Trouble

by Michael Gilbert

  “And I take it he realises that the danger period is December?”

  “I’m not sure he’s convinced that there is a danger period. At that conference his general line was that the whole thing was a fantasy dreamed up by the security services.”

  There was a pause. Then Every said, “You know, there is a way round this.” He was studying the map which he had brought with him. “What we have to cover, is a limited part of the East End of London, on either side of the river, for a limited period. Say six weeks at the outside.”

  The other two nodded.

  “A good deal of it is still open country. Greenwich Marshes and Plumstead Marshes on the south bank. Plaistow Marshes, Eastbury Level and Dagenham Marshes on the north. What’s to prevent the SAS setting up a training exercise in that area? The object of the exercise would be – let me see – to practise stopping suspected characters from leaving London by the river route.”

  “Operation Cork-in-Bottle,” said Salwyn. “I believe you’ve got something there, Ludo.”

  “We could set up a temporary camp on each bank—”

  “Just for the purpose of the exercise.”

  “Of course. Patrols are sent out from those camps to various points on the river and on the main roads, communications established, both by wireless and by line, and co-operation with the Thames Division could be practised.”

  “Hold your horses,” said Mowatt. “Aren’t you going to run into trouble if you involve any part of the police?”

  “I don’t see why. After all, it’s only a training exercise. Not for real.”

  Every said, “I think Superintendent Groener would be willing to co-operate. And to keep the whole thing at a fairly informal level. You know I had a day down the river with him. When we were talking afterwards it transpired that he knew one of my Squadron Commanders, David Musgrave. It seems they were both at Michael Williamson’s school, at the Oval. In the course of a difference of opinion David knocked out one of his teeth and he gave David a black eye.”

  “Sounds like the basis of a real solid friendship,” agreed Salwyn.

  “I’ll get out a written order. I’ll make it a Squadron show and put David in charge. If we do it that way we shan’t have to bring Brigade in on it. Then, if something should happen while we’re carrying out this piece of training, well it’s just a lucky chance that our chaps should have been in the neighbourhood and able to lend the police a hand if the party gets rough. You follow me?”

  “I follow you entirely,” said Mowatt.

  Later, when Salwyn had departed, he said, “I suppose you realise that what you’re erecting is a fairly thin screen between you and trouble.”

  “Thinnish,” agreed Every.

  “Bad trouble.”

  “Possibly.”

  “If Haydn-Smith or the General heard about this and felt vindictive they could raise a stink which might blow you right out of the Army.”

  “Then I shall take all possible steps to see that they don’t hear about it. And let me tell you this, Reggie. If I had to weigh the chances of wrecking my career in the Army against the chance of a settlement with Liam, you might be surprised if I told you which side the scales would come down.”

  “Other people might be surprised,” said Mowatt sadly. “Not me.”

  The ripples caused by Haydn-Smith’s directive had already spread in many directions: to Great Peter Street, to the House of Commons, to Petty France. Now they reached Reynolds Road Police Station and caused an unexpected reaction from Chief Superintendent Brace.

  The manner in which the news had reached him had, admittedly, been unfortunate. He had been discussing the morning personnel slate with his second in command, Superintendent Wynn-Thomas, when the telephone call had come from Tancred at District. Tancred had said, “As you probably know, there was an idea, at one time, that you’d have to detail eighteen of your men for a supervision job. You’ll be glad to hear that it’s now reduced to six. I’m sending round the details this morning. Something to do with suspected IRA activities. You’ll be able to manage six easily enough.”

  When Brace had put down the receiver, with calculated deliberation, he said, “You heard that, Tommo? District is of the opinion that we can spare – that we can easily spare – six men on detachment.”

  Wynn-Thomas, who had been listening on an extension, said, “IRA? That’s not our job, surely.”

  “Whether it’s our job or not, we’ve got to do it.” He looked at the list on his desk. “Easy,” he said bitterly. “Would you describe it as easy?”

