Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  Fortunately, Marsh went to a table where a woman sat alone and took the seat opposite her. I watched them converse and then the woman threw back her wavy hair and laughed. He was on a date. At least that was how it appeared. The waiter brought the bill and Marsh paid with cash. As I continued to watch, I saw Marsh glance sideways. Grace turned her head and for a brief moment, their eyes connected. It was the subtlest of communications and easy for anyone to miss had they not been watching carefully. In spite of my recent blow to the head and the fact that I was probably suffering from a mild concussion the situation before me, was plain to see.

  I turned away, kept my face down and hurried outside. Walking casually down the steps, I scanned the parked cars. Not seeing what I was looking for I turned the corner and walked along the pavement. After only a few paces, I saw it. In the driver’s seat sat a man with dark curly hair. He was smoking a cigarette and waiting. The vehicle was a dirty, light green Chevrolet. I had seen the same vehicle earlier in the day. Music was coming from it and I could see the man’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

  I hurried back to the taxi. Bruno was using the headrest with his eyes closed. ‘Wake up,’ I said. He lifted his head and rubbed one eye while looking at me through the other.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Start the engine,’ I said, ‘and be ready to drive away.’

  ‘Why? What is it?’

  ‘What are you like at fast getaways?’ I opened the back door and left it open.

  I returned to the entrance steps and approached the doorway carefully. They were already up from their seats. The waiter was seeing them out. Grace led with Snowy close behind. Following Snowy was the woman with hair that was wavy and behind her was Marsh in close attendance. Grace and Marsh had worked it together so they would leave at the same time.

  I stepped away, concealed myself behind the turn in the portico and waited. They passed by without seeing me. I followed them down the steps and onto the pavement. As they turned the corner, Marsh overtook the wavy-haired woman and his intention was without doubt.

  Ahead, I saw the dark-haired driver open his door onto the pavement and step out of the dirty Chevrolet. Leaving his door fully open, he then opened the rear passenger door and waited. Grace had walked further on leaving Snowy exposed.

  Attacking unseen from the rear provided me with a strong advantage so I chose a simple “smash and grab” strategy. I would “smash” Marsh and “grab” Snowy.

  Rushing past the woman, I rapidly gained momentum and then turning my upper body, I struck Marsh squarely on the back with a thumping shoulder barge that would have pleased any Red Skins fan. I could almost feel the blades of his shoulders vibrate from the impact. His whole body flew forwards, losing all its balance and smacking the rear of the Chevy. He then dropped and finished face down on the hard road.

  For a very brief moment, the scene appeared in freeze-frame, then I pressed the “play” button and everything happened very fast.

  Snowy was the closest person to me. I reached out a hand, grasped his upper arm and pulled him to me away from the car and the driver. Unaware of what was happening his body was loose and easy to move. Then Grace screamed. The wavy-haired woman must have had it in her handbag. Her reaction time was impressive. Instinctively I turned and saw her raised arm paused at the apex of the strike. The four-inch blade was narrow and pointed. She had it aimed at the centre of my torso. Due to the velocity produced, it was impossible for me to stop the knife from completing its arc. Only a combined reflex action prevented my stomach from getting a second bellybutton. The palm of my free hand made a deflecting glance against her forearm and my body turned and withdrew just enough for me to see the blade stab past the front of my new t-shirt.

  I reacted instantly. Before the woman could regain control of her momentum and balance, which she had lost due to the action of her viciously swinging arm, I secured a firm grip on her knife wrist and twisted it sharply. She screamed and the knife dropped to the pavement. In the same movement, I stepped forwards adjusting my weight and swung her round. Her sandaled feet took tiny, rapid steps like a dancer performing a well-rehearsed routine. I grasped her shoulder and for a moment, we must have looked like a couple dancing the tango. Then I shoved her at the driver. The dark-haired, stocky man had moved around the car door to within a few paces of me. Raising his arms, he caught the woman and then discarded her unsympathetically.

  I glanced at Marsh who was on all fours and clearly winded. An unattractive wheezing noise rattled from his throat as he struggled for breath. I decided he was unlikely to cause any more trouble for a while.

