Spy People

by Duncan James

  “I’m coming back then?”

  “If you want to and when you’re fit enough. We’ll sort that out later, but there’ll always be a place there for you.”

  “Thanks for that. I’ve been a bit worried about the future.”

  “Don’t be; just relax. Is there anything you want now? I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t think you’d want flowers, and chocolates could just as well kill you, the state your guts are in.”

  They both laughed.

  “It’s just good to see you again and there’s really nothing I want. Somehow, they managed to get all the kit back here that I left behind in Switzerland,” he pointed to his locker, “although don’t ask me how. Talking of Switzerland how’s Dr. Lloyd?”

  “He’s OK, and back at work. He’s been on the phone to us asking about you.”

  “He’s been on here, so I’m told, but I don’t know if anyone else has.”

  “They are supposed to be keeping a diary or log book or something for you – all your treatment every day, progress you’re making, visitors, phone calls and everything, so that you can catch up when you’re well enough. Have you seen it yet?”

  “I haven’t, but I’d like to.”

  “I’ll see if I can get it,” said Marsden, and went off to the Colonel’s office.

  “Here it is,” he announced when he returned, “bang up to date, even with my visit today in it.”

  “It would be nice to see Colonel Bill and Catherine sometime soon,” said Dusty, leafing through the notebook.

  “I’ll make sure they pay a visit,” said Marsden. “It shouldn’t be too difficult now we’ve an extra man on board, and the ….”

  Miller gave a shout.

  “She’s here! She’s in here!” pointing to a page. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming. She’s been on the phone a couple of times asking about me.”

  “Who are we talking about, Dusty?”

  “Annie. I’ve asked everyone about Annie, and they all said she didn’t exist and I’d been dreaming. But here she is actually phoning up to ask how I was. I really would like to meet her again. She’s got a lovely smile.”

  “But who is she exactly?” asked Nick.

  “I wish I knew. She hasn’t left a phone number. I don’t remember anything much about it, but I’m sure she was here when I arrived.”

  “In that case, I know who you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “Certainly, and she was here when you arrived. She’s Annie Mackie, a Royal Navy Petty Officer Medical Assistant.”

  “How the hell do you know her?”

  “She was part of my team, that’s how.”

  “Do you mean she was in Switzerland?”

  “We parachuted in together, and got you out. I’d go so far as to say that she kept you alive, and that if it wasn’t for her you wouldn’t be here now.”

  “She parachuted in to get me? What sort of girl is that, for God’s sake?”

  “She’s in the Special Forces, like us. Arctic trained, like me, which is why I got her into my team. We both brought you in here from the Hercules – that’s why you think she was here when you arrived. She brought you here.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said an incredulous Miller. He looked again at his log book.

  “It’s three days since she phoned,” he said. “Where is she based? I really want to talk to her again, and see her again if possible. I began to think I was going off my trolley, when nobody knew who I was talking about.”

  “She’s based at RAF Brize Norton on the Tactical Medical Wing. Give me a minute and I’ll see if I can track her down.”

  Miller sat back, exhausted but excited.

  Marsden went to Col. Graham’s office again.

  “Sorry to be a bore, but could I use your phone do you think?”

  “Of course, who do you want?”

  “The TMW at Brize Norton. I want to track down the RN Petty Officer who came with me when we brought Miller in. He seems very keen to see her again.”

  “Her name’s not Annie something-or-other is it?” asked Graham.

  “Annie Mackie. Why?”

  “Thank heaven you’ve solved that mystery at last. Miller has been asking everyone about this girl Annie, and of course we had no idea who he was talking about.”

  “Well, she’s in his log book as having rung a couple of times asking after him.”

  “How silly of us! Somebody should have thought to look in his diary.” said Mark Graham

  “He’s very excited that we have found her, I can tell you, but wonders why she hasn’t been in touch for a few days. She’s probably in Afghanistan or somewhere collecting more casualties. She works a lot, I seem to remember, on the Deployable Aeromedical Response Team on six hours’ notice to fly anywhere.”

  “We’re due to receive more customers from Bastion tomorrow, so that’s probably what’s happened to the girl.”

  He left Marsden to make his call.

  “I’ve spoken to the people at Brize Norton,” he told Graham shortly afterwards, “and left a message for her to ring Miller when she can. As you guessed, she’s on a C17 casualty evacuation flight to Afghanistan, due back late tomorrow with a few more for you to deal with. I’ll tell him.”

  “Don’t get Miller too excited. I don’t want him to have a relapse or need any more sedation.”

  “He’s already overjoyed that we have traced his Annie.”

  “So am I! He’s been a proper bore about the girl!”

  When Marsden got back to Miller’s bedside, he was sound asleep.

  “I’ll tell him when he wakes,” said Graham. “And thanks for coming down. It’s obviously done him good.”

  “I hope so. Apart from finding Annie for him, I’ve also told him that we’ll find a job for him if he wants it when he’s recovered. That seemed to cheer him up, as well. And he’s asked if Col. Bill Clayton and his wife can visit, so I’ll fix that when I get back.”

  “The boss and his wife?” queried Graham.

