Harper read it through twice before initialling the signal and placing it in his out tray. The possibility that Tarrant was involved in the conspiracy was rapidly being excluded as far as he was concerned, but he supposed that Wray or someone would be making a trip to Luxembourg later in the day to check out Waterman, but he personally had lost all interest in the woman. The identity of the defector both worried and intrigued him but he had no time to dwell on it. Between nine and a quarter to eleven, when he left to meet Tarrant, Harper was never off the phone. He called and was in turn called by the Home Secretary, the Minister of Defence, the Chief of Air Staff, the Commissioner of Metropolitan Police, Wray, the Director Staff Duties (Army) and the Joint Warfare Establishment at Old Sarum. Somehow, he even found the time to brief Drew and Vincent.
*
Tarrant could sense the atmosphere in the flat as soon as he stepped inside the hall. Her mother was a brooding presence and the stiff upper lip expression on her face suggested that she was already in mourning for David. Behind the rimless glasses her eyes looked red and he could imagine what sort of effect she had had on her daughter.
p class="indent">‘Where’s Alex?’ he said. ‘Lying down in David’s room.’ He started to move past her but she caught hold of his arm. ‘She needs the rest, John.’ The ‘John’ bit came out reluctantly.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I expect she does.’
‘Alex was just about to drop off to sleep when you rang up last night. I really do think you might have called earlier. She was very worried.’
‘About me?’
The corners of her mouth went down. ‘Alex was on tenterhooks in case anything had gone wrong in Paris.’
‘Nothing did, did it?’
‘It was still very inconsiderate of you not to have phoned earlier.’
‘Unfortunately, I wasn’t in a position to do so.’ He tried to get past her for the second time but she still blocked his path. ‘Are you planning to spend all morning in the hall?’ he said.
We can’t talk in the lounge, there’s no privacy in there.’ Tarrant looked at her questioningly. ‘There’s a policeman in there,’ she added.
‘There has been since Monday.’
She pursed her lips disdainfully. ‘What did you say to upset Alex last night?’
‘What?’
‘She was crying when I went into her room. She wouldn’t tell me what was the matter and I think, as her mother, I have a right to know.’
Tarrant said, ‘I don’t think you’ve got any right at all, but since you’re that curious, I’ll tell you. Last night when I spoke to Alex I told her that I loved her.’
‘Love,’ she said scornfully. ‘What do you know about love? Alex could have had a dozen better than you.’ The doorbell rang but she ignored it. ‘There’s Ian Gilmour for one.’
‘Who?’
A thin smile of triumph etched itself on her mouth. ‘I see you don’t know about him, do you?’
The bell rang again and Tarrant opened the door.
Harper said, ‘For a moment I thought nobody was at home.’ He smiled at Alex’s mother and said good morning to her and then strode into the lounge as though he owned the place. ‘Where’s Alex,’ he said, ‘resting in bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Best place for her,’ said Harper. ‘There’s no point in Alex being present when Drabble calls, it will only upset her.’
Whether it served any purpose or not, Alex made sure that she was present when Drabble called. Five nights with little or no sleep had left her looking haggard and strained and the brown linen dress she was wearing looked several sizes too large for her.
Drabble came through at eleven-twenty and asked to speak with Harper first. He said, ‘Do we get the helicopter and the VC10?’
‘We’ve agreed to your request,’ Harper said cautiously.
‘And is the Brazilian Government prepared to offer us political asylum?’
‘We are in touch with them, I don’t think there will be any difficulty.’
‘All right, I want the VC 10 positioned at Lyneham ready to take off at 1500 GMT Saturday.’
‘And the Wessex helicopter?’
‘I’ll let you know about that after I’ve got the Sarbe beacon and the recognition panels.’
We have to know…’
‘You don’t have to know anything more at this stage, Harper. Now put Tarrant on the phone, I want to speak to him.’
Tarrant took the phone from Harper. It was unnecessary since the amplifier made it possible for everyone in the room to hear what was being said but no one was inclined to make the point to Drabble.
Tarrant said, ‘I’m listening. What do you want?’
‘How well do you know Towcester?’
‘I’ve passed through it once or twice.’
‘This time you’ll approach it on the A43 from the South. Just before you come to the crossroads in the centre of the town, you’ll see a public call-box on the right-hand side of the road opposite a sweet shop. You be there at 1430 sharp and I’ll call you again.’
‘Supposing it’s out of order?’
‘Find another one and call your wife. We’ll use her as a relay.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good. Make sure you use your own car because we’ll be looking out for UVY 421H and I’d hate anyone to get clever at this stage. Perhaps this message will help to make the point clear to all of you.’
The message was from David and his voice was a little hesitant but he came over clearly enough.
He said, ‘I’m wearing a sort of harness, Dad, which Mr Drabble has made. He tells me it’s like the reins mothers used to put on their tiny children when they took them out for a walk, except that it has a lot of pouches sewn on to it and each pouch contains half a pound of plastic explosive. Mr Drabble says there is about seven pounds of PE in all and it will make quite a bang if it should go off.’ David swallowed audibly and then went on with some difficulty. ‘He’s wired them up to a push-pull switch on the back of the belt which goes round my waist, and he’s attached a length of wire from the switch to his own body. Mr Drabble says that I am joined to him by an umbil.’ he stumbled and then got the word out, ‘umbilical cord, and if anyone should try to shoot him or if he was knocked over, the sudden jerk on the wire would be enough to set the charges off.’
