Operation Omega

by Hilary Green

  ‘Where do we come in?’ asked Stone.

  ‘Not at all, if I can help it,’ was the terse reply. ‘If Farnaby suspects that either of us is being followed we might as well pack up and go home. But I suppose there is something to be said for one of you being handy in case I need help in a hurry. Just stay out of sight, for God’s sake.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get ready. I’m meeting him for dinner and then we’re going to the opera. Help yourselves to another drink. I shan’t be long.’

  When the door had closed behind her both men stood silent, gazing after her. Nick Marriot drew a long breath.

  ‘I think I’m in love!’

  Stone laughed briefly. ‘Forget it, sunshine. You haven’t got a hope.’ He yawned. ‘Oh well. Looks like a shift job.’

  Marriot produced a coin. ‘Loser takes the first watch.’

  He tossed the coin. ‘Heads!’ said Stone. Nick grinned. ‘Hey, you’re in luck!’

  ‘You mean I get the evening off?’

  ‘No, you get to go to the opera!’

  * * *

  When Leo returned they were both expecting some sort of transformation but even so the effect left them breathless for a moment. The rather unruly curls had disappeared under a wig of the same colour but dressed in an elaborate and sophisticated style. Much heavier but very skilfully applied make-up had moulded the structure of the face and made the eyes appear more enormous than ever. She was wearing a dress of jade-green chiffon and from her ears hung long jade drops set in gold. She looked, in fact, every man’s ideal of the sophisticated, glamorous and totally desirable woman.

  The effect she had made was not lost on Leo and when she spoke there was a hint of mockery in her tone.

  ‘I take it you’re not both “minding” me all evening?’

  Marriot looked at Stone and saw him swallow.

  ‘No. That’s my—privilege—tonight.’

  ‘Right. We’re dining at Franco’s in Jermyn Street—’ her eyes teased him—‘in case you lose me on the way. Is there any sign of my taxi out there? I ordered one.’

  Nick looked out of the window. ‘Not yet.’

  Stone said. ‘Look, if you do need me how are you going to get in touch? Do you carry one of these?’ He produced his personal radio.

  Leo grinned, lifted her arms and looked down at herself. A very small purse hung on her wrist.

  ‘Where do you suggest I put it?’

  ‘Don’t answer that!’ muttered Nick.

  ‘You ought to have one,’ Stone said obstinately.

  ‘Oh, I’ve got one all right,’ Leo told him. ‘I carry one in the car and there’s one in my desk—but I dare not carry anything that might connect me with Triple S when I’m using this cover.’

  ‘How will you get hold of me if you need me, then?’ Stone persisted.

  ‘I’ll either get to a phone and get Control to patch me through to your radio, or I’ll give you a visual signal or send someone with a message. I know it’s not ideal but it’s the best I can think of.’

  ‘Here’s the taxi,’ said Nick.

  ‘Good.’ Leo’s tone was brisk. ‘On your bike, you two. I don’t want to be seen leaving with you.’

  ‘One thing,’ Stone said, turning at the door. ‘If we do need to contact you at any time we shall need to know code names. I’m Delta One, he’s Delta Two. What’s your call sign?’

  Leo smiled at him. ‘I’m Omega—because…’

  ‘Because…’ they finished the sentence for her in unison, ‘because you always like to have the last word!’

  Chapter 5

  Stone did not enjoy his evening. To start with he sat in his car parked in a side-street opposite the restaurant and munched a hamburger while Leo and Farnaby, who had a table either by accident or Leo’s design right by the lighted window, ate oysters and drank champagne. Even that seemed an affront to Stone in his current mood. He was convinced that nobody consumed oysters and champagne because they actually liked them. It was simply a way of advertising superfluous wealth.

