by Daniel Kemp
“Champion stuff, Fraser. While you're on the line get that messenger of yours to fetch me the first three hours' tape recordings of our man in those dwellings of yours. Has our man mentioned any more about Jack, do you know?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir. We've been concentrating his mind on his middle years in the service as you requested. Would you like us to take his mind back a few?”
“No, that's not necessary at this moment. I'm sending our young hero back to you any minute now. Fax Louise that hotel address, would you. We might need to reach out to him whilst he's there. He'll need to go home to gather somethings together before being taken to Heathrow. Can I leave that in your capable hands?”
On getting confirmation that all could be done, Dicky turned to Cardiff.
“Right you're all fixed up. Police outriders all the way. You will remember those names I've written down for you, won't you?”
“Yes, sir. Salvatore Guigamo and Jack Price,” Cardiff replied without looking at the sheet of paper Dicky had handed him.
“Good boy! Guigamo you'll probably find listed in a telephone book. Could be many, of course, so it might take you a while. Price, on the other hand, could be easier. Never known to use an alias. The photograph I'm giving you is out of date, but I doubt he'll have changed much. There is another man, much more recognisable. His picture I've included in that pack.” Dicky pointed to the buff envelope that rested in Cardiff's hands.
“Has an unmissable scar on his face and goes by the biblical name of Job. By the look of him I wouldn't have thought that patience was his strongest point. Right then, we'll take one last brandy to wish you well on this adventure of yours, young man, then it's off you go. All system green as they say on the TV.” He poured two small glasses.
“Down in one, dear boy. Here's to you in America! Sorry, but I think I forgot something,” Dicky announced, replacing his glass on the tray on the cabinet.
“Of course, how silly of me to forget. Find a minute to call whoever it is you're supposed to work for at the Ag and Fish. Spin them a line about a member of the family popping off unexpectedly. You're taking a spell of leave to grieve, give solace and all that paraphernalia.”
“I will, sir, but I'm not sure I'm due any leave yet. I've only been there a month or two.”
“Minor details, dear boy. There must be some regulation in the Civil Service handbook that allows for compassionate absence from duty. Leave that to the mandarins to worry about.”
“There is another thing that crossed my mind, sir.” Dicky gave him his avuncular look, but was becoming anxious in regards to time.
“Fire away, Cardiff.”
“Is the department that is looking after me providing a cover name and legend, or is Group doing that?” Cardiff asked Dicky apologetically.
“I really don't know who's in charge of that, but I'm sure someone's on to it. Might take a few days to be absolutely positive it's the right one for you though. Don't worry, there's no need. You have my assurance that even if you travel under your own name all will be fine. We can always paint a picture for you when you're in place. Time's of the essence, young man. You had better get your skates on if you're to catch your flight.”
Ten seconds after Cardiff left, Dicky was on the telephone again. He dialled the direct number of The Foreign and Commonwealth Office linking him to his boss, the Foreign Minister, Charles Matkins; deputy head of the Joint Intelligence Committee.
“An hour ago, Charles, we had a 'heads up' from the NSA listening station at Bad Aibling, in Germany. There's been unusual activity at Trelew, in Argentina. We have exclusivity on that for the next two hours before other agencies are informed. I have just received confirmation from Sir Joseph Walters at GCHQ and forwarded the communique to Group.”
“Sounds intriguing, but isn't there always something odd happening in Argentina. Come to that, in the whole of South America. Always a revolution or forced change of government going on somewhere. To be perfectly honest, Dicky, the whole region is one big melting pot of insurrection and unrest. There is some highly jingoistic rhetoric being monitored at the moment about the Falkland Islands. Nothing will come of it, of course, but there's mention of possible retrievable oil reserves and one never knows when there's revenue involved. The intricacies of world politics are perplexing to say the least, Dicky. Can't say I've heard of Trelew though.”
“The Foreign and Commonwealth Office were briefed in 1945 and then again in '53. I have the relevant papers on my desk, Minister.”