  I turned back to the driver who had raised his fists and taken a stance that told me he was a fighter. The last thing I wanted was another fistfight. My head, jaw and knuckles all ached. In addition, someone had once again come very close to finding out how I would look with a knife sticking out of me. All I wanted to do was take Snowy and get back inside Bruno’s taxi where I could close my eyes if only for a few moments.

  The first punch he threw was a good one. It was a left jab and despite my evasion, his knuckles grazed my ear. His second punch was a right hook. It made me happy to find this one was less proficient. He threw it from too far out. Given that the jab had missed my face, the hook was highly unlikely to connect with my jaw. I know my bruised, swollen face made me look like a man who was easy to knock down with a “haymaker”, but looks, as everyone knows, can be deceptive. I ducked beneath the swinging arm and in return landed a double strike to his abdomen. They were both tight, hard punches, which left the man in pain, but were not enough to stop him although they slowed him considerably. It gave me the seconds I needed to talk to Snowy. He was standing behind and to the side of me. I half turned and said, ‘Bruno’s taxi is parked around the corner.’ I indicated the direction with a lift of my head and then wished I used my hand instead because my head was not happy making sudden movements. ‘Get in it and tell him to be ready to leave.’ I could have won money betting on the words that Snowy was going to say in response.

  ‘You are alive,’ he declared, delivering the line with all the amazement of a man who was certain the opposite to be true.

  ‘Yes, I’m alive,’ I confirmed. ‘Now, get in the taxi.’ Obviously, Snowy now trusted me unquestioningly because he turned and ran off without a moment’s hesitation.

  Four pairs of eyes were on me. Even Marsh, still on his hands and knees in the road and making a wheezing sound, had turned up his face to give me a pained, hateful glare. The wavy-haired woman glanced down at her knife, which was close to my feet, but decided against making a grab for it. The stocky driver had one fist held up, but the other he pressed to his stomach. It was only Grace who watched me without a look of hostility. In the monochrome light, her eyes were black and somewhere deep inside, behind her implacable expression, I wondered if I saw a glimpse of admiration.

  It was time to leave. I wanted to ensure a safe exit. Stepping forward I feigned with my right and then struck a straight left onto the driver’s chin. It was enough. He took several steps backwards and dropped his head. I bent at the knees and picked up the knife. Looking at the wavy-haired woman I said, ‘If anyone comes after me I’ll stick this in them.’ It was a silly threat and more like a line from a film, but the cost of it was free. I turned and ran to the taxi.

  Bruno was already on the road and waiting for me at the junction. Snowy was watching and when he saw me coming, he pushed open the door. I checked behind, but it was clear. Snowy moved over, I jumped inside and pulled shut the door.

  Over his shoulder and from around his cigar Bruno said, ‘Is the woman coming?’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ I said.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t go back to the taxi rank. Just drive around for now.’ If anyone did want to find us, the taxi rank was the first place to look. Bruno drove away. I sat back and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Snowy was staring
at me.

  ‘What is happening?’ he asked. It was dark inside the taxi. Shadow covered Snowy’s face. Only his colourless eyes gave out any light. I saw in them uncertainty and fear.

  ‘What did Grace tell you?’ I asked.

  ‘She told me I was kidnapped by a gang,’ he replied. ‘They took me from outside the hotel so they could exchange me for money or the release of other imprisoned gang members.’

  ‘What did she tell you about me?’

  ‘She told me you got a location signal from my telephone and decided to rescue me.’

  ‘Does the name Santiago mean anything to you?’ I asked. Snowy paused. His eyes sharpened not with understanding but instead with confusion.

  ‘It is the capital city of Chile,’ he said helpfully. ‘In English, it means Saint James.’ He paused again. ‘Saint James was one of the twelve apostles of Jesus. He was executed by Herod and...’

  ‘Do you know what arbitrage is?’

  ‘Yes. I am an international banker.’ He sounded surprised by my question. ‘Why do you ask me about Santiago and about arbitrage?’

