A Woman Involved

by John Gordon Davis

  They drove out of the airport, through security gates without stopping, onto the highway. Anna seethed, her hand clammy in Morgan’s, her face averted. They drove through tropical island countryside. Then through seashore suburbs. The car swung into a gateway.

  A Union Jack hung from a pole. The iron gates opened electronically. They drove through, and stopped outside the front door. The garden was beautiful. The consul’s wife opened the door, beaming.

  She bustled out, and took charge of Anna. The consul led Morgan straight into his study. He closed the door and faced him. He was a nice, bookish man.

  ‘Now we can speak. Thompson and Edwards are utterly reliable, of course, but we don’t know much about the cloak-and-dagger business here. Now, then, you’ll be perfectly safe, the house is well secured. And comfortable, I hope. Please make yourselves at home. You needn’t worry about being seen, because I was given strict instructions to give the servants the day off –’

  ‘How long are we here for?’

  Mr Gillespie said busily, ‘An RAF plane is coming to fetch you. It arrives after midnight, for reasons of secrecy.’

  ‘To take us where?’

  The consul lifted a white hand. ‘One of your people will be coming here shortly and he’ll answer –’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘One of your people. I’ve no idea where the plane’s coming from or going to. Mine not to reason why. All I know is that I am to look after you till then.’

  ‘I’d like some civilian kit.’

  ‘Indeed. I have already bought some for you, they knew your size. I was authorized to buy Mrs Hapsburg a change of dress and – er … underwear, but if it doesn’t fit my daughter’s clothing may do so. Oh, and you’re to stay indoors, please. And you’re not to use the telephone.’ He added: ‘All calls go through our central switchboard.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Now, then, business over, what can I get you to drink?’

  ‘I’m allowed to drink, am I? A beer, please. But I’ll take it upstairs and drink it while I bath.’

  ‘Of course. My wife will serve luncheon shortly.’

  Morgan said firmly: ‘Thank you, but we’ll skip lunch. We’re both exhausted. I think we’ll just have a bath, a drink and a sleep.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Gillespie said, apparently relieved. ‘Would you like my wife to bring a tray to your respective rooms?’

  ‘That would be a better idea, thank you.’ He added firmly: ‘Mr Gillespie, I don’t know how much head office has told you, but Mrs Hapsburg and I will be sleeping in the same room.’

  Mr Gillespie blinked. ‘You mean, for security reasons? …’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Oh …’ Mr Gillespie touched his spectacles. ‘Well, of course.’ He added with a rush of joviality: ‘Beer …’ He bustled for the door. Then stopped. ‘Oh, I’m told to relieve you of your weapons. Evidently they’re not Her Majesty’s.’

  Morgan would have liked to toss the gun at the man, like they do in the movies, except it would have alarmed Mr Gillespie. He placed his machine gun on the desk. Just then there was a smart knock, and the door opened:

  ‘Ah …’ the consul said, even more relieved.

  ‘Good morning,’ Christopher Carrington said, with his crooked grin. He was carrying a briefcase.

  Morgan stared at him.

  Carrington propped himself against the bookshelves, pipe in hand, a picture of masculine elegance. In civilian clothes. ‘Arrived yesterday,’ he said – ‘thought the Yanks might spring you from jolly old G.H. yesterday, but no such luck. They made a bit of a mess of it, if you ask me. All that sweat just to’ disperse a few fuzzy-wuzzies? After all, they’re not exactly Zulus, are they? We could have done it with one hand tied behind our backs. Still, I must congratulate you, most sincerely, Jack.’

  ‘What the hell are you here for, Carrington?’

  Carrington lit his pipe.

  ‘Officially, I’m a naval observer of what the Yanks are up to. Officially Maggie Thatcher’s as sore as a gumboil with Ronnie. Unofficially, I’m here to hold your hand.’

  ‘You, of all people?’

  ‘Why not? We’re old shipmates.’

  Jesus. ‘Well, I don’t need you to hold my hand. Or Anna’s.’

  ‘Delighted to hear it. As I say, congratulations, Jack.’ He wagged his eyebrows, gave his jolly smirk: ‘I hope it wasn’t all work and no play?’

