Shadows of the Dead

by Jim Eldridge

  The lobby at the Houses of Parliament was filled with people, mostly men – a mixture of political lobbyists, assistants and private secretaries, and journalists. Stark wondered if there was anyone from the Daily Target. He couldn’t see Harry Turner, but then politics wasn’t really Turner’s area – at least, not serious politics. Muck-raking politics and gossip and innuendo, certainly, but the root for Turner’s kind of stories was usually to be found elsewhere: servants, bar owners, shopkeepers. The same sort of people Charlie Peters used to get his information.

  Stark took his place among the throng and waited, his eyes on the door to the Commons. It was another hour before Churchill appeared. Fortunately, he was alone, and he looked angry. He must have lost a vote, decided Stark. If he’d won, he’d have a smile of triumph and be surrounded by sycophants. Stark moved to intercept him. ‘Mr Churchill.’

  Churchill scowled. ‘Sorry, Stark, I’m busy right now. Another time.’

  He went to brush past, but Stark leaned in and whispered, ‘Hitler’s here.’

  Churchill stopped and stared at Stark, stunned. ‘What do you mean? Here? Where?’ He began to look around, as if expecting to see Hitler in the lobby. Then he grabbed Stark by the sleeve and pulled him urgently towards a door. Stark saw that it was the door to the gentlemen’s toilets.

  Churchill pushed Stark in, then turned on him. ‘If this is a joke …’ he said angrily.

  ‘It’s no joke,’ said Stark. ‘And may I suggest that we talk in a more secure place?’

  Churchill grabbed a wooden chair from near the door, obviously for the attendant, and jammed it under the door handle. ‘There!’ he said. He went to the cubicles and checked them all, pushing at the doors. They were all empty.

  Churchill returned to Stark and demanded, ‘Where is he? Are you sure it’s Hitler?’

  ‘Very,’ Stark told him. ‘He’s being kept under wraps at Lord Glenavon’s house, Red Tops.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Stark told him the whole story – the kidnapping of Amelia, and the threats from Glenavon and Cavendish.

  ‘Now I know why he warned me off for three days,’ finished Stark. ‘Because tomorrow evening Glenavon’s hosting a private dinner at Red Tops, with Hitler and the Prince of Wales as his guests. Officially, the Prince thinks he’s going there to talk about films …’

  ‘An alliance! That’s what they’re after!’ burst out Churchill. ‘Setting up some kind of Anglo-German alliance between Hitler and our future King. Well, we’ll scupper that! I’ll send in police to arrest Hitler. You can take charge of that, Stark.’

  ‘I can’t, sir. That’s the problem.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t! The man’s barred from entering this country! He’s here illegally! What better chance to get him and put him away!’

  Stark explained again the problems with supporters of Glenavon within the police. ‘They’ll alert him as soon as there’s any kind of action drawn up. By the time the police arrive, Hitler will be long gone and Lady Amelia will be dead.’

  Churchill stared at Stark. ‘But this is ridiculous! We have this man within our grasp!’

  ‘And I will get him, sir. But we can’t do it officially. We can’t trust the police.’

  Churchill sank down heavily on to a chair. ‘David is being used, of course.’

  At first, Stark wondered who this David was, and then remembered that the Prince was known by that name in the royal family’s inner circle, which would include Churchill.

  ‘We have to stop this meeting taking place. David is a good man, Stark, but he’s naïve. There’s no doubt he’s quite taken with the idea of this moving picture business – hence his eagerness to accept the invitation.’ He shook his head. ‘Like a moth to a flame. Even the wisest can be duped by the bright lights. The danger is what might come from any meeting with Hitler. Even getting them talking together in a friendly way …’ He looked at Stark. ‘Tomorrow evening, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I shall see the King today and suggest that he discourages David from going to this dinner at Glenavon’s. A little sickness or something.’

  ‘It won’t solve the issue of the threat to Lady Amelia, sir. Nor the fact that the Prince might defy his father and go to the dinner anyway.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’

  ‘I intend to break into Red Tops tonight and rescue Lady Amelia, and at the same time arrest Cavendish and Hitler. The trouble is, to gain entry I’ll be operating outside the law.’

