by Alan Wade
He took her arm, linked to her and squeezed her close,
“Oh nothing, I was just thinking how private my private life is just now.”
By now they had walked to the small wooden gate at the north corner of the race course, presented their passes and entered into the member’s enclosure. A short walk took them, into the member’s bar where he had reserved a table for two for lunch, which for an extra fee was able to be reserved for the duration of the races, to include high tea.
He removed his hat and binoculars and placed them on the table along with the Racing Post. He had seated Jacky facing into the restaurant while his chair faced the glass double door entrance and he was aware of two gentlemen and a lady who were having a long discussion with the restaurant Maitre d’. He assumed they wanted a table, however their efforts were in vain and he smiled inwardly as the three made their exit, but he knew they would never be far away. He rose and touched Jacky’s hand and said, “I’m going to get some jackpot and placepot cards love, if anybody comes to take an order, get me a pint of lager and one for you.”
He returned just a few minutes later and began to explain to her how to complete each card. He then totalled the number of bets and took twenty pounds out of his shirt pocket to cover the four cards. Twenty minutes later they had ordered their meal; they both chose the smoked salmon and prawn salad starter, followed by the rack of lamb; to be accompanied by a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and a Chilean Merlot. He leaned forward and stroked the back of her hand and whispered, “I need to go for a bet and to the toilet love, so I’ll be a little while, do you want a bet with the bookies on this first race or are you OK on the Tote?”
“I’ll be OK on the tote love, see you later.”
He was aware of being followed at a discreet distance by one man but couldn’t see the second who he assumed must have stayed outside the restaurant. He climbed down the empty terraces towards the rails bookmakers and placed a £50 bet, getting odds of three to one, on the second favourite. He then turned and walked the short distance to re-enter the member’s club on the ground floor and proceeded through the main lobby toward the entrance to the gentlemen’s toilets. Only when he entered did he glance around to see if he was being followed into the toilets. He smiled and nodded as he thought, “At least they’re giving me some privacy for a pee.”
He immediately turned and dashed out of a second entrance, climbed two flights of steps and ran to the entrance to the private boxes. He walked along the joining corridor to the third last box and tried the door, which was locked. As he did this a young lady dressed in a black skirt, black shoes, a white shirt and waistcoat passed by. Alan beckoned her attention asking, “Excuse me, but do you know if this box is being used today?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” she replied, but if you come with me to the service office we can see what it says in the diary.”
He nodded and looked around him, saw they were alone and followed her to a large room on the opposite side of the corridor to the boxes. He assumed this room was next to the kitchens as the smell of cooking pervaded everywhere, along with the clatter of utensils and the voices of those cooking and giving and taking orders. The room he was now in had cases and cases of every conceivable drink you could imagine along with cutlery and crockery, glasses, tablecloths, centre pieces, candelabra and everything else required to cater for the lucky few who could afford a box.
The girl walked to a desk in the corner at the side of which stood a clothes rack containing various coats; which he assumed belonged to the staff. Also on the rack there were two red waistcoats complete with Thistle catering badges.
She leafed through a large desk diary eventually stopping at the 13th of June and shook her head saying, “No sir, that box isn’t in use today.”
“What about tomorrow?” he enquired.
She turned the page and nodded, “Oh yes, it’s in use tomorrow. A Mohammed-al-Bari, “I think that’s how you pronounce it,” then giggled, “he’s booked tomorrow for three to four people.”
“Thank you love, do you know what time?” But before he could finish a male voice called angrily from the kitchen, “Alison are you in there, we need service now for box five.”
Alison looked startled and ran toward the connecting kitchen door shouting, “I am sorry, I must go, that’s my boss.”
“OK love, thanks for your help.”
He watched her disappear into the kitchen, took off his jacket, grabbed a waistcoat off the rack, turned it inside out to reveal a grey backing, put it on and ten seconds later was walking along the corridor with his jacket neatly covering his new clothing possession. The whole exercise had taken him seven minutes which he thought too long to go back via the toilets so he made his way back to Jacky, sat opposite her and took a good gulp of his lager.
The smoked salmon and prawns arrived complete with buttered brown bread. The Sauvignon Blanc was opened, tasted and poured. He looked across at his beautiful companion and taking hold of his glass said, “Cheers Jacky, here’s to a great day’s racing, winning, eating and drinking.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she smiled and clinked her glass with his, “but can I have some gambling money love, just a little to help me do the winning bit?”
“Of course, I am sorry love,” he apologised as he pulled some money from his inside jacket pocket and counted out fifty pounds; then from his front trouser pocket another fifty pounds and passed the hundred surreptitiously to her. She smiled at him, opened her handbag and placed the money in a pocket saying, “Thanks love, I hope I haven’t taken all your gambling money for the day, you seemed to have to empty more than one pocket.”
“At the races, you carry your money spread about you, just to thwart the pickpockets. So you’d better watch that bag of yours closely, or the buggers’ll have it.”
“I will,” she smiled, clasping the bag shut and placing it on her knee.
Outside the restaurant two gentlemen leaned against the staircase banister.
