The Enemy

by Desmond Bagley

'That will be enough,' said the Minister chillily. 'We will have no more of this. Are there any more questions for Mr. Jaggard? Questions that are both simple and relevant, please.' No one spoke, so he said, 'Very well, Mr. Jaggard. That will be all.'

  Ogilvie said in an undertone, 'Wait for me outside.'

  As I walked to the door Cregar was saying, 'Well, that's the end of the Ashton case-after thirty long years. He was a failure, of course; never did come up to expectations. I suggest we drop it and get on to something more productive. I think…'

  What Cregar thought was cut off by the door closing behind me.

  They came out of committee twenty minutes later. Ogilvie stuck his head into the anteroom. 'Let's have lunch,' he proposed. He didn't seem too depressed at what had happened, but he never did show much emotion.

  As we were walking along Whitehall he said, 'What do you think?'

  I summoned a hard-fought-for smile. 'I think Cregar doesn't like me.'

  'Did you hear what he said as you were leaving?'

  'Something about the Ashton case being over, wasn't it?'

  'Yes. Ashton is buried and that buries the Ashton case. He's wrong, you know.'

  'Why?'

  'Because from now on until everything is accounted for and wrapped up you are going to work full time on the Ashton case.' He paused, then said meditatively, 'I wonder what we'll find.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In view of what had been said at the meeting Ogilvie's decision came as a profound surprise. The worst possibility that had come to mind was that I would be fired; drummed out of the department after my special card had been put through the office shredding machine. The best that occurred to me was a downgrading or a sideways promotion. I had the idea that Ogilvie had not been entirely joking when he had spoken of the Hebrides. That he was carrying on with the Ashton case, and putting me in charge, gave me a jolt. I wondered how he was going to make it stick with the Minister.

  He told me. 'The Minister won't know a damned thing about it' He gave me a wintry smile. 'The advantage of organizations like ours is that we really are equipped to work in secret.'

  This conversation took place in the privacy of his office. He had refused to speak of the case at all after dropping his bombshell and the luncheon conversation had been innocuous. Back at the office he plunged into the heart of it.

  'What I am about to do is unethical and possibly mutinous,' he said. 'But, in this case, I think I'm justified.'

  'Why?' I asked directly. If I was going to be involved I wanted to know the true issues.

  'Because someone has done a conjuring trick. This department has been deceived and swindled. Who organized the deception is for you to find out-it may have been Ashton himself, for all we know. But I want to know who organized it, and why.'

  'Why pick me? As Cregar made plain, I've not done too well up to now.'

  Ogilvie raised his eyebrows. 'You think not? You've satisfied me, and I'm the only man who matters. There are several reasons why I've picked you. First, you're the totally unexpected choice. Secondly, you are still the inside man in the Ashton family. Thirdly, I have complete confidence in you.'

  I stood up and went to the window. A couple of pigeons were engaged in amorous play on the window ledge but flew away as I approached. I turned and said, 'I'm grateful for your thirdly, but not too happy about your secondly. As you know, I dropped into the middle of the Ashton case sheerly by chance and ever since then my private life has been intolerably disturbed. I have just harried a man to his death and you expect me to be persona grata with his daughters?'

  'Penelope Ashton doesn't know of your involvement. I made sure of that.'

  'That's not the point, and you know it,' I said sharply. 'You're too intelligent a man not to know what I mean. You're asking me to live a lie with the woman I want to marry-if she still wants to marry me, that is.'

  'I appreciate the difficulty,' said Ogilvie quietly. 'You mustn't think I don't. But…'

  'And don't ask me to do it for the good of the department,' I said. 'I hope I have higher loyalties than that.'

  Ogilvie quirked his eyebrows. 'Your country, perhaps?'

  'Even than that.'

  'So you believe with E. M. Forster that if you had to choose between betraying your country and betraying your friend you would hope to have the guts to betray your country. Is that it?'

  'I'm not aware that betraying my country comes into this,' I said stiffly.

