Bennett agreed. “I see that. Whoever sent those men’ll know you escaped in Manchester. Someone will be waiting at Kings Cross to learn if we have arrested you or not.”
Liz now had a thought. “When we get there, take me to Alice Silverstone’s home in St. John’s Wood. She’ll have an idea about how to proceed. Are you willing to do that, gentlemen?”
“I suppose so,” Bennett replied with a hint of resignation.
Liz had won a round.
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached London. Liz was glad to be placed in handcuffs and frog-marched to a cab. She was gladder still to see the lights bright in Alice’s windows on Hamilton Terrace in St. John’s Wood.
All four were sipping tea and smoking cigarettes from the silver box on Alice’s coffee table. It took only a few minutes to put Alice in the picture. Without challenge, she took charge. The other three listened as Alice summed matters up, sounding to Liz rather like an exquisitely briefed barrister in the high court. Perhaps Bennett and Watkins thought so too. They did not interrupt.
“Gentlemen”—she looked from Bennett to Watkins—“you want to catch Trevor Spencer’s murderers. You also want to put a stop to a band of out-of-control Yanks making a travesty of British law. You may even want to deal with treason in MI5.” The two men’s tight lips and slight nods were enough for Alice. “As I see it, there is only one way to do any of those things. You have to free Tom Wrought and let Liz here go. They’re the real threats, along with me, to the Americans and their mole in MI5. Then you have to watch all three of us. We’ll be your bait. Once Wrought is free, they’ll have to come after him—and us. When you catch whoever does”—Alice gulped—“if you catch whoever comes after us—the rogue FBI agents in London or Hoover’s MI5 mole—you’ll have Trevor Spencer’s killers.”
“Can we do that, guv?” Watkins asked.
“Spring Wrought? Only if I can get authorization from the commissioner of the Met and the Home Office.” He rose, and Watkins followed his lead. “I’m going to start working on that straight away.” He turned to Liz. “Mrs. Spencer, you’re to stay here. If you leave, I’ll have to treat it as evidence of your guilt as an accessory after murder. Do you understand?” Then he turned to Alice. “Meet me at Brixton Prison tomorrow at two o’clock.”
Alice came back from showing the two detectives out. Liz thought she looked distraught, as though she were in pain. “I don’t like it. Once the mandarins in the Home Office find out about this, it will get to Roger Hollis in no time.” After a moment she added, “And we can’t stay here.”
“But I can’t leave. You heard Bennett.”
“Can’t be helped. People are after you. We’re not safe here. Do you have Beatrice Russell’s number?” Alice moved round the room turning off lights. “Give me a minute to collect some things, and then let’s get out of here. Can’t use the phone here anyway. We’ll find a call box.” Then Alice mounted the stairs to turn on bedroom lights and retrieve her morphine supply. By the time she had returned, Liz had her coat on and was waiting at the door with the small case she had been carrying from Manchester.
Bennett was already at Brixton Prison when Alice arrived. He was with Tom in an interrogation room new to Alice. Before either of them could say anything Alice began, “Do you think we can speak freely, Inspector?”
Bennett sighed. “I don’t think we have much choice. But I’ve asked the warden to clear this corridor completely, and this is not a room used for interrogation or solicitors’ visits.”
“Very well. Have you explained things to Mr. Wrought?” She looked towards Tom. Everything about him was slightly different. Was he jaunty? Even sitting there he seemed taller, leaning forwards aggressively over the table. That’s it, of course, she realized. He’s no longer anxious. Well, he still should be.
Tom interrupted her thought. “Yes. The inspector has laid everything out pretty clearly.”
“I hadn’t quite finished,” Bennett said. “What Mrs. Spencer told me yesterday led me to speak with the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. The commissioner has approached the home secretary to order your temporary release, Mr. Wrought. We’re waiting word now. I expect it will come shortly. Normally we would work with MI5 on a matter like this. In fact, they would simply take it over altogether. If Miss Silverstone’s right, we can’t do that.”
