The Saxon Network

by Norman Hartley

  ‘Very well then,’ Virginia said, ‘why are you here. There’s nothing I can do. This has gone much too far.’

  Her tone was worrying. She wasn’t quite her usual confident, arrogant self. She always operated in a female version of the mandarin’s ‘never apologise, never explain’ mode and she was trying hard now to exert her normal head girl dominance. But though she wasn’t quite succeeding she seemed far more confident than when I had last seen her at the Tiger Club. If I’d been right at the airfield – and I was sure I had been – she had been worried by my threat to go to the press if anyone forced a showdown. Logically, she should be more worried now but I had the feeling I was in for a shock.

  ‘You really are in rather a mess John,’ she said quietly. ‘All rather bad luck really.’

  ‘What the hell was Ray Vossler doing in the World service newsroom,’ I said, ‘was he looking for me?’

  Virginia looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘Good god no,’ she said. ‘He was there because of a whim of his current mistress.’

  ‘The woman he was with?’

  ‘Yes. Her name is Tamsin Ellerfield. She’s the wife of Amos Ellerfield the race-horse trainer. She had a fancy to see the World Service newsroom – she’s a big fan apparently. They’d arranged a tour to please her. She’s sped off back to Yorkshire to be at home before her husband gets back from Dubai’.

  ‘What about Simpson-Carr and Omar?’

  ‘As far as I can tell, they were just cover, window-dressing to make it look as though she was with a group of friends. I imagine Vossler had intended to take her somewhere discreet later where they could shag their brains out,’ she added contemptuously.

  ‘You’re sure Vossler didn’t know I worked there?’

  ‘He had no idea. He was furious. He thought you were still in Canada.’

  ‘Why is he here?’

  ‘The usual.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘He’s beating the usual drums on Iran. You know the situation. The Israeli government is divided on whether to attack Iran’s nuclear sites. Washington is divided over whether to stop them, or help them. Vossler is trying to persuade everyone to build up the pressure on Obama to join the hawks.

  ‘He’s not especially pro-Israeli. His clients are mostly Arabs who distrust Iran as much as the Israelis do. For Vossler, it’s not complicated. Iran is the enemy and he wants everyone to see it. He still has powerful friends in Washington, but they’re on the outside at the moment. He’s rebuilding his powerbase, making new friends and trying to shame a few enemies. He wants to see the hawks back on top.’

  Virginia paused. ‘What you should be worrying about is what Vossler has in mind for you.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Virginia smiled the smile I knew all too well. It was the look of triumph in anticipation of the kill.

  ‘I’m afraid Vossler’s been very busy since yesterday. These were couriered over to me early this morning.’

  She handed me an envelope. In it was a set of photographs, which had obviously been taken as part of a surveillance operation.

  ‘You’ve been talking to the wrong people, John,’ Virginia said, her thin smile still fixed and nasty. ‘You’ve been meeting Wazir al-Bahry and Jake Crayling. Not the wisest of moves.’

  The photos had been taken in Geneva. I had been sure that the Brits hadn’t known I had gone there. I hadn’t counted on the Americans. Another big mistake.

  ‘You know perfectly well why I went to see them,’ I said, ‘they were both in Rome. They were at the party when Sarah was killed. They knew what really happened.’

  ‘Not part of the deal, John, not part of the deal.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I said, ‘but you can hardly blame me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether I blame you or not,’ Virginia said coldly. ‘The point is that Al-Bahry and Crayling are on the American watch list, suspected of links to al-Qaeda. Our cousins had them under surveillance. You had secret meetings with them. As it happens they are on our watch list too, which makes it very awkward for you.’

  Before I could ask any questions, Virginia spelled out the details.

  ‘If we pick you up, it’s straight to Belmarsh. Indefinite holding under the terrorism act. Or else we can charge you with assault on Omar. Bail refused because of security implications. Or we could go straight to extradition hearings. The Italian business can go live in no time at all, especially in the present climate. You could be in a Roman prison by lunchtime tomorrow. There are various scenarios. You give yourself up, we can choose one of the easier ones.’

