Operation Omega

by Hilary Green

  That’s her car!’ yelped Marriot.

  ‘Sure as hell isn’t her driving it!’ Stone returned as he dragged the wheel of the Capri over and headed in pursuit, cutting up a double-decker bus as he did so.

  The TR7 turned out into Sloane Street and headed south, moving fast in the relatively light afternoon traffic. Stone closed up behind. The TR7 took a sharp right into Cadogan Gardens.

  ‘Reckon he’s spotted us,’ commented Marriot.

  As if to prove his point the car ahead suddenly swerved right again, without giving a signal, cutting across the nose of an on-coming taxi and forcing it to slam on its anchors so sharply that the passenger was almost catapulted into the front seat. The driver jumped out but his flood of abuse was abruptly stifled when Stone almost ran over his toes as he screamed past.

  This road was quieter, with little approaching traffic. Stone accelerated and drew level with the TR7. Marriot wound down his window and waved the driver into the kerb. The white car slowed and eventually came to a standstill just beyond a side turning. Stone pulled in ahead.

  ‘Some kid, joy riding,’ Stone grunted as he got out. ‘I’ll sort him…’

  They walked back towards the TR7. As soon as they were clear of their own car the driver started the engine again and reversed smartly past the turning. Marriot ran forward with a yell and barely escaped being mown down as the car leaped forward and accelerated hard into the side-road. By the time they had regained the Capri and Stone, swearing softly but extremely comprehensively, had reversed it and set off once again in pursuit, the white car was already disappearing round the corner at the far end of the street. Pedestrians turned to stare as the Capri snarled down the road and shot the lights at the junction just as they turned to red.

  For a moment they thought that they had lost the TR7 completely until they came in sight of it standing by the kerb outside South Kensington station. A slight figure in blue denims was just disappearing inside. Stone skidded to a halt and they leaped out and raced into the station, brushing past a protesting ticket-collector as they headed for the escalators. There were few people about and they had an uninterrupted view of the escalator ahead as they pounded down it, but there was no sign of their quarry. However, towards the bottom they passed a girl, gliding upwards, a girl with honey-coloured hair, dressed in jeans and a silk shirt and carrying a navy holdall. Both experienced a sudden twinge of recognition, but their minds were on other things.

  When they reached the platforms they heard the sound of a train pulling out and were just in time to see its rear lights disappearing into the tunnel. They split up and made a swift survey of both platforms but there was no one on either of them who remotely resembled the person they were seeking. Meeting again at the bottom of the escalator they exchanged looks and shrugged.

  ‘Damn!’ said Stone succinctly.

  As they floated up Marriot said,

  ‘That girl we passed on the way down ...’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Stone. ‘Seen her before somewhere.’

  ‘Wasn’t she the girl we saw coming out of Pascoe’s room this morning?’

  Stone snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it. Knew I’d seen her before somewhere.’

  There was a pause. Then Marriot said, ‘Funny that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Stone agreed again. ‘Odd.’

  They reached the street level and waved their warrant cards at the irate collector.

  ‘Well, at least we’ve got the car,’ Stone commented.

  Marriot looked up and down the road.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ he said.

  The TR7 was just disappearing round the corner.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Stone groaned.

  Marriot touched his arm and jerked his head.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this either.’

  Over by the kerb a traffic warden was affixing a ticket to the windscreen of Stone’s car.

  * * *

  In the window of her first-floor flat looking out on a quiet square between the King’s Road and the river Leonora was talking on the telephone, with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  ‘James? It’s Leo. Listen, I’ve just been chased across London by two of your heavies.’

  Pascoe’s voice was jolted for a moment out of its usual even tones. ‘What do you mean— chased?’

  ‘Chased, James—as in pursued!’ Leonora was simulating a little more anger than she actually felt. ‘Do you want me to spell it for you?’

  ‘Are you sure they were my men?’

  ‘Of course they were your men! I haven’t been around Triple S this long without getting to know those two by sight. Your wonder boys—Tweedledum and Tweedledee— Batman and Robin…’

  ‘You mean Stone and Marriot,’ Pascoe remarked dryly.