  “Clayton’s wife was in the SAS, and she and Miller served together in Iraq.”

  Graham shook his head.

  “It really is a small world in the military, isn’t it?”

  ***

  9 - PETER NORTHCOT – A SHORT LIST OF ONE

  Clayton wasn’t used to this sort of thing; there was no doubt about it. He was the sort who got on with things. Found out what he needed to know, and then sorted it. Talked to people who might be able to help, gathered information from them, and then decided what to do about it.

  But this was different.

  This was a major inquiry, which could have ramifications throughout the UK Government. He was trying to find information and facts and eliminate people and clues and find false trails and all that – nothing new. But he wasn’t then supposed to do anything much about it. That made a difference. He couldn’t afford to cut corners, or act on his usually reliable hunches. This wasn’t just him working within his own organisation. This was a lot bigger, and he didn’t like it. He somehow felt cramped, knowing that whatever he discovered, he couldn’t immediately do anything about it. He had to report what he found to others, higher up the chain, who would then decide what to do.

  What made it worse was that he felt that the end result was going to end up on his doorstep, like it or not. And like it or not, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He was now quite sure that he knew who the spy was. He was sure he knew who had been tipping off the Russians about what Section 11 was doing. His Section 11. He, Clayton, was ‘S’ after all. And there it was. On his own doorstep.

  And if he was right, there was nothing much he could do about it anyway. The spy had flown. Gone. A member of his staff, that’s what hurt. A most trusted member, too. It was of little comfort that the informer had joined Section 11 before his time, moving from the Cabinet Office. It had been their lack of judgement, their failure to complete a thorough and detailed security clearance. It beggared belief that they could have re
cruited an agent to work at the very top of the Government machine.

  And then recommend her move to the most secret of intelligence organisations, Section 11.

  Now they were breathing down his neck, expecting him to identify the traitor they had recruited and employed for years.

  This simply wasn’t good enough.

  He had a good enough team, no doubt about that. But eventually, the buck was going to stop with him. The Cabinet Office had washed its hands of its earlier catastrophic errors, and left it to him to sort out the mess.

  OK. So that’s what he’d do.

  But he’d make sure he had words with the Cabinet Secretary, Sir Robin Algar – strong words. This present operation was tearing the guts out of Section 11, and that wasn’t good enough, either. He had already been forced into changing roles, offices, people and everything, but now he was sure he could start getting things back in order. One more change, and that would see the end of the affair. Then, back to normal.

  But not until he’d sorted out Sir Robin Algar.

  Clayton had been put in charge of the spy hunt for some reason, when it was really MI5’s role in life. That’s what they did. Had they been behind having the buck passed to him, he wondered? They had shown themselves to be less than efficient recently. Something else to take up with the Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee.

  What the hell.

  He had some good guys from MI5 and MI6 attached to his team, including Peter Northcot, who had only recently joined MI5 from the Army. He knew about Northcot, and his reputation. He wasn’t strictly speaking part of the spy hunt team, but had been posted in to Section 11 as a member of staff at his own request. He wondered if Northcot was as good as his reputation.

  We’ll soon see.

  Clayton called him in.

  Gladys brought them both a coffee, and shut the door behind her on the way out.

  “I’ve got a short straw for you, Peter,” announced Bill.

  “Tell me.”

  “Find the Wilkinsons, and find out why they left in such a hurry.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Absolutely all. You are not to get involved in anything else in this outfit until you’ve done that. Use whatever resources you like, and work with any other members of this enquiry team if you think you can trust them, or with anyone else you think might be able to help. But from now on, that’s all you will do.”

  “Why me? Why not Nick Marsden who’s been here longer? Or you?” he asked.

  “Nick and I are too close to this, for one thing. Especially Nick. I shall stay in overall charge of the operation, but from now on you will be in the lead. I’ve been through your service record again, and I’m sure you’ll succeed and that I can trust you. Find the Wilkinsons, and you will have found the source of the leaks.”

  “My view entirely,” agreed Northcot, “although I’ve hardly dared say so before now.”

  “Why?”

  “As you said, you and Nick are too close to this, that’s why.”

  “Especially Nick.”

  “So I shall deal through you, but, subject to your approval, I can have free reign to do what I want and talk to anyone I need?” asked Peter

  “Absolutely. Finding the Wilkinsons is the very top priority now in my view, and you must deal with whoever you think best to help you do that. I want to know what you’re doing, of course, but I shall be happy to agree to whatever you want. And you’re to talk to whoever you like. Find the Wilkinsons, and you’ve got a job for life here if you want it. Fail, and you’ll spend the rest of your life fishing in Hampshire with your father.”

  Northcot grinned, stood up, and went to the office door.

  “Gladys!” he shouted. “Two more coffees please.”

  “Comin’ up!”

  “Logistics first,” said Northcot. “Where shall I sit?”

  “In this office,” replied Clayton. “Nick can keep his old office next door to Gladys the other side, and I’ll base myself in the Ops Room. That way, you shouldn’t be bothered by odd calls from people like Sir Robin Algar.”

