by Stan Mason
I was less than enthusiastic at his euphoria, and the prospect of the assignment being revealed to the public at large. Admittedly, in normal circumstances, I would have been just as excited, but these were not normal times. It was the only way I could get Flanders to allocate more staff to undertake research on my behalf. And it worked! As far as the story was concerned, the government would issue ‘D’ notices to prevent it being published, but Ted didn’t thing of that. I had some strong views about International Three Thousand, and my instincts led me to visualise its type of power source and control. But there were many details which baffled me, as well as a number of people whose roles were still enigmatic. If Ted Flanders could flush out people like Harry Kirk, who had the debatable honour of being Himmler’s grandson, and established their whereabouts, I was on my way to cracking the assignment with flying colours. It was important to recognise, however, that the investigation into a revolutionary cause of a handful of anarchists seeking absolute power in Europe was a red-herring. It threatened European governments and masked a different motive. Germany had gone to war against the world on two separate occasions in the twentieth century and had lost on both counts. Its teeth had been drawn the second time when it was divided into the Federal German Republic and East Germany to prevent it re-enacting its nationalistic ideals again or perpetrating crimes against other countries, races or creeds. Now Germany had reunited... the giant was about to awake. The ideal of national socialism... Nazi fascism... did not die at the end of World War Two... it was merely laid to rest temporarily. The ancestors of many leading Nazis now had the means to regroup in modern style, using International Three Thousand as its spearhead to gain control of Europe. That was its initial aim... domination of Europe. In due course, it would aim to dominate the world. Germany had lost in two world wars; it would win successfully without casualties in the peace. Supporting it, were the funds stemming from the sale of Nazi war treasures. If the facts were known, they would not make comforting thoughts for those who fought to establish democracy against fascism, or those people who lost loved ones in the conflict. I knew there and then it was my role to root out these fanatics to prevent misery, bloodshed and tyranny. Because one thing was certain... once they achieve domination they would rule Europe more fiercely than any known dictator or tyrant known to the world since time immemorial!
‘By the way,’ advised Ted, bringing me back to reality. ‘The Science Lab have done the job you wanted. The photograph you gave me. The one in the locket.’ He opened a drawer in his desk and handed the enlargement to me before placing the locket on the desk.
I stared at the lovely face of Miss Grayson in her earlier years and focussed my attention on her necklace. Something in the photograph attracted my attention and it soon became apparent it was an emblem I recognised... the Star of David!
‘What’s so significant about that?’ commented Flanders. ‘Thousands of people of the Jewish faith wear them in this country. You can buy them in most jewellery shops.’
‘Indeed!’ I returned as a matter of form. ‘But this one might have further implications. I need to investigate.’
‘Well, if it’s personal, I’d be grateful if you did it in your own time. Remember the newspaper pays good money for business not personal situations!’ He puffed on his cigar again, obviously pleased with himself in the expectation of a scoop.
I stood up and went to the door of the office leaving the photograph but taking the locket which I placed in my pocket. I had a strong urge to be spiteful to Flanders in retaliation for all the flak he fired at me, but I thought better of it and preserved my dignity. Why should I let him feel I had slipped to his level! On reaching the street, I filled my lungs with fresh air to expunge the ugly stench of cigar smoke, concentrating my thoughts on the delectable Linda Grayson. It was possible that she too was an Israeli agent who had managed to infiltrate the Civil Service and establish herself in a senior position. She was a technical adviser on defence to Lieutenant-Colonel Topham who didn’t exist. Maybe he was an agent of some foreign power as well. And Henry Jacobs. That sounded a Jewish name too. What about him? The Prime Minister could be living in a snake-pit surrounded by enemies of the State, or people who nurtured interests counter to the welfare of the United Kingdom. Each time I considered the matter, I felt more like a minor pawn in the game. After all, the nation employed its own intelligence agency. How come such unwarranted situations were in evidence?
At eight o’clock that evening I called on Miss Grayson and rang the doorbell. She seemed surprised to see me, having firmly believed I would let her down again.
‘I would have made dinner for both of us,’ she informed me, ‘but your past record in failing to keep appointments didn’t stimulate me to do so.’
‘That’s understandable,’ I agreed tersely.
She invited me inside and poured out two sherries before springing open the conversation. ‘I believe there are things we have to say to each other.’ She handed me a glass, with an unfriendly expression on her face, before sitting in an armchair.
‘Really,’ I returned quietly. ‘Well you start first.’
‘My office was broken into last evening. Do you have any ideas on that score?’ She used her tone as a form of accusation. There was no doubt in her mind I was the culprit.
‘Someone broke into your office?’ I returned, feigning innocence. ‘How would I know anything about that?’
‘Because you’re the only person who seems to be interested in the computer files in my desk.’ It was clear her tolerance was fusing at low point.
‘Then, with respect, I’m the most unlikely suspect,’ I told her, playing a cat-and-mouse game. ‘Who would do such a fool thing if they were under suspicion? In any case, how do you know I’m the only person interested in your files? How do you know the intruder wasn’t after something else... or perhaps in the wrong office?’