‘That was very good, David,’ Drabble said cheerfully, ‘but there were just two things you forgot to mention. When you are in the harness your hands will be pinioned in front of you so that you can’t touch any of the wires, and secondly you will be wearing that harness all the way to Brazil. You know what you are, David? You’re a walking, talking bomb.’
Alex was the colour of chalk, tiny beads of sweat had gathered on her upper lip and her hands were shaking. No one had to tell her what seven pounds of explosive could do to the human body, there had been any number of photographs in the Press and on television showing the damage done to buildings in Belfast to leave nothing to the imagination. She started to walk out of the room and then broke into a run.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she gasped. Her mother gave Tarrant a venomous look and then rushed out after her.
Tarrant said, ‘What do you propose to do now?’
‘Do?’ Harper said vaguely.
‘You can scarcely use a sniper to pick him off, can you? He’s still outsmarting us.’
The duty policeman said, ‘He’s just made his first mistake, sir. He’s never spoken that long on the phone before without a break. We should be able to trace the call.’
Harper looked at the man through narrowed eyes. ‘What’s your name?’ he said.
‘Smallwood, sir.’
‘Well, if you’re that confident, Smallwood, I suggest you check with the GPO to see if they have had any success.’
‘I think you’re trying to avoid my question,’ said Tarrant.
Doubt seethed in his mind but Harper was not going to confide in Tarrant. It was inconceivable that
they should tamely surrender, but the assassination of Drabble was no longer a simple matter. A young, innocent life was at stake and he could appreciate the anguish of David’s parents, and the trouble was that he had become too closely identified with and emotionally involved with the Tarrants. If he had stayed aloof he could have reached an objective decision, but at this precise moment Harper badly needed advice from someone who was unbiased. In the back of his mind was the thought that perhaps an old friend like Edward Julyan could help him to reach the right decision.
Harper said, ‘I’m just beginning to accept the fact that Drabble is going to win all along the line and I find that a bitter pill to swallow.’ It was a bland lie but he made it sound convincing.
Smallwood cleared his throat. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.
‘What don’t you understand?’ Harper said icily.
‘The GPO have failed to trace the number, sir. They are absolutely certain that it originated in the Kettering area but they can’t pin it down.’
‘Drabble,’ said Harper, ‘has been preparing this operation for months and he has used a number of different methods to contact us. It’s my belief that he’s found a telephone in a disused camp and has tapped it in to the nearest junction box.’
‘He’s thought of everything.’
‘Do I detect a note of admiration in your voice, Tarrant?’
‘Far from it.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I presume you will be staying here for the next hour or so?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I’ll get someone to deliver the Sarbe beacon and the recognition panels to you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Harper said irritably. ‘Sooner or later that man has got to make a mistake and I want to be in a position to take advantage of it when he does.’
*
The jacket and trousers of a combat suit are packaged separately each in its own cardboard box sealed with black binding tape. A cursory check of the stores held by B Squadron of the Yeomanry Reconnaissance Regiment by the permanent staff showed that the correct number of boxes was displayed on the shelves, but since the signal had stressed that the stocktaking had to be one hundred per cent, they proceeded to examine the contents of each box. Eight were found to be empty and the size labels matched the suits which had been recovered from the gravel pit.
The NCO in charge of B Squadron clothing store was a Sergeant Silk. Subsequently, when the police called at Silk’s private address, they were informed by Mrs Silk that her husband had just left with the advance party to prepare the weekend training camp at Felixstowe for the rest of the squadron. This news had been a surprise to the permanent staff who were not aware that any exercise had been scheduled for that weekend.
15
THE WAITING HAD BEEN THE WORST PART AND, IF THERE WAS A PAINLESS way of killing time, Tarrant wished that someone would let him in on the secret. He had sat with Alex in David’s room but they had scarcely been left alone with one another for more than a few minutes at a time because her mother had always found an excuse to intrude upon their privacy.
Alex had been quiet and withdrawn, and in an effort to dispel the brooding silence, he’d asked her about David’s books on War Gaming, and she had produced the 20-mm lead soldiers which their son had painted, and until he had seen the Cuirassiers, Chasseurs a Cheval and Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, which were correct in every detail, he hadn’t realised that David was so interested in the Napoleonic era. And as she had catalogued his interests, Alex had taken hold of his hand and held it firmly except when her mother had appeared, for, like an infernal cuckoo clock she had regularly popped in and out to say her piece. And he had been on edge too, because much as he wanted to be with Alex, he was worried that Harper might fail to deliver the items Drabble wanted. Viewed dispassionately, he had no cause for alarm, but at the time, he had been able to think of a dozen good reasons why Harper should cry off at the last minute.
