‘Only too well. In my experience, it’s what gets you into – and out of – trouble.’
‘Right then, hear me out and then I’ll ask you to do a couple of things for me. Unless you think I’ve completely lost my bearings . . . or my marbles.’
FIFTY-SIX
Saturday morning began with racing engines, banging car doors and shouting. It didn’t sound like a neighbourhood party. When I looked at my watch, it said six o’clock. Sam had gone back to her own room.
The sounds were somehow familiar. As I dragged myself up and over to the window, banging started on the front door. I keeked out to see a police car and two canvas-topped lorries slewed across the snow-clad road and soldiers running forward and taking up positions. American soldiers. Four went down on their knees, rifles to their shoulders, aiming at our front door and windows. They saw me and instantly raised their aim. Several wore MPs’ helmets, the rest were Marines. The banging got louder, and then a loudhailer started up. The voice was American.
‘Colonel Douglas Brodie, you will come out with your hands up. We are acting under orders from your government.’
There was a pause and another voice took over. I knew it.
‘You heard, Brodie. Come out before they come in for you. No guns.’
I pulled back the curtains and threw up the window. I stuck my head out. ‘Sangster, if you don’t shut up, I’ll call the police and get them to remove you for disturbing the peace.’
‘Oh aye, very funny, Brodie. But you’ll no’ be laughing in a minute when I send these boys in. By the way, there’s more of them roon’ the back.’
‘This is total bullshit, Sangster. American troops have no right whatsoever to be threatening British citizens. Whose authority?’ Just then another black uniform walked forward.
‘That would be my authority, Colonel,’ said Chief Constable Malcolm McCulloch.
I gazed down at him, wondering whom I could trust any more. ‘I thought we were on the same side, Malcolm? OK, here’s what’ll happen. You will give me, Miss Campbell and Mr McRae ten minutes to get dressed. Then we will invite you, Chief Constable, to join us for a wee chat so we can sort out what seems to be a gross misunderstanding.’
McCulloch joined the American officer – a lieutenant of Marines – and together with Sangster had a heated conversation.
McCulloch turned and looked up at me. ‘Brodie, you have no idea how serious this is. We will give you five minutes; then you will open the door and let me and Lieutenant Osborne here come in. We will be joined by two armed Marines. We know you have guns. If there is any sign of you using them, the Marines are ordered to open fire. Is that clear?’
‘Ten minutes and we’ll put the kettle on.’
He paused for a beat, looking over to the Marine officer. He nodded. Reluctantly.
‘Ten minutes. No tricks or, as sure as I’m standing here, these boys will come in shooting. Is that clear?’
Behind me, I could hear doors banging; then Sam and Danny burst into my room. I leaned out the window and called out, ‘Clear.’
I slammed the window down and turned to the ashen-faced Sam and the red-faced McRae.
‘This must be about Salinger. Let’s get dressed and find out. Sam, is there someone you can call? Someone very senior?’ She nodded.
‘Danny, if you so much as think about drawing a gun I will personally blow your head off. Are we clear?’ He nodded.
They dispersed to their rooms. I dressed hurriedly. In the circumstance I thought I might as well meet uniform with uniform and pulled on my khaki. I put my .38 in my bedside table and unclipped my holster to show it was empty. I met the other two in the hall. Sam was on the phone, talking fast. She finished. I glanced at my watch. One minute to go.
‘I got the Procurator Fiscal. Again. He and I used to get on like a house on fire. Until two days ago. Nevertheless he’s on his way. I don’t know if he’s more angry with you or the Americans.’
‘Well done, Sam. Shall we meet in the dining room?’
They nodded and I started unbolting the door. The guns and uniforms were waiting. I stepped forward and stood foursquare on the doorstep. I stared straight at the bullnecked young Marine officer whose pistol pointed at my stomach.
‘Lieutenant Osborne. Don’t you normally salute a senior officer?’ Before he could react, I turned to McCulloch. ‘Chief Constable, if you’d like to follow me, the owner of this house, Advocate Samantha Campbell, will receive you in the dining room. Mr McRae and Miss Campbell are already waiting for you. Wipe your feet. This had better be good, gentlemen.’