Always best to be respectful when administering a reprimand to a senior, Dicky would often advise his close family adding the over-rider — especially if you are peddling a lie.
“What the file's name, Dicky, I'll get a runner to search for it.”
“Sorry, Minister, I've no idea how the Civil Service at the FO store their data. Ours is number O78JZ9/Reich.”
“Don't like that word, Reich, Dicky. Would you kindly elaborate, please?” Matkins asked uncomfortably.
“Certainly, Charles.” Confident in the knowledge that the Foreign Secretary would not go looking for a non-existent dossier, Dicky began to elaborate as requested.
“In the first directive, dated the twelfth of June 1945, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office were notified that an ex-Nazi chemical engineer had informed our counterparts in the CIA of a varied assemblage of Nazis who had been smuggled out of German at the war's end. The CIA along with numbers from my department verified this in the July of that year. They were, in the words of one American agent, openly parading around federal offices in Buenos Aires obviously among friends!
“The 1953 report was commissioned by the then Foreign Minister, Lord Rennie. It detailed additions to the community and most importantly, it advocated the site's surveillance to be handed over to the Israelis. In essence, we wiped our hands of it.” Dicky held the telephone away from his mouth and counted to five. “I firmly believe, Charles, that had you been in office in 1953 you would have reacted differently. By reading between the lines it's my appraisal that the Americans were applying pressure on Rennie in order to appease the State of Israel. You would have stood stronger on the issue than Rennie did, Minister, and refused Mossad meddling in affairs best dealt with by us.”
Never harms to flatter someone whose bank account you're just about to raid.
“That's all well and good, Dicky, but what's the point of this conversation?”
“The point, Minister, is that all known Nazis previously pinpointed by the two directives I've quoted from, were rounded up and shot in a prison camp at a place named Trelew earlier today. Both GCHQ, at my department's behest, and the NSA have been working in tandem having permanent ears on the situation since '53. Eleven days ago a known Mossad agent arrived in the capital of Argentina and hooked up with a team already on the ground. I was told that he went up country and we left it there. Not on our priority roster, or likely to be. Because,” Dicky repeated his previous procedure of counting to five, “we had no direct instructions from your office. What we had, was wiped from the operations board in 1953.”
“You've put me on a spot, haven't you, Dicky. No doubt that's what you intended. Look, if I comment on the existence of right-wing fanatics in Argentina I'm tantamount to confirming our duplicity in this. Argentina are on the friends list and not yet on the uninvited guests one, although that may change at any moment. There is a military regime in that country who support whatever suits them. Their allegiance changes with the wind, Dicky. Can you cover the fact that we knew about this group of Nazis?”
“I can ask the CIA to block forwarding it on to other partners most certainly, Charles, and the Israelis are highly unlikely to admit their knowledge of the whereabouts of escaped Nazis for so many years without acting on that knowledge, so yes, I believe I can silence it all, but that brings me to another discussion I must have with you. A rather delicate one, Charles, involving a man of noble rank. I want it kept strictly between you and me, Charles, you understand.”
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br /> “I fear the worst. Are you about to coerce me into something, Dicky?”
“Only for your own good, Minister, and that of the Government in general. You have my word on that.”
“I hope I'm not going to regret this, Sir Richard. Where do you propose having this conversation?”
Within ten minutes of replacing the telephone receiver Dicky was driving into King Charles Street in the back of the blacked out London taxi cab he had taken from the car pool at Century House. Charles Matkin joined him seconds later. It took three circumferences of St James's Park for the Foreign Secretary to be fully cognisant of the severity facing Dicky and as a consequence; his government. He raised no objections to the plan he was presented with.
On Dicky's return he dialled Group's extension.
“Archie, I need a huge favour, but first I have a few questions for you.” Not waiting for a response, he ploughed on. “First: was it Trenchard who told you that Price was active in London or someone from his section in Scotland Yard?”
“It came directly from him, Dicky.”
“And did he speak with you or someone on your staff?”