  ‘That’s it,’ she agreed. ‘I told you I knew them.’

  ‘Leo,’ he said soothingly, ‘they weren’t chasing you. Their instructions were to keep an eye on you—from a discreet distance.’

  ‘Well,’ Leo commented, ‘I don’t know how you interpret that, James, but would you say it included forcing me off the road and chasing me into a tube station?’

  ‘They what?’ Pascoe exclaimed. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘I lost them at South Ken. With any luck they’re still going round and round on the Circle Line.’

  Pascoe recovered his self-control. ‘Look, Leonora, there’s been some mistake—a misunderstanding…’

  ‘You’re too right there has!’ she cut in. ‘James, I told you quite specifically that I didn’t want any protection. I’m perfectly safe as long as Farnaby can’t connect me with Triple S, but how long is that going to last with the Lone Ranger and Tonto thundering around behind me?’ She looked out of the window. A bronze Capri had just drawn up on the opposite side of the street. ‘Oh-oh! You know what I said about going round on the Circle Line? Well, they’re not. They’ve just driven up outside. James, did you give them my home address?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ he said reasonably. ‘Now listen, Leo, I don’t know what went wrong but I’m going to find out. I’ll have them recalled straight away.’

  Leo was gazing speculatively at the two men in the car. ‘No, don’t bother, James,’ she murmured. ‘On second thoughts, if they are going to be around we might as well get to know each other. Get Control to call them and tell them to come up and introduce themselves, will you?’

  Back in his flat above the health club Pascoe smiled to himself.

  ‘That’s a good girl! I knew you’d see the sense of it. I’ll get a message through to them straight away.’ Then, as she was about to put the phone down, ‘Oh—by the way, Leo…?’

  ‘Yes, James?’

  ‘Er—which one is Batman, would you say?’

  Leo grinned and looked out of the window. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you, James—yet. I’ll let you know—in due course.’

  She replaced the phone and stood watching the two men. They had got out of the car and seemed undecided about whether to come across to the flat or stay where they were. Yes, she had been right about their identities. Pascoe’s top two agents. She supposed she should be flattered. They were the two she had met outside Pascoe’s apartment that morning. The fair, tough-looking one was Stone. She remembered the encounter in the corridor and recalled a pair of ice-blue eyes which had glinted with the tacit assumption that any girl Stone found attractive must automatically return the compliment. She had to admit he had some grounds for his self-confidence—if you happened to fancy the hard, Nordic type— but the realization had lent an extra spice to her enjoyment when she saw him walk into that door post. The other one, now, the tall, loose-limbed one with the curly hair—that was Marriot. They were an oddly contrasted pair. Marriot, with his long hair and his faded jeans, could have walked out of any coffee bar, or any building site; but she remembered warm, hazel eyes with a thick fringe of dark lashes, which had met her own with friendly, open approval. She watched him standing, leaning on the roof
of the car—very laid-back; very relaxed. Stone stood still too, but his stillness was the repose of a coiled spring, balanced, alert; not restful. The roll-necked sweater and the leather jacket were the clothes of a man who cared about the way he looked and was prepared to spend money on it. A hard man, Stone, she thought, smiling at the pun. Rock-hard? Or harder? She recalled the glint in the pale blue eyes. Diamond-hard, perhaps. The idea pleased her. Yes, a diamond—but a rough diamond, if her guess was right.

  She saw him bend suddenly and unhook the microphone of the car radio. Control had obviously come through with Pascoe’s message. Smiling, she turned away from the window and went across to the navy holdall which stood by her desk.

  A couple of minutes later, having been admitted by the remote-control lock on the front door, Stone and Marriot walked somewhat warily into the hallway of the flat.

  ‘In here,’ called a voice.

  Stone pushed open the door which stood ajar and looked across the room. Seated behind the big desk in the window, silhouetted against the strong light from outside, was the slim figure in the cap and denim jacket which they had pursued that afternoon.

  It was Nick Marriot who stepped forward.

  ‘Miss Laura Cavendish?’