  Snowy deserved to know the truth. It was time for me to tell him, but before I did, I needed to call Charlotte. ‘I have to call London,’ I told him. ‘They’ll want to know you’re safe.’

  ‘Who were those people?’ Snowy asked. ‘Were they trying to kidnap me again?’ I called Charlotte using the K106.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I’ve got Snowy.’

  ‘Good. Is he all right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s just a bit confused,’ I said.

  ‘I know how he feels,’ she replied.

  ‘Have you spoken to Meriwether?’ I asked.

  ‘No. He has his phone switched off and he’s not at his club. Nobody knows where he is.’ Charlotte sounded both frustrated and determined.

  ‘It’s not surprising,’ I said. ‘He’s gone to ground, that’s all. Wouldn’t you do the same?’ She ignored the question.

  ‘I’m on my way to a meeting that I hope will provide me with some clarification,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think Snowy knows anything about Santiago,’ I said.

  ‘Keep hold of him,’ she replied. ‘I’ll call you once I’m out of my meeting. I should know more then.’ I thought Charlotte had finished but then she said, ‘Oh, one more thing. If Meriwether should call you, give him this message: Tell him to call me and tell him that if he ends up dead and he didn’t call me then he’s only got himself to blame.’ Charlotte’s frustration was easier to spot when she voiced un-Charlotte-like sentiments. I considered the message and decided that anything I said in response or concerning its usefulness was unlikely to help so I remained silent. Charlotte ended the call and then I turned to Snowy. He was staring at me.

  ‘Please, what is happening?’ he asked. I sat forward and spoke to Bruno.

  ‘Take us to a cafe,’ I said, ‘somewhere quiet, away from the tourists and somewhere that you wouldn’t usually go.’ Bruno nodded without turning round.

  ‘I will think of a place,’ he said earnestly, ‘and then take you there.’ I sat back again and turned to Snowy.

  ‘When we get to the cafe,’ I said, ‘I will tell you all I know.’

  18

  CHARLOTTE MILLER

  The “bubble” was a silly but appropriate name. Bartholomew Meriwether had first used it some years earlier when he had entered the new senior meeting room and named it on the spot. For Charlotte, the name had stuck. She thought of it now.

  Charlotte knew she owed much to Bartholomew Wellington Meriwether. Her high position within SIS was possible only because of his facilitation. She did not understand why his trust in her now was absent. It gave her a hollow feeling deep inside her chest as if something was lost or missing.

  The “bubble” was a cocoon of secrecy. Once the last person inside had closed the only opening it became both a trap and a fortress. No sound in any form could either enter or escape. The engineer who built it worked to the specification of one simple instruction and that was to make it impenetrable. Everyone questioned on the matter since was of the opinion the man had succeeded. When at the highest level British SIS met, they always met inside the “bubble”.

  Charlotte Miller sat comfortably with hands in her lap and back straight. A simple black ribbon held back her chestnut hair and beneath the tailored jacket, an ivory silk blouse, open at the neck, gave the impression of stylish control.

  Opposite her sat Talbot. He was a broad man with a thick neck. Pale skin bulged above his shirt collars like dough and his jacket bunched up behind rounded shoulders.

  There was only one other person at the meeting. Claymore sat in the top chair. He always sat in that seat. The power that came with his position was something he very much enjoyed and as head of British Intelligence, the power he exercised was considerable. Like all vain men, Monstrom Claymore had much about him that was effeminate. He liked everyone to call him “Monty” and the care he took over his appearance, Charlotte thought, was enough to make his wife jealous. Today he wore a cerise silk handkerchief in his breast pocket that matched his tie. He had adorned the tie with a diamond and gold pin to which his gold wristwatch matched perfectly. The timepiece peeked out from beneath his sleeve like the bracelet of a Pharaoh. Meriwether called him “Monster”.

  Charlotte held her patience. The interruption by Thornton Talbot was typical of the man. As Monstrom Claymore’s right-hand, he took liberties.

  ‘Now, now, Thornton, allow Charlotte to finish her point before you trample all over it in your hobnail boots.’ Thornton Talbot stopped talking and sucked in air.