  Then came the opera. Stone had never been inside Covent Garden before and for a while the place itself and its atmosphere kept him interested. His warrant card and a quiet word with the house manager earned him a seat at the side of the Grand Circle where by simply turning his head he could see Leo and Farnaby in the front row at the centre of the horseshoe. He had to admit that the plush and the gilt and the pink-shaded lamps along the edge of the balcony, together with the subdued murmur of a large and expectant audience, gave a sense of occasion, of participating in something outside of the ordinary run of experience; and when the orchestra struck up the first bars of the overture there was a sense of power and presence which you did not get with even the best hi-fi. When the curtain rose there was enough visual interest to occupy him for a while and some of the music was really quite stirring, especially the triumphal march where an apparently endless stream of soldiers and chariots and captured slaves processed across the stage; but the sight of a portly tenor in Egyptian dress bawling out his innermost feelings at the top of his extremely powerful voice struck him as simply ludicrous and he soon lost the thread of the story. After that he occupied himself by watching Leo. She sat absolutely still, leaning slightly forward, her eyes never leaving the stage. Next to her, Farnaby intermittently nodded his head or wagged his programme in time to the music and Stone saw that from time to time he glanced around the auditorium. Unmusical though he might be, Stone was still enough of a connoisseur of human nature to distinguish the genuine opera-lover from the fake.

  In the interval he stood in the crush bar behind the Grand Circle and watched the people. They were a section of society he did not often get a chance to observe close to. The women, particularly, fascinated him—sleek, elegant, like prize racehorses, wafting around him as they passed a vapour trail of the kind of scent that at once excited and terrified him.

  By half-way through the second act he had run out of things to occupy his mind and the next thing he was aware of was a painfully sharp dig in the ribs from his next-door neighbour. He straightened up in his seat and began the long and intermittently unsuccessful battle against sleep.

  When the opera finished he hoped fervently that Leo would say good night to Farnaby and go home, but once again his luck was out. They went on to a night-club. Afraid that if he sat in the car he would fall asleep again he bought a cup of plastic coffee from an all-night stand and paced up and down with his coat collar turned up around his ears.

  They came out sooner than he had dared to hope and he saw Leo shaking her head and smiling apologetically, and guessed that she had made some excuse. He just had time to get back to his car before a taxi drew up and Farnaby handed Leo into it. Stone was glad to see that he remained on the pavement, waving, as it drew away.

  When the taxi deposited Leo at her flat Stone parked opposite and watched her go inside. A few seconds later the lights came on in the big front room. He settled deeper into his seat and wished that he had had the foresight to put a flask and a blanket in the back of the car. It was going to be a long, cold night.

  Up in the flat, Leo went through to the kitchen, opened the small freezer and took out a plastic box labelled, in her own handwriting, ‘boeuf bourguignon’. She opened it, placed it in the microwave oven, then ran her eye over the wine rack which stood in one corner and selected a bottle with the sloping shoulders of wine from Burgundy. She checked the label— Nuits St George—and drew the cork. Then she went through to the living-room and began to set the table.

  Stone yawned and shivered, and remembered that he had only had a hamburger for his dinner. He wondered if there was any point in contacting Control and asking them to send out someone to take his place. Then his car radio bleeped. He jerked forward, his lethargy vanishing, and grabbed the microphone.

  ‘Delta One.’

  ‘Delta One, this is Omega.’

  ‘Go ahead, Omega.’

  A slight pause. Then, ‘What’s the weather like dow
n there?’

  Stone swore and looked up at the lighted windows. What was the bloody woman playing at now? He pressed the speak button on the microphone.

  ‘Cold,’ he said shortly.

  Again the fractional pause.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Supper’s almost ready.’

  For the second time that day Stone entered the flat and warily pushed open the door to the sitting room. At one end of the room was a circular dinner-table, set with silver and sparkling crystal wineglasses. Leo looked up in the act of lighting two tall red candles and smiled at him.

  ‘Why don’t you pour the wine? The rest won’t be long.’

  A slow answering smile spread across Stone’s face as he pushed the door to behind him.

