The Saxon Network

by Norman Hartley

  Cronin slowly progressed through the photographs. They were mostly what TV cameramen call ‘pretties’ of the villa and its amenities. Zwieback was in most of them, clean shaven and looking more or less healthy. In several he was sitting either on the terrace or by the pool with a drink beside him, but there was no way of telling from the photos whether it was alcohol or not.

  ‘The villa - in fact the whole damned island - is owned by the Vossler group, though with enough cut-outs to hide an elephant in a corn field,’ Cronin said.

  ‘At first no-one interesting comes anywhere near him. He lives mostly alone, except for an occasional visitor from the next island who looks like a hooker hired as part of the hospitality.’

  Cronin sighed. ‘Then the real visitors start coming. Take a look at these.’

  The next set of photographs, including a short video, featured three Arab-looking men dressed in western play-clothes.

  ‘All three are on the CIA’s most wanted watch-list,’ Cronin said, ‘and believe me they are on there for a reason. These are seriously bad individuals. Two of them, Lieutenant-Colonel Arastoo Ghassemi and Major Baraz Nabavi were senior officers in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps; the third, Jahan Talebi was a security adviser at the Iranian presidency. They all belonged to Quds, the overseas arm of Iranian intelligence. They’ve all worked undercover in Iraq, helping Shia militias. One of them was arrested briefly in Baghdad but was freed before we found out who he was. Now they’re all freelance. They have no government connections. They are strictly mercenaries with no loyalty to Teheran. Now look at the fourth visitor.’

  This time I didn’t need any explanation. In a clear telephoto shot, Zweiback was sitting beside the pool, talking to a large, rotund man in Arab dress. It was a face I knew well enough not to need to ask any questions.

  ‘Soheil al-Khodary,’ I said, ‘a senior partner in the Vossler Group, with special responsibility for Middle Eastern relations and another true mercenary with no loyalty to anything except money and good living.’

  ‘And now, Cronin said, ‘it looks as though he’s become the project’s main contact man with Zwieback. But he never goes to Panther Island at the same time as the three Iranians.’

  ‘Why not? Kate said.

  ‘Probably because he’s Iraqi, anyhow, it works like this. Al-Khodary meets Ray Vossler in Nassau then goes to Panther Island to brief Zwieback in advance of the Iranian visits. When the Iranians have left, Al–Khodary goes back to be briefed by Zwieback, then reports to Vossler.’

  Cronin put his glass down on the table.

  ‘At first we thought the Iranians were planning an attack on Britain and were buying some of Zwieback’s Strain 11 bubonic plague germs through Vossler. Then we figured out it was the other way round. Vossler was planning the attack and was going to use the Iranians as front men.’

  ‘Are you quite sure of that? Kate asked sharply. Unconsciously she had slipped totally into her BBC mode. Cronin could have been a scheduled interview subject she was not sure about.

  ‘If you’re asking have I got absolute proof, with irrefutable evidence, the answer is no,’ Cronin said. ‘We have several hours of tape and video. There are gaps I admit, but in my professional view there is absolutely no doubt that’s what going on.’

  ‘This guy Delgado, is he good? I asked.

  ‘He was heading right for the top of the scientific division before he was put out to grass. When he was working on this, he was pretty sharp, but right now, he’s just plain scared, especially as he didn’t sign up for spying on his own side.’

  ‘And the target’s definitely in Britain?’ I asked.

  Again Kate jumped in.

  ‘But why Britain, why not in the States?’

  Cronin gave me another quick glance.

  ‘I hate to say this old buddy but the UK is a sort of easy practice ground. They reckon they can operate more easily over here. It’s a dry run for bigger things elsewhere, if they should be needed.’

  ‘So where are they at now?’ I asked.

  ‘The Iranians have left the Bahamas and moved to Paris, which is pretty significant. But all along there seems to have been one big snag. They’ve got the Strain 11 but they’ve been having a lot of trouble getting a diffuser.’

