by Hilary Green
She got up and took off her coat and then began a systematic search for the electronic bugs which she knew would be somewhere among the clothes she had been given. It was as well to know, so that she could be sure that she was always carrying at least one – and to see that no one else had a chance to find them. She located them at length; one sewn into the base of the auburn wig, and another masquerading as a stud on the pocket of her jeans. She dressed again and moved cautiously to the window. The sight of the Gas Board van was reassuring. She was just wondering who was manning it when Barney Lightfoot stepped out into the sunlight and lit a cigarette. His gaze casually swept the houses opposite and lingered for a moment on her window. Neither of them made a sign, but it was sufficient for them both to know that they had made contact. Leo suppressed a small feeling of disappointment. She knew that Nick must not be seen in the area, after this morning, but she had hoped that it might be Stone out there.
Downstairs in the back kitchen Margaret Donelly, white-faced but rebellious, was confronting Kevin Reilly, the tall man who had let them in.
‘What else was I to do? Her people got me out, didn’t they? It was more than any of you would have done!’
‘Let her stay with her people! What call did you have to bring her here?’
‘I told you! We made a vow in the prison hospital, when we were both half dead with hunger; we vowed that if we ever got free we’d stick together.’
‘Half dead with hunger!’ he scoffed. ‘Five days you were on hunger strike – five days! There are men who’ve fasted for thirty and more, and well you know it!’
‘So, when did you go for five days without food?’ she shouted back. ‘And she would have gone on, if I hadn’t begged her to give up. It was only when I told her that Father Martin had threatened me with hell-fire if I went on that she agreed. I told her that I wouldn’t stop unless she did, and she said that nothing on this earth would make her give those pigs the satisfaction of seeing her give up, but she wouldn’t endanger my immortal soul. I tell you, Kevin, that woman is made of the stuff of holy martyrs. She’s like a white-hot flame, and worth ten of any man I ever met!’
‘But why did you have to bring her here?’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see you put us all at risk?’
‘And where else should I have gone?’ she demanded. ‘Wasn’t it you who first brought me over from Ireland?’
‘And I’m more than glad to see you. But not her! What are we to do with her? We can’t hide her here indefinitely.’
‘She wants to help – to help us, to help the cause. When we’ve finished what we came here for, she can come back to Ireland with us.’
There was a silence in which he studied her face for a long moment. At length he sighed.
‘Well, we’ll see what the others have to say when they come in. Meanwhile, you’ll both stay hidden. Keep away from windows and pray the police haven’t already picked up your trail! We’ll have to think of a story about who you are and where you come from. Now fetch her down and I’ll find you both something to eat.’
The two women spent the afternoon lying on the narrow beds in the front room, dozing fitfully. Leo listened to the intermittent chatter of the pneumatic drill outside and wondered how big a hole Barney and Viv were going to dig. Perhaps it was just their way of letting her know they were still there.
Around half-past five the doorbell rang and Leo heard the voices of two more men in the hall. These, she knew from Margaret, must be Patrick and Liam Connor who shared the house with Reilly and worked at a local factory. Reilly himself was, officially, unemployed. After a while Reilly called Margaret down and ten minutes later she returned to fetch Leo.
Entering the kitchen Leo experienced a sensation which was far from unfamiliar to her – the electric sense that the men in the room were stunned into silent appreciation, Reilly, she knew, had disliked and distrusted her on sight. She was not quite sure why, but the feeling was mutual. The faces of the two Connor brothers told a different story. She glanced from one to the other and read something in the eyes of the elder one, Patrick, that sent a tingle down her spine. Well, she reflected, it could be useful, but with her present cover it would have to be handled carefully.
‘Sit down,’ Reilly said curtly. ‘We’ve a few questions to ask you.’
Leo sat, steeling herself for the cross-examination.
‘Elizabeth Walker – is that your real name?’
‘Yes. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘Where were you born?’