  * * *

  Promptly at seven the next morning Nick Marriot parked his car behind Stone’s, reached into the back for a flask of coffee and a packet of sandwiches and strolled up to the front off-side door. Stone wound down the window and smiled at him.

  ‘Good-morning!’

  Nick leaned down and peered in. He had expected to find his partner heavy-eyed, haggard and in a foul temper. Instead he looked kempt, relaxed and—yes, there was no other word for it—smug.

  ‘I brought you some coffee,’ Nick said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Stone took the flask but he seemed in no hurry to pour himself a drink.

  Nick glanced up at the windows of the flat. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Oh yes—everything’s fine.’ Stone stretched and yawned. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way then.’

  He started the engine and Nick stood back. ‘Right. See you later.’

  He watched the Capri turn out of the square, then looked up again at the windows of the flat—but they were not giving away any secrets. He decided that he ought to check on Leo’s car. A short walk round the corner brought him to a mews with a row of lock-up garages. He had no way of telling which was Leo’s but he satisfied himself that none of the locks had been tampered with and that there was no other way in. Very soon after, Leo appeared and went into one of the garages. There was a lengthy pause. Good girl, Nick thought, she’s doing all the routine checks.

  When the TR7 came out he followed at a discreet distance and soon realized where they were heading. By eight o’clock they were in the Spartacus Health Club. He watched Leo take the private lift up to Pascoe’s apartment and toyed with the idea of following, but instinct told him that his boss would not appreciate his interference. While he stood undecided a telephone behind the reception desk buzzed and one of the receptionists, who were all Triple S operatives, called him over.

  ‘Message for you from Omega. She says she will be here for an hour. Control suggests that you go and have a workout in the gym.’

  ‘Thanks!’ said Nick dryly, and took the lift to the gym which was reserved for Triple S agents, where one of the resident coaches, delighted to get his hands on one of his less enthusiastic pupils, put him through an exhaustive training session. He might have felt better about it if he had known that, after ten minutes with Pascoe, Leo was also undergoing a thorough work-out. No matter how unusual, or how highly thought of, Pascoe made it an unvarying rule that all Triple S operatives must maintain the highest standards of physical fitness.

  Just before nine Control buzzed him with the message that Leo was about to leave. He followed her through the rush-hour traffic to Knightsbridge and watched her go into the offices of the Cavendish Agency. The debris of the Mini had been cleared away and the broken windows in the office mended, but there was still the evidence of a charred patch on the wall and a large oil-slick on the road for yesterday’s incident.

  Nick waited a few minutes, then reached into the back of the car and dragged out a donkey jacket and a wooden tool-box.

  ‘Morning,’ he said to the blonde in the office. ‘Come to check your phones. We had a report that people have had difficulty getting through.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’ she said.

  ‘We’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘Ah, number unobtainable,’ said Nick, ‘not just no reply. Better check, hadn’t I?’

  ‘I suppose you had,’ she agreed.

  He busied himself with the phones. ‘Gather you had a bit of trouble yesterday…’

  ‘Oh don’t!’ the girl murmured. ‘I can’t bear to think about it. That poor kid!’

  ‘Yeah, awful,’ Nick agreed sympathetically.

  ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘Miss Cavendish was marvellous. That’s our boss. She was down there with a fire extinguisher while the rest of us were still screaming.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Nick.

  The door of the inner office opened.

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ Irene inquired.

  ‘Man come to check the phones,’ said the blonde.

  ‘Has he shown you his identity card?’ called Leo from inside.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to ask!’ the girl exclaimed.

  Leo appeared in the doorway. ‘May I?’ she said, extending a hand towards him.

  Nick grinned and reached into the pocket of the donkey jacket. ‘Certainly, madam.’

  She studied briefly the plastic-covered card which he handed her, and returned it, without a flicker of recognition.

  ‘You’d better check the phones in my office while you’re about it.’