The lieutenant was red-faced with the internal conflict between saluting me or shooting me. I simply turned smartly on my heel and marched down the hall towards the dining room, feeling my shoulders twitching. Behind, there was a scuffling, then a rush of footsteps. The lieutenant ordered his men to take up position in the hall. The door was open and Danny and Sam were standing at the far end of the table, near the window. I walked over and joined them. We faced the visitors. McCulloch came in first, followed by the officer, then Sangster. Two armed Marines crowded at the door, unsure of where to point their weapons.
‘Lieutenant, please note I am unarmed.’ I showed him my empty holster. ‘Can you please lower your weapons and ask your men to step back into the hall? We can then sit and have a civilised discussion.’ I waited. The officer’s jaw clenched so tight I thought it would snap.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lieutenant, put your guns away,’ said McCulloch.
‘Sir, no, sir! Due respect, sir! I have orders to search the house.’
Sam walked round the table and faced the young officer. She had on her icy-cool face. I almost felt sorry for the boy.
‘Lieutenant, this is my house. You are on private property. In Scotland, not Tennessee. Please put your gun down.’
Slowly, under her unswerving blue gaze, he lowered his gun to his side.
‘Thank you. Now, before you move another inch, I want to see warrants and written orders from someone very senior indeed. Preferably with a royal seal. I’ve already summoned the Glasgow Procurator Fiscal. He’ll be here shortly. As you should know, Chief Constable – assuming you’ve got the right house – I am a member of the Faculty of Advocates in Scotland. Unless I get a sensible explanation – from one of you – in the next thirty seconds, I will have you and your armed guard here in front of a high court judge before you can say Liberty Bell.’
The Chief Constable had his cap off and was looking decidedly pale. ‘Miss Campbell, my apologies. Let’s sit down and we’ll explain. Lieutenant, just take a seat and stop huffing and puffing, will you?’
We all sat. Sam waved her hand regally across the table at the men. ‘Chief Constable?’
He pointed across the table at me and Danny. ‘These two men – Colonel Douglas Brodie and Mr Daniel McRae – attempted to kidnap an American major at Prestwick Airport two days ago. Is that correct?’
‘Kidnap is a bit strong, Chief Constable,’ I responded. ‘We were drinking coffee in the officers’ mess, having a wee chat with the major about escaped Nazis and such stuff. Along the lines of my private conversations with you.’
McCulloch’s lips thinned. ‘One of you drew a gun, I believe? You tried to coerce the major into some form of admission.’
‘Is that reason enough for a re-enactment of D-Day?’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘That’s something for later debate. It’s not why we’re here.’
‘Can you get to the point, please?’ Sam said.
‘Major Salinger had you arrested and imprisoned overnight. He then took the last flight from Prestwick to London.’
‘That’s what we were told,’ I said.
‘Major Salinger was abducted in London yesterday morning.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘How? Where?’
‘From a flat used by visiting senior officers and embassy officials.’
‘And you think he’s here?’ Sam demanded. ‘That’s why you w
anted to search my house? Are you completely daft, Chief Constable?’
‘Sir! Permission to search the house, sir!’ The lieutenant’s Pavlovian response made us all stare at him.
‘Oh, shut up, Osborne!’ said McCulloch. ‘Do you really think Miss Campbell is hiding your missing major under her bed?’
We all waited for the lieutenant to reply. I thought he might burst.
‘Don’t know for sure, sir. Just following orders, sir.’
Sam got to her feet. There was a scramble by all the men to get to theirs.
‘Lieutenant, I admire your persistence. You must follow orders. Even if they’re silly. So you have my permission to go and look under my bed. In fact, all our beds. Apologies in advance for the stoor. It’s my housekeeper’s day off.’
The lieutenant’s mighty jaw was working overtime. I wondered if he thought stoor could be dangerous, as if Sam had booby-trapped the beds instead of merely failing to dust them. He looked at the Chief Constable and then back at Sam, racked with indecision, afraid if he left the room the Limeys would gang up on him. She waved the backs of both hands at him.
