Spy People

by Duncan James

“It certainly put us off her trail, if she does turn out to be some kind of agent. And of course it could still be her Mother, Mrs Wilkinson. We know virtually nothing about her.”

  “This gets worse and worse,” said a weary Nick Marsden.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment,” said Clayton, “except register the fact. We’ve uncovered nothing new, but I’ll get some special checks done on Mrs W’s background. Since they’ve both disappeared, we need to know more about the woman.”

  “I think I’ll get upstairs to the office and relieve Peter. Do you want him down here?”

  “Not yet. Why don’t you try to finish his briefing and take him round the place? You know the man, after all, and it might help to get your mind off things for a bit. If it’s quiet for a minute, I’ll ring up and find out how Dusty is getting on.”

  “Let me know. It would be nice to go up to see him again, when he’s fit enough.”

  When Marsden got back to his office, he found Peter Northcot there, with his feet up on the desk.

  “Making yourself at home, then!”

  “I’ve been reading this old brief. Gladys found it for me. This is some organisation you’ve got here by the sound it. I think I’m looking forward to my time with you.”

  “I wrote that brief, although some time ago now. Not much has changed since then, except the operations currently under way, but I can update you about those easily enough. Bill has suggested I show you around the place, for you to meet people.”

  “I’ve already met some of them; Gladys took me to a few. But there are plenty I haven’t met.”

  On their way round the building, Nick was able to fill in a bit more of the background to the Barclay/Lloyd case, and told Peter about the rescue mission he had mounted in Switzerland to help out Dusty Miller.

  “There aren’t many parts of the world where you could mount an operation like that at such short notice,” remarked Peter, “although I did have to get out of Hong Kong pretty damned quickly.”

  “And your father, too, I gather.”

  “God bless Suzy for fixing both,” said Peter. “She was my contact at the Embassy – Chinese working for us, but utterly reliable and really on the ball.”

  “It does help to have top level support,” agreed Nick, “and to have people around who are on permanent standby to go anywhere at any time. Section 11 works like that – wherever we are, we are on call at no-notice to do anything or go anywhere at any time. It’s what we do.”

  “It can be a bit lonely at times, don’t you think?”

  “It is really. You never know who you can trust.”

  “And you can’t really tell people what you do. Immediate family perhaps, but even they can talk out of turn. So you end up inventing a job, a role in life. Maintaining your cover is the difficult bit. You are forever living a lie.”

  “Which is probably why not many of us are married. I was supposed to be marrying Barbara, as you know. I thought she would be safe enough, in the same business, and all that.”

  “Maybe she is, but perhaps not on the same side,” said Peter.

  “Begins to look like it,” admitted Nick.

  “Suzy’s come over here now, too, and we are living together, with my father in his cottage in Hampshire. When I get home, that is.”

  “Why did you have to leave in such a hurry, as a matter of interest?”

  “I’d just got my father onto one of our escape routes. He’d had a bad time getting out of North Korea, and when I got back to my Kowloon flat, I found a body lying across the bed. British Airways chap, as it happened. I wasn’t sure if the bullet was meant for me or my father, so I bolted to be on the safe side. Suzy fixed that, too.”

  “Funny old life isn’t it,” said Nick with a grin. “This, by the way, is where ‘Bottom’ lives, who runs our armoury. If ever you need a weapon of some sort, he’s the man to see.”

  “But only if I’ve got a piece of paper from Gladys, I believe!” The two men chuckled.

  They completed their tour, during which Peter met most of the people he would need to deal with.

  “I think we should get back to the Ops Room,” said Nick. “Poor old Bill has already had one ticking off from his wife, Catherine, for forgetting to go home for two days!”

  “I gather she has an interesting background, too,” queried Peter.

  “Very,” agreed Nick. “Retired SAS sergeant, who was our Chief Clerk when Bill and I worked in Northern Ireland. She left the Army so they could get married. She had a very tough time behind the lines in Iraq, by the way, where she and Dusty Miller served together. She was caught and roughed up, but managed to escape and somehow made her way back to base across the dessert.”

