Rollerball (Commander Shaw Book 17)

by Philip McCutchan

  Rollerball

  Philip McCutchan

  © Philip McCutchan 1984

  Philip McCutchan has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1984 by Hodder and Stoughton.

  This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  1.

  Logically I suppose the organisation should have set up its base in one of two places: somewhere so remote that it would never be spotted, or somewhere like the middle of an industrial estate where to the public it would be just one of many other apparently similar factories that no-one would worry about twice. But, perhaps because the logical path is one that can be deduced and followed up, or perhaps because in today’s world nowhere is so remote that it can’t be spotted, and the Ministry inspectors infesting an industrial estate could have bowled them out, they didn’t take either of those two alternatives. They chose a halfway house.

  They were in fact pretty open about it, but not too open, and they didn’t employ any local labour other than cleaners. They brought in their own from Japan. None of the workers could speak English, or they made out they didn’t anyway, and they just smiled and nodded their dainty way around. They were all women except for the bosses and a kind of escort that accompanied them whenever they were seen in public, which wasn’t, apparently, all that often. They even lived on the premises, in a kind of nurses’ home, though they were far from being nurses, except to their appalling baby, with an ogrish, toothy-grinned woman in charge, a woman sometimes to be glimpsed through a window or patrolling the grounds with one of the hard-faced strong-arm boys, a real sort of hospital matron left over from the pre-permissive era.

  Not that I knew any of this for quite a while. At the start I didn’t know even of the factory’s existence — that is, if you can call it a factory. It was all electronic, all computerised, and most of the work was done by robots in approved Japanese style, and these robots produced other robots and so on … the female work-force was there just to start each sequence going as it were, and I believe they spent most of the time sitting on their fannies and watching the antics of the horrible robot arms and whatnot.

  The start, so far as I was concerned, came quietly; nothing at all to indicate the horror that, largely by accident, I was later to be involved in. That’s often the way of it in 6D2: things start in low key. Maybe if you knew the full score from the start, you’d begin by handing in your resignation, even in these hard times chucking up gladly a thirty-thousand-plus-expenses income for the dole queue.

  The preamble was the same as ever: a telephone call to my flat. I had one foot out of the door and Felicity Mandrake was ahead of me. We were off on leave, well earned. A drive to Heathrow and a jet to Sydney, where I’d chartered a cabin cruiser … we were going to head north and explore the Great Barrier Reef.

  “Leave it,” Felicity said, referring to the telephone. She said it forcefully and I saw the pleading in her eyes.

  “God damn,” I said. I added, “Could be important.”

  “It could be Max.”

  “It could be my great-aunt’s left me a fortune. If it’s Max, he’ll know where to cut us off — at Heathrow.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake … ”

  “No go,” I said. Agents get like that: it’s the hardest thing in the world to ignore the ring of the telephone. I brought my foot back in.

  Of course, it was Max all right. He was as brief as he always was on the phone — he just didn’t like the things, it wasn’t an economy measure. When he cut the call I looked at Felicity and saw the glint of tears. I went across and took her in my arms and kissed her. “It’s all right,” I said. “We’re going, if we can still make it in time. He just wants me to take a package to Sydney, that’s all.”

  *

  We made Focal House — 6D2 HQ Britain — in record time and were whizzed up in the lift to The Suite, as Max’s set of rooms was always known. Focal House in London of the eighties was really an anachronism: luxury, opulence — they were not the words. Everything was lush, splendidly equipped, from The Suite down to the shooting gallery and the tough-up room in the basement, from the accounts department to the interrogation rooms, from the dining-room — fully staffed, no self-service and no delays — to the weapons section, medics’ domain, labs, fingerprints, poison analysis, hush files and all the rest: training section, political, finance, murder, fraud, industrial counter-espionage sections. 6D2, trusted by but not subservient to an alliance of the free world’s governments, is well supplied with funds. More so than Scotland Yard, the Surêté, even maybe the FBI. We’re quasi-official, all the advantages of a government outfit with none of the drawbacks and inhibitions. It suits me.

  Max was sitting behind his desk, which was made of tulip-wood and fiendishly expensive. He was smoking a cigarette, not an ordinary one but one that I knew from the aroma came from a small establishment in the Burlington Arcade, a brand originally made to the order of the Duke of Windsor when he was Prince of Wales.

  Max grinned at me. “Lucky to catch you,” he said.

  “For you. Not for me.” Ostentatiously I looked at my watch. “Will this take long?”

  “No time at all. Just a package, as I told you.”

  “You couldn’t have sent it to Heathrow?” I asked.

  “I could not. Or shall I say I didn’t want to. It’s over there.” Max indicated his wall safe, which stood open. On a shelf was a small square packet, a strongly reinforced fibrous-looking envelope, sealed with a metal tag. “I don’t know the actual importance, if any. Pick it up — and don’t drop it. It’s heavy.”

  For God’s sake, I thought irritably. I picked it up and got a shock. I nearly dropped it. Heavy! I could swear the safe shelf gave a sigh of relief as I removed it. It was really incredible. Max grinned again and said, “Put it in your pocket. Don’t take it out, night or day, till you reach Sydney.”