  The girl behind the desk reached up and removed the cap, allowing her hair to fall round her face.

  ‘It’s Leonora, actually. Laura is just a business name.’

  Marriot, his eyes accustoming themselves to the light, put his hand behind him where Stone could see it and made grasping motions with it. He had not forgotten their bet. Stone, however, ignored it. He was beginning to have a most unpleasant feeling that he had been made a monkey of.

  ‘It was you driving the TR7,’ he said brusquely.

  ‘Why not?’ Leo replied sweetly. ‘It’s my car.’

  ‘And you who passed us on the escalator,’ said Marriot, beginning to smile.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she grinned back at him.

  ‘And you we saw leaving Pascoe’s room this morning.’

  ‘Right again.’

  Stone interrupted this growing rapport. ‘So what the hell are we playing at?’ he demanded.

  Leo lowered her chin and eyed him coldly. ‘What the hell were you playing at, forcing me off the road?’

  Stone moved forward to the desk. ‘Look, you came out of that one-way street like a bat out of hell. How were we to know it was you driving?’

  Enlightenment dawned on Leo’s face. ‘Oh, now I get it! You thought I’d pinched the car.’

  ‘Well, you must admit it looked a bit—odd,’ Marriot murmured.

  Leo sat back in her chair. ‘OK. Fair enough. I owe you an explanation. I was half-expecting someone to follow me. There had been a strange car parked outside the office for an hour before I left, with a guy sitting in it. I figured if he was waiting for me the easiest way to give him the slip was to come out the wrong way. Of course, when I realized you two were on my tail I assumed you were part of the same outfit.’ She paused, and grinned. ‘It’s a good job there weren’t any coppers around.’

  Marriot returned her smile. He was completely captivated. Stone, however, was not.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t know whether you realize it, but we are members of the police force.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Leo softly, ‘but not that sort of police.’

  Stone drew out his warrant card and thrust it under her nose.

  ‘Special Security Service.’

  If he had expected Leo to be impressed he was disappointed. She glanced at the ID, then lifted her eyes and looked from him to Marriot and back.

  ‘Look.’ she said, ‘I think we’ve all got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start again.’ She rose and came round the desk. ‘I’m Leonora Cavendish. Who are you?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Marriot said quickly. ‘I’m Nick Marriot.’

  He took her proffered hand. It was firm in his own, but very small. She looked at Stone, who glowered in return.

  ‘He’s Stone,’ Marriot said.

  Leo turned to him and offered her hand again. ‘Stone, tout court? she queried.

  Stone shook it briefly. ‘Yes—except to particularly close friends.’

  Leo acknowledged the barb with a lift of her eyebrows and turned away.

  ‘I think we could all use a drink. Is Scotch OK?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ agreed Marriot.

  ‘Sit down,’ Leo said, pouring drinks. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’

  Marriot dropped into an easy chair and looked around him. It was a big room, high-ceilinged with long windows. The décor was mainly shades of cream and fawn, with touches of clear, pale blue, against which the rich mahogany and rosewood of a few pieces of beautiful old furniture glowed warmly. There was very little ornament except for one or two pieces of Wedgwood and crystal. The effect was cool, elegant and yet very relaxing.

  Leo handed him a glass and then gave one to Stone, who had seated himself on a upright chair by the desk.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, knocking back a mouthful of Scotch in a straightforward, business-like manner which Nick found reassuring.

  ‘Cheers,’ he replied. Stone drank in silence, but his eyes never left her.

  ‘Right!’ said Leo. ‘No more games. I didn’t want you on this case but now you’re here I suppose you’ll be less of a nuisance if I put you in the picture.’

  Marriot glanced at his partner’s face. It was a study. This was simply not the way women were supposed to behave towards Stone— particularly attractive women.

  Leo leaned across the desk and reached into a drawer to extract a slim black wallet. She handed it to Stone.

  ‘Snap!’

  Stone looked at the Triple S ID card in silence and handed it on to Marriot, who chuckled delightedly.

  ‘I should have guessed.’

