Wings of the Morning

by Julian Beale

  He awoke before 6 am and made himself a cup of coffee. The Belgian slept on. The house was silent. He walked into the living room and took a reel of fishing line from the drawer of the dresser. In the kitchen, he found a pair of pliers and one of the heavy plastic straps which their gardener used to secure the jacaranda trees. He walked out to the Land Rover and removed the tarp from its rear before climbing in and backing out onto the road. He moved slowly and without much noise. In less than five minutes, he was outside what had been the Arkwright dwelling which was a mirror image of his own.

  He reversed the Land Rover into the yard, stopping level with the veranda, climbed out and went to knock loudly at the front door: surprise, surprise, no reply. Rory pulled open the fly screen and turned the handle of the main door. As he expected, it opened to his touch. If ever they had locked up, it would not have occurred to Desmond to do so before leaving in search of Dolly. Rory continued his charade, walking into the living room and calling their names. The answering silence mocked him. Finally, he heard a soft shuffling coming up the path from the garden and the familiar figure of Alfred came into view, his shirt and shorts rumpled as if from sleeping in them. He could hold his nerve, this one. He walked into the kitchen and stood respectfully in front of Rory.

  ‘Mornin’ Sah. No one done up yet Sah. Can I get you coffee please?’

  Rory gave him the wide open smile that had so attracted Dolly before making his sudden move. He reached down from his greater height, interlocked his fingers and used both hands to grab the bullet head and pull it sharply down onto his right knee, duly poised to meet it. Alfred grunted with the pain of an instantly broken nose. He was groggy, caught off guard: he had no time to react. Rory seized him by the shoulders, whirled him around and ran him into the outside wall of the kitchen.

  ‘No coffee, but the day of reckoning for you, you evil bugger.’

  He said this quite softly but with infinite menace and as Alfred groaned with the pain of a nose twice afflicted which made him battle for breath, Rory whipped his arms behind his back and used the tree strap to bind them together with a force which had Alfred whistling through his teeth. Alfred might have been short in stature, but he was heavy in bulk. He could have been a modest sack of flour, however, as Rory caught him up over his shoulder and walked out to his vehicle. He steadied the struggling burden over his shoulder with one hand as he used the other to open the rear door of his Land Rover. He threw Alfred onto the floor inside and slammed the door. He walked around and climbed behind the wheel.

  Rory drove out of town to a road which had been carved out for the disposal of mine tailings. It was little used these days, but Rory had located it for an earlier amorous adventure. It was steep and rough and lonely. Two miles up it, he stopped and went around to the back of the Land Rover. He reached in, pulled out his captive and dumped him in the dirt and the dust. He left him lying there while he rummaged for a long length of tow rope. He looped the rope around Alfred’s feet and tied the two ends, one to each of the brackets which protruded from the rear wings of his vehicle. Spread eagled with arms still secured behind his back, Alfred could only glare balefully while Rory made the remainder of his preparations. First, he fetched a Stanley knife from the parcel shelf and used it to cut off all of the black man’s clothes. Then he used the pliers to cut a length of the gut shorter than the towrope. He fashioned a loop in the centre of this and bending down, he passed it around Alfred’s genitals and pulled it up tight. He fed both ends around the tow ball of the Land Rover, using the pliers to whip these into a firm knot. He went back to Alfred, pulled him upright by main strength, and undid the gardening strap which pinioned his arms together.

  Alfred’s stood there naked, pawing at the fishing line which encircled his manhood. Rory climbed back into the driver’s seat. He moved the transmission into low range, selected third gear and moved off at a sure but gentle pace. Alfred lost his footing immediately, flopped on his back and was pulled by the fishing line and his balls in screaming agony until they gave up the struggle and were wrenched from his scrotum. Thereafter, he bawled some more as the towrope took over and bounced his head over the rocky ground until it split and his life left him in a bloody, messy pool. Rory didn’t stop for half a mile. Then he paused for long enough to cut loose the cadaver and kick it over the bank of the track and into a shallow ravine. He turned the Land Rover and drove back down the track. It was eight o’clock before he was able to negotiate the peak traffic in town and to get to the airport to meet his boss.