Delivery had been held over until the last possible moment so that Tarrant made the rendezvous in Towcester with less than ten minutes to spare and he lost precious time looking for a place to park the Zephyr in what was a small town crowded with shoppers. He locked the car, checked to see that the boot was secured and then walked back to the phone booth. With a Sarbe beacon and a set of recognition panels in the boot and a Browning 9-mm automatic in the glove compartment, which Harper had thoughtfully provided on signature, he couldn’t afford to take any chances.
A plump, middle-aged woman trundling a shopping basket on wheels just beat him to the call-box. In mounting irritation, he was forced to watch her search through her handbag, take out a purse, sort out the small change, drop the purse on to the floor, retrieve it and then laboriously dial the number she wanted. After all that, it came as no surprise when she got the wrong number and had to start all over again. It seemed to him that the conversation was never going to end, and although Tarrant kept looking at his wrist-watch, she was in no hurry to finish. She finally ran out of time and had to hang up, rewarded him with a gracious smile when he opened the door for her, accidentally barked his shins with the shopping trolley and apologised for being so long. He muttered something inconsequential and gratefully slid past her. Inside the box the smell of her cheap scent was overpowering.
He waited, nerve ends jangling, conscious that he was three minutes late for the contact. Tarrant wasn’t the only one who was keyed up. The phone rang sooner than he had expected.
Drabble said, ‘I have no time for people who cannot follow simple orders.’
‘A woman got here before me,’ Tarrant said heatedly. ‘What did you expect me to do, throw her out?’
‘I expect you to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Listen—I’ve got a Sarbe beacon and you’ve got my son—now are we going to make a trade or not?’
‘Of course we are going to make a trade—eventually.’
‘All right,’ said Tarrant. ‘So what do I do now?’
‘You’re to go on to Kirby Hall.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Try looking north-east of Corby.’
‘And what then?’
There was no reply and Tarrant repeated the question but all he heard was a faint click as Drabble rang off, and he left the box feeling angry and frustrated.
Unknown to Tarrant, Silk and Calvert had noted his every move and then, having satisfied themselves that he was not being followed, Calvert rang through and reported their observations to Drabble.
Tarrant went on up through Northampton and Kettering and stopped off in Corby to ask the way. Kirby Hall wasn’t exactly well known, and in the end he had to go to the TA Drill Hall and borrow a one-inch ordnance survey map of the area before he was able to locate it.
The Hall was over four hundred years old and only the shell of it remained. It had been one of the great houses of the Elizabethan Renaissance, built by Sir Humphrey Stafford in the hope that he might entertain the Queen, but she never came. It had had its moments of glory; Anne of Denmark had stayed there once, and James I actually made three visits, and then two hundred years later it was derelict. Wars had left it unscathed, fire had never touched it, but once the lead had been sold off the roof, time and weather had ravaged it. The Office of Works accepted guardianship in 1930 when it was scheduled as an ancient monument.
Tarrant parked the Zephyr under the trees, paid five-pence admission fee and strolled into the inner courtyard. There were eight other people viewing the ruins not one of whom made the slightest attempt to contact him. A girl in a red trouser suit, whose face was totally obscured by the brim of a large shapeless hat and smoked glasses, did show a passing interest in him, but he thought that might have something to do with the fact that she was hanging on to the arm of a man who looked old enough to be her father, and really the only mystery about them was whether they were husband and new wife, father and daughter or man and mist
ress.
He spent over two hours in the courtyard and still no one came near him. There were more than a hundred different places which Drabble could have used as a dead-letter box, and without knowing what to look for, it would have taken Tarrant several days to have eliminated them all. He was like a goldfish in a bowl circling aimlessly about, the object of passing curiosity, and it began to dawn on him that Drabble had no intention of making contact. He had been directed to Kirby Hall because its isolation made it easy for them to check that Tarrant wasn’t being followed. He had no way of knowing whether Drabble would have set up a failsafe RV or not, but it irked Tarrant to recall that he had practically suggested it. He went back to the car and drove around until he found a public telephone.
Smallwood answered his call and that surprised him, because although he had no grounds for thinking so, he had expected someone from Harper’s department to be on hand.
Smallwood said, ‘It doesn’t seem to be going too well, sir, does it?’
‘Has Drabble made contact with you?’
‘Yes, about three quarters of an hour ago. He sounded angry.’
‘He was acting—it was a set-up to make sure that I was alone. He may do it again before he takes delivery of the beacon, and I think he’ll keep me running until dark. He won’t risk a contact in daylight.’
Smallwood said, ‘You’re probably right, sir. He’s set the next RV in Thorpe Langton; there’s a telephone-box opposite the church. You are to be there at five-twenty.’
‘What was the name of that village again?’
‘Thorpe Langton—it’s north of Market Harborough. Do you have a map of the area?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re going to need it,’ said Smallwood.
Harper took one look at the cellophane-wrapped beef sandwiches which Miss Nightingale had kindly provided for him and decided that he wasn’t really hungry after all. He didn’t fancy the glass of milk either but his secretary nursed a theory that it helped to keep a stomach ulcer at bay, and although he’d never felt even the suggestion of a pang before, there was a chance that today could see the start of one, and all because he couldn’t arrive at a decision.
Seven Days to a Killing Page 14