  Before Kate could ask, Cronin turned to her and explained. ‘Germ warfare has a massive scare factor but it’s never easy to find a way of hitting the target accurately. The dispersal of the virus can be pretty hit or miss. Bio-agents are best dispersed as aerosol clouds and explosive methods can destroy the organisms. A diffuser is what controls the way the virus stays in the target zone and does its work efficiently. We now believe that they’ve got access to one.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘We don’t know, but we’re working on that.’

  ‘Delgado is still out there?’ I asked.

  Cronin hesitated.

  ‘Vince is so scared he’s stopped functioning properly. In fact he’s very close to a nervous breakdown.’

  ‘So who’s doing the investigation now?’

  ‘His brother Leo.’

  ‘CIA?’

  ‘No. He’s a retired San Francisco cop.’

  Cronin saw the look of doubt on both our faces and added quickly.

  ‘Detective for twenty-five years. Top record. I know, I know. He’s not ideal but I had no choice. Vince was sure Vossler is onto him and he’s waiting for Ali Omar to knock on his door. He wants to see me but he’s scared to come to London, at least for a couple of days.’

  ‘What changes then?’

  ‘There’s a new CIA station chief taking up post in London. Guy called Herb Tergari. He’s a buddy of mine. Delgado knows him and trusts him. I’m trying not to push Vince too hard. It’s my fault he’s in this state. I just couldn’t give him proper backup.’

  Cronin looked suddenly slightly sheepish.

  ‘I wanted to come to you before John, please don’t be mad. I sent someone into the BBC to see how you were getting on.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About four months ago.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘When I saw the way you were living I didn’t have the heart.’

  ‘Why not?’ Kate asked, clearly intrigued.

  ‘If you had known the John Saxon I worked with in the old days, you would have known that the BBC World Service John Cartwright was a made-up character. A joke. Not real at all. When I first got the report, I nearly fell off my chair laughing. All that Gentle John Meek and Mild stuff. Jesus! I realised it had to be because of the kids. I knew you’d never just give up like that except to keep the twins safe.’

  ‘I hadn’t given up,’ I said defensively.

  ‘Sure you had and I respected you for that,’ Cronin said. ‘You weren’t going after Omar or Vossler in any serious way. You were letting Virginia Walsh control you. You were playing their game. I couldn’t bring myself to ask you to give it up and take a flyer with me. Well it’s different now. You have no choice.’

  I didn’t argue.

  ‘Assuming all this is true,’ I said, ‘what’s your own best bet on how long before the attack?’

  ‘I don’t know. But the anti-Iranian drum-beat is getting pretty damn loud. These arrests in London and the North. They’re based on Intel fed from Washington. Leaks about the build-up of the nuclear threat are all over the media. My guess is quite soon.’

  ‘But if you knew all this is coming, why couldn’t you get the CIA to stop it?’ Kate said.

  ‘Think about it,’ Cronin said, ‘I haven’t a shred of credibility within the Company. Vossler has me both ways. My enemies think I’m a traitor. My friends – such as I have left – think I’m bitter about Vossler and would blame him for the next Tsunami if I could.’

  ‘Which still leave the question, what the hell do you expect me to do about it?’ I said.

  ‘What we need to find out is where the Strain 11 is right now and where they are going to get a diffuser from. Delgado’s done all he can. I need y
ou to find out where Vossler is going to attack and nail him.’

  ‘Be serious,’ I said. ‘I’m on the run. I have no resources, no official standing.’

  ‘You have a lot of friends. You could call on half the Regiment if you needed to.’

  ‘Which Regiment,’ Kate asked.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sounding like a Brit again, the one and only Regiment, the Special Air Service.’

  Kate looked at me. ‘You didn’t tell me you were in the SAS.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I said. ‘Bob just means I have a few friends who are.’