‘Off you go. And take your nice soldiers with you.’ She pointed at Sangster, who flinched. ‘I’d like you to go with them, Chief Inspector, to make sure they don’t stick bayonets into my feather pillows.’ Sam sat back down. ‘Now then, Chief Constable, tell us all the details, and we’ll see if we can help.’
The lieutenant gave a smart salute to the room in general, made a heel-clicking about-turn and started shouting orders at his men. Sangster rose to his feet, grabbed his cap and went after them. They set off up the stairs, shouting as they went, watching out for stoor. Sam abandoned her serene air.
‘Malcolm, I am going to have you nailed to the door of the high court for this. That circus outside my house at this time on a Saturday morning? That was simply unnecessary and I won’t stand for it. Every neighbour for miles around will have dived back into their air-raid shelter. What a fuss! Now, tell us everything, and make your case well.’
The Chief Constable ran his finger round his choking collar and explained. After Salinger had had us arrested he’d phoned his embassy and told them he needed to visit urgently. He’d flown down that night, and stayed at the embassy flats nearby. Yesterday, as Danny and I were being let out of the Prestwick military nick, Salinger was walking round to the embassy for a nine o’clock meeting when he was coshed and bundled into a Harrods van. According to two passers-by, it was driven off at high speed. It wasn’t deranged customer service by the store; the van had been stolen earlier. It was found abandoned at Regent’s Park later in the morning. There had been no sign of Salinger since.
Sam heard McCulloch out and, before I could make the same point, said: ‘Malcolm, I think you’ll accept that Douglas and Danny have a cast-iron alibi for their whereabouts yesterday morning at the time of the kidnap.’
McCulloch was hating this. He knew he was on a hiding to nothing.
‘Miss Campbell, of course I accept your argument. But I had no choice this morning. This came down from the Home Secretary’s office, via MI6 and the Scottish Secretary. In person. I have to play along. Follow orders.’
‘You sound as hidebound as Osborne! But he’s got an excuse. He’s a US Marine.’
McCulloch swelled. ‘You do realise this is a major international incident? And that it’s surely stretching coincidence to have Major Salinger threatened one day by Brodie and McRae, and being abducted the next. At the very least there’s a connection!’
I cut in. ‘Malcolm, while the Neanderthals are upstairs kicking up dust, can I just confirm you’re aware that Major Salinger is the local controller of the Scottish rat line? He’s the one you and I have been after for weeks now.’
‘I was told you’d say that, Brodie. The Secretary of State was told you don’t have proof.’
‘Has he spoken to Sillitoe? Have you?’ Then I remembered I hadn’t called Sillitoe. Blast. Did he know?
McCulloch shook his head. ‘As you can imagine, I’ve not had much time between getting shouted at by two government ministers and having the US Marine Corps banging on my front door at four in the morning.’
‘You want proof? I’d start with a word – a quiet word – with Donald Campbell. Aye, him, the Archbishop of Glasgow.’
McCulloch wiped the deepening lines on his brow.
‘Then call Sillitoe and say MI6, his sister service, is keeping information from him about the CIA. The Americans are running operations in Scotland to give their pet Nazis a second life in South America.’
Just then, Sangster and the Marines arrived.
McCulloch asked, ‘Well, Lieutenant, did you find anyone?’
‘No sign, sir. But I found these.’ He reached forward and put my service revolver and Sam’s father’s Webley on the table. He reached behind and was handed the two beautiful Dickson shotguns. He looked like a bulldog who was expecting a pat on the head for fetching some sticks.
‘That’s my service revolver, Lieutenant. The one that fits this empty holster. That belongs to the British Army. I’ll take it now.’
‘And those are my father’s guns,’ said Sam. ‘If you’ve broken into my gun cupboard to get them, I will bring charges against the US Army of breaking and entering, and theft. Now put them down!’
‘I can’t do that, ma’am. I had orders to secure all weapons.’
‘To steal? I think not. Put them down,’ she said in that quiet, steely courtroom manner that cut the legs off hostile witnesses.
I backed her. ‘Lieutenant, you’re off your base under civilian orders. That means the Chief Constable here. You’ve searched the house, found nothing, so you can now report back to your senior officers you’ve successfully completed your mission. Put the shotguns and my handgun on the table and leave.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, do it,’ ordered McCulloch.
