“For the rest of my life, sir,” said Seb, before joining his wife in the backseat.
The car drove sedately out of the courtyard through the sculpted gates and onto the main road, with several of the younger guests in pursuit.
Mr. and Mrs. Clifton looked back and continued to wave until they were all out of sight. Sam rested her head on Seb’s shoulder.
“Do you remember the last time we were in Amsterdam, my darling?”
“Could I ever forget?”
“When I forgot to mention I was pregnant.”
44
THE TWO MEN shook hands, which helped Sloane to relax.
“It was good of you to come in at such short notice, Mr. Sloane,” said Chief Inspector Stokes. “When a policeman visits someone like you in their office, it can lead to unnecessary gossip among the staff.”
“I can assure you, chief inspector, that I have nothing to hide from anyone, including my staff,” said Sloane as he sat down, leaving the policeman standing. Sloane stared at the large Grundig tape recorder on the table between them. His mind began working overtime as he tried to anticipate what might be on the tape.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you have anything to hide,” said Stokes, sitting down opposite Sloane. “But you may be able to help me by answering one or two questions concerning a case I’m currently working on.”
Sloane clenched his fists below the table, but didn’t respond.
“Perhaps you’d be kind enough to listen to this tape, sir.” Stokes leaned forward and pressed the Play button on the tape recorder.
“Customs office, Heathrow.”
“Put me through to the senior customs officer.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“No, you may not.”
“I’ll see if he’s available.” There was a pause before another voice was heard. “SCO Collier. How can I help you?”
“If you’re interested, I can tell you about some drugs that a passenger will be trying to smuggle in today.”
“Yes, I’m interested. But first, would you tell me your name?”
“The passenger’s name is Hakim Bishara. He’s well known in the trade, and is traveling on flight 207 from Lagos. He has thirteen ounces of heroin in his overnight bag.”
Sloane remained silent after the tape had come to an end. The chief inspector removed the spool and replaced it with another one. Once again he pressed the Play button. Once again he said nothing.
“Is this Adrian Sloane?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
“Chief Inspector Mike Stokes. I’m attached to the drug squad at Scotland Yard.”
“How can I help you, Mr. Stokes?”
“I’d like to make an appointment to see you, sir.”
“Why?”
“I can’t discuss the matter over the phone, sir. Either I could come to you, or you could visit me at Scotland Yard, whichever is more convenient.”
“I’ll come to you.”
Sloane shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve had both those tapes analyzed by an American voice specialist,” said Stokes, “and he’s confirmed that not only were they made by the same person, but from the same telephone.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Are you sure?” asked the interrogator, his eyes never leaving Sloane.
“Yes, I am, because the telephone call to the customs officer lasted less than three minutes, and is therefore untraceable.”
“How could you possibly know that, Mr. Sloane, if it wasn’t you who made the call?”
“Because I attended every day of Hakim Bishara’s trial and heard all the evidence firsthand.”
“You did indeed, sir. And I confess I’m still puzzled about why you did.”
“Because, Mr. Stokes, as I’m sure you know, I was the previous chairman of Farthings Bank, and one of my clients at the time was a substantial shareholder, so I was doing no more than my fiduciary duty. You’ll need something a little more convincing than that to prove I was involved.”
“Before we go on to discuss the role you played on behalf of your substantial shareholder, and how you were both involved, perhaps I could play the first tape again. I’m going to ask you to listen more carefully this time.”
Sloane could feel the palms of his hands sweating. He wiped them on his trousers as the tape recorder whirred back into action.
“Customs office, Heathrow.”
“Put me through to the senior customs officer.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“No, you may not.”
“I’ll see if he’s available.”
Stokes pressed the Stop button. “Listen carefully, Mr. Sloane.” The chief inspector pressed the Play button once again, and this time Sloane could hear the faint sound of chimes in the background. Stokes pressed Stop.
“Ten o’clock,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Sloane.
“So what?”
“Now I’d like you to listen to the second tape again,” said Stokes as he swapped the cassettes. “Because I called you in your office at one minute to ten.”
“Is this Adrian Sloane?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
A long pause, and this time Sloane couldn’t miss the ten chimes. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead and, despite having a handkerchief in his top pocket, made no attempt to wipe them away.
The detective pressed Stop. “And I can assure you, Mr. Sloane, those chimes came from the same clock, which our American expert has confirmed is St. Mary-le-Bow, Cheapside, less than a hundred yards from your office.”
“That proves nothing. There must be thousands of offices in the vicinity, and you know it.”
“You’re quite right, which is why I requested a court order to allow me to check your phone records for that particular day.”
“Over a hundred people work in the building,” said Sloane. “It could have been any one of them.”
“On a Saturday morning, Mr. Sloane? I don’t think so. In any case, it wasn’t the bank’s number that I called, but your private line, and you answered it. Don’t you get the distinct feeling that these coincidences are beginning to mount up?”
Sloane stared defiantly back at him.