  ‘While still doing Washington a favour.’

  ‘Of course. Relations with the US are tricky at the moment. Look, you really have very little choice. You can’t survive for long on your own out there. If you come in and cooperate, it has to be better for you. Prevailing winds change. Just wait a little and we’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘Wait in Belmarsh, you mean?’

  ‘It may come to that, yes. Meantime, we can protect you from the worst scenarios. Vossler is muttering about extra-ordinary rendition. We don’t want you boiled alive in some Central Asian hell-hole now do we?’

  ‘You really would, wouldn’t you, Virginia,’ I said quietly. ‘Knowing everything you know about what really happened in Rome, you really would let me rot in jail somewhere to do a favour to the Americans.’

  ‘It’s the way things are, John, I’m afraid. But I will help you all I can.’

  ‘That’s a real comfort, Virginia, I said, ‘but this time I’m not biting. I made a deal with you once and I’ve stayed quiet for a long time, but I made a vow a long time ago.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I resolved that if I was ever cornered again, I’d go down fighting as you’ve never seen anyone fight. Be careful Virginia. You of all people don’t want me as an enemy. There’s a lot in your past you don’t want in the light of day.’

  ‘Anything you say will be taken as an attempt to clear yourself after the business in Rome. When you accepted the deal, you accepted your guilt,’ she said. ‘Threatening me isn’t going to help your present situation.’

  I could see she really wasn’t worried. Worse still, I could see she was playing for time. At a quick guess, she was expecting reinforcements. She had expected me to come to the house and the cavalry was due. There had been no watchers before the service, because Virginia wanted to be the one to spring the trap herself. It was weakest part of her CV that she had never been in the field, apart from a brief and uneventful spell in Cairo. She had never got her feet wet or her hands dirty and this was to be a personal triumph.

  Her look of relief when there was a sound of scuffling outside said it all, but she had, as she often did, misjudged the situation.

  First, Kate banged on the study door then pushed it open.

  ‘Two men at the front door,’ she said, ‘I’ve checked the entry phone. They look like plain clothes cops or some such.’

  ‘Ronald,’ Virginia shouted.

  Ronald Walsh appeared nervously behind Kate but before he could do anything on his own initiative or get instructions from Virginia, Kate had pushed past him, strode across to the entry-phone and ripped the wires out of the wall.

  Virginia gasped and Ronald stared in disbelief.

  Suddenly he seemed to decide to act.

  ‘Virginia, you can’t just let them go,’ Ronald shouted, ‘if you won’t stop them I will.’

  Kate’s response was so quick, it was over before I had a chance to intervene. She grabbed Ronald by the arm, twisted it and threw him back into the reclining bench at the edge of the patio with such force that he slid across it and ended up on the concrete flagstones. Ronald clearly had no real experience of physical confrontations and looked completely stunned.

  ‘Move and you’ll be going to the office on crutches for a while,’ Kate hissed.

  ‘Watch Virginia,’ I said. I ran over to the door, and brought out a tube of superglue that I always car
ried as part of my ‘get out of trouble’ kit. I gave the front door lock and remote mechanism each a hefty squirt then turned back to Virginia. ‘Mobile phones please.’

  Virginia was too demoralised to argue and Ronald had handed his over as though it was radioactive. I ripped out the landline phone and turned to Kate, ‘time to go over the top.’

  The wall was nearly twice my height. I was about to make a running leap to try to grab the top when Kate ran towards the base and cupped her hands to support me. I stepped as lightly as I could onto the foothold and hauled myself up until I was astride the wall. I reached down and Kate clasped my wrist in an overhand grip and pulled herself easily up beside me. Her coordination was as good as if she had practised on a military assault course.

  My plan required us to follow the top of the wall right round to the far side of the gardens where the drop to the ground was fairly easy. Kate had already figured out where we were going and had hauled up her skirt to waist height.

