‘Well Jack,’ he again continued, ‘I think this has been an education for you, so in future, you’ll want to be careful where you stick it!’ I truly felt like a prize fool but I knew he was right.
‘I want to go home now,’ I told him. ‘I’ve had enough surprises for one day.’ Commander Bennit led us all back to the office entrance. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I think you have played your part well. We will sort out the formalities and get back in touch when and as we need to. Don’t lose your holdall,’ he smirked. I muttered a reply of sorts ready to leave the claustrophobic fortress.
Marion led me outside into the concrete corridor. A black taxi with the grinning face of two chins at the wheel was waiting for me. ‘Hop in Sir,’ he said chirpily. ‘It’s Brunswick Place isn’t it?’ I nodded with almost a grunt reply. ‘Yeah,’ I answered.
There was no sign of the 159 bus. They had obviously taken the bodies away to a mortuary and Pandres would be getting grilled by MI5 in some secret location, I assumed. I gave a nod to Marion as the cab drove away down the concrete driveway. The big oppressive iron doors opened as the guards let us out into the street. It was a great relief to get away from that place.
I felt a numbness sitting there in the cab knowing that the driver was watching me in his mirror. No conversation took place. All the events of the past few hours were alien to my way of life. It was the sort of stuff you would see in a film. Mi5 had done a good job of blackmailing me into doing what I did for them. Yet, when I looked down at the holdall with £50.000 in it, I guess it was an offer I could not refuse. The alternative was a refusal that would have landed me in jail for some long years with my life in ruins. Now I had a new lease of life and after Pandres trial was over, I could start afresh back to writing books full time. My journey passed unnoticed with all those thoughts going through my mind. Two chins the driver was telling me we had arrived at Brunswick Place. It was now 2 o’clock in the morning as I alighted into the cold night air.
18
Back inside my house I made for the scotch bottle to pour myself a large one. A wave of relief flooded through me as it felt good to be home and away from the dark world of espionage, murder and madness. Again I got to thinking if I could ever be sure MI5 would ever use me again. After all, I had signed the OSA (official secrets act) and there was dam all I could do about it. I sipped at the Scotch whisky reflecting on Commander Bennit’s words, ‘You will forget all about it in time,’ he had said. But Would I? Everyone has to deal with things in their own way, I concluded, as I finished the last drop. A visit to the bathroom and then to bed was all I wanted now and that’s exactly what I did. The events of yesterday were fading into the darkness as the scotch helped fade away my unwanted memories as I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, a cloudy grey sky greeted my eyes as I looked out of my window. It was the last day of March and the rain came with it as the laughing of mouse’s alarm rang in my ears. I let him carry on knowing that if I closed my eyes I would miss the opening time of the bank. I wanted to deposit the money quickly. Altogether, I was now £150.000 better off and I could never have foreseen a simple ‘steal to order’ proposition would turn out the way it did. Three dead terrorists and the capture of two others now seemed ample justification to salvage my conscience for earning the money.
As usual, I went through my shower routine giving brisk attention to my hands and nails. Perhaps it was a psychological thing to clean away all the taint of the past few days and still lurking at the back of my mind. The coffee and toast were now cold by the time I got to it. Nevertheless, I lined my tummy in preparation for a good meal later on as I hadn’t eaten for two days. Now I was ready for a visit to the paper shop and the bank. There was no mail in the post box as I closed the door behind me.
It was raining heavy as I made my way to the car. I noticed the face of my neighbour Mrs Breen peeping from behind her curtains. The rain was a good excuse for her to do so and there were a lot of curtain twitchers where I lived who all belonged to a gossip club. I bet she even saw MI5 bugging my car, I thought. However, a nosey neighbour was good value, especially if you had nothing to hide. Now I was a retired thief again, wasn’t I, so I gave her a friendly wave even though she stood like a ghost staring at me. Some people are like that, I thought.
