by Daniel Kemp
“You will be given a telephone to enable you to call that wife of yours. Make it simple and to the point. It will be monitored, Barrington. I don't want to hear any elaborate explanation, nor any phrases that could be thought of as a code. Plain language and short. Do you understand?”
With the first recording tape safely tucked inside his jacket pocket, Dicky walked for a while with an armed escort a few paces behind and his car slowly following the two of them. Light rain was falling as the sun broke through the clouds, but he hardly noticed.
Chapter Thirty
Late Wednesday In New York
Negotiations
“It was when I read that list that I realised how important the now named Stockford family would become if the birth of an illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Windsor was ever known to fanatics following the idealism of the Nazi movement.”
“Do you think it is known, Jack? I asked, still dazed by morphine and news of my father, as well as heady from the cigarette smoke.
“I honestly can't be sure.”
“How come my father gave you a sight of the copy and not his commanding officer?”
“You would have to ask him that as I have no answer other than it was through a sense of patriotism and a belief in the good our country.”
Hello there! Captain Harry West I presume. I'm Jack Price. Come to see about a German Colonel you interned to Camp 12 and who was murdered the other night. Yes, he was murdered alright. I'm attached to Special Operations Executive based in London but working over here trying to clear up any loose ends. I understand you paid a visit to your HQ in Rome a few weeks back. My boss was wondering if that visit had anything to do with this murder.
We researched his name you see, seems that he was on Rudolf Hess's staff at the beginning of the war. I'm not sure you would be aware of this, but Hess defected to us about four years ago spouting a cock-and-bull story about some of his lot and some of ours wanting a peace treaty before it all got as ugly as it did. This Colonel didn't mention that to you, did he, and that's why you went to Rome? Before you answer let me assure you of something that may have crossed your mind. I'm not military, nor is what I do connected to any military unit. My department's role is purely of a national interest nature. The suppression of dubious assumptions would come under our remit, as would the prosecution of treasonable acts. Sorry if that sounds a little heavy, but other research we were able to do showed that Squadron Leader Finley and the man whose estate Hess parachuted onto are old acquaintances. We wouldn't want to think that either of you might have unwittingly stumbled into something that you cannot adequately deal with yourself. Or, perish the thought, you are both part of a plot to withhold the truth!
There is, of course, another scenario. If this colonel had something embarrassing to Finley's friend, like a list of names, and that's what led to his murder then who knows where that might stop. Probably it's all just coincidental, but you know what intelligence gathering can do to a person, you end up seeing a conspiracy around every corner, don't you. My boss and I would hate to see such an intuitive and honest man as yourself get caught up in any internal conflicts when it comes to demob day, nor do we want you to rat on your commanding officer.
The war in Europe is over, with the one going on in the Pacific finishing soon, so, your job in Italy will very quickly be null and void. It would be terribly unjust to label you as uncooperative over a matter of national security and thereby slur a previously unblemished military record. I would urge you to be honest over any list. It would be for the greater good if you did, Harry. My boss is a far from unreasonable man. He has instructed me to offer you a life-long position in the War Department or the Ministry of Defence if you're ever in the need of one. Always room for a true patriot as yourself. Did that late colonel leave anything with you?
“I've got to ask you this, Jack, because it's intriguing me. There you are, one of only three people still alive in 1945 who could possibly know that our one time king had fathered a child, and then later in the same year being one of only a handful having a list of names that had wanted to undermine Britain. Is that about right?”
“I'm not that good at sums, but yes, I guess you're not that far off, Shaun.”
“Did you ever think of extorting money from any of those who stood to lose so much?”
“Why, is that what you would have done, resorted to blackmail?”
“I honestly don't know. What you had must have been highly volatile dynamite to some.”
“Yes, if any of it could have been proven, but I'm not in that sort of game. I work with rumours and hearsay. Seldom do I deal with truth, as the people I mix with wouldn't know what that is. I'm a collector, as I said. I deal in what might result from actions taken by others.”
“So you gave the list that my father gave you to your boss, Jack.”
“I did!”
“That brings me to another intriguing question that's on my mind. Who exactly is your boss, Jack, because it's not the head of any intelligence service in the UK is it.”
“I told you that I resigned from British intelligence. Barrington Trenchard was responsible for that. He showed me the depth of incompetence in the service that I'd tried hard to gloss over.”
“What happened to the names on that list, Jack, and was Trenchard one of them?” He had that I know all the answers and you know none and I won't tell you until I'm ready look on his face. He supplied no answer.
“To use your phrase of not getting too far ahead of ourselves, can I recap on last Friday's tour of Soho, Jack?”
“I'm yours to enthral, Shaun.”
“As Edward Heath was a figment of your imagination, Jack, or so you say, is Miller really on the take?”
“Yes, he is and so are many more in the Metropolitan Police, I'm sorry to say,” Jack replied.
“How about this Alhambra bloke? Does he exist?”
“He does, but not under that name. That was the name given to his file by 5. He comes in at the end of my story, so I'd prefer to speak of him later.”