“If . . . ,” Alice scoffed. “You wouldn’t be here if you thought it was just an ‘if.’”
Bennett ignored the provocation. “If the home secretary approves, we have a plan.” He looked at Tom. “But it’s dangerous to you three.”
“I can guess,” Tom observed. “You release me. Then you watch to see if the Americans kill us—Liz, Miss Silverstone, and me—right? If they do, you will know Roger Hollis belongs to them.”
Alice interrupted. “Or that Hollis is a Russian mole eager to have the FBI continue to act against the CIA.”
“Or both,” Tom observed coolly.
Bennett shrugged. “Scotland Yard will do everything it can to protect you. But I am afraid you will be at considerable risk.”
“And the alternative?” Tom’s question was rhetorical, but Bennett answered it.
“The crown prosecutor will insist on a trial, and the Official Secrets Act will prevent any of this from coming out in court. I doubt you’ll hang.”
Tom had already decided and was beginning to think operationally. “What will you tell Hollis about releasing me?”
Alice looked towards the detective. “They won’t have to tell him. He’ll find out from his people in Brixton anyway.”
Bennett nodded. “Can’t keep anything the Home Office does secret from counterintelligence anyway. MI5 is part of the Home Office.”
“But there is one thing you can do, Inspector Bennett, to prove Hollis is bent.” She paused, and then continued. “He has to find out that we know how Hoover fought his war against the CIA.”
“Is there something you haven’t told me, Miss Silverstone?” Bennett sounded impatient.
Alice was surprised. “Didn’t Mrs. Spencer tell you about her trip to Washington?”
“Washington? She’s been to Washington?” Bennett frowned. “How? We had her passport.”
Alice smiled. “Not her Canadian one.”
“Tell me,” Bennett fairly barked.
Alice sighed and began to put Liz’s trip to Washington together with Tom’s experiences in Finland.
When she finished, Bennett’s face assumed a tight smile. “Well, that’ll seal matters once the Home Office finds out.” There was almost wonderment in his voice when he continued, “So, our Hollis was using the channel to Hoover through Burgess and Folsom to attack the CIA both for the Soviets and for the head of the FBI. Chief’s already livid about Hoover’s agents operating on his turf. This’ll complicate matters, but not much. We’ll just have to brief the people watching for the Yanks to be on the lookout for Russians too.”
Alice nodded. “Would it make matters easier for you if your bait, all three of us—Tom, Liz, and I—were in the same place?”
“Of course. Where do you propose the three of you go?”
“My place, in St. John’s Wood.” Then she addressed Bennett. “How long will you need to arrange matters?” Alice was proceeding as if Tom were not even present.
“Once we get approval, not long. Then we release Wrought and watch.”
“No. Release him to me now.”
Bennett shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Then I will advise my client”—she looked at Tom—“not to proceed with your scheme.”
Tom interjected here, “Why, Alice? It’s my only chance.”
“It’s not enough of one. We don’t know how quickly Hollis is going to act to protect himself and his friends. I trust Inspector Bennett, but the moment he began to make arrangements, word started to spread. You may never even get to my place.”
“I’m afraid she may be right.” Bennett rose. “Look, I’ll tell the Brixton p
eople that I’m taking him to an identity parade at the Yard now.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to see the commissioner in an hour. I can’t cart you two round with me in any case. It would give the game away. You’ll call me when all three of you are at your place in St. John’s Wood?”
Alice nodded, then she went on, “Very well, but it won’t be till it’s dark this evening. I don’t want to make it too easy for whoever will be coming after us.”
No more than a quarter of an hour later, Tom was in the clothes he had worn when he’d arrived at Brixton. Handcuffed to Bennett, both walked out of the building to the police car in the forecourt. Alice trailed them. Bennett removed the cuffs.
“You two get in the back. When we drive off, crouch so that anyone watching won’t see you in the car,” Bennett warned. “I’ll drop you at Clapham North.” It was the next tube station after Brixton. Alice laughed as she slid down into the seat. “I fail to see the humour, Miss Silverstone?”