‘Do you deny it?’ she persisted, driving home the question at point-blank range.
‘Of course I deny it!’ I lied. ‘You know as well as I do there could be a dozen people interested in what you might have. Why does it have to be me?’
Her face indicated displeasure at my response and she was obviously less than satisfied with my answer. I wondered about her reaction had I admitted the felony. It would have been interesting to find out but I couldn’t afford the luxury of being honest for fear of arrest and imprisonment.
‘I believe you gained access to the building and rifled my desk!’ she accused, tiring of the silly game.
I stared at her lovely face, trying to make up my mind what to say. ‘If you’re wrong... and I can prove you’re wrong... I demand a forfeit. What kind of forfeit would be worth a false accusation of trespass and burglary?’
‘As well as damaging property and assaulting a security officer!’
My hands were free from marks or blemishes and I held them out towards her. ‘Do these look like the hands which assaulted a security officer or did damage to property? In any case, I can prove I was with my editor all last evening.’
She dispensed with the break-in and returned to mundane matters. ‘I presume you came here to provide information for the committee. What have you to tell me?’
I was grateful she let the burglary drop. She would still have her doubts but without proof there was little point in continuing to press her claim. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on,’ I told her frankly. ‘This morning I was summoned to the House of Commons by the Prime Minister who asked me for the latest details. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’
‘Not necessarily. The P.M. often requires information urgently.’
‘You’re a technical adviser on defence. What do you know about Lieutenant-Colonel Topham?’
‘He’s head of Special Services at the Department of Defence.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I continued. ‘He doesn’t seem to exist.
Nor does Special Services!’
‘Don’t think you’re the cat that got the cream. Many agencies exist in the Civil Service and the military which are not listed for security reasons.’
My eyes scanned her face. ‘Do you mean to tell me there are military sources in this country no one knows about?’
‘And a few civil ones. Don’t get frenetic about it,’ she laughed. ‘Every country has them!’
‘Well you could have fooled me,’ I countered, appalled at the measures taken at the highest level of politics. ‘Do we really have to adopt such methods to remain civilised?’
‘I don’t know why you fuss,’ she replied coolly. ‘Human-beings are quite prepared to annihilate each other with arsenals of horrific weapons. All the major powers admit to storing nuclear missiles... for the purpose of retaliation only, of course! I think you ought to learn to live in the real world, Mr. Savage!’
‘I’m beginning to wish I didn’t,’ I commented, deciding to change the subject. ‘How about dinner at a decent restaurant near the Tower of London?’
To my surprise, she assented readily and we left for The Samuel Pepys which had always been one of my favourite haunts. The meal was sumptuous and we talked of art and literature, avoiding being drawn into any discussion relating to her work or mine. After we arrived back at her apartment, she turned into a well-rehearsed hostess, plying me with drinks and then suggested we watch a programme on television in her bedroom. We removed our clothes and settled down full-length on top of the bedclothes. She leaned across and kissed me gently on the lips and I returned the favour, taking her into my arms. Suddenly, I felt her nails tear deeply into the flesh of my upper arm causing a substantial amount of pain.
‘Hey!’ I called out in alarm. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You broke into this apartment, didn’t you!’ Her nails went deeper and the suffering made me open my mouth in agony.
‘ Yes, yes!’ I admitted in haste. ‘But how did you know it was me?’
‘Your after-shave, you dope! It lingered. What did you steal from me?’
‘Only your locket. The one with the photograph inside. It’s in my jacket pocket.’
She withdrew her nails, showing no empathy at the blood oozing from the wounds. ‘Why did you steal the locket?’
‘Not steal... borrowed. There was something about the photograph which drew my attention.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Such as the Star of David you wore round your neck when it was taken.’
She seemed to freeze where she lay on the bed. ‘What’s so strange about that,’ she continued, with a strange hollow sound in her voice.
‘I’m assuming you’re an Israeli agent who infiltrated the Department of Defence. Why do you people do it?’
She burst into laughter and shook her head in amusement. ‘You’re precious!’ she grinned. ‘I come from Jewish stock. There’s nothing wrong with that. Many people in the Civil Service are of the same faith.’
‘The last Israeli agent I knew died earlier this week. I’d only known her for a couple of days.’
‘Will you stop inferring I’m an Israeli spy!’ She was beginning to get angry and I could see no margin in seeking to force her into submission.
‘How about my forfeit?’ I asked amiably, changing the subject.
‘After you’ve cleaned off the blood,’ she said, cooling off quickly. ‘I suggest you take a shower.’
I recalled the last occasion I had taken a shower at the apartment, remembering the experience was delightful. If I made a mental note that Miss Grayson sometimes showed her claws, our relationship could still develop into one of pleasure. I entered the cubicle and turned on the water until it reached the correct temperature, harbouring the hope I wouldn’t be in there alone for very long... and I wasn’t disappointed.