“Not me, I'm afraid. Called at 19:17 and left a message for the duty officer's log. I was notified at home that night.”
“What were his words to your duty officer?”
“Only that he needed me to call him.”
“Okay, fine. My next question then. Who did your man follow after Price and West parted last Friday?”
“I detailed two watchers from burners. They followed them both, but I had no others on the ground for a full scale alert. Had I have done so then we wouldn't have lost contact with Price overnight. Both men decided to stay eyes on each entrance. There was no other option open to them.”
“Yes, I appreciate that. I wasn't aiming blame anywhere. And where did West live? I don't know why I've never asked that question before, didn't seem important and I'm not sure if it is now, but nevertheless?” He never finished that sentence.
“Are you okay, Dicky?” Sir Archibald asked his old friend, concerned.
“Yes, I am. Sounding a bit tired and stressed, am I? It's just that I believe time is running short for what I must do.”
“Does clairvoyance run in your family, Dicky?” Archie asked.
“Why?”
“West walked to a residential building in Covent Garden. Number six, Rose Street, which he entered and stayed the night. At approximately eight-ten Saturday morning he left that building and went to the Home Office, via the twenty-four-hour post office in Trafalgar Square. After that he reported to Trenchard's place in Suffolk Street. I'm reading that report from my screen. I'll tell you why that's so. Three minutes ago GCHQ flashed the name Eva to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and every SIS department's communications system. General John has been on the blower asking for my breakdown. That's why my screen is lit up. Eva apparently is the code name SIS gave to a Viennese Jew named Alain Aberman back in 1945. I'm working on the reasons for that, but for now I can tell you that number six Rose Street was owned by a Brian Alaname; an anagram of Alain Aberman. It hit me as you rang.”
Sir Richard fell silent, causing Archie to enquire again if he was okay.
“That was his weakness, Archie; cryptic crosswords. He was doing the one in the Times when I bumped into him in the King David Hotel in Tel Aviv. Have you that list I asked for handy? The Agatha one?”
“I have! I was just about to fax it over when Eva flashed up. Hold a second and I'll find it.”
“You're the expert on anagrams, Archie. Take your time,” Dicky replied patiently.
“lan Balearman, is that the Johnny?” Archie shouted down the phone line excitedly.
“That's him! Said he had something big on our Royal Family. Something money couldn't buy!”
“Look Dicky, I'm not sure what's going on here but Matkin's put an embargo on 5 over this Eva thing. Stay off the roundabout in the Playground. It's all 6 until further notice, was the wording. What shall I tell John?”
“Tell him what Matkin said, Archie. Keep the pseudonyms to ourselves for the time being.”
“Fine, you have it. Now what was the favour you wanted?”
“Arh, I'm sorry about this, but I have to, Archie. I asked my head of Section Four to trace an old acquaintance of yours. She came up with her whereabouts, but no means of contact. I'm hoping you will help me with that. It's a favour, old boy, not an order, you understand.”
“This sounds ominous, Dicky! Ask away.”
“Bridget Slattery. I think we may have need of her.”
“As soon as I saw Price's name I wondered how long it would be before she was mentioned. Old wounds, Dicky, very old wounds!”
“Are they healed and mended, old chap? Enough to get your hands burnt again?”
“I'll wear asbestos gloves this time and carry a fire extinguisher.” Dicky burst out laughing and inwardly sighed in relief.
“Have you a way of getting in touch?” Dicky asked, hoping against hope that he did.
“There was a way that we had, but I'm not sure that it will still work. I don't know if she gave up looking.”
There was someone else Dicky asked to do some searching on his behalf; Catherine Dullas, head of historical research at Section Four had another coded message for her-eyes-only from him.
When I saw Alain Aberman posing as Ian Balearman he must have been in his mid-forties. Search before and after the war and find every name he has ever used.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tuesday Afternoon London
Shepherd Market
At 3.37 that afternoon Fraser rang Dicky who took the call whilst smoking one of his favourite Cohiba cigars seated in one of his two soft armchairs with the windows wide open onto the street seventeen-storeys below. He had seldom been this nervous.