  He examined the phones while she checked the deployment of the Cavendish Agency’s workers with Irene. Listening with half an ear he realized that the fact that the agency operated as a profitable business as well as simply a Triple S cover was very largely due to the efficiency of its proprietress. After ten minutes he declared that the fault must be further down the line and took his departure, satisfied that at least the phones were not being bugged and that all the Cavendish employees appeared genuine—more important, the place ‘smelt’ right. Nick Marriot was a great believer in gut reactions.

  He expected a quiet, even tedious day. In fact, he scarcely had time to open the newspaper he had brought with him. After less than an hour in the office Leo reappeared and jumped into her car. First stop was the nearest general hospital. It was not hard to guess why and a few discreet enquiries, in the guise of a reporter, gave Nick the information that the girl, Jenny, was out of intensive care and ‘as well as could be expected’. The rest of the morning was occupied in calling on prospective clients. Around twelve thirty he began to hope that Leo was about ready to stop for lunch, but not a bit of it. The TR7 drew up outside the studios of the London Contemporary Dance Theatre and Leo leapt out, carrying her ubiquitous holdall. After a while Nick drifted into the foyer. In his jeans and long hair he looked very much in keeping with the rest of the young men and women who were standing around. He peered through the glass panel in one of the doors. A dance class was in progress and in the front row was Leo, in blue tights and leotard. Nick had mixed in that world once and knew a bit about contemporary dance—enough to see that she was good, very good. But then, why not? A leading stage actress before she went to Hollywood, this would all have been part of her training. Why? Why had she given all that up to join Triple S?

  After the class she came out, flushed-faced and tousle-haired, with a group of others and they headed down the street to a health food restaurant. Nick contemplated following her in, but decided in favour of a pint and a pie in the pub opposite. He had hardly had time to down the former before she was on her way again, this time to the hairdresser’s. While he was waiting for her to come out Stone buzzed him on the radio and a few minutes later the bronze Capri drew up behind him.

  ‘I don’t know how she keeps it up,’ Nick said. ‘She hasn’t stopped all day.’

  Stone grinned. ‘She doesn’t let up much at night, either—I mean, it was midnight before she went home last night.’

  Nick looked at him narrowly but his face was blank and innocent.

  ‘Feel like giving me a spell for an hour or two?’ Nick suggested.

  ‘Sure,’ Stone agreed. ‘I’ll do better than
that. I’ll take over the night shift for you. I’m not doing anything special this evening.’

  ‘No, no,’ Nick said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You carry on for now. I’ll be back to take the night shift.’

  * * *

  At seven that evening he parked opposite Leo’s flat. Stone was sitting in his car.

  ‘Had a quiet afternoon?’ Nick asked.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ his partner replied. ‘We’ve been half-way down the M4 this afternoon to call on some old biddy—all in the line of business, as far as I can make out.’

  Nick looked up at the windows speculatively. ‘I wonder if she’s going anywhere tonight.’

  Stone grinned. ‘I hope she takes you to a lecture on insect life in Outer Mongolia.’

  ‘If she does, I shall send for you,’ Nick returned. ‘I’d hate you to miss something as fascinating as that.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to do this shift?’ Stone asked.

  ‘Quite sure!’ Nick replied.

  He watched Stone drive away and then got back into his own car. Twenty minutes passed. He began to wonder why he had been so quick to refuse Stone’s offer. Then his radio bleeped.

  ‘Delta Two.’

  ‘Delta Two, this is Omega.’

  ‘Go ahead, Omega.’

  ‘Delta Two, have you had dinner?’

  Nick looked up at the windows of the flat and began to smile. He could just make out a figure behind the glass.

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve got some sandwiches.’

  ‘I see. I was thinking more in terms of fresh salmon and a bottle of Chablis.’

  ‘Sounds great!’

  ‘Well, if you come up straight away we’ll have time for a Martini before we eat.’

  A few moments later Nick opened the door of the sitting-room. Leo, dressed in a loose green kaftan, was lighting tall white candles on the dinner-table.