“The end, you say. When does that come about, and am I included at the end or do I make up part of that end?”
London Mid Tuesday Morning
“Well, this had better be good, Dicky. The Prime Minister has enough on his plate without any controversy surrounding Scotland Yard's head of criminal intelligence being kept in The Tower for subversion. I'm not sure what would take precedence in the newspapers; Trenchard's arrest or that of Arthur Scargill and his coalminers. The Trade Unions will topple this government if we're not careful and then what will you get, a bunch of quasi-Communists under Harold Wilson and his socialite alter ego Roy Jenkins. Yours will be one of the first departments to be shafted. No need for international security when the Labour Commies are in Number Ten!
Are you in with all this Peter? Writing the script alongside Sir Richard, or have you been stuttering through this garbage like me?” Martin Redman held aloft the hastily stapled report that Dicky had garnered on his flying visit to Century House. He had slept, but uncomfortably, for three hours on his office sofa bed before his secretary's arrival and the awakening chimes of his ever present desk alarm. Peter Rawlings, Secretary of Defence, muttered, “all new to me Home Secretary,” then proceeded to look interestedly at page seven of the report.
“Anything you wish to elaborate on from that page, Dicky?” Martin asked.
“Which page, Minister?” Sir Richard replied, lost in thought.
“Page seven of course. The number's at the top.”
The meeting of the three men was held in the lead-lined security capsule suspended from floor and ceiling by insulated carbon steel wires in a sub-basement approximately eighty foot below Parliament Street. The retractable staircase had been withdrawn and now lay flush with the floor.
“No! That's all part of Ughert's appraisal of the situation, Minister.”
“I trust you have more than mere thoughts, Richard. Could this affect the Government?” Martin asked.
“The Government?” Dicky screwed up his lips as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “Hmm, I think not, but the House of Windsor and all that entails then yes, possibly. If that then impacted on HMG, who can say.” His eyes fell to the metal table as Peter looked at Martin and all three fell silent.
“Does any of this reflect on the Queen directly, Richard?” The Home Secretary broke the impasse.
“Yes, Minister, it could. If, as we suspect, Mountbatten is one of the leading conspirators then that drags in Philip and as a consequence Her Majesty.”
“Tricky situation all round. You say that you believe this man Stiles to be in America, although you don't give any reasons for the belief. Could we not enlist the FBI to either confirm or rebuff that belief? If you're right then they would be able to tell us of to his movements and who he's in contact with.”
“We could, Minister, but it would take them some time to accumulate useful information. However, I would warn against requesting their intervention. We would be better placed to handle this predicament away from the press without their participation. The American agencies do tend to be a bit press-orientated and theatrical on occasions.”
The Home Secretary nodded his head in agreement to Dicky's truism as another question was asked of Sir Richard.
“Do you know who Stiles intends to contact in New York?” It was Peter who asked this question.
“I'm pretty confident on that score, yes. I expect some results by this afternoon. It is Group's analysis that there is an outside chance that a British operative is in place and handling this affair.”
“Outside chance! Are you saying that there's an agent that you know nothing of, Richard?” Martin drew first blood.
“Do you know this operative personally, and if so is he a friendly?” Peter opened the wound further.
“I know of him,” Richard wearily replied. “As far as I'm aware he is certainly not anti-British, nor would I add are any others in this whole mare's nest that we face. However, Group and I firmly believe that his first allegiance lies with the Palace and not us.”
“Is 5 involved?” the Home Secretary asked whilst looking to find any reference to General John in Dicky's report. He found none.
“No, sir. Neither do I think it wise to include them. I discussed this with both Sir Archibald and the head of the Civil Service. You were out, Minister when I called on him. The fewer people who know about this the easier it will be to clear it away.”
Martin Redman raised no objection. In fact he was pleased that the decision had been taken in his absence.
“Has the time arrived for a ministerial briefing of the PM with a visit to the Court of St James in mind, Richard?” Martin asked, thinking ahead towards repercussions.
“I think I can avoid that at the moment, Minister. There are a few cards to play before that would be my recommendation.”
“What's to become of Trenchard?” Peter Rawlings enquired.
“I want to hold him until at least the beginning of next week. A week could prove to be a long time in this matter. After that I wash my hands of him. I cannot see how a public scandal of this dimension would benefit anyone. My suggestion would be early retirement through ill health, a signed declaration of silence from him in return for a full pension with the stringent denial of any frills such as knighthoods or the like.” He paused whilst the enormity of the situation was fully digested by the two others before continuing.
“There is one other thing. I would be very grateful if you, Peter, could delve into a little matter that the Ministry of Defence are probably in a better position to do than my own department.”
“Is that another confession, Sir Richard? Do you mean to say that your tentacles stop at someone's door that you should have the key to?” Peter always reverted to sarcasm when the chance arose and Dicky was well aware of it.