  'Oh, I don't know,' said Ogilvie musingly. 'Betrayal takes many forms. Inaction can be as much betrayal as action, especially for a man who has chosen your work of his own will. If you see a man walking on a bridge which you know to be unsafe, and you do not warn him so that he falls to his death, you are guilty in law of culpable homicide. So with betrayal.'

  'Those are mere words,' I said coolly. 'You talk about betrayal of the country when all I see is an interdepartmental squabble in which your amour propre has been dented. You loathe Cregar as much as he loathes you.'

  Ogilvie looked up. 'How does Cregar come into this? Do you know something definite?'

  'He's been trying to poke his nose in, hasn't he? Right from the beginning.'

  'Oh, is that all,' said Ogilvie tiredly. 'It's just the nature of the beast. He's a natural scorer of points; it feeds his enormous ego. I wouldn't jump to conclusions about Cregar.' He stood up and faced me. 'But I really am sorry about your opinion of me. I thought I deserved better than that.'

  'Oh, Christ!' I said. 'I'm sorry; I didn't really mean that. It's just that this thing with Penny has me all mixed up. The thought of talking to her-lying to her-makes me cringe inside.'

  'Unfortunately it goes with the job. We're liars by profession, you and I. We say to the world we work for McCulloch and Ross, economic and industrial consultants, and that's a lie. Do you think my wife and daughters really know what I do? I lie to them every minute of every day merely by existing. At least Penny Ashton knows what you are.'

  'Not all of it,' I said bitterly.

  'You're not to blame for Ashton's death.'

  I raised my voice. 'No? I drove him to it.'

  'But you didn't kill him. Who did?'

  'Benson did, damn it!'

  Ogilvie raised his voice to a shout. 'Then find out why, for God's sake! Don't do it for me, or even for yourself. All her life that girl of yours has been living in the same house as the man who eventually murdered her father. Find out why he did it-you might even be doing it for her sake.'

  We both stopped short suddenly and there was silence in the room. I said quietly, 'You might have made your point-at last.'

  He sat down. 'You're a hard man to convince. You mean I've done it?'

  'I suppose so.'

  He sighed. 'Then sit down and listen to me.' I obliged him, and he said, 'You're going to be in disgrace for a while. Everybody will expect that, including the Minister. Some sort of downgrading is indicated, so I'm going to make you a courier. That gives you freedom of action to move around in this country, and even out of it.' He smiled. 'But I'd hesitate about going back to Sweden.'

  So would I. Captain Morelius would become positively voluble, even to the extent of speaking three consecutive sentences. And I knew what he'd say.

  'We've been making quite a noise in here,' said Ogilvie. 'Had a real shouting match. Well, that will add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative. There's one thing about being in an organization of spies-news gets around fast. You may expect some comments from your colleagues; can you stand that?'

  I shrugged. 'I've never worried much about what people think of me.'

  'Yes,' he agreed. 'Cregar discovered that when he first met you. All right; you'll have complete autonomy on this job. You'll do it in the way you want to do it, but it will be a solo operation; you'll have all the assistance I can give you short of men. You'll report your results to me and to no one else. And I do expect results.'

  He opened a drawer and took out a slim file. 'Now, as for
Penny Ashton, I laid some groundwork which will possibly help you. As far as she knows you have been in America for the past few weeks. I hope you didn't write from Sweden.'

  'I didn't.'

  'Good. She has been tactfully informed that you have been away on some mysterious job that has debarred you from writing to her. Knowing what she thinks she knows about your work it should seem feasible to her. However, you were informed of her father's death through the department, and you sent this cable.'

  He passed the slip of paper across the desk. It was a genuine Western Union carbon copy emanating from Los Angeles. The content was trite and conventional, but it would have to do.

  Ogilvie said, 'You also arranged for wreaths at the funeral through a Los Angeles flower shop and Interflora. The receipt from the flower shop is in this file together with other bits and pieces which a man might expect to pick up on a visit and still retain. There are theatre ticket stubs for current shows in Los Angeles, some small denomination American bills, book matches from hotels, and so on. Empty your pockets.'

  The request took me by surprise and I hesitated. 'Come now,' he said. 'Dump everything on the desk.'