  ‘You’re quite right, Monty,’ he replied. ‘It was rude of me. I apologise, Charlotte. Please continue with what you were saying.’ Charlotte smiled. They did so enjoy their schoolboy games, she thought.

  ‘Not to include me in any discussion, which leads to a sanctioned termination order is a breach of internal procedure.’

  ‘Yes, Charlotte, you’re quite right,’ said Monty with a friendly nod. Charlotte knew from experience that when Monstrom Claymore bestowed friendly nods inside the “bubble” he already had every move worked out that would lead him to checkmate.

  ‘Then why have you issued an S.T. order without my inclusion in the process?’

  ‘I assume your awareness of the existence of an S.T. order to which you have not had prior knowledge means you also know to whom it pertains,’ said Monstrom. Charlotte remained silent. She knew Meriwether’s life could very well depend on the outcome of this game. It was a game, she realised with concern, and she was already losing. ‘How did you obtain this information?’ asked Monstrom with a smile and a nod.

  ‘It came to me from the S.T. office via a third party source.’

  ‘I see,’ said Monstrom in a way that made it clear he was certain Charlotte knew the sanctioned termination was for Bartholomew Meriwether. Again, Charlotte remained silent. ‘Service protocol dictates that when a senior SIS officer has personal involvement with the subject of a proposed S.T. then that officer cannot include themselves in the decision process. We simply removed that dilemma for you.’

  ‘A personal involvement...’

  ‘You know the rules.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re not personally involved...’

  ‘Charlotte, I had to make a very difficult decision.’

  ‘Did it keep you awake at night?’

  ‘You don’t know all the facts.’

  ‘All right, so tell me all the facts.’

  ‘It’s treason,’ Monstrom said.

  ‘...treason,’ repeated Charlotte in disbelief.

  ‘...counterfeiting: the use of Her Majesty’s SIS intelligence for illegal currency exchange trades that impact the international value of sterling for the purpose of personal financial gain.’

  ‘Very few of the trades involved sterling and those that did produce an almost net zero balance.’

  ‘The net zero balance only calcul
ates over time,’ said Talbot, ‘and it doesn’t negate the trades themselves. On the days, the broker placed the trades they altered the market value of sterling. You cannot escape that fact.’

  ‘That’s a technicality and in my view doesn’t constitute the counterfeiting of sterling and is certainly not treason.’ Thornton Talbot’s eyes narrowed with dislike and then he pulled down the sleeves of his jacket before glancing at Monty. Monstrom Claymore’s eyes remained fixed on Charlotte’s face. ‘I want the S.T. order rescinded,’ she said. ‘At best it’s premature and at worst it’s a travesty. It’s a serious error of judgment.’

  Monstrom smiled. It was not what Charlotte had hoped to see. ‘I’ve read the Codename: Santiago file,’ he said. ‘It’s excellent work. The only thing missing is the identity of Santiago. I understand you are awaiting intelligence from a primary source, the asset codenamed Snowy, before making identification.’ Charlotte watched Monstrom in silence. He was enjoying it. ‘You are expecting Snowy to provide definitive information, is that correct?’ Charlotte did not reply. Monstrom continued. ‘Perhaps hoping it will disprove what you have already discovered. In the file, you state that the Swiss bank is unwilling to divulge account information. Did you ask them nicely? When I asked them, they told me right away. A firm of solicitors registered in Zurich, Rosen & Baum, opened the account. They, however, did refuse to answer questions for the reason of client confidentiality. Their area of expertise is investment trusts, and I believe a trust they initiated and administer legally controls the bank account. Following investigation by a company law expert, I have discovered a connection between an investment trust they control and a company that is held by a fund that has a legal connection to Bartholomew Meriwether.’

  ‘That evidence is all very circumstantial,’ Charlotte said. ‘As I said before, it’s at best premature. I insist we rescind the order while we undertake further investigation and...’

  ‘Time is very much against us I’m afraid. We have had to move decisively. I’m sorry, but the order must remain in place.’