“Well, if anyone followed me to the prison, when I don’t come out, they’ll end up assuming I’ve been arrested . . . or that something is afoot.”
“Can’t be helped.” Bennett started the car.
Tom was leaning against the phone box, feeling rather detached from reality suddenly standing in a tube ticket hall in civilian clothes, unsupervised for the first time in a month. Imagine, he thought, if it had been the first time free after ten years or more in prison. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stale packet of cigarettes, lit one up, and watched the smoke mix with the fog of his breath in the cold air. Then he opened the call box door to listen to Alice’s conversation with Liz.
She was speaking. “You understand? You’re to go to Oxford and get your car at the station.” She paused, evidently listening to a question. “I don’t think you’re in danger at the moment. If they tailed you off the train, they’ll think you’re still in police custody.” She stopped again and then continued, “Drive directly to my office. Don’t park in Red Lion Square. Park behind my firm’s offices in the cul-de-sac at the end of Eagle Street. The rear door to my building will be open.”
Tom was confused. He interrupted. “You told Bennett we’d be at your place.”
Alice was peremptory. “Pipe down.” She spoke into the phone. “Now, before you leave Oxford, figure out what time you’ll be at Red Lion Square. Then call Beatrice Russell at the office from a phone box.” A pause. “Yes, she’ll expect your call. Ask her to come to my office at roughly the same time you arrive from Oxford. She can come in the front way.” Alice thought a moment. “Do your children have their documents?” After a pause she went on, “Good. Write a note to their uncle, giving him permission to take them out of the country or send them to your parents in Canada. Post it right away.” After another pause, “Right. See you this evening at my office.” She rang off and came out of the box. “Let’s go.” She led him down the stairs to the turnstile and the long escalators of the Clapham North tube stop. The platform was crowded, and Tom felt a compulsion to stand well away from the edge.
They came up from the underground at Chancery Lane. Alice handed Tom a map she had been drawing in the train. “Wait here thirty minutes and then go to the back entrance of my office. I am going to make a stop between here and there, and then I’m going in the front way.”
“What should I do here while I wait?”
“What you did for three weeks in Brixton. Keep quiet, don’t look conspicuous, and don’t leave before half an hour. Go back down and ride the tube if you want. No one is looking for you—not yet.” Then she turned left and walked down the Holborn towards Tottenham Court Road.
Not twenty minutes later she came up the steps to her office with a bag marked “Burton, the Tailor of Taste.” Never imagined I’d actually buy something from anyone as downmarket as Sir Montague Burton, she thought.
No one was in but the office clerk, who was readying to leave for the evening. “Messages, Boyle?” she asked without stopping as she casually moved towards her small office at the back. The clerk shook his head. “You can leave the lights on; I’ll be working late.” The man nodded and pulled on his coat. Once he had gone, Alice went to the rear of the building and unlocked the back door. Tom was standing there.
“Am I too early?”
She smiled but shook her head and ushered him in.
“Well, it’s been two hours since you were let loose. I think we should begin to assume that Roger Hollis has gotten the word by now. Even if he hasn’t yet, it’s best to start acting as though he has. So, first we need to take a passport picture of you. Follow me.” She picked up a box camera and led him into a darkroom with a photo enlarger. “We have to copy a lot of documents, and photostat is the simplest way. We can take pictures and develop them too. Take off your hat; straighten your tie. Stand over there against the white wall.” She took three photographs while Tom did as he was told. Then she ushered him out of the door and closed it. He could hear the light switch turn off. A few minutes later she called him inside and used a set of tongs to shift three photos around their bath in the final tray of the development process. “Which one do you like?”
“They all look the same. Can you tell me what you’re doing?”
“I’m making you a passport. I’ll make one for Liz as soon as she gets here. You’ll both need them.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re both leaving the country as invisibly as you can.”
“I don’t understand. What about the plan we made with Bennett?”