“Perhaps the time has come,” said Stokes, “for us to consider yet another coincidence.” He opened a file in front of him and studied a long list of phone numbers. “Just before you phoned the customs office at Heathrow—”
“I never phoned the customs office at Heathrow.”
“You made a call to Bristol 698 337,” Stokes continued, ignoring the outburst, “which is the office of Mr. Desmond Mellor, who I understand is the client you mentioned as having substantial shareholdings in Farthings Bank at the time of the Bishara trial. Yet another coincidence?”
“That proves nothing. I sit on the board of Mellor Travel, of which he’s the chairman, so we always have a lot to discuss.”
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Sloane. So perhaps you can explain why you made a second call to Mr. Mellor the moment you’d put the phone down on Mr. Collier.”
“It’s possible I couldn’t get through to Mellor the first time and I was making a second attempt.”
“If you didn’t get through the first time, why did that call last twenty-eight minutes and three seconds?”
“It could have been Mr. Mellor’s secretary who answered the phone. Yes, now I remember. I had a long chat to Miss Castle that morning.”
Stokes looked down at a page in his notebook. “Mr. Mellor’s secretary, Miss Angela Castle, has informed us that she was visiting her mother in Glastonbury on that particular Saturday morning, where they both attended a local antiques fair.”
Sloane licked his lips, which were feeling unusually dry.
“Your second call to Mr. Mellor’s office lasted six minutes and eighteen seconds.”
“That doesn’t prove that I spoke to him.”
“I thought you might say that. Which is why I asked Mr. Mellor
to drop in and see me earlier today. He admitted that he spoke to you twice that morning, but says that he can’t remember the details of either conversation.”
“So this has been nothing more than a fishing expedition,” said Sloane. “All you’ve come up with is speculation and coincidence. Because one thing’s for certain, Mellor would never have taken the bait.”
“You could be right, Mr. Sloane. However, I have a feeling neither of you will want this case to come to court. It might well make your colleagues in the City feel there was just one coincidence too many for them to consider doing business with you again.”
“Are you threatening me, Stokes?”
“Certainly not, sir. In fact, I confess I have a problem.” Sloane smiled for the first time. “I just can’t make up my mind which one of you to arrest, and which one of you to release without charge.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Possibly, but I thought I’d give you the first chance to take up my offer to give evidence on behalf of the Crown. Should you turn me down—”
“Never,” said Sloane defiantly.
“Then I have no choice but to go next door and make the same offer to Mr. Mellor.”
The sweat was now pouring down Sloane’s fleshy cheeks. The chief inspector paused for a moment before saying, “Shall I give you a few minutes to think about it, Mr. Sloane?”
45
“I’M BEGINNING TO believe that Mrs. Thatcher will win the next election,” said Emma after returning from an area group meeting.
“Including Bristol Docklands?”
“Almost certainly. We’ve chosen an impressive candidate and he’s going down well with the electorate.”
“Giles won’t be pleased about that.”
“He’d be even less pleased if he could see our canvass returns for the West Country, and if things are the same nationally, Margaret will be taking up residence at No.10 in the not-too-distant future. I’ll know more after the national chairman’s meeting at Central Office, when she’ll be addressing us.”
“That sounds like a whole lot of fun,” said Harry.
“Don’t mock or I’ll have you thrown in the tower.”
“You’d make a rather good governor of the tower.”
“And you and Giles will be the first on the rack.”
“What about Seb?”
“He always votes Conservative,” said Emma.
“Which reminds me,” said Harry, “he called last night to say he now has to make an appointment to see you, so heaven knows what it’s going to be like after the election—that’s assuming Thatcher wins.”
“Actually it will be a lot easier after the election as I’m not eligible to stand for a second term as area chairman. So I’ll be able to devote more time to the hospital, and I’m rather hoping that in time Seb will be willing to take over as chairman of Barrington’s. The company needs a breath of fresh air if we’re to compete with the latest luxury liners.” Emma gave her husband a kiss.
“Must dash or I’ll be late. I’m chairing a hospital subcommittee in an hour’s time.”
“Will you be seeing Giles when you’re in London? Because if you are—”
“Certainly not. I shall not be consorting with the enemy until after the election, when he’ll be back in Opposition.”
* * *
“We may have a traitor in our camp,” said Pengelly, once they had left the road and he was sure no one could overhear them.
Karin tried not to show how nervous she felt. She daily lived in fear of Pengelly finding out that it was she who was in fact the traitor. She had often shared these anxieties with Baroness Forbes-Watson, who was no longer just her handler but had become a trusted friend and confidante.
“Am I allowed to know who you suspect, comrade director?”
“Yes, because our masters in Moscow want you to be involved in the plan to flush him out. One of our agents in the Ukraine will pass on a particularly sensitive piece of information to agent Julius Kramer, with instructions to brief you. If he fails to do so, we’ll know he’s working for the other side.”
“If that turns out to be the case, what happens next?”