  “Someone else marrying into the job, if you see what I mean. Any children?”

  “No. Bill’s first wife was killed by a terrorist car bomb shortly after they arrived in Northern Ireland. They hadn’t been married long, and Bill has always believed the bomb was meant for him – she was in his car.”

  “How awful.”

  “I think Bill always wanted children of his own. He’s always made a big fuss of Donald when they’ve met, and when he was in Northern Ireland he spent all of his spare time mending old toys which the Army sent to a children’s home every Christmas. Are you and Suzy hoping for a family?”

  “No. We’re not married even, and it might not be a good idea, knowing the sort of life I lead, and her background with a Chinese family still out there. Not quite marrying into the job!”

  “That’s what I hoped I was going to do, but it looks very unlikely now.” said Nick. “I wonder if Bill wants one of us to man the shop overnight while this current flap is on,” he said, changing the subject.

  “I’ll take on tonight, if he does. You look like you still need a bit of recovery time.”

  On their way past, Nick stuck his head round the door of Gladys’s office.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  “Getting on fine, thanks. Bill asked me to find out who owned the Battersea place. I’ve just about done that, but I thought I’d find out more about the owners, so I’m on to Companies House and waiting for them to ring me back.”

  “So who does it belong to?” asked Nick.

  “A property development and management company, based in Belgravia. Sounds very posh, with an address like that. I might look them up on the internet to see if they’ve got a web site, if I get a minute. I’ve filled in the claim for Bill to sign.”

  “What claim form, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I had to pay the Land Registry people, so I used my debit card; I think Companies House charge as well, so I’ll put it all on the same form. Tomorrow will do, if he’s busy.”

  The two men laughed as they moved on.

  “That women gets worse and worse, but she’s efficient,” said Nick “And the more we find, the more bewildering this case gets, as well.”

  Gladys called after them. “If you’re going near the Mess on your walkabout, I could do with a sandwich or something if you wouldn’t mind. I haven’t had lunch yet, and I’m waiting for a phone call!”

  “I’ll keep the receipt,” replied Peter!

  ***

  8 - DUSTY MILLER – WHERE’S ANNIE?

  Bill Clayton was having a busy time, running this operation, even though lots of other specialists were doing most of the leg work. He was nevertheless directing their efforts to make sure they covered all the ground that needed to be covered, and that no time was wasted in going down blind alleys.

  There were several important aspects of this case that needed to be covered, and answers found to crucial questions. He was now convinced, as Nick was, he believed, that one of the Wilkinsons had been supplying information to the Russians. To be quite sure, though, they needed to go through the lists they had prepared to eliminate other possible suspects. Not everyone had access to everything. When they had a short list, it would be up to the MI5 chaps to go through the names to double-check their secur
ity clearances and so on, and try to establish if and how they could have been passing on information. He knew they had already started on some of the prime suspects, and he had just briefed David Coulson to make sure that the Wilkinsons were now part of that exercise.

  What Bill had difficulty working out, though, was why, if they were the people responsible, they had suddenly decided to leave in such a great hurry. Had they perhaps believed that they were about to be uncovered? Whatever the reason, they were obviously well prepared to get out in a rush at short notice, which added to the belief that they were in some way responsible.

  There were several questions about the Wilkinsons which needed to be answered as soon as possible before anyone could begin to establish the truth. The most important was to discover where they had gone, and this meant finding Barbara’s car, for a start. Bill also wanted to see the analysis of the phone call poor little Donald had bravely tried to make, in case there was some clue there as to the origin of the call. The background could also reveal something. Were they in another house somewhere, or a restaurant, or where? And who was the woman who had snatched the phone from the boy? Was there enough to identify her? It surely must have been Barbara or her Mother, but where were they? If only the call had been properly monitored, so that they knew where it had been made from.