Alice gave him an exasperated glance. “I was going to wait to explain it to both of you together.” She looked at her watch. “Choose a photo, would you?” When he’d made his selection, she plucked it out of its rinse. As she clipped it to a line to dry, she spoke. “To begin with, this is England. We can’t expect anything to remain secret for long. We can’t expect the operation that Bennett is planning to work. Most of all, we can’t expect that everyone will play by the rules, even if we do. So, we’re not going to play by the rules—not their rules, anyway.”
“I don’t follow,” Tom said as she led him back into the office. He sat down and lit another of his stale cigarettes. “Start over, and go slowly.”
“Look, in a couple of hours at the most, someone high up in the Home Office—whether it’s the permanent secretary or the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police—is going to start using you, Liz, and me as bait in a scheme to put a stop to two foreign services operating on their turf. The last thing they’ll be interested in is saving you, Liz, or me. They’ll be far more interested in protecting their precious Roger Hollis, senior civil servant, a K no less . . .”
Tom interrupted, “‘K no less’?”
“Oh, a knight commander of the order of St. George, a ‘sir’ to you.” Alice assumed an arch accent. “Don’t you see, old chum, he simply couldn’t be the bent one.” She dropped the accent. “A half-dozen mandarins in the Home Office or the FO will decide that they’ve known Roger Hollis too long and too well for him to be a spy. They’ll have to protect him against such absurd charges. Best way to do that is to see to it that the FBI or the KGB disposes of us first. Then the police, or whoever gets the job, roll up their teams and escort them to the borders of Her Majesty’s dominions.”
“So, what are we to do?”
“I’ll explain when Liz gets here.”
At seven o’clock that evening, they heard a car drive into the alley and then a knock on the back door. Alice opened it to allow Liz in, then locked the door behind her. “Do you think you’ve been followed, Liz?”
“Not up to Oxford. I took some local trains. I’d have spotted people switching with me. No one followed my car out of the car park at the station.” Then she saw Tom and rushed to him. Alice left the rear corridor to them and went to the front door to wait for Beatrice Russell. An age later Tom and Liz came to the office’s entry hall to wait with Alice. She couldn’t help noticing that they were still straightening their clothes.
>
“Tom has filled me in, Alice. What are we going to do?”
“Well, first we need to manufacture a passport for you, Liz. Let’s get a picture.” She led Liz back to the darkroom.
After a moment Liz came out, and some time later, Alice called her back in to make her selection. Once it had been clipped up to dry, both women rejoined Tom in the office.
“So, Alice, where will you get the passports for these pictures, and how do you think we’re ever going to get to use them?” Tom sounded sceptical.
“Well, we are going to try to fool anyone who’s looking for us that we are at my place in St. John’s Wood. But in fact you two will be headed out of the country.”
“How?” both Liz and Tom asked simultaneously.
“First, I am going to put on man’s clothes.” She pointed to the bag from Burton’s lying against the wall at the entrance to her small office. “Then, I’m going home. Let’s hope I’m the only one they’ll want to keep track of. They saw me coming in here the front way. We’ve got to hope they’ll assume you two are in custody at least for another few hours. When I leave here, I’ll look different enough so that no one will follow me. At eight thirty I’m going to call here from St. John’s Wood. You are going to pick up the phone, and we are going to have a conversation in which you say that you’re at my place on Hamilton Terrace, and I will say things suggesting I am here in this office and about to leave to join you in St. John’s Wood. I’m pretty certain my line is being tapped, either by the FBI or MI5, maybe even by the KGB, though I rather doubt they have the government access they would need to do that.”
“But—” Liz immediately saw that this solution did not provide for Alice to escape.
Alice went on, “They will wait for me to join up with you at St. John’s Wood before moving in on us. Anyway, that’s my hope. But of course they’ll never see me arrive, since I’ll be there already. The longer they wait, the more time you’ll have to escape.”
Autumn in Oxford: A Novel Page 34