“Kramer will be ordered back to Moscow and that’ll be the last we’ll ever hear of him.”
“And if he doesn’t report back?”
“We’ll track him down and exact the punishment all traitors can expect if they switch sides.”
They continued to walk for a while before Pengelly spoke again. “Marshal Koshevoi has another job he wants you to do, comrade. Harold Wilson’s unexpected resignation as PM has caused considerable speculation, and the party wants us to take advantage of it.”
“Barrington told me Wilson’s doctor detected early signs of Alzheimer’s and advised him to resign before it became obvious.”
“But he didn’t give that as the reason at the time. No doubt because he was advised against it. So we’ve come up with our own explanation.”
“Which is?”
“That he was always in the pay of the Russians. MI6 found out and he was told that if he didn’t resign they’d expose him.”
“But that’s farcical, and Marshal Koshevoi must know it.”
“I’m sure he does, but there are enough people on both sides of the House who would be only too willing to believe it.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Tell Barrington you’ve heard the rumor and ask if there could be any truth in it. He’ll dismiss it, of course, but you’ll have planted the idea in his mind.”
“But surely the public will never swallow it?”
“As Stalin memorably said, comrade, tell a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.”
* * *
“Hi Ginny, it’s Buck Trend.”
Virginia disliked being addressed as Ginny—so common. But when the person who does so also sends you a check for $7,500 every month, you learn to grin and bear it.
“I’m phoning to warn you,” continued Buck, “that our esteemed governor of Louisiana, the Honorable Hayden Rankin, is planning a visit to London in July. And, according to my sources, he has an appointment to see your ex-husband, Lord Barrington.”
“What could those two possibly have in common?” said Virginia.
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Haven’t your sources come up with any ideas?”
“Only that Cyrus T. Grant III is a close friend of the governor, as well as being one of his major campaign contributors. So it might be wise if you and little Freddie were out of town when the governor crosses the Atlantic.”
“Don’t worry, Freddie will be spending his hols in Scotland, and I’ll be in the Bahamas enjoying a well-earned rest.”
“Fine. But if you do find out why the governor wants to see your ex, call me. Because I need to know if he’s trying to find a way of stopping your monthly payments, and we wouldn’t want that, would we, Ginny?”
* * *
They never discussed anything serious until tea and two slightly burnt crumpets had been served.
“Giles will be under considerable pressure as we get nearer to an election.”
“He visits a different constituency every week,” said Karin.
“Does he still think it’s possible for Labour to win again?”
“He assures me they can over breakfast every morning and I’d believe him if he didn’t talk in his sleep.”
The baroness laughed. “Then we’d better prepare ourselves for a spell of the grocer’s daughter.”
“Two teas and two burnt crumpets, my lady.”
“Thank you, Stanley.”
“So what’s Pengelly up to?” Her voice changed, the moment the waiter left.
“Moscow thinks Julius Kramer might be a double agent.”
“Do they indeed?” said the baroness as she dropped a third sugar lump in her tea. “And what do they intend to do about it?”
“Kramer will be instructed to pass on some highly sensitive
information to me, and if he doesn’t they’ll call him back to Moscow.”
“But if he does, it means they’re not testing Kramer, but you. If he doesn’t, it means you’re in the clear, in which case his life will be in danger and we’ll need to take him out of the front line immediately. You mustn’t allow yourself to be compromised, Karin, however sensitive that piece of information might be. So once you’ve briefed me, you should pass it on to Pengelly as quickly as possible.” The baroness took a bite of her crumpet. “Did Pengelly say anything else I should know about?”
“All agents are being instructed to spread a rumor that the real reason Harold Wilson resigned as prime minister was because MI6 had discovered he was in the pay of the Russians.”
“Then it’s time he bought himself a new Gannex mac with all that extra money he must have been earning.” She took another bite, before adding, “It would be funny, except some fools might actually believe it.”
“He also asked me to tell Giles that I’d heard the rumor and see how he reacted.”
“I’ll get Sir John to brief Giles on the real reason for Harold’s resignation. Mind you, it would have helped if the PM had been willing to admit he’d got Alzheimer’s at the time.”
“Do you have anything you want me to pass on?”
“Yes, I think the time has come for your tiresome ‘father’ to be called back to East Germany. So why don’t you tell him…”
46
“MY LORD.”
“Governor.”
“Swap?”
“Well, it’s funny you should mention that,” said Giles. “While I’ve never wanted to be a governor, I’ve always fancied being a senator.”
“And if you held your equivalent post in the Senate, you’d be Majority Leader Barrington.”
“Majority Leader Barrington. I rather like the sound of that.”
“So how much would I have to raise to become Lord Rankin of Louisiana?”
“Not a penny. It would be a political appointment, made on my recommendation to the prime minister.”
“No money involved and you didn’t even need to be elected.”
“Certainly not.”
“And Britain still doesn’t have a constitution or a bill of rights?”
Cometh the Hour Page 33