In the grey light of a soggy dawn we waved the whole pack of them off and retired to the kitchen. I undid my tunic. Tea was made and poured. It was barely seven o’clock but it felt like midday.
‘Poor bloody Salinger,’ said Danny. There wasn’t much sympathy in his voice.
‘Think it’s Irgun again?’ I asked.
‘Racing cert, don’t you think?’
‘How the hell would they know?’ I asked. ‘I mean, how would they know it was Salinger, and how would they know where he was?’
‘I’m betting Langefeld told Malachi and the two Irgun guys more than Mal told us,’ said Danny.
‘Could be. But even if they had a name, how would they know he’d gone to London?’
‘Maybe they hung about Prestwick? Maybe they were watching the US embassy in London once they had a name? These guys are good. The King David bombing was well planned.’
‘I might give Duncan a call. Find out where they’re keeping Malachi. Suggest they have a word with him about Langefeld. About what they forced from him.’
‘Oh, bugger!’ said Sam. ‘Douglas, didn’t I tell you? Malachi’s got his first hearing on Monday.’
‘Do you think we should go?’
‘I’ve no choice.’
‘Why?’
‘He asked me if I’d represent him.’
‘You can’t! You’re – I don’t know – involved.’ I struggled to get my head round the mess.’
‘No, I’m not. You are. I’m going to have to call you – and Danny – as a witness.’
‘This is madness, Sam. I’m going back to bed. It’s clear I’m in the middle of nightmare. Maybe if I lie down I’ll wake up and this morning will all have been a terrible dream. Ouch! What did you pinch me for?’
‘You’re awake.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
It seemed all the more important that I spoke to Duncan Todd. He wasn’t surprised to hear from me. I got him at his home late morning. I was happy to interrupt his day off.
‘I shouldnae even be speaking to you,’ he said.
‘You knew we were going to be raided this mor
ning by your boss and his boss and half the US Marine Corps?’
‘Ah heard about it half an hour ago. The station called me. You boys sure know how to cause a fuss.’
‘Us? We were just following leads, Duncan. And as you’ll recall, you and his grace gave us one of our strongest ones. So don’t play the bloody innocent with me, old pal.’
‘Fair enough, Brodie. But it’s no’ roses around the station either. They say Sangster is having his tenth fit of the day. Ah don’t think he likes an early rise.’
‘Neither do I! McCulloch must have known it was a wild-goose chase, Duncan. We were four hundred miles away from Salinger when they took him.’
‘Right enough, Brodie. But it’s hard to think when you’ve got half the government shouting doon the phone at you in the middle o’ the night. And you can see there might be a connection between you and the galloping major.’
The weekend drifted by in a haze of fruitless conjecture and sleep catch-up. I planned to get down to the court early on Monday, wondering what charges would be brought against Malachi Herzog. Abducting a Nazi? Torturing a Nazi? Murdering a Nazi? And did it matter if he was a Nazi or not? Was it still a crime regardless of the moral depravity of the kidnapped, tortured and murdered? Of course. But . . .
On Monday morning I called into the newsroom to let Eddie know what was happening and to suggest he hold the front page for Tuesday. I made it round to the Sheriff Court at nine thirty. Sam had gone on ahead of me. The hearing would be at ten. I was loitering with a fag in my mouth outside the courtroom when I heard the police wagon arrive. Soon a pair of policemen marched Malachi along the corridor towards me. Mal was handcuffed and the police were either side of him, holding his upper arm.
Suddenly the structured scene dissolved. At first I wasn’t sure what was happening. Two figures crashed out of the toilets. They wore flat caps and scarves round their mouths. Each was swinging a pickaxe handle. Simultaneously a second pair of masked men dashed in from the corridor behind Malachi. The two police stood no chance. They barely had time to shield their heads with their arms before they were clubbed down without mercy by the first two at the scene. I spun my fag away and started running towards them, wishing I had a gun. The two others had grabbed Malachi and were dragging him backwards on his heels like a bag of coal. Mal saw me running towards him and shouted, ‘Help, Brodie! Help!’
Douglas Brodie 03 - Pilgrim Soul Page 29