  “We are a bit pressed in other directions just at this moment. Eight on the sick list. Five with ‘flu. One suspected malaria. Johnson, a broken wrist. He collected that trying to stop a punch-up at closing time. Swindlehurst, broken leg.”

  “What was he trying to stop? A football match?”

  “Got it jumping out of a squad car when it was going rather fast.”

  “Silly young ass.”

  “Then we’ve got twelve on leave. And another twelve going next week. It’s always heavy in the month before Christmas.” He was about to add that he could have done with a spot of leave himself, but the glint in Brace’s eye warned him that this might not be the best moment. He said, “Then we’ve got four away on technical courses and there are the special attachments, at the Observatory and the docks.”

  “That’s something I’ve never understood. Why do we have to operate this explosive detector? It takes one man almost permanently off his routine work. Surely it’s something the PLA boys ought to be handling?”

  “It’s a job we could do without,” agreed Wynn-Thomas.

  “And talking of specialist jobs, that reminds me.” He grabbed the internal telephone. “Is Sergeant Ames in the building? Good. Then send him up.”

  Sergeant Ames had had some of his hair cut off, but he still managed to look more like an undergraduate than a police officer. Realising that he had not been called up for commendation he stood sloppily to attention in front of Brace’s desk.

  “Did you see a report from the brigade about a fire at Azam Kahn’s garage, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir. I think I did.”

  “What did you do about it?”

  “Do, sir?”

  “That was my question.”

  “I don’t think any official complaint was made, sir. At least, if it was made, I wasn’t instructed to take any action about it.”

  “Do I understand then, that until you receive actual instructions, you don’t feel obliged to do your job?”

  “Well—no—sir. Not exactly.”

  “You were made Community Liaison Officer to keep an eye on minority groups in this division. With particular reference to West Indian and Asian groups.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You get a report that premises belonging to a gang of Pakistani youths have been set on fire. No question of accident. The report’s quite clear about that. It was a deliberate piece of arson.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also you know, if you’ve kept your eyes and ears open, that the leader of a rival gang of white boys has been going about looking as though he’d run into two lamp posts at once. Well?”

  “I did hear about that.”

  “And you didn’t possibly connect the two things?”

  “It seemed to me that the fire might have been in revenge for the assault, but—”

  When Sergeant Ames paused, Brace said, in his smoothest voice, “But what, Sergeant?”

  “Well, sir, as we’d had no official complaint about either incident, I thought it might be premature to take any step in the matter.”

  “That’s what you thought is it? Then let me tell you what I think.” Brace’s voice was rising with each word. Mezzo-piano at the start. Fortissimo at the finish. “I think you should hoist yourself off your backside and get out into the street and find out what’s happening. Keep an eye on these Asians. That’s what you’re paid for. Right?”

  “Right, sir,
” said Sergeant Ames unhappily and ambled out.

  “That man gets on my tits,” said Brace. “He’s so wet he lays his own dust.”

  “I did wonder,” said Wynn-Thomas, “if we are in for black-and-white trouble, whether it mightn’t be a sound idea to give someone else Sergeant Ames’ job. It’s an important assignment.”

  “Now I suppose you’re going to tell me that I can easily find someone.”

  “Nothing’s easy when you’re under-staffed and over worked,” said Wynn-Thomas pacifically.

  ‘B’ Squadron Orders Training Operation ‘Cork-in-Bottle’

  1. All four troops will be engaged in this operation which will commence p.m. on November 14th and continue for an initial period of fourteen days.

  2. Area of operation. Troops 1 and 3: OS map Essex No. 138, squares 041/043. Troops 2 and 4: OS map Greater London No. 142, squares 001/002.

  3. The objects of the exercise are to practise:

  Continuous observation over a defined area.

  Signals co-ordination, both inter-sub-unit and with other forces.

  Appendix A for frequencies and call signs.

  Digging-in and concealment of observation points.