  “Good. But I shall need to ask guys here and elsewhere to do things in pursuit of these people. Do I ask you first every time?”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Apart from cups of coffee” Gladys had just appeared with two steaming mugs for them, and biscuits. “For a start I shall want to hire the services of a genealogist to check on the Wilkinson’s backgrounds.”

  “Your colleagues in MI5 are already doing that,” protested Clayton.

  “They wouldn’t know where to start. A professional will know where to go, what to search, which records to look up, and get the job done in double quick time.”

  “Agreed then, but any special reason?”

  “Just a hunch that they may not actually come from Yorkshire, or perhaps even be British subjects, so let’s check that out in double quick time. We need to know where they come from, so when I find an expert, I’ll call off my chums in MI5.”

  “Next.”

  “We must find their car. I want to get the police, through Clive Newell, to start their checks again, and to include all ports and airports – by ‘all’, I mean minor airfields and isolated ports around the coast, as well as the main entry and exit points, and to do so quickly.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll work with Gladys to find exactly who owns the house they were living in, and why they never seem to have paid any rent for it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I need to know more about that phone call from Donald, so I propose to light a fuse under GCHQ. They should have cracked it by now, and the two computer hard drives as well. There could be vital clues there that we are missing. Apart from anything else, that little boy plainly didn’t want to be taken to wherever he was being taken, so he is bound to be kicking up somewhere. Somebody might just notice, and report it. After all, it’s probably a criminal offence taking the boy like that; abduction or kidnapping or something. But wherever he is, he will probably want to come home, and I hope you realise what that means.”

  “What?”

  “It means you or Nick will have to take him on board, at least initially, as he seems not to have a home here anymore, and no father either since the Russians murdered him.”

  “That had not occurred to me, I must admit.”

  “It might be a good idea if you and Catherine gave it some thought. We will also need to work out how we get him home if he is abroad, as I suspect.”

  “You’re right. I suppose we’d better start thinking about that. If he is abroad and does need to be got home, the Embassy will need to get involved, and that means the Foreign Office. Anything else you will be wanting?”

  “I shall want to get on to MI6 Moscow station. We need to know what’s going on over there. For instance, what’s Mrs Makienko doing if anything, have they the slightest idea what’s happened to her husband, and have they, by the slightest chance, ever heard of the Wilkinsons.”

  “You’re going to be busy, but I’m impressed. You’re even more up to speed than I thought you were. Anything else?”

  “I need to talk to your Dusty Miller when he’s well enough, or even before he is, if I can.”

  “Nick saw him yesterday, and he mentioned that he had always had a nagging doubt about Barbara for some reason. Described her as ‘shifty’, so Nick said.

  “Sooner the better, then.”

  “Catherine and I are going to see him tomorrow, so I’ll find out what the score is.”

  “Why Catherine as well as you?”

  “Catherine was in the SAS and served with Dusty in Iraq, although I didn’t know that myself until quite recently.”

  Northcot shook his head.

  “It really is a small world in the military, isn’t it?”

  ***

  ‘S’ went back to the Ops Room, and Peter called in Gladys.

  “More turmoil,” he announced. “From now on, I sit here, Nick will
be in his usual office running the show, and you stay as the ham in the sandwich. The boss is taking root in the Ops Room until we can get things back to something like normal.”

  “Normal? What’s normal?”

  “When we’ve found what’s happened to Barbara and Mrs Wilkinson and Donald, then we can get back to normal. Not that I know what that really looks like either, since I’m the new boy here.”

  “Doing Barbara’s job isn’t normal for me either,” Gladys pointed out, “so we’re in this together.”

  “My immediate job is to trace the Wilkinsons.” said Northcot. “Tell me what you’ve found out about their house in Battersea. Who owns it and why haven’t they been paying rent for it?”

  “Don’t know about the rent, but I can tell you that the property is registered in the name of Kensington Property Management, based in Belgravia. But I’ve discovered they have several other subsidiary companies registered under their name, and the Battersea house is actually owned and managed by a company called Zenit Estates, based in Highgate.”

  “Good work. We need to run a check on Zenit, I think. I’ll get Clive Newell to organise that through his contacts at the Yard.”

  “He’s in the Ops Room. I’ll get him on the phone.”

  “Better than that. Get him up here if he can spare a few minutes.”

  “That’s a nuisance,” announced Gladys. “He drinks tea, and I’m better at coffee!”

  Peter told Clive that he had been put in charge of finding the Wilkinsons.

  “We’re on track in terms of solving the mystery of who owns the house they lived in, but still have no idea why they never appeared to pay rent. One can only guess. Meanwhile, we need to check out the property company who seems to be managing it. A firm called Zenit, based in Highgate. And we also desperately need to find their car. Until that is traced, we cannot begin to work out where they might be. Can you get your chums to renew their efforts to get on to those two issues as a matter of urgency? In terms of the car, we want every airport and sea port car park checked, including small airfields, and secluded harbours round the coast. That’s a bit manpower intensive, I know, but it has to be done, and smartly.”

  “I’ll get on to it right away,” promised Clive. “Has it occurred to you, by the way, that the property company is based in the same area as the Russian Consulate and Trade Delegation? Could be a coincidence, but you never know.”