‘In Zimbabwe. My father owned a farm out there. We sold up and came back here just before independence.’
(It was a useful cover story and Triple S agents often used a version of it. It made it so much more difficult for anyone to check the facts beyond a few years back.)
‘Can you prove any of that?’
She shrugged. ‘Obviously not. The police have all my documents. Unless you feel like asking them…’
‘This man Stone, did you really shoot him?’
‘Yes. I’ve never denied it.’
‘Why?’
‘He was one of them – a pig, in every sense of the word. He’d been trying to infiltrate the organization. The fool was so sure no woman could resist him! There was only one reason he could think of why I should want to meet him at that time of night.’ She laughed briefly. ‘It was worth it all just to see the look on his face when I pulled the gun!’
‘This organization of yours – I’ve never heard of it. Tell me about it.’
‘Of course you’ve never heard of it. It’s run by women, not men. We don’t go round blabbing about what we’re going to do. We get on and do it.’
‘Do what, for example?’
‘For example – lift one of your people out from under the noses of the pigs. I didn’t see you trying it.’
‘According to what I’ve heard it was two men who conducted that operation.’ Reilly sounded distinctly nettled.
Leo was prepared for this one.
‘Men are useful – even necessary – for certain jobs. No one would have believed in two policewomen turning up as escorts. We have several men who understand our ideas and are prepared to work for us. But the organization and planning are all done by women.’
‘And where are your headquarters?’
Leo gave him a steady look. ‘You know I won’t tell you that. Would you answer, if I asked you that?’
He conceded the point with a slight upward jerk of the chin.
‘How many members have you?’
‘There’s no such thing as an official membership list. The day-to-day work is handled by a group of about twenty people; but we have sympathizers all over the country, hundreds of them – some of them very highly placed.’
‘Oh yes? Highly placed in what?’
‘Political parties, the media, the civil service…’
‘Give me an example.’
There was something like contempt in Leo’s gaze. ‘You know I can’t give you names.’
‘You expect us to take a great deal on trust!’
She leaned forward. ‘I came here, didn’t I, when I could have been safe with my own people? What reason could I have for wanting to betray you?’
‘She’s right!’ Margaret broke in. ‘I’d still be rotting in that stinking remand centre if it wasn’t for Elizabeth. How dare you question her like this!’
‘I’m doing my duty!’ Reilly snapped. ‘I’m not going to take her on trust just because you…’
He broke off and Leo said quietly, ‘Leave him be, Meg. He’s a man. What do you expect?’
She reached out and touched the girl’s hand but her eyes were on Reilly and she saw the colour rise in his neck. So that was it – good, old-fashioned jealousy!
Patrick Connor spoke for the first time, in a soft, musical voice that contrasted pleasantly with Reilly’s hectoring tones.
‘I’m only a man, too, but I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking up. I think we should show some gratitude to Elizabeth,
and her people.’
Leo caught his eye and, for a fraction of a second, she allowed her look to suggest that her opinion of his sex was not quite as low as she liked to make out.
‘I simply want to know,’ Reilly went on doggedly, ‘who these influential people are that she claims to have working for her.’
‘All right,’ Leo said quietly. ‘Suppose I give you a small demonstration. How would it be if tomorrow night BBC News were to show a group of my people demonstrating in favour of the “troops out” campaign?’
Patrick Connor leaned forward, his eyes fixed on her.
‘Could you do that?’
She nodded.
‘How?’ Reilly demanded.
‘By making one phone call.’
‘Oh yes? Who to?’
‘To our London base. It’s officially a domestic service agency, but the owner, Laura Cavendish, is one of our people.’
‘Just to let them know where you are, I suppose,’ he commented sarcastically.
‘Not at all,’ she replied evenly. ‘The office will be closed now. All I shall do is to dictate a message onto the Ansaphone. You can read the message beforehand and listen to me dictating it.’