  I stripped my pockets. As I took out my wallet Ogilvie delved in the small change I had produced. 'You see,' he said in triumph, and held up a coin. 'A Swedish crown mixed with your English money. It could have been a dead giveaway. I'll bet you have a couple of Swedish items in your wallet. Get rid of them.'

  He was right. There was a duplicate bar bill from the Grand which had yet to be transferred to my expense account, and a list of pound-kroner exchange rates made when I was trying to keep up with the vagaries of the falling pound sterling. I exchanged them for the Americana, and said, 'You were sure of me, after all.'

  'Pretty sure,' he said dryly. 'You got back from the States yesterday. Here is your air ticket-you can leave it lying around conspicuously somewhere. Penny Ashton, to the best of my knowledge, is coming back from Scotland tomorrow. You didn't buy any Swedish clothing?'

  'No.'

  'There are a couple of shirts and some socks in that small case over there. Also some packets of cigarettes. All genuine American. Now, leave here, go back to your office and mope disconsolately. You've just been through the meat grinder and you can still feel the teeth. I expect Harrison will want to see you in about half an hour. Don't try to score any points off him; let him have his little triumph. Remember you're a beaten man, Malcolm-and good luck.'

  So I went back to the office and slumped behind my desk.

  Larry rustled his paper and avoided my eyes, but presently he said, 'I hear you were with the top brass all morning.'

  'Yes,' I said shortly.

  'Was Cregar there?'

  'Yes.'

  'Bad?'

  'You'll know all about it soon,' I said gloomily. 'I don't think I'll be around here much longer.'

  'Oh.' Larry fell silent for a while, then he turned a page and said, 'I'm sorry, Malcolm. It wasn't your fault.'

  'Somebody has to get the axe.'

  'Mmm. No, what I meant is I'm sorry about you and Penny. It's going to be difficult.'

  I smiled at him. 'Thanks, Larry. You're right, but I think I'll make out.'

  Ogilvie was right in his prediction. Within the hour Harrison rang and told me to report to his office. I went in trying to appear subdued and for once did not address him as Joe, neither did I sit down.

  He kept me standing. 'I understand from Mr. Ogilvie that you are leaving this section.'

  'I understand so, too.'

  'You are to report to Mr. Kerr tomorrow.' His eyes glinted with ill-suppressed joy. He had always thought me too big for my britches and now I was demoted to messenger-boy-thus are the mighty fallen. 'This is really very difficult, you know,' he said fretfully. 'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to clean out your desk before you leave today. There'll be another man coming in, of course.'

  'Of course,' I said colourlessly. 'I'll do that.'

  'Right,' he said, and paused. I thought for a moment he was going to give me a homily on the subject of mending my ways, but all he said was, 'You may leave, Jaggard.'

  I went and cleared out my desk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I trotted in to see Kerr next morning. He was one of several Section heads, but his Section was the only one to make a financial profit because, among other things, it ran the legitimate side of McCulloch and Ross, the bit the public knew about. It made a good profit, too, and so it ought; if it made a loss with all the professional expertise of the other sections behind it then Kerr ought to have been fired. Under Kerr also came several other miscellaneous bits and pieces including the couriers-the messenger-boys.

  He seemed somewhat at a loss as to how to deal with me. 'Ah, yes-Jaggard. I think I have something here for you.' He handed me a large, thick envelope, heavily sealed. 'I'm told you know where to deliver that. It appears that… er… delivery may take some time, so you may be absent for a period.'

  'That's so.'

  'I see,' he said blankly. 'Will you be needing desk space-an office?'

  'No, I don't think so.'

  'I'm glad. We're tight for space.' He smiled. 'Glad to have you… er… with us,' he said uncertainly. I don't know what Ogilvie had told him but evidently he was baffled by my precise status.

  In my car I opened the envelope and found?1000 in used fivers. That was thoughtful of Ogilvie but, after all, I could hardly claim expenses in the normal way on this operation. I put the money in the special locker built under the front passenger seat and drove to the police station in Marlow where I asked for Honnister. He came out front to meet me. 'You haven't been around for a while,' he said, almost accusingly. 'I've been trying to get you.'