  I put it in my pocket. My coat sagged and I felt a pull on my shoulder. “What the hell’s in it?” I asked.

  “A small ball, ostensibly made of steel,” Max said. “Like one of those shiny balls you used to play bagatelle with. Or I did, anyway.” Max was a generation older than me. “About the same size.”

  “So?”

  Max said, “I don’t like it. Perhaps it’s just my suspicious mind. A number of those little balls have been found, mostly by children, mostly in the north. No explanation.”

  “You said ostensibly made of steel.”

  “Right. That’s what it looks like. But it seems it isn’t. And none of the experts can say precisely what it is. That’s what worries me.”

  I asked, “When did all this happen, Max? When were the things found?”

  “Over the last few days,” Max said. “There’ve been reports in the papers — nothing much, just a matter of interest, small news items. I’m seeing to it that there won’t be any more — just in case. I need to find out more. And there’s just one man’s opinion I’d value now.”

  “Who?”

  “Railton. And he’s in Sydney. Take it to him, Shaw. Be guided by his report. You may have to come back to UK pronto — I’m sorry.” He didn’t look it; there was the hunting glint in his eye. “After you’ve delivered it, keep in touch with 6D2 Sydney. And with Railton. That means you may have t
o eschew the Barrier Reef.” Max added, “Railton’s expecting you. I’ve already been in touch.”

  I asked, “What about Australian customs? A sealed package always intrigues.”

  Max said, “They won’t find it.”

  I gave him a grin. “You mean you’ve fixed it,” I said. Max didn’t comment on that, but he knew I knew that he was the world’s best fixer and any request from 6D2 was accorded maximum respect. After that he didn’t keep me, just said it was handy that I was legitimately going to Australia on leave. I was left to wonder which way to take that: did he mean it was good cover, or did he mean he wasn’t really all that worried about the little balls and wouldn’t have sent an agent out on special duty? Felicity and I were driven fast for Heathrow in a 6D2 car and just made it. En route I’d given Felicity the sparse facts. “Railton?” she asked. “Who’s he, or should I know?”

  “Not necessarily. He’s a metallurgist, probably the most eminent in the world. Professor at Sydney University. Formerly Wolfson Professor of Metallurgy at Cambridge. D.Phil and a lot of other things.”

  “Wolfson Professor … isn’t that a lifetime thing?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Till you resign, I suppose, which is what he did. Fed up with Britain and the polarisation of politics, plus the climate.”

  She looked at me sideways. “You know him, do you?”

  “We’ve met,” I said. I left it at that; I didn’t really like Railton — nothing against him, but he was somewhat superior on account of his brains. Made my sort of person feel like a boor. Once we were in the air and seat belts had been released and the No Smoking sign had gone off, I ordered whiskies from the hostess and lit a cigarette and we sat back and looked at England flashing away beneath us. It was mid-winter and I was delighted to see the back of it for a while, though I cursed the presence of that little ball in my pocket. It was likely enough to muck up our holiday. I had felt the thing’s weight dragging me down all the way to the aircraft, and now it was pinning my pocket to the seat, more or less. It certainly was a mystery and I wasn’t surprised Max had been intrigued. I went through all I knew about heavy metals and it didn’t take long; I didn’t know anything worth mentioning. If it had baffled the metallurgists so far, it couldn’t help baffling me. I gave it up. There would be an explanation somewhere. I tried to enjoy the flight to the sun, but knew I wouldn’t since there is nothing more boring than long distance air travel. Give me the sea every time. After a while Felicity began yawning and then fell asleep with her hair drifting over my face — she had chosen my shoulder as a pillow. There was a female geriatric across the aisle who had already used her sharp eyes to establish that Felicity wore no wedding ring and now her face was one big sniff; she’d started off by being talkative and had informed us that she came from Worthing and was going to Sydney to stay with her daughter, her married daughter. I think she had to get that across, and having done so she shut up, thank God. She spent the rest of the first leg to Bahrein staring ahead and clasping both hands round a handbag on her lap. All she lacked was one of those horrible shopping trolleys; I’d once been sent sprawling by one when visiting a great-aunt in the geriatric unit at Worthing hospital …

  *

  It was great to see Sydney loom up beneath the early morning sunshine as the jet lost height for touchdown at Kingsford Smith. The harbour of Port Jackson is always a wonderful sight, so is the bridge. I wasn’t so sure about the Opera House with all its snow-white wings. The actual architecture was probably better in Captain Cook’s time. The heat when we got out into it was like a blow in the face. Felicity fanned herself with a big, floppy hat and her face began to glisten. When we were through customs and immigration I saw a small, compact man coming towards us wearing washed-out jeans and a white shirt. He was craning a short neck so far as it was possible to do so and when he saw me he lifted a hand.

  “Railton,” I said to Felicity.