  Conrad listened to the full story with mounting nausea. God knows, he was no stranger to violence and was familiar with the horrors of Africa. But this account of attack and revenge truly horrified him. This sort of action was worse than some of the tales bandied about of the earliest exploring and colonial days, worse even than the treatment meted out by slavers of days long gone. This was wild frontier behaviour perpetrated by a young man of the vintage of his own sons who had themselves come into the world as result of cruel and humiliating use of woman by man. By Jesus Christ, would we never learn?

  Conrad was still reliving that dreadful day as his train arrived in Basingstoke. He collected his car and drove home to Tepee. She had been helped by that bit of warning through Alexa’s quick phone call, so she was ready for him. Connie had opened up immediately which was unusual for him. More extraordinary, he had cancelled appointments and stayed away from Bastion for two whole days whilst he went on a repetitive rant which meant that Tepee had to juggle her own schedule around so she could settle back and listen. After that, she got tough and drove him out of the house, saying that he was overreacting and that they had to get their own life back. Connie took this calmly enough, but he became withdrawn and moody. It was obvious to her that was shocked to the core by David’s intention, but there was more to his condition. Conrad was a tired man. He had built a great business at Bastion, but he carried too much of it by himself and he couldn’t stop yet. Worse, Tepee noted, was the jealousy. Connie would never articulate it, but it was clear to her that part of him resented how close she had become to Alexa down the years and this had become emphasised by Hugh’s arrival on the scene. Connie, by his own admission was a plodder. He achieved much, but by laborious effort while Hugh was forever soaring. It bugged him that the girl he had saved in Bahrain was now enraptured by this financial wizard and a soul mate to his own wife, for God’s sake. All this was absurd, of course, and it was nonsense. But she knew that he was plagued by such thoughts: he was becoming morose and withdrawn and she worried. But her own love for Connie remained undimmed and she was sure and determined that she would pull him through it eventually. It would just take time. It would have helped her to help him if he had told her about Rory Trollope in Ndola, but he never did so.

  DAVID HEAVEN — 1997

  A great emotional burden fell on Alexa and Tepee. They were such close friends and their relationship was inevitably touched by the schism between Conrad and David. Tepee had to admit that it was more of Connie’s making. Meanwhile, there were tough times for Alexa also. She had grown accustomed to frequent contact with Tepee, meeting as often as they could. Alexa was all too aware of the problems Tepee was having and was upset that the best help she could provide was to keep her distance. That was the last thing the two girls wanted, but it was how matters developed during the remainder of 1996 and into the following year.

  At the beginning of March, Alexa and Tepee managed to scheme a get together to include their men plus David and Aischa. The six of them met for a long lunch in Knightsbridge and it was a good party, distinguished by Aischa and Connie chatting about their shared grandchildren, the family of Oscar and Anna which now included Olty, Edward and Christina, with probably more to come, as they agreed. Then David spoilt the mood. Flushed with fine claret and bonhomie, he tried to draw his old friend into providing some military advice for his mission. Connie froze and there was almost a repeat of that wretched stand-off at The Mansion House. Aischa was furious with Da
vid, but too late. Old wounds had reopened.

  By this time David was fully engaged in his Project Zero. He started with Martin. Their priority was quietly to extricate David from ongoing Mansion House business. There were some promising younger people who could now move up and they reasoned that since David was nearly fifty-four, it would indicate good governance to observers that he was preparing his retirement. They started with two key appointments.

  Felix Maas was already established as a key new member of the team, who was now to work full time with David. That meant that Felix needed to know everything but David saw no risk in this. Felix was a friend and a long time colleague, but he was also a vital asset. They couldn’t manage this without him and Felix was fascinated by the planning exercise of a lifetime. But he would have to replace himself in the role of moving The Mansion House communications from catch up to new frontiers. He might just be able to keep a watchful eye on it, but he would need someone to run it for him and he knew just the man.