  Clayton was also keen to know what, if anything, the two computers would reveal. He knew nothing about these things, but the GCHQ people had thought there could still be some useful information on them somewhere, even without the hard drive. If anyone could find out, they could, he was sure. But he was also impatient.

  The Wilkinson’s background was also something of a mystery. Did they come from York, as Nick thought possible? People were checking. And what about the house they lived in, apparently for free? Gladys was checking on that.

  He looked again at their list of people who knew enough to have been of use to the Russians, either directly to Makienko or via the Embassy or some other route. Dusty was on the list, but he was sure he would soon be removed from it, if only because he and Makienko had nearly killed one another.

  On an impulse, and as it was reasonably quiet, he picked up the phone and got through to the military wing at Selly Oak Hospital in Birmingham. He spoke to an orderly in the trauma unit, Corporal Phil Saunders, and introduced himself as ‘Colonel’ Clayton. He rarely did that, and disliked being addressed as Colonel, since he was now out of the Army and a civil servant, but he thought he might be told more if the military knew him by rank.

  “I’d like to know how one of my chaps is getting on,” he said to the orderly. “Staff Sergeant Dusty Miller.”

  “Hold on, Sir; I’ll look at his chart,” said Saunders. “I haven’t been on duty for 12 hours, but when I last saw him, he was doing remarkably well, all things considered.”

  “What do you mean by ‘all things considered’?” Clayton asked.

  “I mean considering the state he was in when he arrived, he has made amazing progress in very short time. He’s plainly as tough as old boots, your man.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Well, he was all-but dead when we got hold of him, and although he’s still in intensive care, the Colonel is hoping we may be able to get him into a proper ward tomorrow. He’s off the ventilator, and we hope his internal injuries will have healed enough for him to be able to take a little food and drink by mouth. He’s undergone lots of surgery, both to his smashed up limbs and to his internal organs, and come through all that quite remarkably well.”

  “I’m naturally delighted to hear that. Is he fit enough to have a word?”

  “He’s sleeping at the moment, so I won’t disturb him, but I’ll make sure your name goes into the log book we are keeping for him. We do that for all our patients, so that when they’re well enough they can catch up on the treatment they’ve had, visitors and phone calls, and so on.”

  “Make sure you pass on my best wishes, and from everyone else in the team here.”

  “Of course I shall. Commander Marsden has been on a couple of times.”

  “He’s my second-in-command,” said Clayton.

  “He also brought him in off the aircraft, according to our notes.”

  “Is there any way you can let me know when he’s fit enough to be visited, or to speak to on the phone?”

  “I can’t make that decision, Sir, but I’ll get one of the officers here to give you a ring. Same number as Commander Marsden?”

  “That’ll find me, and thanks for your help.”

  He had just ended the call and was replacing the chart, when Miller stirred.

  “How are you feeling?” asked the Saunders.

  “In a bit of pain, to be honest,” he said weakly. Somehow, he seemed to have no strength in his voice. In fact he felt like that all over. No strength anymore.

  “Would you like a pain killer?”

  “It’s worse than that, but not as bad as it has been. Where’s Annie?”

  “You’ve asked before, but there’s nobody here of that name that I know. Your boss has just been on the phone, by the way. He wants a chat when you’re fit enough and feel like it.”

  “There was somebody here called Annie when I got here, I’m sure. I don’t remember much, but I remember her. She was in uniform.” Miller winced from the pain.

  “Stop chattering and relax,” commanded Saunders. “I’ll get the duty doctor, and sort out your pain. A shot of morphine sounds like the answer.”

  An RAF doctor arrived. Miller thought he was a Squadron Leader. Nice to be among military people, Miller thought; made him feel at home. He’d seen him around before, too. According to his name tag, he was Drew Wilson.

  “When can I get rid of all these damned pipes and tubes?” Miller asked him.

  “Some of them tomorrow, we hope. You’re almost well enough now to move out of intensive care and into a small ward. Then we must get you on your feet again, and get you moving about. Where’s the pain?”