  ‘OK.’ said Stone truculently. ‘So what’s the idea? Why didn’t Pascoe tell us this to start with?’

  Leo seated herself on the edge of the desk. ‘I’m afraid that was my fault. You see, the whole point of the way I operate is that I have as little visible connection with Triple S as possible.’

  ‘And this Cavendish Agency is your cover?’ Marriot put in.

  ‘One of them, yes. It’s a genuine domestic staff agency too, of course, but you’d be surprised how many “interesting” houses you can get into as a cleaner, or a cook or a nanny.’

  ‘So what are you involved with at the moment?’ Nick asked.

  ‘You know about Ahmed Khalil?’

  ‘We picked him up yesterday.’

  ‘Oh?’ Leo smiled. ‘It was you in the van, was it?’

  ‘Yes. How…?’ Recognition dawned on Nick’s face. ‘Mrs Burkiss!’

  Leo laughed. ‘Yes, her too.’

  ‘Dear God!’ muttered Stone.

  Leo went on. ‘Does the name Guy Farnaby mean anything to you?’

  ‘Playboy, man-about-town type.’ Stone was beginning to be interested in spite of himself. ‘Always getting his photo in the papers with expensive women. Was there a rumour about drugs once?’

  ‘That’s him,’ agreed Leo. ‘The original playboy of the western world. Ex-Eton, well- connected, well off—too well off for his visible sources of income. Likes to be seen as a patron of the arts, but also operates in that shady area where big money and influence mix and nobody asks too many questions. We’re pretty sure that he’s pushing dope to what you might call the “gilded youth” of society—kids with plenty of money on the look out for the latest kicks.’

  ‘How does he connect with Khalil?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Well, you heard his last phone call. It was to Farnaby. That more or less confirms our suspicions. Khalil is supplying Farnaby, in order to raise money for terrorist operations— and in return for some other very useful perks.’

  ‘Such as?’ queried Stone.

  ‘Well, think of the circle Farnaby moves in. Look at the potential for blackmail when he’s supplying the sons and daughters of politicians, industr
ialists, the aristocracy— maybe even judges and senior police officers. A bit of information here, somebody leaned on there—very useful for Farnaby, even more useful for Khalil.’

  ‘Can you prove this?’ Stone asked.

  ‘If I could we wouldn’t be sitting round here now, would we?’ Leo asked. ‘That’s the next step. Farnaby likes to be seen around with attractive women. It’s a matter of window dressing really. He’s actually rather heavily involved with a very beautiful boy from the corps de ballet at the moment. That’s where the other me comes in.’

  ‘The other you?’ queried Marriot.

  Leo reached into the desk again and produced a framed photograph. It was a Hollywood publicity still, very glossy and glamorous. She held it out to them.

  ‘Does this ring any bells?’

  Marriot and Stone stared at the picture for a long moment in silence. Then Nick said slowly,

  ‘No wonder I kept thinking I’d seen you somewhere before this morning!’

  ‘Leonora Carr!’ muttered Stone. ‘I must be losing my grip or something.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Leo said. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Can’t be more than a couple of years,’ Stone returned. ‘I don’t get it. When you made that film everyone raved about it. You were the hottest thing since chicken vindaloo. What made you give it all up—for this?’

  Leo gave him a level look. ‘It’s a long story, Stone,’ she said dryly. ‘And one I only tell to “particularly close friends”.’

  Marriot looked at Stone and winced. ‘Ouch!’ he said softly.

  Stone said nothing, but for the first time there was the beginning of a smile in his eyes.

  ‘Anyway,’ Leo continued, ‘as far as Guy Farnaby is concerned Leonora Carr fits the bill very nicely. I’m decorative but undemanding and I have the right sort of background for his dilettante image. I’ve let him think that I got hooked on drugs while I was in Hollywood and I’ve never managed to kick the habit. I think he’s taken the bait. He’s throwing a party down at his place in Hampshire this weekend and I’m invited. We know he’s expecting a consignment of drugs soon. All we need to know now is exactly when, and where. This party seems like a good place to start finding out.’