  Robert ‘Ginger’ McCabe was a flamboyant character with flame coloured hair and a wardrobe of brightly patterned waistcoats which he wore with jeans. He was football mad and a passionate supporter of Everton. He was rampantly homosexual and moved like a hummingbird from one brief liaison to the next. What mattered to Felix was Ginger’s brilliance with computer technology.

  ‘Better than me, I have to say,’ he told David, ‘and perfect for The Mansion House right now. He won’t stay long, but he’ll deliver for us.’

  ‘What about his discretion?’

  ‘Absolutely nil,’ replied Felix, ‘that’s not a problem on The Mansion House technical stuff but we’ll need to keep him well away from Zero.’

  The Mansion House settled well under the younger management. Martin, more the sole captain on the bridge, found himself perversely more relaxed. Business was good, the prospects bright and the general mood at 100 Piccadilly spoke of vitality and expectation.

  Meanwhile, David started to turn the vision of Zero into reality. Cloistered for long days with Felix Maas, his first objective was to identify the six states on the continent of Africa from which he would choose his final target. He was honest in recognising that his own judgement, whilst well informed, was inevitably subjective. He needed the incisive objectivity which Felix brought to bear and their lengthy sessions forged a strong working bond between the two men despite their disparities of age, skills and experience. They based themselves in David Heaven’s ground floor office and occasionally adjourned to talk into the night in the comfort of David’s apartment. David spent much time trawling through his stack of old fashioned travel notebooks, maps and memorabilia reminding himself of people, places and visits over the years. Simultaneously, Felix would be working on his ever expanding database, a cornucopia of facts, figures, trends and expectations. His fingers would whirl over his keyboard as he assembled the bones over which David’s rich memories could be most effectively draped.

  David kept spasmodic contact with both King and Pente. The American seemed to be doing a lot of travelling, much of it between London and Washington, but he sounded positive and keen to get a full update on progress which David took as a promising sign. He said that he had some good news of his own coming up, but refused to elaborate until they could get together. Pente went completely out of touch for a couple of months which worried David and he rang the Order in Hexham. They were cagey there and took some persuasion to tell him that the Pente had gone down with a severe attack of malaria in Tanzania. He had recovered, but was taking time in recuperation and he certainly sounded as boisterous as ever when he finally telephoned.

  David and Hugh spoke frequently, mostly on the phone although they did manage some infrequent meetings when Hugh dropped into London for appointments in the City. They would often speak about the situation with Conrad. This was partly because Hugh was sensitive to the whole matter, but increasingly they were concerned about the military aspect of Zero. David had always assumed that he would rely on Connie in this key area and now he felt bereft of guidance. Hugh could be of no help either, but he was putting pressure on David to come up with an alternative.

  ‘I have to know the cost of what and who we’re going to buy, David, and my own best guess is really not good enough.’

  David was cudgelling his brains over this one when a fresh and unconnected crisis came up. Felix asked to come up one evening and appeared with a laptop under his arm.

  ‘I may not need this,’ he said, ‘and I promise not to be a geek and dazzle you.’

  David merely grunted as he poured them both a drink.

  ‘What’s bothering you Felix.’

  ‘Security, in a word. You see, all my files, all my notes, just the complete databank on Zero, I keep it all quite separately, heavily protected and only accessible by me. I’ve got the lap top so I can give you a demo of the whole process I go through every time I open up or shut down.’

  ‘No need to do that. Coming from you, Felix, I’ll take it as read.’

  ‘OK. The point is that I’m picking up signs of someone trying to hack into it. I’m sure they’ve had no success so far but I can’t guarantee that they won’t keep at it and the further we go with Zero, the more dangerous and incriminating this would become.’

  ‘I agree. That would be bloody serious now and it’ll get worse as you say. I think you’re going to tell me that you suspect Ginger’s hand behind this?’