  ‘Do you have support?’

  ‘Sergeant Danvers and Special Agent Noble from the American Bureau.’

  ‘And that’s it? Just three of you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They’re the only ones I can trust.’

  Churchill shook his head. ‘You won’t stand a chance. I know about Glenavon and his security. You’d be amateurs against professionals, and you’d be dead even before you’d got into the house.’ He sat for a moment in thought, then said, ‘I may have an answer. There is a group of soldiers who undertake’ – he hesitated momentarily – ‘certain missions on behalf of the government. Unofficially, of course. I can alert them.’

  ‘Will they be able to act at such short notice?’

  ‘They are always standing by.’

  A wave of relief swept over Stark. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Let’s leave the thanks until we’ve got that bastard Hitler in custody and Lady Amelia to safety.’

  They became aware of a rattling of the door handle, followed by a fist knocking urgently at the door. ‘Who’s in there?’ demanded an angry Welsh voice. ‘Open this bloody door!’

  Churchill took the chair from beneath the door handle. The door swung open and the stocky figure of David Lloyd George stumbled in.

  ‘Small problem with the lock, Prime Minister,’ said Churchill.

  He left, followed by Stark. Lloyd George glared after them before hurrying to one of the cubicles.

  Churchill chuckled. ‘I bet that’ll set some tongues wagging!’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Stark telephoned Danvers and Noble.

  ‘Nelson. One hour,’ he said.

  As codes went, it wasn’t the most brilliant, but he hoped the disinformation Sergeant Danvers and Agent Noble had spread would have meant their enemies were less bothered about keeping a close watch on them.

  They met at the foot of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square and walked the short distance to the Colonial Office. ‘Safest place, since we don’t know whom we can trust,’ Churchill had told Stark.

  Five men were waiting for them in a small basement room. Handshakes were exchanged and introductions made: Fred, Barney, Joe, Pete and Eric. No surnames were offered. No uniforms were in evidence; the five men were dressed casually: jacket, trousers and pullovers against the winter weather.

  The five men, along with Danvers and Noble, took their seats. Stark pinned Charlie Peters’ rough plan of Red Tops on a blackboard.

  ‘Just in case the situation hasn’t been explained to you, Lady Amelia Fairfax has been kidnapped and is being held prisoner in Red Tops, the home of Lord Glenavon. Also currently at the house is an American called Edgar Cavendish and a German known as Adolf Hitler.’

  He looked towards the five men for any sign of interest or curiosity, but they remained impassive, although he caught a couple of them shooting inquisitive looks towards Fred. So, Fred is their leader, realized Stark.

  ‘Adolf Hitler is here illegally. Cavendish was involved in the double murder of Lord Fairfax and a special agent with the American Bureau of Investigation, Carl Adams. We suspect that Lord Glenavon and this man, Cavendish, along with Hitler, are involved in a treasonable conspiracy against this country. The problem is, while they are holding Lady Amelia hostage, we can’t move against them in an official capacity. This is therefore an unofficial action which offers no protection to any of us if we are caught. I think it’s only fair to let you know that.’

  Again, he waited, but the
five men remained as impassive as ever. They’ve been briefed by Churchill. They know what they’ve let themselves in for.

  ‘Our task is to get into Red Tops tonight, under cover of darkness, rescue Lady Amelia and arrest Cavendish and Hitler.’

  He turned to the plan of Red Tops he’d pinned to the blackboard. ‘It seems that Lord Glenavon has turned his house into a fortress. There’s a high brick wall that runs all the way around the perimeter, with open ground from that wall to the house and outbuildings. There are two double gates: one at the front for visitors, one at the back for trade deliveries, both at the ends of long drives. Although both these entrances are usually accessible, at this moment they are kept securely shut and only opened by a guard on duty if the people coming in have been authorized. There is a smaller side gate into the grounds that leads into a walled orchard, which is kept locked.’

  ‘How high is the wall that runs round the place?’ asked Barney.

  ‘Ten feet,’ said Stark. ‘Another issue is that there are four armed guards who patrol the grounds at night. They’d spot anyone coming over the wall.’

  ‘OK. As you say, it’s a fortress,’ grunted Joe.