  “Leg and chest, mostly, and my arm a bit.”

  “Stomach?”

  Dusty thought for a second.

  “Sore, but feels OK I suppose.”

  “That’s good. That means some of your injuries are healing well. We may try you on some liquid by mouth tomorrow, to see how you get on with that, and perhaps even a little real food.”

  “I could murder a beer and a bacon sandwich,” said Dusty, with no real conviction.

  “Not quite ready for that yet, but at the rate you’re going, it won’t be long.”

  The doctor plugged a tube into a needle already strapped in to his wrist.

  “Hold this,” he said, giving him what seemed like a rubber ball. “This is morphine. Next time you’re in pain, give this a gentle squeeze and you can inject it yourself. Don’t use too much of it at a time, although there isn’t enough here for you to overdose. From now on, you’re in charge of your own pain management, but don’t hesitate to give us a shout if it gets too bad. Hopefully, from now on it will only get better.”

  “I’d like to know what’s wrong with me,” said Dusty.

  “We’ll give you a full briefing a bit later, don’t worry, although it will be difficult to know where to start.”

  “I can’t feel much of my leg,” said Dusty. “You haven’t taken it off have you?”

  “No, it’s all there, but we did think we’d have to amputate when you first got here. It was a shocking mess. You’ve had lots of surgery, and there’s more to come I’m afraid, but you seem to be over the worst of it now. It was touch and go at one time, though, when you first got here, but you’re obviously very fit, or you would never have pulled through.”

  “I want to know what’s wrong with me,” said Miller again.

  “Full briefing later when you’re a bit better,” promised the Squadron Leader. “Just relax. You’re going to be all right now, believe me.”

  “Do you know where Annie is?” asked Dusty, changing the subject. “She was here when I came in, but
I haven’t seen her since.”

  “There’s nobody here of that name, so far as I know,” said the Officer, frowning. “Perhaps you were dreaming or hallucinating. You were drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days, and we eventually had to induce a coma so that we could get on with some essential surgery.”

  “I’m not dreaming, I’m sure. I remember her being here. One of the few things I do remember of recent days. I’d like to meet her again, that’s all.”

  “How’s the pain?” asked the doctor, getting back to business and changing the subject.

  “Going off, thanks. This is a useful piece of kit. I feel drowsy.”

  “Doze off then, and leave everything to us. You’ve nothing to worry about. Anything else before I get on?”

  “Find Annie, that’s all.”

  ***

  One day was much like any other for Dusty at the moment. He was pretty helpless when it came to doing anything for himself, but he was at last beginning to be a bit more aware of his surroundings. They were looking after him well enough, no mistake. He was washed and shaved promptly every morning, and everything was kept clean and tidy and in its place. Quite a military routine, in fact. But he wanted to know what had happened to him, and more important, what was going to happen to him next. He could remember very little indeed about the recent past. Skiing with Lloyd in the Swiss Alps, then not much else until now.

  His only clear memory was of the girl called Annie. He had a vision of her wiping blood from his lips and mopping his brow, like some guardian angel in uniform. Where was that, he wondered. He recollected the excruciating pain. He could visualise her face – she had a nice smile he remembered. He was quite sure she was with him in this hospital, but nobody seemed to know anything about her. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he just knew he wanted to meet her again. To say ‘thanks’, perhaps. She was part of his recent past, he was sure of that, and could perhaps fill in the detail of what had happened to him.

  The Squadron leader doctor chap – what was his name? – had promised him a full briefing when he was better. When would that be? Tomorrow? What day was tomorrow? They said they might move him tomorrow, and get rid of some of these damned pipes. And get him on his feet again soon. That would be something. At least he still had them both, apparently, although he could not feel or move one of them. Or could he? A great effort, but perhaps he could after all, just a bit. But it hurt like hell just making the effort. He squeezed the ball thing in his hand, and eventually the pain went again, and he drifted off into another fitful doze.