  ‘Oh shit, stop being so coy,’ Cronin said, ‘if Kate’s in this deep, she has a right to know who she’s playing with. John was inside Iraq, guiding SAS reconnaissance teams. He led a rescue mission to save the crew of a helicopter that was downed by Saddam’s Republican Guard and then got one of them out of an Iraqi torture centre. If he hadn’t spent most of his military life in the shadows, he’d have a chest-full of medals. And believe me, he sure does have a lot of friends in Special Forces.’

  ‘That may be so,’ I said, ‘but you know I can’t involve them in a private war against Ray Vossler. They’d could end up being court-martialled, cashiered, in jail.’

  ‘You could find a way, John. Face it, you have absolutely no choice. Vossler won’t leave you alone. You are one step away from being banged up on any stupid charge the Brits can think up to please Washington. Attack is the only way. You know that.’

  Cronin sat back in his chair.

  ‘Take a break. Go think about it. Talk about it between yourselves.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Kate said, ‘problem is we can’t go anywhere in case I’m recognised. Your guy Timson spotted me straight away.’

  ‘I have a solution to that,’ Cronin said. He hesitated. ‘Look I’m not trying to steamroller you, but I made a few plans.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I have a friend standing by, here in the hotel. She’s a make-up artist. She’s worked on a lot of well-known films, here and in the States.’

  ‘Is she trustworthy?’ I said.

  ‘Do you need to ask? And when she’s finished with you both, you’d be safe in the World Service canteen, never mind Felton Broad.’

  Chapter 12

  Sally Oxburgh was in her sixties, with short grey hair and a cheerful manner. But she had obviously spent a lifetime dealing with temperamental actors and would stand no nonsense when it came to professional make-up.

  ‘What are we trying to achieve?’ she said, examining Kate’s appearance minutely when we had finished the introductions.

  ‘Total anonymity. A complete change,’ Kate said positively.

  ‘It will need some work,’ she said, ‘I recognised you straight away despite the hair colour. Congratulations, by the way, that record you set was really something.’

  Kate smiled in acknowledgement. ‘Do whatever you think best.’

  ‘Can you leave us for an hour or so.’

  ‘Sure, Cronin said, ‘but can you do a quick fix on John first? He may not be as well known as Kate, but his photo’s all over the internet and papers.’

  Oxburgh turned her attention to me and asked me to walk up and down the room. ‘Too athletic by half,’ she pronounced. ‘Can you change it? Walk more hesitantly and remember to keep it up?’

  I smiled. ‘Yes, I can do that.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Show me.’

  I moved slowly across the room. I took small steps, adopting almost a shuffle, not a limp exactly, but a gait that suggested I could barely be bothered to put one foot in front of the other.’

  ‘A hot weather walk,’ Oxburgh said approvingly.

  ‘It looks better in robes,’ Cronin said. ‘John’s the only westerner I’ve ever seen who can pass convincingly as a desert Arab.’

  Oxburgh grinned. ‘Not exactly the look we’re after in the present climate,’ she said, ‘but the walk is fine.’

  She handed me a pot of light brown paste from her bag, together with a ridged plastic brush.

  ‘Use this on your hair, brush it through. Try and shower without wetting your hair but if you have to, just brush it through again.’

  I did as I was told and the transformation was instantaneous.‘Now put these on,’ Oxburgh said, handing me a pair of Armani half-rimmed glasses with clear lenses, ‘and do the walk again.’

  I obeyed, going two circuits of the room.

  ‘I would never have believed it,’ Kate said, ‘so little and you look totally different.’

  ‘It won’t convince people who know you well,’ Oxburgh said, ‘but it will fool anyone who knows you only slightly or is watching you from a distance or working from a photograph. That’s you done. Now let’s see what we can do with this young lady, who is too distinctive by half.’

  I followed Cronin downstairs and along a veranda, furnished with comfortable wicker chairs and low tables where the guests were taking evening drinks before dinner. He greeted several of them by name and smiled at other guests he appeared to know less well. At the end of the veranda was a small room, laid out as if for a lecture. In front of rows of chairs was an easel with a series of large white paper sheets ready for folding back in turn. The first one displayed four bridge hands outlined boldly in coloured inks.