  ‘We could blow the gates and storm in all guns blazing,’ suggested Barney.

  ‘A full-frontal attack could get us shot down before we get to the house, and put the hostage at risk,’ said Fred, speaking for the first time.

  ‘So, how do we get in?’ asked Pete.

  ‘A Trojan horse,’ said Stark. ‘There’s a grand dinner taking place at the house tomorrow night and deliveries are being made for it today and tomorrow. Fresh food, table linen – all that sort of stuff. My contact has found a coalman who’s not fond of Lord Glenavon – apparently, Glenavon cheated him over a bill. He’s scheduled to make a delivery to Red Tops early this evening. I’ve arranged for him to take me and Sergeant Danvers in.’

  ‘And he’s doing this just because Glenavon cheated him?’ queried Joe suspiciously.

  ‘Plus payment for services rendered,’ added Stark. ‘There’s a storage loft above the coal shed. We’ll hide ourselves in there until it gets dark, and then make our way through the orchard to the side gate and let the rest of you in. The orchard should give us the cover we need to get back to the house. Lady Amelia is being kept prisoner in a bedroom on the first floor, here.’ Stark marked a cross on the plan of the house. ‘We don’t know where the men will be. My suggestion would be to make our assault at dinner time, when they should be together in the dining room – here.’ Again, he marked an X on a downstairs room in the plan.

  He turned to look at the men. ‘Any questions?’

  Fred raised his hand. ‘Excuse me, sir. Could you and I have a private word?’

  Here it comes, thought Stark, the old soldier with his objections. From the lack of surprise or curiosity on the faces of the other men, they were expecting this.

  ‘Of course,’ said Stark. ‘Please excuse us for a moment, gentlemen.’

  He and Fred left the room.

  ‘You don’t like the plan,’ said Stark.

  ‘I think it’s a good plan,’ said Fred.

  ‘But?’ queried Stark.

  ‘But … it should be two of our lot who go in with the coal lorry.’

  ‘I understand your concerns, but let me reassure you that I have had military experience.’

  ‘I know, sir. Mr Churchill told us. Four years in the trenches. Made captain. The DSM. But with respect, sir, the war ended three years ago. Since then, you’ve been a civilian. And your sergeant’s definitely a civilian.’

  ‘Sergeant Danvers—’

  ‘Is very brave. I know, sir. As are you. I’m not questioning your courage or your ability. Mr Churchill told us about that business with the King. But it doesn’t alter the fact that the men guarding this house are no respecters of the law. If you’re caught, it won’t be a matter of “Put your hands up”; it’ll be shoot first and ask questions afterwards. The fact is, sir, this is what me and the boys do as our regular job. If you and your sergeant get clobbered before you can let us in, the whole thing falls apart.’

  ‘I respect your opinion, but I will make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Good intentions are all very well, sir, but you know from your experience during the war that they’re not a guarantee. There’s more chance of this working if the right people are doing the jobs they were trained for. And the bottom line is, Mr Churchill has tasked me with keeping you alive during this operation. I can’t do that if you’re locked inside and we’re stuck outside.’

  Stark weighed up Fred’s words. Everything he said made sense, but with Amelia in danger, he wanted to be in the house rescuing her, not coming in later as a glorified observer.

  ‘Would a compromise be acceptable?’ he asked. ‘I will go in with one of your men.’ Before Fred could object, he added quickly, ‘Lady Amelia knows me. If we get a chance to get to her before the action starts, which we need to do if she’s to be safe, I can get her out without long explanations. That won’t be the case with one of your men.’

  Fred thought about it, then nodded. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘In that case, shall we return and tell the rest?’

  ‘In a moment, sir.’ Fred opened the briefcase he was carrying and handed a sheaf of papers to Stark. They included architect’s plans of Red Tops, and photographs of Amelia, Hitler, Glenavon and Cavendish.

  ‘The plans you showed us are useful, but Mr Churchill thought these might help.’

  Stark looked at him, concerned. ‘That depends on who else knows he’s got them,’ he said. ‘Our enemies have contacts everywhere.’

  ‘You don’t want to worry about that, sir. I’ve known Mr Churchill a long time. He’s shrewd. The pictures are from newspapers.’