“Lord Reginald is blowing a gasket, Dicky. He's after blood and Cardiff is his target. He's phoned three ministers and about six permanent under-secretaries looking for him. The Home secretary's number two has rung me twice.”
“What's he been telling all that he's phoned for the reason behind his request, Fraser?” he replied calmly from under a cloud of cigar smoke.
“Says the boy has done him a great injustice and he wants recompense. He didn't elaborate on how that would play out. Lionel Phillips, at the Min. of Ag and Fish, was really concerned. Asked me outright if Cardiff had screwed Reginald's wife. I almost burst out laughing at that one.”
“Has Lord Reginald left a number where he can be reached, Archie?” Dicky asked.
“Quoted as saying that he won't leave his offices at the Palace until Cardiff is traced and his head is served on a platter.”
“Is it an open line that he's on?”
“It's not secure in the sense that you and I know, Dicky.”
“Leave him to stew for a while then phone and tell him you're sending a car to pick him up. Take him to that place Group has in Shepherd Market. Put him in a room on his own, nice and comfortable with a drink in each hand. Tell me when he's there and I'll take a slow walk over the bridge in the afternoon sunshine and have a chat with the old fellow. When you call inform him of these arrangements, only don't say to whom it is that's he's to speak. If you have to tell him anything say that Cardiff is being delivered. Make sure that any cameras are empty of film, Fraser. I don't want to give him any more problems than he already has. One tape and one tape alone. Another thing whilst you're here. Have you passed on that directive of mine to GCHQ requesting the rerouting of any communiques appertaining to young Cardiff to Special Branch yet?”
After Fraser confirmed his compliance with all of his instructions Dicky telephoned an old friend at the American Embassy in London.
“Good afternoon, Irving! Sorry to be a pest but I wondered if you had found that chap I was looking for yet. I realise your offices must be busy with internal matters, so, if not I'll quite understand.”
“As a matter of fact, Sir Richard, we have found him. T
hey came back to me early this morning. Just hadn't gotten around to calling you. He owns a restaurant opposite Columbus Park on Worth Street. Applied for and was granted citizenship in 1945. There is a minor conviction recorded against his name in 1951, but nothing that would warrant our attention. If it's not an indelicate question, why did you need to know?”
“No reason other than nostalgia. We ran into each other at the end of the war in Europe and I have a young friend flying in to New York tonight for a short period of recuperation. He's been under a lot of work-related pressure of late. Wish I could say more, but you know how hairy things can get at times. Added to his burden is the recent loss of a close member of family. It never rains but it pours, as they say. Anyway, my wartime friend's name jumped into my mind from out of the blue. Thought I'd give him my old pal's address to young Cardiff in order to pass on a long belated greeting, and of course one never knows if one might get some decent coffee sent back as a token of friendship. Hands across the water and all that. Thanks for your help in this, much appreciated. If I can ever reciprocate, et cetera, et cetera. Could I be a real pain and ask if you would fax that address to Daniel Cardiff, care of Lionel Phillips MP, Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries, old sport? Lionel will see that it reaches my friend.”
“Did you want a 'meet and greet' reception laid on for him, Sir Richard? I'm sure I could lay that on with a tour of the city thrown in. Mind you if it was yourself we would go the extra yards for sure! Full red carpet, the lot. Wonder why it's a red carpet and not a blue one?” Irving asked, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
“No, no, no, old chap. Far from necessary. It's only a short break he's taking to regain his confidence. All that fuss and palaver might not be wise. Had a doctor see him earlier today, said he was badly suffering from a stress-related illness and recommended a peaceful break. You know how seriously that can debilitate a chap. I thought of New York and its renowned hospitality, but the lavish entertainment you greet people with is way too much for my young colleague, plus I can't afford to be without him for too long. He's thought very highly of at my end. I can perfectly do without you lot greasing his hands with temptation. That would never do.” Dicky left the carpet question for another day.