“No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm being courteous and nothing more, Minister. Up until recently there was a Harry West working at a desk in the War Department. As that falls within your area of responsibility I was hoping you would supply details of his work interest to my department without the need of us circumnavigating your in-house regulations and come crashing through your front door! I wanted to divert responsibility away you.” Dicky sat back with a stony stare on his face.
“Of course, Richard. We can do that for you,” Peter replied, sensing that now was not an occasion for hilarity.
The Home Secretary was becoming impatient. For the last eleven consecutive Tuesday mornings he had allowed himself the indulgence of a creamed waffle followed by a strong cup of heavily sugared coffee to wash it down. He suffered from high blood pressure that normally forbade such treats. Those last eleven Tuesdays were different. No longer was there a Mrs Redman to prevent his childhood favourites returning to his diet. She had left him on a Tuesday, finding, as she announced in the note she'd left him, a more thoughtful man to care for.
Why do I have to take notice of her anymore? he would volunteer to anyone who mentioned his dalliance from not only her more circumspect dietary regime, but also away from her stereotypical unimaginative bedroom control. He wound the meeting up in expectation of sweeter things.
“If the condition remains unsettled we shall reconvene here next Monday morning at ten am. By then I hope you will have discovered more details allowing me to decide on Trenchard's fate. Keep him well hidden until then, Sir Richard.” At that he pressed the floor-mounted, black, round button for the staircase to ascend and when secure, they left the capsule.
At the foot of the stairs Martin Redman waved Peter away, taking Dicky's arm and whispering conspiratorially into his ear.
“Are there no records of this Harry West, Dicky?”
“None that we can find, Minister.”
“Are you preparing to shove your umbrella of blame up poor old Peter's backside?” the Minister asked.
“I would say that if there were blame to lay for missing documents the ultimate responsibility would rest at the Home Office, Minister. I'm trying to avoid opening umbrellas up anywhere. Trenchard is in my view beyond saving, sir. He has been in the wrong places too many times for my or anyone's satisfaction not to escape blame, but it's in no one's interests to hang him high in the public view. I believe what is going on in America at this moment is beyond his knowledge. However, that makes it much harder to deal with. All I can do is mitigate and manage the effects. That will require some drastic and unorthodox measures, Home Secretary. One further consideration you should take into account is that if we are too heavy-handed in this, the Palace will cover their backs with anything they can find. Trenchard will be dumped on your doorstep which by implication will muddy General John's.”
“Take whatever action you think best, no matter what. No rules. But I want all this tucked away behind the highest screens possible, Richard. You do understand that, don't you?”
“Only too well I do, Minister.”
New York
“I can't understand why you're so fatalistic, Shaun. I'm a serious judge of talent. I know a good one when I find one. I've given you one of the best cover stories that has ever been devised yet you still have doubts.”
“I was found though, Jack, wasn't I?”
“Not because of the cover, Shaun, because of the operation! That happens at times.”
“But which cover is going to save my life? Patrick West doesn't exist over here and Shaun Redden is linked into the mess. Where should I go for the next one?”
“You'll never need another one. Shaun Redden cannot be traced conclusively. No living parents, no relatives, no friends, no ties, nobody looking under paving slabs to discover his past. Can you see the similarity with your real identity? The two of you are the same.” Pleased with himself, he sat back into his chair, then continued with his eulogy.
“You're so good that I've recommended your name be pencilled in as my successor. You're a natural. When this operation is all over I'm retiring. Sorry, meant no pun with th
e operation reference. Toes and all that! Anyway, spent enough years away on behalf of someone else's business. Time to read a book and watch the world pass by before I'm too senile to enjoy it. I'm too old now, Shaun, and well past my best. Do you know how to tell that you're getting old, Shaun?”
“No!” I replied with as much enthusiasm as a young child would have when being regaled a story from an aged relative in which there is no interest.
“When a young lady, who is ahead of you in the queue at the bus stop, waves you to pass her when the bus arrives.”
“Never thought of you travelling by bus, Jack. Thought you'd be a limousine passenger when on the move.”
“And I never realised that you were such a snob, Shaun. I do a lot of my best thinking aboard buses. By the by, I'm becoming more fond of the name we gave you rather than your real name. Prefer Shaun to that of Pat. Ah, perhaps I'll write in for the Poet Laureate's job when I retire after that rhyme of mine,” he laughed, but I didn't share in his humour.
“Are you sure that you want me and not Adam Berman? Is his name not on the shortlist, Jack?”
“There you are, you see. My faith in your ability was not misplaced. What do you know of Adam?” Jack asked.
“Only what you're willing to tell me, Jack.”
“I can go one better than that, my boy, but first get some much needed sleep. You're perfectly safe here. Salvatore's men are outside the building and down the corridor. Believes in safety first, does Sally. Tomorrow you'll meet Adam, and the two of us will fill in all the missing details which will answer most of the questions you're dying to ask. Exciting times ahead, eh! By the way, there is something you could be doing whilst you're lazing around here.” He passed me a piece of lined writing paper with the names of some chemical components written upon it.