by Eddy Shah
'Who killed our agent in Goose Bay? And the Americans'? I presume it had something to do with their German backgrounds.'
'Frick's people in Dresden. They wanted to wipe out all the records of the past. Grob Mitzer was in a position to do that in America. In our case it was Ivana Volkov. Fortunately we didn’t have our records on computers and the fire attempt failed. Frick decided to leave the Lucy Ghosts where they were, in hiding. He wanted to create chaos without being linked to supporters who had Nazi records. Some of the Lucy Ghosts were impatient. They saw the unification of Germany as their chance. They were old, they weren't prepared to wait. So they were taken out. Even before he became leader.'
'Kushman ?'
'Assassinated. So that Frick would come to power. It went wrong. They hired an amateur. Someone who'd been in Angola. I think he was also meant to take out Trimmler, and possibly even Mitzer. We'll never know now.'
The Director paused for a moment before asking the question that Rostov knew could spell his doom. 'And you told the Americans everything ?'
'Old friendships are useful,' he answered eventually.
'Who in the CIA knew?'
'The Deputy Director of Intelligence. He may have told his Executive Director.'
'Or he may be telling him now?'
'Or he may be telling him now.' The point wasn't lost on Rostov. 'As with the British.'
'So the three of you, old friends, decided to resolve it yourself.'
'As I was asked to. By you.'
'Anyone else?'
'My assistant. And an operative in New Orleans. A cripple. But he had no idea of the scale of things.' He didn't add that Frankie Mistletoe was a double agent, one of the few still left in America. Rostov trusted the Americans up to a point, but always believed in keeping his options open.
'Why not simply pass the information on? Once you had it.' The Director knew the answer before he asked the question. That's why he had commissioned Rostov in the first place.
'Because once the authorities became involved, they would have made me pull back. They might have arrested one or two Nazis, but the organisation would have simply gone underground.' He paused before he continued. His words were chilling. 'We took the decision to wipe out the organisation. To kill their leaders. To leave the snake headless. Drastic measures were the only solution to bury this thing once and for all.'
'So you let them go on with their plans, let them enter the Reichstag before you acted. A most dangerous and risky move.'
'We didn't think so.'
'We?'
Rostov shrugged. 'Kaas was trusted by them and the best we had. He always had it under control. They never expected him to take them out. One by one.'
'Where is he now?'
'In Moscow. He wants to live there. And work for us.'
'A most dangerous move.' The old man repeated. 'But successful.' It was his way of giving praise.
'In the next few days, when the police have finished in Dresden, from leads and information we have supplied anonymously, the whole plot will become public knowledge. Nazis setting out to destroy world leaders and take control of Germany. Just as Hitler did in 1933. It will horrify people. They won't come back.'
'They always come back. Eventually.'
'Not for a long time. It may also force the police to bring the other terrorist groups under control. It's the chance that peace needs.'
'Ever the philosopher. Ever the Christian.' The Director sat still, saying nothing for some considerable time. He watched a woman take a candle and light it, place it with the other candles. He wondered who she was praying for, who she was remembering. 'Why?' he asked finally. 'It's not up to us to make such decisions. It's up to our masters.'
'The politicians abdicated their responsibility during the Gulf War.'
'How?'
'Because they didn't destroy Saddam Hussein when they had the opportunity.'
'The Soviet Union supported him.'
'But we wanted him dead. And because he lived, because the politicians pulled us back, he turned on his own people and killed them, the Kurds and others, in their millions. While we were patting each other on the back, he was destroying a nation. The SAS or Special Forces should have taken him out.'
'Dangerous words.'
'We never learn from our mistakes. Churchill was right to bomb Dresden, to try and force force Hitler into submission. But then, in the name of humanity, the Allies backed down. And Hitler fought on. How many hundreds of thousands of Russians did we lose then?'
'We don't make the decisions.'
'But we police them.'