My old sierra car fired into life as I automatically sniffed the inside half expecting to sniff the perfume of Inspector Marsh but instead was a faint whiff of Louise L’air du Temp mixed with a pot purée of scents from the flowers I had given her. It was much nicer to remember her than Aisha, I thought. Now I felt a little shiver run through me thinking how lucky I was that MI5 was a few smart jumps ahead of me. The rain chucked down heavy as I pulled up and rushed in for the paper.
The headlines of the Evening Standard said it all. IRANIAN TERRORISTS KILLED IN BUS HIJACK. I then read the write up as follows; Three Iranian terrorists were shot dead and one other arrested when they threatened to blow up almost thirty passengers if the Uk government did not hand over Sadiq Marsula known as the ‘mad mullah’. Marsula was sentenced to thirty years jail for bombing the House of Commons where 27 members of parliament were injured in December 1995. It is believed that all the three terrorists were suicide bombers. The elite SAS unit took just under 5 minutes to disengage the two men and one woman and release the passengers on the bus etc.’
I read the article in amazement. It was obviously written and designed for public consumption. Any story would do as long as it sounded plausible. No member of the public was going to argue with that. It was not good for the British people to know how close they came to being annihilated by poison through their water supply systems. It would create panic and hysteria and possibly give other religious fanatics the same idea. So the government knew what it was doing in providing its news report like that and I could not disagree with it. But at least I was privy to the truth.
My journey to the bank was made in good time. An opportune parking space allowed me to be second in the queue and out again before the third customer was finished. It was quick work at the other two banks that I divided the money into. By 10.30am I was on my way home. I knew what I was going to do for the rest of the day as there were a lot of new ideas I could work into my novel. It was a good way to unwind after the past few days of stress.
Like always when absorbed in writing, the plot got more intriguing as the hours rolled by. I had reached the part where the fugitive myself, was on the run. Sally Larson, an undercover police woman was after me for a murder I did not commit. Not unlike Aisha, she had shared my bed and wormed her way into my confidence. By chance, I had discovered who she was and had to go on the run until I could prove my innocence. It was getting harder to hide as a reward was offered for my capture and my wanted picture was everywhere. Now I had to do my own police work to track down the real killer who had assumed my identity. It was not easy as I came up against walls of silence. But hope was beginning to blossom as money changed hands and gained me the clues I was looking for.
Satisfied with the pages into chapter 12, my stomach was now protesting against its neglect. The carriage clock had just chimed seven bells and my fingers were sore from all the typing. As I looked out my window I could see a tourist boats cabins all lit up to reveal some evening revellers on a wine and dine trip which gave me an idea. I called for a cab to take me to Tower Hill river boats. Ten minutes later I was on my way there to make the 8 o’clock trip wearing a warm overcoat.
It was a cold evening but I didn’t care. I had a need to get away from my house for a few hours so a few miles round trip to Hampton Court and back seemed just the ticket. Some drinks and a platter of sea food were going down well as I listened to the waves lapping at the sides of the boat and the tourist guide was giving his usual talk.
My thoughts were a world away as the tourist cameras clicked at anything with a flag or statue in passing and various dialects in French, German, Japanese and American animated their excitement.
I got to thinking
about Pandres trial. Would I have to give evidence and be cross examined? Who would come to watch? When would it be? I had an aversion to court rooms with the entire theatrical goings on in them with stupid wigs and black gowns. Surely it was really just a theatre where everyone was an actor playing their part. But wasn’t the world a stage and we all had a part to play, willing or unwilling? Are we all victims in one way or another? Such thoughts came and went then I got thinking about my novel as it was almost finished. Would the publisher accept it? I told them it would be ready for submission by end of April. Now the beginning of the month had arrived. My experiences with MI5 had given me some ideas to merge into my story and my looking down at the water reminded me how time was passing by.
The night wind blew around my ears as I let my thoughts drift along with the boat. An hour and a half had gone by as we made our way back to the Tower Hill return station. There was a taxi available which I took back home. It had been a pleasant evening for a change and I felt I should do it again, perhaps next time with Susan, Sharon or Louise. There was something about the water which was soothing while hearing the ebb and flow of the waves. But maybe my thoughts were still subconsciously connected to the British water supply systems?