  ‘I am, David. That’s exactly what worries me. I can’t believe that anyone else would have got this far, and if it is him, then he’ll crack it eventually. Ginger is that good.’

  ‘And I guess it wouldn’t help us to kick him out?’

  ‘The reverse. That would send the message that I’m on to him and he doesn’t need to be within a thousand miles of this building to keep sniffing around. He could be anywhere.’

  They looked at each other. ‘Do you have a proposal then?’

  ‘Yes, two in fact. First, I’ll start a whole new suite of programs for the work we’re doing and then a second one to let them speak to each other. That way, I can more easily disguise things to look like commercial market research.’

  David nodded his agreement and Felix went on, ‘but secondly, let’s keep him inside the tent and pissing out. I suggest we put a tail on Ginger. Trouble is, David, McCabe is basically a lovely guy but he’s just so promiscuous and not just with his body. He loves showing off his brilliance and for a couple of bob, he’s anybody’s.’

  David had to smile at the Dutchman’s extraordinary grasp of idiom. Talk about international. And then he smiled some more. This whole, unwanted problem might be the means of resolving another. He promised to take action immediately, and when Felix had left him, he telephoned Conrad at home. Tepee answered: she was welcoming as if he rang every week and not after months of silence. Connie was calm if not ecstatic, but that was anyway his style. He agreed that industrial espionage was covered in Bastion’s portfolio and that he would accept a brief from The Mansion House if David would send him more details tomorrow. He was helpful but still reserved.

  David felt happier as he prepared for bed. The whole episode had given him a further idea. In the morning, he made a further call and that evening he took a plane to Singapore. The giant Sebastien Mantel, whose father had saved Tepee, was there at Changi and they went straight to a hotel. Seb knew of David’s estrangement from Conrad and he knew the original cause. He understood that David wanted a conversation about Zero and not about anything else. He could accept these terms although he was saddened by the background. It was Seb who started the conversation.

  ‘Over the phone, David, you told me enough to start me thinking and I’ve been concentrating on one individual. This is a guy who approached me, actually. That was about six months ago but I have checked that he is still available. I have a file here if you wish?’

  ‘Thanks Seb, but I’d rather hear it from you first.’

  ‘OK.’ Seb settled back in his chair and began to speak.
It was entertaining to hear such a true blue character described in Seb’s competent, but heavily accented English.

  ‘His name is Fergus Carradine: you pronounce the ‘dine’ as in ‘wine’. He’s about forty-five. Born in Dublin. Educated at Charterhouse and Bristol University. Commissioned into the Royal Irish Rangers, served with the SAS, returned to his Regiment, resigned just before it was disbanded in 1992. Emigrated to Australia to join their army and SAS Force. Saw service in East Timor. Much respected as planner for covert ops. Olympic archer, fine pistol shot, five handicap golfer. Military historian recognised for his specialist knowledge of the Peninsular War. Has been twice married and twice widowed. No children, no surviving family. He’s retiring from the Australian army and wants a job. But he also wants to return to live in Europe and revive his Irish roots. I think Carradine could be your man, David.’

  ‘I hope you’re right Seb. When can I meet him?’

  ‘Right away. He’s waiting for us in the lobby. I’ll ask him to come and join us here.’

  FERGUS CARRADINE — 1997

  Fergus Carradine had brains, poise and style: with them came perception and sensitivity. He was not a big man, a little shorter than David. He looked lean and fit. He was soberly dressed in a dark lightweight suit, blue shirt and a plain tie. He retained a full head of hair, neatly cut and revealing the first tinges of grey. He wore a small moustache which did not look affected beneath his long nose which he stroked gently from time to time as he listened to David. In his speech, he had picked up an Australian twang which went with some of his colloquial expressions. He had a habit of pausing before he posed a question, and he chose his words carefully. He had humour and carried an aura of command. David liked him immediately and felt that Seb could be right.