  She muttered something that sounded like bugger. Work was starting already; Max had told me before I left him, and I had passed on to Felicity, that Miss Mandrake was also to consider herself back on duty if necessary. We’d often worked together in the past; ours was a working as well as a personal relationship, and I knew that Max had a high regard for Felicity’s capabilities. What with her 6D2 salary and mine, we’d have made a reasonably well-lined married couple if ever we’d got around to it, but I suppose Max would have vetoed marriage between agents. I went forward and shook Railton’s hand and I saw in his eyes that he’d already noted the way the right-hand side of my lightweight jacket was being held taut to my shoulder.

  He said, “Very nice to meet you again, Commander Shaw.” He already had an Australian accent. I introduced him to Felicity, and he nodded at her without much interest. With Railton, metallurgy came a long way before women. He said, “As you’ll know, your friend has been in touch. I thought I’d come along to meet you.”

  “Kind of you, Professor,” I said. “Do I come to your office, or what?”

  “No, no. There’s no — er — secrecy. Yet, anyway. You may hand it over here and now.”

  I grinned at him. “No time lost. It’s aroused your interest already?”

  “Why, naturally.” Railton looked prim. “Not only that. I have to fly up to Darwin in the next couple of days and this could take time.” He raised sandy eyebrows expectantly and I hefted the package from my pocket and passed it over. His hand sagged, so did his mouth. “Goodness me, it’s certainly heavy,” he said. He put it in his pocket. I felt great relief and watched his trousers take the strain.

  I asked, “Questions abound, Professor. Any advance theories?”

  “At this stage? Of course not.” He clicked his tongue and I felt like a reproved freshman. “I shall be in touch later. I understand you’re staying at the Carlton-Rex on Castlereagh Street?”

  “That’s right. Two nights. Then I’m bound away to sea.”

  “Yes, yes, the Barrier Reef. Very interesting. I’ll hope to be in touch before then, Commander Shaw. If I’m not perhaps you’d be good enough to delay your departure.”

  It was a statement, not a polite question. I stared at him. I said, “Now look, Professor. I’m on long leave. I’ve just been the messenger, that’s all.”

  He smiled thinly. “I’m told you’ve had your orders,” he said. He held out his hand and we both shook it, then he turned away and walked off fast. Felicity and I stared at each other.

  “Of all the cheek,” she said.

  I shrugged. “He’s right, Felicity. It’s what Max said. We just have to put up with it. Or resign.”

  “Max can have my resignation any time he likes,” she said. She was bitterly disappointed and once again not far off tears; this had been a long-looked-forward-to break, such as neither of us had had for years, and I was pretty livid myself. But I put an arm round her and said all was not lost. Railton might come up with the goods and then he could get in direct touch with London. All the same, I had a gut feeling we were going to be involved.

  Felicity said in disgust, “He didn’t even offer us a lift to the Carlton-Rex.”

  *

  After checking into the Carlton-Rex we slept. We slept for a long time and no-one disturbed us. When we woke it was morning and we had breakfast brought to our room. From the window Sydney looked inviting, and the air-conditioning dealt with the day’s heat. After breakfast we got a cab down to the boatyard to take a look at our chartered cruiser, the Sundowner. She was a beauty, white-painted hull and upperworks with green boot-topping, equipped with two powerful diesels, Walker 802 satnav in the wheelhouse, two-way radio, the lot. A comfortable cabin with twin bunks, a well-equipped galley, storeroom stocked with tinned foods including milk, deep-freeze with bread, meat and vegetables and so on, ample water storage tanks, flush lavatory.

  We loved it.

  “Start praying,” I said, “that we’ll get away to sea.”

  “Can’t we go now and to hell with it?”

  “Orders,” I said briefly.r />
  “Orders didn’t bother Nelson.”

  I said, “I’ve a lot of time for the memory of Nelson, but times have changed.”

  “All for a ball,” she said bitterly. “Probably some lorry dropped a load of ball-bearings.” She was looking very seductive and appealing and I thought about that comfortable cabin … but it wasn’t quite the time or place with the man from the hirers lurking about so I dismissed that idea. I said we’d better get back to the Carlton-Rex and hope a message had come in from Railton. If it hadn’t, we would hire a self-drive car and get out to look around the bush, maybe even the outback if we had time. So we went back to the hotel and found there was a message from Professor Railton. I was to call him at the university. This, I did. There was some kind of undercurrent in his voice when he said he wanted me to get round there soonest possible.

  “Well?” Felicity asked when I’d rung off.

  I told her. I said, “Stay here and amuse yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  2.

  The undercurrent I’d been aware of in Railton’s voice had probably been simple fear. When I got to the noble pile of Gothic Revival architecture that housed the university I found the academics in discreet uproar. Railton was very freshly dead. I had got there before the police, who came in with their sirens about ten minutes later, but I was too late to take the information he had presumably been intending to pass over.

  I asked what had happened. It seemed that Railton had had a phone call and after he’d taken it his secretary had found him in a highly nervous condition. He had called my hotel, found I wasn’t there and had become even more agitated. Within minutes of my calling him back, the secretary had gone into his office and found him sagged in his chair, behind his desk, with a small hole in his forehead and another in the back of his head. The window was open as to its upper half and there was a kind of mobile scaffolding outside. Window-cleaners … they’d gone off for a lunch break and someone had taken the opportunity to use their equipment. That was the secretary’s guess.