“Is he back in there?” snarled one to the other.
“Yeah, about five minutes ago,” came the reply.
“The bastard went out through another entrance but he can’t have done much if he’s been back for five minutes.”
“No, but he’s a slippery little bugger, so lets try not to lose him again.”
After the first two courses of the meal the racing started and the afternoon became a loop of excitement, disappointment, expectation, financial loss, financial gain, champagne, lager and even more food, but never boredom. There were observations to be made at the pre paddock and the main paddock, then bets to be laid on the rails and at the Tote. There were terraces to be scaled to gain the best view, winnings to be collected or not and post race analysis to be made; all within the thirty minutes before the next race.
At 5.35 pm. Alan and Jacky entered the champagne pavilion and were lucky enough to find an empty table on the outside raised terrace. Just one bottle of Moet would be shared between them while they discussed their luck on the day and the monies which had changed hands.
They left the racecourse at 6.30 and dined that evening at Maxi’s Chinese restaurant, one of the top ten establishments in the UK for food, service, and a superb dining experience; even if the décor might be considered by some to be a little over the top.
Two gentlemen and one lady also dined there and followed the couple back to the Ivy at 11.15. They were relieved by two others at 11.30 and went back to the Ibis Hotel on the Mount for a midnight debrief with Major Rock and Sergeant Lawrence.
A waiter brought in a tray of drinks and sandwiches and the group fell silent while the waiter distributed the order. When he had left Rock resumed, “Tim and Steve, you were watching Johnson, please tell me what happened when he entered the racecourse.”
Tim, Steve and Sally were eventually debriefed and the conclusion was that Alan Johnson and Jacky went f
or a days racing, stayed together virtually all the time and spoke with no-one else of significance. Even the waiters and waitresses in the members’ restaurant had been interviewed after the races and all seemed to be above board. The only time Johnson was not observed was when he went to the toilet before the first race and although he was out of touch for seven minutes it was believed he could have done very little in that time. It was agreed that Tim and Steve would track Alan again on the 14th and Rock and Lawrence would search the room at the Ivy while Johnson and Jacky were at the races.
June 14th, The Knavesmire, York.
Once again Alan and Jacky were crossing the Knavesmire on their way to the corner gate for the second day of the race meeting.
She wore a light cream dress cut low at the front to display a modest décolletage, with matching light blue hat, shoes and handbag, care of his generosity. He had also changed from yesterday and wore black trousers, black shoes, a grey waistcoat, black bow tie and dark blue blazer complete with a dark blue trilby. Again he wore his binoculars around his neck and carried the Racing Post. Again they were followed by Tim, Steven and Sally.
As before Alan and Jacky sat at their dining table and marked their placepot and jackpot cards. These were handed into the tote desk and then they proceeded to the stands but on this occasion went from the member’s enclosure to the Tattersalls enclosure and walked along the rows of bookmakers touting for business. He placed a bet on the first race and then walked with her to the first tier of the grandstand next to the large connecting tunnel; which enabled racegoers to gain entry to and from the race course bars, restaurants and facilities; to the track itself. This tunnel was now crowded with people coming forward toward the track and would be equally crowded after the race with people exiting the track.
He raised his binoculars to his eyes and focussed them on the seven furlong start gate, observing the horses being loaded and also glancing around him to locate his shadows. He could only locate one man and the woman and therefore assumed that the second man would be waiting at the restaurant for their return. The crowds now gathered on the terraces, with most people climbing as high as possible to gain a better view; until just minutes before the race every single space on the terrace was occupied. The commentator’s voice boomed out that the last horse was now in the starting stalls and then said, “They’re under starters’ orders, they’re off.”
The crowd now hushed for the first four to five furlongs, but then began to shout in ones and twos for their horse; then hundreds and thousands began to shout and yell, until nothing could be heard of the commentary in the last fifty yards of the race. As the horses flashed by the post Alan turned to her and yelled, “I backed that love, must go and get my winnings, see you back at the restaurant.”
With that he jumped down the terrace, turned into the tunnel and rushed towards the other end, he turned into the main betting hall, immediately removed his hat and tossed it onto a chair, then zigzagged across the hall and through the crowds to the other side some eighty feet away. He sped across another tunnel, into the members’ reception where he removed his jacket and casually laid it on another chair. Then he climbed up two escalators to the second floor, constantly looking behind him to see if he had been followed, and finally into the members’ raceboxes entrance. He again checked to see if he had been followed while simultaneously removing his waistcoat, turning it inside out and replacing it. He entered the administration office where he had been the day before, picked up a silver serving tray, returned to the corridor, looked around and made his way to box number three. He tapped lightly on the door, again looked about and then entered.
He could see two gentlemen and immediately recognised Shan Binal Shid as the second gentleman spoke angrily, “we did not request any service sir, so why have you entered?”
He looked at the gentleman, then at Shan and replied, “Don’t you recognise me Shan, it’s me, Alan Johnson.”
“Good grief,” exclaimed Shan, “it is you, but why are you dressed as a waiter?”