  Jesus, he could hit the bastard. ‘Meaning?’

  Carrington took his pipe from his mouth, and examined it.

  ‘Meaning how are you and Mrs Hapsburg getting along, Jack?’

  ‘Mind your own bloody business!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Carrington said. He meant it. ‘I’ve offended you, I’m truly sorry, but what I really mean is, it is my business you see. How Mrs Hapsburg has taken to you coming back into her life is most important to us. That’s why we sent you. May I ask – are you two – er – close?’

  Morgan glared at him. ‘Very. Now go to hell.’

  ‘Excellent. I will presently, but excellent. And? What has she told you, Jack?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Carrington moved to the consul’s desk, and sat down. He opened his briefcase. ‘Sit down, we’ll start the debriefing.’

  ‘We will not! I’m going to sleep. And so is Anna.’

  ‘She has told you nothing at all? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Gee, that’s tough, Carrington. What I want to know is what you plan for Anna Hapsburg.’

  Carrington put a match to his pipe. He puffed out smoke.

  ‘We fly tonight in an RAF jet to England. You and Anna will be comfortably accommodated in a safe house. She’ll be debriefed. And you.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, she’s free to do what she likes.’

  Morgan resisted saying: She’s free to do what she likes right now! Carrington went on: ‘What we need to know is, is she going to give trouble?’

  ‘Trouble?’ Morgan said dangerously.

  ‘Is she going to cooperate?’

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’

  Carrington sighed. ‘That’s the tricky part.’

  Oh Jesus … He had to bite his tongue.

  ‘She’ll cooperate. She’s glad to be off the island. She very much wants to go to England with me.’

  ‘Good,’ Carrington said with relief ‘– we’re so pleased. We’re relying on you to reassure her – that’s why we sent you, and jolly well done, too, Jack.’

  Morgan jabbed an angry finger at the man: ‘Then get off my back! Don’t you dare burst in here like a bull in a china shop with your big tactless mouth and your supercilious smirk and start demanding answers! Or in addition to getting your nose flattened you’ll frighten her off, you big prick! You’ll make her suspicious! So leave us severely alone until we get to England! And then if you try any tricks on her …’ He held up his finger. ‘I’ll break your neck.’ He jabbed his finger at the ceiling. ‘Now I’m going upstairs to sleep! Don’t you dare come near us until it’s time to leave!’

  He glared at the man, then strode out of the room.

  Carrington smiled and raised his hands in peace.

  Morgan strode up the stairs with four bottles of beer and the civilian clothes the consul had given him. Mrs Gillespie was coming down, clutching a bundle of Anna’s clothing. She shook the bundle gaily as she darted past him: ‘Just going to stick these in the washing machine – do give me anything of yours, they’ll be dry in a jiffy! Just leave them outside your door …’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the first bedroom. It had a private bathroom and there was the sound of the shower. He closed the bedroom door behind him. There was a key. He locked the door.

  He went to the window. The air conditioner was humming. He twisted the catch and slid the window open. He looked out.

  The room was on the side of the house. It was a straight-forward drop from the window, onto lawn. And the window immediately below was the consul’s study
. Beyond the lawn were flowerbeds, tropical trees, then a garden wall. About eight feet high. Beyond a road led down to the beach. The other way was the suburban road. Heavily treed. Lampposts.

  He turned to the bathroom door. The shower suddenly stopped; the curtain swept back. The door opened and Anna came out.

  She was wearing Mrs Gillespie’s bathrobe. Water was still running off her. Her washed hair hung in long tresses. She looked at him angrily.

  ‘You lied to me.’

  He held up a finger, then pointed at the door. He walked into the bathroom, and switched on the shower again. He beckoned her back into the bathroom. She came. He said softly:

  ‘Anna, this is your last opportunity to think about this. Now, at midnight they’re flying us to England on an RAF plane. The British intend to interrogate you about this evidence. If you cooperate, I believe you’ll be safe. They’ll protect you from the Russians. Now, do you want to do so?’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘You lied to me! And I’m telling you loud and clear that I’m not going! They have no legal right to make me go anywhere – I’m an American citizen and I demand to see the American consul!’