Reilly hesitated. Connor said, ‘Give her a chance, Kevin.’
‘Show me the message,’ he said abruptly.
Leo looked around her. ‘Does anyone have a pen and paper?’
*
Stone dropped his duffel bag on the doorstep of no. 17 Daltry Road and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a small, grey-haired man in a waistcoat and bedroom slippers.
‘Mr Bagley?’ Stone asked.
‘Ay,’ he agreed.
‘I was told that you sometimes let rooms. I’m looking for somewhere until I get fixed up with a place of my own.’
‘And who might you be?’ the little man asked suspiciously.
‘My name’s Smart – Paul Smart. I’ve just come out of the RAF and I’m looking for work. Some mates of mine think they might be able to fix me up, but I need somewhere to stay. Do you have a room?’
Bagley looked him up and down. Ay, well – happen I might have. You’d best come in.’
A few minutes of formal negotiation followed, and then Stone found himself in possession of the front first-floor bedroom. He put his bag on the bed and went straight to the window. Opposite, about four houses down, was the house where Leo had been taken that morning. The men from the Gas Board were just packing up. Stone reached into an inside pocket and produced his radio.
‘Kappa One, this is Delta One – are you receiving me?’
‘Kappa One here. Go ahead.’
‘I’m in position. Any word from Theta One and Two?’
‘Affirmative, Delta One. They’ve found a derelict factory in the next street, overlooking the rear.’
‘What about Omega?’
‘Still in the house. The bleeps are still coming through loud and strong.’
‘Have you had visual contact?’
‘Briefly, this morning. Front first-floor window.’
‘OK. You’d better get on your way. Can’t have the Gas Board paying you overtime!’
‘See you tomorrow, then. I don’t reckon we’ve had our money’s worth out of this hole yet. Kappa One out.’
Stone took a flask and a packet of sandwiches out of his bag and settled down near the window. Of all jobs, the one he most hated was surveillance; and this one looked like going on indefinitely. Nevertheless, he had to admit to himself that he would have been a good deal more disgruntled had it not been Leonora he was keeping watch over. It bothered him that it was so long since anyone had actually seen her. The fact that the bugs were still working did not necessarily mean that she was there – or that she was alive.
Around eleven he saw the light go on in the front bedroom, but the curtains had already been closed and he could not see who was in there. It was an hour later that he was finally rewarded by the sight of a pin-point of light from the window – three long flashes, the Morse code for the letter O. The signal was repeated three times and then the darkness remained unbroken.
Stone called Theta One and Two on the radio.
‘I’ve just received the agreed recognition signal. Who’s night-watchman?’
‘Me, I’m afraid,’ replied Theta Two. ‘I’m on my way.’
A couple of minutes later an elderly Ford nosed round the corner and parked a few houses away, but no one got out of it. Stone yawned, took a last look at the window of Leo’s room and turned in.
*
The following morning, in a mews not far from Harrods, Linda, junior secretary in the Cavendish Domestic Agency, played over the messages that had collected on the answering machine overnight. Then she looked into the inner office, where the manageress was checking the day’s arrangements.
‘Miss Parsons, there’s ever such an odd message on the tape. I don’t quite know what to do about it.’
‘Odd?’ queried Irene Parsons. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, for one thing, it says it’s from Laura. Would that be Miss Cavendish?’
‘From Laura? Yes, it must be. All right. I’ll come and listen.’
The girl depressed the play button on the machine.
‘I’ve got a message from Laura,’ said the metallic, disembodied voice. ‘Please contact Mr Marriot and tell him that Mr Pascoe is giving a party tonight in aid of the Troops Home Comforts Fund, and might need a bit of extra help.’
‘How strange!’ Irene murmured. ‘Fancy Laura ringing all the way from the USA with a message like that – or rather, getting someone else to ring. I wonder who it was.’
‘What do we do?’ Linda asked.