  ‘OK, let’s do it,’ I said.

  Kate went first and I saw she was completely at ease as she ran along the top of the brickwork. I also guessed that if she did stumble, she was athletic enough to drop astride the wall and haul herself backup again. She reached the exit point without slipping, and waited for me to follow, pausing, unworried, to assess the situation.

  ‘Judging from your performance on HMS Belfast, you’re better at leaps than I am,’ she said, ‘best if you dangle me as low as you can.’

  I dropped astride the wall, gripped tightly with my knees then signalled Kate to take an overhand wrist grip with her right hand. When I had her securely, she leaned out and let herself be lowered, facing outwards, as far down as I could reach.

  ‘OK, let go on three,’ she said.

  I counted and released her wrist. Kate pushed herself away from the wall and half jumped half slid down the remaining ten feet onto the grass below. She landed safely, got to her feet and moved away from the wall to give me room to jump. I leaped outwards, executed a forward roll and landed well, avoiding catching my foot on a clump of gorse.

  Kate took my hand and helped me to my feet, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on two men in the lane alongside the area of church ground where we had landed.

  ‘I think we have more company,’ she said.

  Chapter 9

  She was right of course. The men were overdressed and over-curious about every passer-by but luckily they weren’t yet looking in our direction. They were watching possible routes to the front of Virginia’s house but it wouldn’t be long before they got a phone call from inside. It came almost immediately, which, it turned out, was probably just as well as we couldn’t have run in the opposite direction and watched them at the same time.

  When the heavier of the two men reached for his mobile phone, I grabbed Kate, pulled her to the ground and rolled on top of her. I managed to wriggle into a position that looked – and incidentally felt – like a lovers’ embrace but which still allowed me to look over Kate’s shoulder and watch the men. They looked in our direction and for a heartbeat I thought they were going to go come our way. They were both solidly built men and there was a reasonable chance we could outrun them but they could call for reinforcements and we were some way from the car. In the end, our luck held. They surveyed the park area, accepted us as a harmless couple and moved off down the lane and disappeared.

  ‘You enjoyed that,’ Kate said as we got to our feet.

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Honorary woman, remember?’

  ‘Just a passing lesbian moment.’

  Kate was scanning the last lap to the car, which ran round the back of the church.

  We made it to the car without incident and I suggested she drive so I could make some phonecalls. ‘Head south,’ I said, ‘set the Satnav for Chillingbourne in Kent.

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘It’s my refuge of last resort,’ I said. ‘There’s a farm. It belongs to the family of one of my army friends. We have running arrangements for me to hole up there in a crisis. Tim’s still in Afghanistan but his mother and father know what to do.’

  We had worked out very careful security procedures for Tim’s parents to follow if he wasn’t there, using two unidentifiable pay-as-you-go cell phones that I had left for them in the house. I used one number if I simply needed to contact Tim, or make a normal visit to the house. Using the second one meant I was in trouble.

  I called the second number and Tim’ s mother, Mary, answered.

  ‘Hello John’, she said, ‘how are you?’ Her voice told me she knew exactly how I was.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said, ‘but I need a safe place to stay for a while.’

  ‘It’s not safe here,’ she said anxiously. ‘The police have been.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About two hours ago. They asked for Tim and they asked about you.’

  ‘Is Tim there?’

  ‘No. He’s back from Afghanistan but he’s gone on holiday with his new girlfriend.’

  ‘Do you know where I can reach him?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he has his mobile with him. He said he wanted a bit of peace and quiet with Rachel.’

  Mary was a poor liar and I was sure she knew that I could tell.

  ‘I’m not trying to get him into trouble,’ I said gently.