  He closed the door.

  ‘Yes, I lied to you! But it’ll do you no good screaming for the American consul because the American government is in on this! How do you think the British got me into an American uniform in an American war? Why did the American admiral have you flown to the British authorities in Trinidad?’

  ‘Why indeed? I think you better start telling me the truth!’

  ‘The truth is yes, I was sent by the British to find you and get you to England! Because yes, the British and Americans want to find this information of Max’s! Just like the Russians want to!’

  She hissed, ‘And what are the noble British going to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘You’re lying to me again!’

  He closed his eyes angrily. ‘I am not lying now, Anna. I don’t know what the information is, so I don’t know what they’ll do with it. They’ll exploit it, yes! Now, you’ve got two options –’

  ‘Why did you lie to me?’

  ‘Goddammit, because you were overwrought! You didn’t trust me! I had to figure out what this was about and what to do about it!’

  ‘No – you lied to me because that was your assignment! The British told you to get the story out of me –’

  ‘Correct! But I was also lying to win your trust so I could figure out what to do! Now I’m trying to help you.’ He glared at her. ‘Now, you’ve only got two options, Anna. You can fly with them to England, and hire a lawyer to protect your rights. But I don’t think you’ll have a chance to do that. You’ll be whisked from some military airfield to some unknown destination to be interrogated –’

  ‘I’m not going with them to England!’

  He looked at her. ‘Is that final?’

  ‘Yes!’

  He took a breath. ‘Then your only option is to trust me and go out by that window with me after dark. And escape.’

  ‘Or,’ she said angrily, ‘I can walk out by the front door! As I’m fully legally entitled to do!’

  He stood aside and waved his hand.

  ‘Try it. See how far you get. You won’t get near the front door! They’ll forcibly detain you. They haven’t gone to all this trouble just to let you stroll away. But go ahead, try it!’

  ‘But they can’t detain me – that’s illegal!’

  ‘Of course it’s illegal! But whatever it is you’ve got in your head they want so badly that they’ll do it! And a hell of a lot more!’ He glared at her, then took a deep, tense breath. ‘Look, Anna, right now they’re off their guard because I’ve told them that you’re cooperative. So this moment, I’m your only jailer. There’re two security men in the house, plus a bastard called Carrington who’s supposed to be my controller. But they’re all entrusting your safe-keeping to me because I’m the only one who can keep you happy. But if you try to walk out and kick up a fuss, they’ll politely lock you up with the two security men as your jailers and at midnight they’ll put you on that plane in a straitjacket!’ He glared at her. ‘But if you trust this jailer’ – he banged his chest – ‘we’ve got a chance of escaping, because they trust me and won’t be watching! Then we can get you a lawyer.’

  She stared at him. The shower gushing down.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because you are legally entitled to do what you like! They have no rights over you. And I’m not going to stand by and let them force you to do something. And I believe they will use force if necessary – it’s that important to them. And worse than that – I’m by no means sure that if you’ve been uncooperative they’ll let you walk out and tell the world what the beastly British did to you. Or let you blow your secret information to the wide world!’ He took a tense breath. ‘I’m doing this because I believe you’re in serious danger.’ He added: ‘And because I love you.’

  She looked at him angrily.

  ‘And what’ll the British do to you? For helping me escape their clutches?’

  He said: ‘To me? Nothing! What can they do? I’m here on an illegal assignment of kidnapping Anna Hapsburg. What can they legally do to me for refusing to be an accomplice to a crime? They daren’t court-martial me, because I’m here unofficially and deniably, quote unquote, and I’ve committed no crime. And I’ll be a terrible embarrassment when I tell the court what the British were up to in Grenada. That would make lovely reading in the press.’ He waved his hand impatiently. ‘They daren’t do a damn thing to me.’

  She said, ‘They could kill you. To keep your mouth closed.’

  He snorted. ‘They won’t dare do anything once we’ve got a lawyer.’ He pointed grimly at the window. ‘That’s the only way out, Anna. We’re committing no crime and you’ve got nothing to lose.’