Back home, I made it my objective to spend the next few weeks finishing my novel and getting things done which had been neglected because of the current events. So it was those thoughts which took me to sleep and awoke me the next morning. It became my daily routine over the next three weeks to type and sleep, type and sleep.
Now it was approaching the end of April and I was putting the finishing touches to my story at 9.pm when the phone rang. It was Inspector Marsh. ‘A taxi is calling for you at 9.30am tomorrow morning. It’s trial time. Have you got your head ready for it?’ Yes, I told her, I was all prepared. So this was it. The day of reckoning for Pandres and Aisha and I would have to relive it all again at their trial. For sure they would refuse to make any guilty pleas. But I could only tell it as it happened. No doubt the news reporters would have a field day reporting the trial.
19
That night, my anxieties were triggered by thoughts of the coming day’s trial. Sleep did not come easy as I tossed and turned the night away. Morning came soon enough and I was feeling so angry with mouse’s unwelcome laugh that I thumped him into silence at two minutes past seven. It would have been easy to fall back to sleep, but no it was a case of ‘needs must when the devil drives’ and for sure today, he was driving me with a vengeance. When my feet touched the floor, I automatically went through my morning rituals. One hour later I had breakfast finished and was walking out to the paper shop. TRIAL OF TERRORISTS STARTS TODAY AT OLD BAILY, read the headlines. There was plenty to read when I arrived back home and it would be on radio and TV so it was sure to get maximum coverage. I just hoped my picture would not be in the papers or seen in any news media.
My post box chirped me up a bit as there were letters from my publishers and Sharon. Both were expecting a call from me. I made a note to do that after the start of the trial today. Right now my head was full of the Old Baily.
It remained that way until my door bell sounded at 9.30am. My thoughts had been percolating with anxieties of going into the witness box even though I knew the whole trial was going to be a process of judicial formality. Pandres and Aisha had no chance of walking out of court as free people. It would be a theatrical performance with prosecutor and defence counsel vying to present the crowns point of view and a defence left wanting to justify its clients activities yet both knowing there would only be one verdict, guilty. It would be seen that MI5 had used me as agent provocateur to flush out the terrorists and the CPS (Crown Prosecution Service) had sanctioned my immunity from prosecution albeit I had committed numerous offences to obtain the XP42 formula. The court would be told, that never in my wildest dreams, could I ever have imagined a simple criminal act of ‘stealing to order’ would result in the deaths and capture of terrorists. With all the twists, horror and tricks of MI5 it was true to say it was all outside my compass of experience.
On opening the door to two chins, his smile was almost an embarrassment. ‘Come to take you to the Old Baily Sir,’ he said. It was no great moment for either of us and I had the feeling he had said those words to other people many times before. Then he opened the back door of the cab for me and we were on our way. Not a word was spoken on our journey there which reminded me of the old war slogan ‘Careless talk costs lives.’ Maybe he had more to hide than I did, I thought.
When we arrived, he gave me his well-practised wink as I left the cab. My first surprise was seeing Marion at the entrance steps of the Old Baily. Next to her were Commander Bennit, Inspector Marsh and Sergeant Morton with Mr No Name who looked like an army brigadier. All were impeccably dressed in dark suits and ties. They held armfuls of documents between them. I was handshaked four times with an air of cordial greeting. ‘Just tell it as it was’ said Commander Bennit, ‘and we’ll tell it as it is.’
The trial was scheduled to start in court number one. There was a witness minder waiting for me inside the building and all my needs would be taken care of, I was told. ‘You will be pleasantly surprised when you see who it is,’ Inspector Marsh said smugly. Then together we all entered the building.