Chapter Ten
I worked solidly in the Research Department of the newspaper for nearly two hours trying to absorb as much information as my brain would allow. It was the first time I had laboured in that area for years. The newspaper’s researchers didn’t consider it unusual for reporters to become involved personally, however, they didn’t expect them to do it so fiercely or intensely. The main task concerning any story surrounded certain basic facts which had to be written in a fashion suited to the newspaper’s policy and its effort to inform the public. By custom it needed to relate true facts as well as to adopt bias or prejudice according to the Chief Editor’s political principles. For that reason, research was a dedication which couldn’t be ignored. A reporter could easily write surface news which happened day by day... most of which came over the ‘teleprinter’ anyway. But assignments of an esoteric nature necessitated digging deeply beforehand. The staff in Research Department generally undertook the delving; on this occasion, the exception proved the rule. If I failed to research properly there was a distinct possibility my life would be in danger again. Either that or my progress would be inhibited. If my plan was to succeed, when I attended the party thrown by Conrad Hayle and his cronies, my understanding of their motives and the way I conducted myself had to be perfect in every detail. It was going to be the only opportunity to cut the Gordian Knot to ensure my induction as one of the pack. I had no idea how I was going to achieve that aim. I would have to act on instinct and impulse, keep a low profile, and speak only when spoken to. In order to do that effectively, it was vital for me to learn every detail about the Nazi regime from alpha to omega. Once the information was lodged in my mind, the next step involved my performance in the company of wolves later that day. The strategy was firmly fixed in my mind: unfortunately, it was the tactical plan which proved to be the problem. I was one of those lucky souls with the ability to let an enigma run wild in my head and draw a satisfactory conclusion in due course without a great deal of effort. In the past, most problems were resolved overnight in my head, and I would wake the following morning cognisant of a clear-cut solution... having worked it all out in my sleep. I couldn’t afford the luxury this time because too much was happening so quickly. It was no use blaming myself because the research had been left far too late.
At this point, I was feeling very tired, especially as Miss Grayson and myself had been unable to get to sleep until the very early hours of the morning. She was a tigress in bed! Additionally, two hours of research and study in preparation for the party that evening did even less to raise my spirits or inspire me to feel on top of the world. Without sufficient sleep I was wearing myself down, like a battery losing its power. I went for a short walk and had a quick meal at a fast-food restaurant, returning home to splice the mainbrace with the rest of the gin. After that, I fell asleep on the settee leaving all the cares of the world far behind me.
It was three hours later when the telephone rang. Berg was at the other end of the line.
‘I’ve got a lead for you,’ he told me gratuitously. ‘A great lead!’
I tried to focus my mind and muttered something incoherently into the mouthpiece.
‘But you’ll have to come with me to Germany,’ he continued. ‘I hope you can convince your newspaper to pay for both our fares and expenses.’
I screwed up my eyes to look at my wristwatch. ‘Germany?’ I repeated hoarsely. ‘What are you talking about? Why do we have to go there?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. How soon can you be ready?’
‘Hold your horses!’ I shouted down the line, with a dull feeling that told me I was returning to the real world. ‘Whenever you ring me we end up with some disaster. Are you one of those accident-prone people? I mean, does it happen to you all the time?’
‘I don’t understand,’ he countered, sounding puzzled.
‘You don’t understand! My God! First there was Carrie’s death... then the chase in the docks... then Hymie’s death and someone shooting at me with a rifle at the cemetery! S
ince then I’ve been abducted and shot at! What next, Mr. Berg? What next?’
He didn’t seem to be put out by my bleating, shrugging it off without effort. ‘If you want to accumulate, Mr. Savage, you have to speculate,’ he replied philosophically. ‘We’re in a very volatile business, clearing up the dregs of a society which slaughtered millions of helpless innocent people without being consciously affected themselves. If that’s too hot for you, you ought to get out of the kitchen!’
I began to realise I could least afford to turn him down if he did have a further lead. It meant placing my head in a noose again... a thought I didn’t relish... but that was routine procedure as far as Jack Berg was concerned. It had become part of the rich tapestry of my life. ‘All right, I’ll go to Germany with you, providing you can give me sound reason for doing so, but I can’t make it today. I need more space.’
He made an odd noise at the other end of the line in a token of annoyance, almost as though he had just bought airline tickets to leave immediately, and paused to adjust his plan. ‘Very well,’ he said shortly. ‘But only a few days. I can’t leave it too long or I’ll lose the thread of it. Give me a ring when you’re ready.’
The line went dead without warning. There was little doubt he regarded the matter as urgent... whatever it was. I shook the rest of the sleep from my head as I flung the telephone to the far end of the settee before starting to question his motives. Why did he want me to travel with him to Germany? Berg always worked on his own. Suddenly he needed my companionship. Why should he want me to go with him? And how hot was the lead? Did it warrant chasing half-way across the world? It was amazing how the man always managed to aggravate me even when he was trying to be helpful... or was he? I couldn’t forget how he had helped me dispose of Carrie’s body that night for shipment to Israel, only for me to learn she was being buried in Britain. In his particular case, very few parts of the jig-saw seemed to fit at all.