  Laying of land-line to OPs.

  Setting up, digging-in and camouflage of temporary Troop HQs in the field.

  Movement after dark.

  4. Narrative. Two suspect Redland agents, arrested in London, subsequently effected an escape and are believed to be hidden by sympathisers in the dockland area. Intelligence sources have suggested that an attempt will be made to evacuate these agents down river in some form of river craft and to have them picked up by ocean-going craft in the area Gravesend/Tilbury. The Squadron will take up Observation Points selected by the Squadron Commander and observe and report on all movements of craft. Should the police find it necessary to stop and/or search any craft, Squadron personnel are to be so positioned that they can assist them if called upon to do so.

  5. Administration. Rations for three days will be carried by troops. ‘Q’ will organise delivery of further rations to Troop HQs as required. Establishment of HQs and OPs and all movement to and from them will take place after dark.

  6. Troop Commanders to hand in copies of their own orders (preliminary reconnaissance; start-time of main body; routes; transport; signal nets) to Squadron Commander by 09.00 hours tomorrow.

  7. Important Note. In view of the possibility (see paragraph 4) of the existence of persons sympathetic to the agents, the greatest possible care will be taken to avoid civilian personnel having any sight of SAS activities. The exercise will be adjudged a success if it can take place without drawing the attention of the public to the operation or, if such attention cannot be avoided, by keeping it to a minimum.

  D. Musgrave OC ‘B’ Squadron.

  15

  PC Rackham was not happy.

  He was a normally courageous young man, but the cold of the November evening, the lack of companionship and the fact that his watch seemed to be operating a private go-slow, had combined to reduce his spirits to a very low point indeed.

  It had not been so bad when the two factories on the north bank, opposite his post, had been in operation with workmen moving about, and there had been an exciting moment when a tug, towing two barges, had nearly overshot the entrance to the tidal basin of the Victoria Dock.

  A good deal of language, which PC Rackham had appreciated, had floated across the broad waters of the Thames. These had been grey and placid when he had come on duty at four o’clock, but the tide was running out and the east wind, which had freshened as dusk fell, was now blowing directly upstream, cutting off the edges of the waves and crowning each one with a white cap.

  He was squatting in a hide which his relief, PC Hind, who was something of a handyman, had constructed at the top of the concrete steps leading to the downstream end of the Universal Wharf. The hide was well dug in and had a rainproof cover, but it was small for a big man like Rackham. Its furnishing was functional; a bench to sit on and a plank to rest his elbows on. A pair of night-glasses hung from a nail and he had a scribbling-board, with a built-in light, on which to note his observations.

  His instructions were simple. He would be alerted on his personal radio when any ship passed Customs at Gravesend and came upstream. He would watch for its arrival and follow it through his own zone of observation. If it continued on upstream or entered the Victoria Dock he took no action. If it approached the Universal Wharf he was to inform Reynolds Road Police Station. The main set there was netted to Gravesend and Woolwich radios as well as to the Information Room at Scotland Yard. If he needed help, his relief was available at Reynolds Road Police Station, but resting.

  And a bloody sight warmer than I am, thought Rackham, looking for the third time in ten minutes at his wrist-watch. The minute-hand had crawled down to a quarter past seven. His spell ended at eight o’clock, when he would climb out, retrieve his bicycle which was hidden in some bushes at the top of the rise and pedal back to hand in his report and go home.

  This report, pinned to the scribbling-board, was blank, So far, in the five days of his watch, there had been nothing to write in it and he was beginning to wonder whether Universal was used at all. Once, tiring of inactivity, he had made a cautious inspection. The wharf was a double construction, in the form of an H. The rear part, built solidly into the river bank, contained the single crane and crane-housing. It was joined by a narrow walkway to the outer section which stood in deeper water. The only sign of use was a set of fresh tyre marks in the mud beside the metalled track which ran back across the marsh to Blackwall Lane.