A woman in a sober dressed black suit came striding towards me. Her skirt hung below her knees and a head of long blond hair was tied back in a bun style. My eyes almost leapt out of my head as the face smiled back at me! She nodded, exposing a set of immaculate white teeth. I couldn’t be dreaming? It was Louise!
She saw the look of consternation, surprise, and disbelief in my face then volunteered to answer me. ‘Yes, it’s me Jack. It’s all in the rules and part of the job,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sure you will work it all out in due course.’
Jesus H Christ! My bowls nearly evacuated with the shock. For sure I was staring at Louise. Louise? The woman who had shared my soul in bed! She was a scorpion too? A flood of memories came rushing back to me. I didn’t want to believe it now but I had too. It was a fact. Louise was one of them. Of course it now made sense, MI5 had employed the same tactics as the Iranians did with Aisha and Louise would have been in the ideal situation to feedback information to them. She would have told them the best place to plant the bugs in my home. ‘Not you as well?’ I blurted.
She stood nodding, half smiling at me. I didn’t know where to put my face. It was all now as clear as daylight to me. ‘Don’t feel bad,’ she continued. ‘That’s the way life is. Besides, it was nice to mix business with pleasure. I don’t have any regrets, do you?’
I looked into her eyes. There was no denying she was pretty. ‘Who would believe it?’ I replied. ‘So it was all a set up with me. The offer I couldn’t resist and as Oscar Wilde said; ‘I can resist everything except temptation.’ I have a lot to learn, I told her.
Louise smiled, ‘Haven’t we all? We never stop learning from each other. Now you can rest easy and with all that money you have earned you won’t need to get involved in crime again. Next time you may not be so lucky. Stick to writing your books.’
There was a lot of truth in what she had said. ‘I can’t argue with that. Maybe I can use this experience for another book,’ I smirked back.
‘Why not,’ she agreed. ‘It’s time to go into the court now.’
20
Inside the court, I sat alongside the witnesses in the case. They were all there, Mr No Name, Commander Bennit, Inspector Marsh, Sergeant Morton, even two chins together with Marion and Louise.
It was a cold and foreboding atmosphere. The oak panelled walls gave an impression of Englishness, strength, discipline. Each panel a sturdy example of precision and authority that nothing less would do for the highest court in the land. Black gowned officials glided about almost silently as if noise was alien. A judge wearing a white woolly wig sifted through papers on his podium giving an occasional glance to his imitators making ready the proceedings before him. More significant was the presence of
the tactical firearms unit positioned at strategic points in the court. Also in the press gallery was a large contingent of news reporters. It seemed clear that International press coverage would send a strong message to Pandres Iranian paymasters that British Intelligence was always ten jumps ahead of them. It would of course serve as a moral victory and public assurance exercise for the UK as a whole.
I listened as the court usher called for the defendants to be brought into court.
The escorting officers came up from the well of the court where the cells were. Pandres and Aisha were seated in the dock to look up at the judge and across to the sworn in jurors. Their eyes scanned the court to meet mine in turn then paused to flash me a look of contempt. There was hatred there. It was a strange feeling to know I was looking at people who hated someone they didn’t know. Yet here were people who were prepared to poison millions of citizens in the UK, and probably didn’t know why themselves. Somewhere at the back of my mind was another question. Were they victims of their own belief system? Perhaps brainwashed disciples of a paranoid Islamic faith?
‘The court will rise to try the indictment,’ said the usher. Then I listened as the prosecution paraded the evidence against Pandres and Aisha. Each witness entered the witness box to be cross examined by both counsels. As my turn came, I was led through my statements which completed the missing parts of the jigsaw of how it all came about in the case against them.
Yes, for sure I was in court again this time as a witness and not as a thief but albeit an unwitting witness for the crown. Even the old establishment judge was showing extreme benevolence with his patience as I gave my evidence. I felt a great relief when it was all over. Soon after, I left the court with the footsteps of Louise beside me.
‘Well, that’s our job done,’ she told me. ‘You can read all about it in the papers tomorrow. You can go home now.’
A Choice of Evils Page 19