  ‘The plans?’

  ‘From the planning office. But he didn’t just ask for these. He asked for the plans for every house in the area, and a few other areas as well.’ He grinned. ‘Like I said, he’s a clever operator.’

  ‘Who’ll be going in with me? You?’ asked Stark.

  ‘I was thinking of Eric, sir. He’s the best at sneaking through the grounds of houses.’

  Stark studied the plans a bit longer, then said, ‘According to these, there’s an internal door between the coal store and the kitchen.’

  ‘Save the cook from having to go outside in bad weather to get coal for the stove,’ nodded Fred.

  ‘If so, it’s the perfect way into the house. And it might help us get Lady Amelia away from any shooting. At the same time as Eric goes to open the gate, I’ll go through that door into the house. As I said before, if we make it when they’re having dinner, I should be able to get to the room where she’s being held without bumping into any of them. And by then the cook should have finished in the kitchen.’ He frowned. ‘Of course, that depends if that door’s unlocked.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, sir. Eric will deal with it. That’s one of his specialities.’

  ‘Let me guess – a former burglar?’ asked Stark, amused.

  ‘He has a talent.’

  Stark rolled up the plans. ‘We’ll share these, and the revised plan, with the others. Thank you, Fred.’

  As he headed for the other room, Fred stopped him, wary. ‘One thing, sir. Being from North London, you’re not an Arsenal fan, are you?’

  Stark looked at him, surprised by the question. ‘No, I’m not a follower of any particular football club. Why?’

  ‘Well, Eric’s a devoted fan of Spurs. Tottenham Hotspur. And like many Spurs fans, he’s never forgiven Arsenal from moving to Highbury from Woolwich. Invading Spurs’ home territory, he says. It’s something he feels very strongly about.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  They travelled from the Ministry in two cars: Stark, Danvers and Noble in one with Fred at the wheel.

  ‘I assume you’re all armed,’ said Fred.

  Noble produced a revolver. ‘The Colt 45. Still the most reliable ever made.’

&
nbsp; ‘I borrowed one from my father’s collection,’ said Danvers, patting his inside pocket.

  Noble looked enquiringly at Stark, who shook his head. ‘I had enough of guns during the four years of the war to last me a lifetime,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all very well, sir, but the people we’re up against will be armed to the teeth,’ Fred pointed out.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Noble. ‘What are you gonna do? Throw rocks at them?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ said Stark.

  Noble shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘So long as I don’t have to depend on you to cover my back.’

  Stark wanted to say, We’re not going in there to kill them, we’re going to arrest them. But then he’d end up in a long debate about guns, and why British police didn’t carry them, whereas the American police force did. From his experiences during the war, many had died from what some joker had called ‘friendly fire’, accidentally shot by their own side. But he also admitted to himself that Noble was right: a man without a gun was at an unfair disadvantage when faced with a man holding one. And when it was life and death …

  He shrugged the clash of thoughts aside. His job was to get to Amelia while the others took care of the armed guards.

  It was turning dusk when they arrived at the coal merchant’s at Parliament Hill Fields.

  ‘Four o’clock,’ said Fred. ‘You gonna be all right sitting in the coal hole for four hours?’

  ‘I sat for a lot longer than that in my time in the trenches,’ said Stark.

  Fred nodded. ‘Yes, of course, sir. Anyway, you’ll have Eric for company.’

  The coal merchant, Walter Bird, was a sour-looking man. He looked at Stark and Eric as they entered his office, then shot a glance at the two cars parked in his yard.

  ‘Charlie says you’re a copper,’ he said. ‘So it’s proper.’

  ‘It’s proper, but undercover,’ said Stark.

  ‘I hope you take that bastard Glenavon down!’ Bird spat. ‘He done me! I did a delivery he claimed was short. I’ve never done a short delivery in my life! He offered to pay me a quarter of it! A quarter! Ha!’ He spat again. ‘It’s made me sick to my stomach every time I’ve had to make a delivery to him ever since. I wanted to sue him, but I wouldn’t have won. And he’d have put me out of business. He had me over a barrel!’ He scowled. ‘Bastard!’