  She looked at him. Exhausted. ‘And where do we go?’

  ‘You have to tell me. I don’t know where this precious information is, remember. First we have to get off this island. To South America, obviously, only a hundred miles away. From there, you have to tell me.’ He held out a warning finger. ‘I don’t want you to tell me now. I don’t want you to think I may tip-toe downstairs and tell those bastards what you’ve told me.’

  She took a big, tremulous breath.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered.

  And he knew she really was thanking God.

  14

  He was suddenly awake, just as it was getting dark. She was still deep asleep. He went into the bathroom, dashed cold water onto his face. He pulled on the clothes Mr Gillespie had provided. He unzipped Anna’s handgrip and took some money. Then he sat down, to wait for dark.

  He parted the curtain. For a minute he watched. There was nobody to be seen in the garden. There was no light in the study window below.

  He slid the window open. He swung his leg over the sill. He dropped onto the lawn below. He scrambled up and ran for the trees.

  He ran at the wall, and jumped. He gripped the top and swung his leg up. He straddled it, then he rolled over.

  He dropped into the road below. He scrambled up.

  He walked down the road fast for a hundred yards, then he came to the beach. He started running.

  The taxi dropped him off along the waterfront.

  He walked feverishly towards the harbour. There were sailing boats, sport-fishing boats. He came to a handpainted sign. It read: Big King for Big Fish. It gave a telephone number. There were more signs. He pulled out his wallet and made a note.

  Ahead there was a bar, overlooking the harbour. He made for it. He went in and signalled to the black barman. ‘Beer, please.’

  He paid for it with one of Max Hapsburg’s fifty-dollar bills and got the change. ‘Have you got a telephone?’

  ‘Nope. Don’t work.’

  Morgan pushed a dollar bill across the bar. ‘Where do I find Big King? I want to go fishing.’

  The barman took the dollar. He jerked
his head. ‘He’s anchored out there aways. See that hot-water boat?’

  Morgan peered across the harbour. The launch was about forty feet long, with a flying bridge.

  ‘How do I get out there? Is there a rowboat?’

  ‘Sounds like five bucks to me.’

  He would gladly have paid fifty.

  The barman turned and yelled: ‘Take this gennelman to Big King …’

  A black boy rowed him out. There were lights burning in Big King’s portholes. There was a rubber dinghy tied to the stern. Morgan grabbed the gunnel. He called, ‘Mr King?’

  A head appeared at the aft hatch. It wore a baseball cap and the face was round and heavy. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can I rent your boat tomorrow?’

  ‘Nope,’ Big King said, ‘she’s already rented. For the next three days. After that, okay.’

  ‘Can you take me to Saint Vincent, day after tomorrow?’

  ‘Saint Vincent?’

  Morgan gave the boy ten dollars, so he would remember him. And, hopefully, Saint Vincent. ‘Okay, son, Mr King will row me ashore.’ He climbed aboard the Kingfisher. He extended his hand. ‘My name is Smithers.’

  Big King’s hand was big and rough.

  ‘Smithers, huh? Or Jones? What do you want to go to Saint Vincent for? Cos I don’t smuggle dope no more, got my ass burned.’

  Morgan was measuring the man. Old, out of condition. ‘No dope. What do you charge a day?’

  ‘A hundred and fifty bucks, counting the rods and bait. Bring your own food and booze, cos I run no gin palace.’

  Morgan said: ‘Can you get me and my wife to Saint Vincent tonight?’

  ‘Nope. Because I won’t be back by dawn to pick up my party.’

  ‘Six hundred dollars, to forget your party.’

  ‘Nope. Big King’s got a reputation to maintain.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Nope. There’s plenty of boats who’ll take you but they’ll cost you plenty more than six hundred bucks if you’re running grass.’

  ‘We’ll be carrying no drugs. You can search us.’

  ‘Yeah? – you going to let me look up your wife’s vagina? You can carry a lot of cocaine up there, in a condom. Sorry, mister, I got a party anyways.’