discovering their little subterfuge and waved the one-time pad at me. ‘This was found in your pockets when we searched you…’
‘And I took it from Henry’s pockets moments after I discovered he was Radnya and shot him,’ I said. ‘Radnya means “related” in Russian, and just as you were all delighted Henry had access to the Queen – who you would need to form a government – so were the KGB. What could be more precious than a double agent with blood ties to the throne?’ Their faces were turning white, so I closed in for the kill. ‘I suggest you send a team to Henry’s house and search the basement. Once you’ve found his transmitter, perhaps we can stop this charade and get down to the serious business of trying to assess just how much the bastard has compromised over the last twenty-five years.’
*
He was wearing a green tweed coat and a polka-dot bow tie. It had taken me four and a half hours to get to the meeting, and he’d turned up in an outfit a child could describe.
I wasn’t in the best of moods. I’d spent most of the day with a team from Five, searching every inch of Pritchard’s enormous flat in Belgravia. He’d made me sweat – for several hours I had seriously wondered if I might still be looking at the rope. In the end, it hadn’t been in the basement, or the attic, or under the floorboards, but in a compartment concealed in one of the bookshelves.
‘I want out,’ I said to Sasha. ‘I mean it.’ But it sounded weak, even to my ears.
He leaned over and placed a hand on my arm. ‘Please, Paul,’ he said. ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ We were in the Mayflower in Rotherhithe, which he had once confided in me was his favourite meeting-place. I assumed it wasn’t for the beer or because you could visit the stairs where the Pilgrim Fathers boarded the ship, but because it was dark and cosy. The place was about half-full, with a good deal of background noise, and we were seated at a remote corner table, next to a mantelshelf filled with the usual assortment of books gathering dust: Lloyd’s Shipping Register for 1930, Bernard Spilsbury – His Life and Cases, Foote’s Handbook for Spies…
On the way over, between checking for tails and hopping on and off buses, I’d bought a paper – a real one – and seen that de Gaulle had resigned over a referendum on the Senate: it looked like the events in Paris the previous year had finally caught up with him. The editorial on page nine opined that his ‘ideas and presence would nevertheless continue to play a part in French affairs’, while the item beneath it discussed the fall of Biafra’s stronghold, Umuahia. Would his idea of supporting the Biafrans continue, too? I’d thought of the deserters and their families huddled in the hut in Aba; and of Gunner, ranting in the field at the futility of it all.
‘I’m no use to you any more,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe any of it.’ And too many people were dead, I could have added – most of them because of me.
He pursed his lips, then placed his forefinger and thumb on either side of his mouth and stroked his beard. It meant he was thinking.
‘They have questioned you?’ he said, drawing his head a little closer to me. I gave him a look. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘I thought of something.’
He stopped stroking his beard. ‘What?’
I took a sip of my pint. ‘I blew Henry’s cover,’ I said. ‘And I don’t care what you say, it won’t scare me. Trust me, nothing you can say will scare me.’
He didn’t move for some time, and then he suddenly leaned back in his seat and started laughing. I asked him if he would mind explaining the joke.