  'I've been in the States for a few weeks. What did you want me for?'

  'Oh, just a chat,' he said vaguely. 'You must have been away when Ashton and Benson were killed in Sweden.'

  'Yes, but I was told of it.'

  'Funny thing, Ashton going away like that.' There was a glint in his eye. 'And then getting messily killed. Makes a man wonder.'

  I took out a packet of cigarettes and offered it. 'Wonder what?'

  'Well, a man like Ashton makes his pile by working hard and then, when he's still not too old to enjoy it, he suddenly gets dead.' He looked at the packet in my hand. 'No, I don't like American coffin nails. They take good Virginia tobacco, mix it with Turkish, then roast it and toast it and ultraviolet-ray it until it tastes like nothing on God's earth.'

  I shrugged. 'Everybody dies. And you can't take it with you, although they tell me Howard Hughes tried.'

  'Seen Penelope Ashton?'

  'Not yet.' I lit a cigarette although I didn't like them, either. 'I'll be going to the house. I hear she's expected back today. If she's not there I'll see Gillian anyway.'

  'And she'll see you,' said Honnister. 'But only barely. I had a talk with Crammond. He tells me Mayberry hasn't been brought to trial, and it's not likely that he will. He's unfit to plead.'

  'Yes, I know about that.'

  Honnister eyed the desk sergeant and then pushed himself upright from the counter. 'Let's have a noggin,' he proposed. I agreed quickly because it meant he wanted to talk confidentially and I was short of information. On the way to the pub he said, 'You didn't come to chat for old times' sake. What are you after?'

  I said, 'When we started investigating we concentrated on Ashton and didn't look too closely at Benson, although at one point it did cross my mind that he might have chucked the acid.'

  'Not the act of an old family servant.'

  Neither was drilling his master full of holes-but I didn't say that aloud. 'Did you check on him?'

  We turned into the Coach and Horses. 'A bit; enough to put him in the clear.' Honnister addressed the landlord. 'Hi, Monte; a large scotch and a pint of Director's.'

  'My shout,' I said.

  'It's okay-I'm on an expense account.'

  I smiled. 'So am I.' I paid for the drinks and we took them
to a table. It happened to be the same table at which I'd proposed marriage to Penny; it seemed a lifetime ago. It was early, just before midday, and the pub was quiet. I said, 'I've developed an interest in Benson.'

  Honnister sank his nose into his beer. When he came up for air he said, 'There's been something funny going on in the Ashton family. This will have to be tit-for-tat, you know.'

  'I'll tell you as much as I'm allowed to.'

  He grunted. 'A fat lot of good that'll do me.' He held up his hand. 'All right, I know your lips are sealed and all that bull, and that I'm just a bumbling country copper who doesn't know which end is up-but tell me one thing: was Ashton kidnapped?'

  I smiled at Honnister's description of himself which was a downright lie. 'No, he went under his own steam. He specifically asked that the police not be involved.'

  'So he thought we might be. That's interesting in itself. And Benson went with him. What do you want to know about him?'

  'Anything you can tell me that I don't know already. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel.'

  'Bachelor-never married. Worked for Ashton since the dark ages-butler, valet, handyman, chauffeur-you name it. Age at death, sixty-four, if you can believe The Times.'

  'Any family-brothers or sisters?'

  'No family at all.' Honnister grinned at me. 'As soon as I saw that bit in The Times I got busy. The itch in my bump of curiosity was driving me mad. Benson had a bit of money, about fifteen thousand quid, which he left to Dr. Barnardo's Homes for Boys.'

  'Anything else?' I asked, feeling depressed.

  'Ever been in a war?' asked Honnister unexpectedly.

  'No.'

  'Seen any deaths by violence?'

  'A few.'

  'So have I, in my professional capacity. I've also seen the results of bombs and shellfire. It was a bit difficult to tell after a pathologist had been at them but I'd say Ashton had been shot in the back twice, and Benson shot through the head from the front. Caught in a shell blast, my arse!'

  'You've seen the bodies!'

  'I made it my business to-unofficially, of course. I went to the mortuary here. I told you my bump of curiosity was itching.'