  ‘Post-mortem on the afternoon’s hands,’ Cronin explained, ‘when the guests have had a couple of drinks to fortify their courage, they come in to be lectured about how carelessly they played. But you and I need a word first. I’ve got a place for you to start.’

  I smiled. ‘The steamroller rolls on.’

  ‘Yeah, well, there’s a house in Kent which Vossler has been using as his secret base in England for more than a year. Take tonight off then you and Kate can be there by lunch-time tomorrow.’

  ‘I still need a base near London,’ I said, ‘I’d better have another go at winning Tim’s mother over.’

  I called Mary and was surprised at her answer. ‘Grandma Tillie says you can stay with her. That should be safe enough.’

  Grandma Tillie was the matriarch of the Overton family. Still an active farmer at 80, she was a familiar sight on her own farm driving a battered old tractor with a straw hat jammed down over her wispy white hair.

  ‘That’s great,’ I said, ‘I’ll be there sometime tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll have this girl Kate with you?’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  I hesitated. ‘Any news of Tim?’

  ‘No. Nothing’

  She didn’t sound too pleased but she gave me Grandma Tillie’s number and wished me well.’

  The next problem was transport. I rang Clive who was in an extremely cheerful mood, as apparently was the entire Tiger club. It seemed that everyone had thoroughly enjoyed getting their own back on the police for the damage they had done to the club. Clive had spent over an hour leading the helicopter a merry dance over the fields and coastline of southern Britain before returning to the Tiger Club to join his co-conspirators for supper. I hadn’t needed to ask about transport. He had already fixed it. The Audi was now safely stowed away in another barn at Marriot’s farm and he had made arrangements for me to return Marriot’s Tiger to a different farm strip belonging to another club member.

  ‘I’ve left my son’s car there for you use,’ Clive said, ‘it’s no match for the Audi but it will get you around.’

  I thanked him warmly and told Cronin that things seemed to be working out.

  ‘I told you. You have more friends than you know,’ Bob said happily.

  He stood up stiffly but quickly enough to forestall any argument. ‘I must go and help Leslie if he’s ever going to speak to me again.’

  I was glad to be alone for a while and I strolled along the water’s edge watching the pleasure boat owners mooring as they returned for their evening meal. Of course, Cronin was right, I thought. For better or worse, I was committed to taking on Vossler. I was also committed to letting Kate help me. I wa
nted her with me and she was probably safer with me than on her own, especially as I wasn’t sure I could trust her to hide away meekly until this was all over. But how well were we going to be able to work together? The honorary woman thing was wearing thin and becoming emotionally involved with someone who was your partner in an intelligence operation was a serious issue.

  I had twice worked with female partners undercover. Both times, Sarah had been furiously jealous. Both times, that had been unnecessary but I could never convince her. The last time had provoked one of our worst ever rows and I remembered Sarah quoting at me an old vaudeville saying – ‘nothing propinks like propinquity – double acts usually end up shacking up together.’ It had stuck in my mind because vaudeville seemed so remote from Sarah’s world and it was bizarre that she had picked the phrase up.

  Whenever I thought about Kate, I started thinking about Sarah and I knew it wasn’t by chance. The truth was that Kate was the first woman I had met since Sarah’s death that I could imagine wanting to be with on a long-term basis. I had discovered that finding bed partners was easy enough but finding someone I really wanted to be close to was a very different matter. Because I had been living a lie, I had been committed to superficial relationships but there had been no-one who had made that a cause for particular regret.

  The other truth I couldn’t escape was that I had absolutely no idea what Kate wanted. She was obviously attracted and I certainly was. Had I met her in normal circumstances I would have tried long ago to start a relationship. But now, it was time to be as professional as I had ever been. I was going up against Vossler with no real resources and I had already proved that I was seriously out of practice and capable of making bad mistakes. Would an affair with Kate be another one? However we passed the evening, there would only be a few hours before we would be sharing a bed. It could be a lively night!