The Director shrugged. In his heart he agreed with Rostov, but he could never voice that. 'I want you to swear me, in this House of your God, that you will never step outside the bounds of your responsibility again.'
'Someone has to clear the dirt. Someone has to go on fighting. '
The Director sat back, sat stone still and watched people going forward to pray. 'The deaths of Trimmler and Goodenache. Very gruesome.' he said eventually.
'Not as we planned it. Not with Trimmler. Our man in New Orleans....'
'The taxi driver ?'
'The taxi driver. He arranged the death. Cutting off the arms was purely a symbolic gesture by those he paid to accomplish the deed. They were local voodoo men. Apparently, the arms were not placed in the form of a swastika, but in the shape of an inverted cross.'
'And Goodenache ?'
'That was deliberate. We knew our enemies by then.'
'Hmm.' He paused for some considerable time before he spoke again. 'You're not Robin Hood. Never cross the line. That's anarchy. Otherwise we become the masters, instead of the servants. Do I have your word?'
'Yes.'
'In this House of God?'
'In this House of God.'
'Good. Was the Englishman and his woman part of your plan?'
'No. That was cavalier action by the man. The woman simply followed him.'
'His death was unnecessary.'
'It was inevitable. My friend tells me he had the death wish. If he hadn't died now, then he would have got himself killed somewhere else. He was of that type. An early and violent death, I am informed, was always his destiny.'
Ch. 83
Woking Cemetery
Surrey
England.
She found the four gravestones on the side of the hill, exactly where the gatekeeper had told her they would be. They looked different in the daylight, more real than when Adam had brought her here in the darkness.
You could tell one of the graves was fresh.
She carried four small posies, a mixture of simple flowers, forget-me-nots and daffodils. She knelt down and placed one each where his parents lay. Then she crossed to the third grave and stood for a while before it.
'Marcus James Nicholson. Aged Nine. Beloved son of Henry and Margaret and beloved brother of Adam. 'Underneath, much smaller in its print was the inscription 'The Gods Love Those Who Die Young'
'Hello, Marcus,' she said, the sob already in her throat. 'I...look after him. Please. He always needed you. Tell him he's not all bad.' After some time, she knelt once again and put the third posy on his grave.
Then she turned to the fourth.
It was why she had come, yet it took a long time before she had the courage to take the few steps that led her to him.
'Adam Jeremy Nicholson. Aged 32. Beloved son of Henry and Margaret and beloved brother of Marcus.' There was no further inscription underneath. It was as she and Lily thought he would want it.
She knelt down and placed the last posy on his grave. She stayed kneeling, looking hard at the headstone, still not believing he was really dead, trying to force some spirit to speak to her.
Nothing. Just her loneliness and her want.
'Lily's okay.' she said. 'I tried to get her to come back to California, but she said no. I'll keep in touch with her, make sure she's not too alone.'
But who'll do that for me? Now that you've gone.
'I've paid for her house and anything else she needs. Out of the money.' She felt the tears dampen her cheeks. He'd left the will on his dressing table in the flat, addressed to his solicitor, when they'd shared that first night of love together.
'Don't laugh at me,' she cried. 'I can't help missing you. I'd rather have you than the money.'
Another mourner from the next row of graves left his wife and came over to her as she sobbed.
'You all right, miss?' asked the concerned visitor.
She nodded, tried to stop her tears. But she couldn't.
'We lost our boy,' the man went on. 'Only sixteen. You're not alone, you know. It happens to everyone. We all have our own grief.'
She stood up, he held out a supporting hand for her as she stumbled.
She looked up at him; he had a kind face.
'And always will, I suppose,' he said wistfully. 'Well, I better get back to my missus,' he said wistfully.
'Thank you.' she said.
She knew then she that would always love Adam. He would always be inside her. Such a short time together, such a long time to go.
'Bye, tough guy.'
She knew she'd be back.
She turned and walked slowly down the hill.
END
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