  What seemed like half an hour later he looked at his watch again. Twenty past seven. Or might it, at a pinch, be called twenty-one past? He was debating this point when it ceased to be important.

  Someone was in the crane-housing and was using a torch. Or were his eyes playing tricks? He picked up the night-glasses and focused them. No question, there was someone there.

  His instructions had been specific. He was to let control know if any ship approached or anchored at the wharf. He had been notified that the SS Beatrice, Lorraine Line, four hundred tons, with a cargo of oranges and grapefruit, had left Gravesend Customs at ten minutes to five. If it was making six knots against the current it could be up with him shortly. But did activity on the wharf warrant a report? Chief Superintendent Brace was a stickler for precision in the carrying out of orders.

  All the same, something odd was going on. The man at the crane must have arrived on foot or by bicycle and crept on to the wharf without attracting attention. Suspicious, certainly.

  The silence was broken by the cough of an engine and a rattling of gear. Now he could see the arm of the crane swinging out against the evening sky. Common sense prevailed. He pressed the transmit button on his radio. The response was a single high-pitched shriek, strong enough to drown any attempt at speech. Either the set had broken down, or someone was using an interrupter to block his wavelength. There was no time to think this out, because a ship was approaching the wharf. First he saw the port-side and masthead lights, then the loom of the ship itself. It was roughly the right size for the Beatrice.

  He heard the engines go into reverse as she sidled up to the outer wharf edge. There was a second man down there now. Where had he come from? He was dealing with the warps, first the forward one, then as the boat swung in, the rear one. He had evidently done this before, for the whole operation was carried out without any shouting of orders.

  Rackham pressed the transmit button again and only succeeded in deafening himself. He wondered what the hell he should do. It would take him twenty minutes at least to reach the nearest telephone. By that time the cargo could be landed and the ship on its way again. If he went down and tried to interfere he could guess exactly what would happen. There were half a dozen men on the after deck now. They were busy dragging nets full of boxes into position under the arm of the crane.

  When in doubt, use your head,
not your legs.

  The important point was the cargo. The ship could not escape. No doubt some sort of vehicle would be coming to pick up the boxes which were being swung ashore. As soon as these were unloaded the ship would push off as quickly as possible. He was sure of that. Then the odds would be reduced and he might be able to intervene to some effect.

  Back at Reynolds Road the senior of the two officers on the console was getting worried too. More experienced than Rackham he realised immediately what was happening. He sent his number two to extract Hind, at the double, from the canteen. There was no time to lose. The importance of the listening posts had been stressed in Station Orders. When Hind arrived, he said, “Some bugger’s jamming the p.r. at Universal. I guess your chum’s in trouble. Better take one of the pandas and get down quick.”

  But more than one man was needed. A rescue party would have to be organised. Difficult at any time, doubly so at that hour, when the evening relief had gone out, leaving the station almost empty. When Hind had departed, he thought about it for a long moment. Then he made up his mind, grabbed the telephone and dialled a number.

  Two netfuls were ashore now. About forty boxes, Rackham calculated. The crane had been swung in, the warps cast off and the ship was backing away.

  Now the crane driver had come down and was helping the second man stack the boxes at the far end of the wharf. The whole operation had taken less than ten minutes. How often had it happened before, Rackham wondered.

  Time to be moving. He wriggled out of the hide and started down the steps. If he could knock one of the men out quickly he reckoned he could handle the other all right.

  Then he heard the lorry coming. It had been driving, without lights, down the approach road. Now it skidded to a halt and started to back up towards the pile of boxes.

  Rackham stood for a moment, watching it. The driver got out, followed by another man. The odds had lengthened uncomfortably. But he had no intention of backing down. He stumped on to the wharf, his footsteps echoing on the woodwork and bellowed out, “Hold it.”

  Any doubts he may have had were set at rest by the actions of the four men. At the sound of his approach they had not turned. Their hands had gone into their pockets and by the time they swung round he saw that their faces were covered by stocking masks.