He walked toward Shan, shook his hand and replied, “Because I’m being followed here today and this disguise has just got them off my back.”
Shan looked at his colleague and then at Alan and responded, “I do hope so;” he then motioned with his hand to his colleague and continued, “this is Mohammed-Al-Bari, he is the man who has sponsored our operation and obviously does not want any involvement with the police or security in the UK.”
Alan loosely shook Al-Bari’s outstretched limp hand and replied, “Don’t worry sir, they have no idea where I am at this moment in time, but I only have a few minutes before I need to get back to my girlfriend. May I take a seat?” He motioned to a dining table complete with six chairs.
“Oh yes, please sit down,” motioned Shan and all three sat around the table then Shan continued, “I will be as brief as possible. Firstly, Captain Amdarmi’s ship was boarded by the British Navy a few weeks ago and Amdarmi was killed, or killed himself. The Turkish and British authorities have now found and raised two containers, one empty and one half full. Onar Ibsick escaped capture but two fishermen with him were killed in a fire fight. Onar managed to complete your orders for May then had to close down the factory through fear of being discovered and through lack of any more WMD. He is now in Syria under a new identity and I also have a new identity,” Shan looked intently at Alan took a sip of water then continued, “it seems they are closing in on us. However we have now successfully delivered hundreds of tons of fireworks to many different UK wholesalers and if we can avoid detection we may still succeed in the operation. However, your being followed does not help.”
Alan glanced at both men then replied, “You can always have me killed if things get too messy.”
Al-Bari cleared his throat. “It has been discussed, however you will be pleased to know that for now the inner council think you are of more value to us alive than dead. They are pleased with this different and audacious plot and wish to incorporate more such operations in their overall plan.”
Alan huffed, “Thanks for that.”
“We need to get you out of this country as soon as possible, there is no longer any reason for you to stay,” interrupted Shan.
“I agree with that, the fireworks will be distributed to shops around the UK and by the sixth of November it will all be over.”
“What do you want from us?” enquired Al-Bari.
“I will need a new identity abroad and safe passage for myself and two colleagues.”
“Two colleagues,” echoed Shan.
“Yes , one is Jacky James my girlfriend, the other is Tony Broadhead, an ex-SAS colleague who will be invaluable to us for future operations.”
Shan looked worried and began quizzing him, “do they know what you are doing now?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Then how do you know Tony will help us in the future?”
“I think I will be able to persuade him.”
“And what about this woman, what if she is against what we do?”
Alan rarely became irritated but he knew he hadn’t thought this through and it was obvious they would find out about the operation. He nodded and sighed, “You’re right, I do not know how either of them will react, but I still want the option to bring them.”
Shan’s voice increased with anger, “You’re letting emotion get in the way of sense here. We trust you because we now know you and have approved your plan, but we have no knowledge of the other two people and can only trust your word for them; which seems to be based more on emotion than logic.”
Alan leaned back in his chair and sighed, “OK, Ok, you’re right. I’ll bring Jacky on holiday with me for cover and then slip away.”
“Is that wise?” remarked Al-Bari.
“She came with me to Turkey and Rhodes and it will seem strange to the British authorities if I don’t take her with me again.�
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“And you say she still knows nothing.”
“Absolutely gentlemen and that’s the way it will stay,” he replied authoritatively, “now, my suggestion is for me to holiday on another cruise with her. There is one which sails in the Mediterranean from Savona and calls into Alexandria. From that port of call they are running day trips to Cairo to see the great pyramids followed by lunch at the Sheraton Pyramids hotel and that is where I think we should meet and Alan Johnson should disappear.
“Alone Alan, you must be alone,” insisted Shan.
“I know, I know, I will be; after all you’d probably shoot her if I brought her along.”
Al-Bari smiled and responded, “We’re not savages.”
“No, we’re not,” laughed Shan, “we’d sell her to an Afghan.”
He knew they were joking but there was no way he now wished to take her along. The mood had now become a little more relaxed and he continued, “I will be there in Cairo on August the twelfth.”
“That’s nearly two months away,” queried Shan.
“Yes, I know, but I do need to book the cruise and discuss it with Jacky and if she thinks I’m rushing her she won’t come. Now Alexandria is the last port of call on a twenty day cruise so we will actually be out of this country by the end of July which is next month.”
“OK, we will meet you at the Sheraton Pyramid Hotel Cairo on August the twelfth, there you will be given a new identity and taken into the Middle East via Syria. Now, is there anything else you require?”
“Cash, Shan.”
Shan looked at Al-Bari who crossed the room and opened a suitcase. He pulled out a neatly bundled wad of fifty pound notes passed them to Alan and said, “There is £5000 in cash here, will that do?”
“Yes, ample, thank you.”
“There will be a great deal more for you when we meet again,” confirmed Al-Bari.
“Thank you,” he replied as he separated the money and put it into different trouser pockets, “now I’d better get going gentlemen, my camp followers will be wondering where I am. Oh by the way, who should I ask for in Cairo? Will you be there Shan and if you’ve changed your identity how will I find you?”