‘Oh, that’s no problem,’ Irene said briskly. ‘We know how to get hold of Mr Marriot. He works for some health club in the West End, but I don’t think they pay him much. He sometimes does some freelance work for us – casual waiting and that sort of thing. His number’s on the file.’
‘Marriot?’ put in Jane, the blonde senior secretary. ‘Nick Marriot? Ooh, I remember him. He’s a dish!’ She sighed. ‘Never has eyes for anyone but Laura when she’s around, though; like all the rest of them.’
‘Look up his number and give him the message, Linda,’ Irene said. ‘I suppose Miss Cavendish heard about this party and thought he’d be glad of the extra money.’
‘Have you heard from her lately?’ Jane asked.
‘I had a postcard last week. She’s very optimistic about the prospects of opening a New York office.’
‘No idea when she’s coming back?’
‘Not for several weeks, by the sound of it. She’s planning to take a holiday when the negotiations are finished.’
‘Some people have all the luck! What I wouldn’t give to be where she is now!’
*
Nick was prowling around the communications room at Triple S headquarters when the telephone message came through. He had been willing Stone to get in touch and let him know how things were going in Birmingham. He had wanted to stay and help on the surveillance team but Pascoe had insisted that they could not risk his being seen and recognized by Donelly; so he had been given the job of coordinating arrangements from London. He listened to the message, thanked Irene politely and took the lift up to Pascoe’s office.
‘Leo’s got a message through, via the agency.’
Pascoe looked pleased. ‘That’s encouraging. We agreed that she would make contact that way if possible, but I was afraid she wouldn’t be allowed to make phone calls.’
‘Well,’ Nick said, handing his chief a sheet of paper, ‘I hope you know what she’s talking about, because it doesn’t make any sense to me.’
Pascoe read the message and smiled. ‘Yes, that’s all right. When we were planning the operation we decided that it might be necessary to do something to convince Leo’s new “friends” that her organization possesses some degree of influence. We thought perhaps a public demonstration, with media coverage. That’s the “party” she’s referring
to, and she obviously wants it today. You’d better get to work on it.’
‘I get it,’ Nick grunted. ‘It’s a Rent-a-Mob job.’
‘Not too big a mob, and predominantly female.’
‘And what are we supposed to be demonstrating in aid of – or against?’
Pascoe looked at the piece of paper. ‘I should have thought that was fairly obvious. ‘Troops Home” – forget the comforts. A gesture of solidarity with her new allies.’
‘Ah!’ Nick nodded. ‘Now I’m with you. I’ll get on to it right away.’
He moved towards the door, hesitated and turned back.
‘By the way, where do the people at the agency think their esteemed boss has gone to?’
‘America – opening a new branch in New York.’
‘Do any of them know what she really does?’
‘Irene Parsons knows that she occasionally undertakes special assignments for one of the security services. We had to tell her that much to be sure that she’d cover for her if anyone started nosing around. She’s been positively vetted, of course, and she’s 100% reliable – but even she has no idea of the real situation.’
Nick nodded. ‘I just wondered.’ He paused. ‘I bet Leo wishes she was in New York right now!’
*
The two women had spent most of the day either lying on their beds or sitting in the small back kitchen. Reilly had brought in copies of the newspapers which were all carrying the story of their escape on the front pages; and they listened to every news bulletin to follow the progress of the police hunt. There had been reports of sightings from all over the country and the police were said to be ‘confident’ that they would be back in custody very soon. Margaret was on edge, watching the street for signs of unusual activity, and Leo was at pains to distract her.
‘Suppose that bloke in the red car remembers us,’ the Irish girl said, more than once. ‘They could be searching this area already.’
‘He wouldn’t have recognized us in those wigs,’ Leo said, reassuringly, wondering how she could impart her confidence in their security to the other girl without revealing the reason for it. ‘And even if they narrowed the search down to this area, think of the thousands of houses around Birmingham. It would take them years to search them all.’