  ‘I know you don’t mean to but...’ her voice trailed off, then she resumed even more tentatively. ‘This girlfriend. I think Tim is serious about her. She’s a chief inspector in the Metropolitan Police, called Rachel Hunter. They met in Iraq. She was training Iraqis. She’s back now and I’m hoping he might want to settle down.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Mary said more enthusiastically. ‘You’ve just had a call on the emergency line from that man in Norfolk, Bob Cronin.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He wants to see you. He wants you to go to Norfolk.’

  ‘I can’t see Bob right now,’ I said, ‘he’s a lovely guy but I have enough trouble without getting involved in his problems.’

  ‘He was really insistent,’ Mary said. ‘He wants to help you. He said there is stuff going on with that man – Ray Vossler is it? – that you absolutely need to know about. Maybe it would be safer to go to his place for a bit.’

  ‘Mary, I must be near London and I don’t want to get involved with Bob just at the moment. Could you possibly think of anywhere near you?’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, but why don’t you at least call Bob. Perhaps you could spend a couple of days with him while I see what I can do.’

  ‘I’ll call him,’ I said, ‘but do try to find me somewhere.’

  I tried not to sound as desperate as I felt but I knew there was no chance Mary would let me anywhere near Tim if she could possibly avoid it.

  ‘That didn’t sound too great,’ Kate said when I had finished the call.

  I filled her on the side of the conversation she hadn’t heard.

  ‘Looks like your running out of options. Maybe you’d better call this guy. Maybe he can help.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ I said, ‘he’s a really great guy. We were friends once, not buddies exactly but we worked really well together in Iraq.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with him now?’

  ‘Bob was a CIA technical officer. When I knew him he was working undercover as a UN weapons inspector. After that he went back to the States and got into all kinds of difficulties. He claims it was Ray Vossler that got him run out of the agency.’

  ‘He was canned?’

  ‘Not exactly. He took medical retirement but there were stories that he had taken bribes to falsify information. Word was that when he got sick, he panicked about his pension and started supplementing it. He says it was a Ray Vossler fix’

  ‘But you don’t think so?’

  ‘Knowing Vossler, there’s every chance he’s right.’

  ‘So he could be
a natural ally.’

  ‘True, but the problem is he’s pretty obsessive about getting back at Vossler. Bob started a website attacking Vossler and put the word out that anyone with a grievance against him should get in touch.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘No. Too public and too noisy. If you want to listen to an hour of anti-Vossler ranting, Bob’s your man, but if I’d have gone anywhere near him, MI6 would have closed me down.’

  ‘That’s not a problem now,’ Kate said. ‘Give him a call. What can you lose?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said, ‘but I’ll probably get Leslie.’

  ‘Who he?’

  ‘Bob is gay,’ I said, ‘Leslie is his partner. They’re both bridge fanatics. World class. That’s how they met. When Bob retired, they bought a bridge school and holiday centre. Leslie is English and hates everything to do with the CIA and intelligence in general. He hates Bob’s anti-Vossler campaign and anything connected to Bob’s old life. He’s as protective as hell and very bitchy.’

  ‘Sounds like a fun guy,’ Kate said.

  I dialled Bob’s number. It was picked up straight away and, of course, it was Leslie. The tone was frosty, as I had expected.

  ‘Bob asked me to call,’ I said, after a wary exchange of greetings.

  ‘Bob is resting at the moment,’ Leslie said, ‘he’s not been well.’

  ‘He said it was urgent.’

  Leslie hesitated ‘He wants to see you, but I’m not at all happy about it.’

  ‘About what?’ I asked, as politely as I could.

  ‘He’s living in the past. Ever since your ‘situation’ blew up, he hasn’t given a thought to bridge. We’ve got fully-booked holiday courses running at the moment, beginners and advanced.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said, sympathetically, ‘but I presume he has good reason for wanting to see me urgently.’

  ‘Oh I’m sure he does,’ Leslie said sarcastically. ‘He just can’t leave the old life alone. Just when I thought he’d finally broken away, this came along.’

  There was disapproval and unfriendliness in every word but I waited patiently. I knew that in the end Leslie would have to go along with what Bob wanted.