Operation Omega

by Hilary Green

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  She looked up and raised an eyebrow. ‘Mmn?’

  These different parts you play all the time… I don’t mean tonight because that was just for a couple of hours, and obviously quite different from you; but the roles you seem to play all the time—Laura Cavendish, Leonora Carr… Don’t you ever feel, well, confused?’

  She sat back and smiled at him. ‘Will the real Leonora please stand up, you mean?’ She considered for a moment. ‘Occasionally, I suppose; but not seriously. I know who I am— and it isn’t either of them. Leonora Carr was me, once. I only changed my name when I joined Equity because my agent told me that a shorter name was easier to fit on programmes and posters and things. But she stopped being me after that film. For a while I never wanted to hear of her again. Now she’s just a fictitious character as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘You really hate that film, don’t you,’ he said.

  ‘Deeply and passionately,’ she agreed.

  ‘But why? I mean, it was a tremendous success. It made you famous all over the world.’

  ‘You saw it?’ she asked and he nodded. ‘Remember how it made you feel about me,’ she commented, ‘and then ask yourself if that’s how you would like to be thought of.’

  After a moment he said, ‘Is that why you left Hollywood?’

  ‘Largely.’

  In the pause he ordered coffee and brandy. When the waiter had gone he said,

  ‘Tell me one thing. You said that you had convinced Farnaby that you left Hollywood because you had got mixed up with the drugs scene out there and wanted to kick the habit. It wasn’t true, was it?’

  She reached out and put her hand over his. ‘No, my sweet. I left partly because I couldn’t bear to watch what it was doing to a lot of the people I met; but I was never involved myself. I never have been.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ he murmured. ‘I wouldn’t have asked but…’

  ‘I know,’ she interrupted him gently. ‘Stone told me, while you were taking care of Mandy. I’m sorry about Jacky—that was her name, wasn’t it.’

  He squeezed her fingers. ‘It was a long time ago now—water under the bridge. I just can’t bear to think of it happening again to anyone—anyone I care about.’

  The coffee arrived. Nick sat back.

  ‘So—what does the real Leonora do with herself at weekends? When she isn’t paddling about rivers at the dead of night, that is.’

  She sipped her coffee. ‘I have a tiny cottage in a hollow of the North Downs in Surrey, and I keep a horse at livery at a stable nearby. When I get the chance I go down and ride. It’s only twenty-five miles from London, but if you know your way about you can ride all day without touching a main road.’

  He grinned. ‘I should have known you rode horses.’

  She gave him a steady look. ‘To be a good horseman takes patience, sensitivity, courage and a fair degree of physical fitness, so I shall take that as a compliment; though I suspect it isn’t quite what you had in mind.’

  ‘What’s it called—your horse?’ he asked.

  ‘I call him Dippy,’ she said. ‘His name is Serendipity.’

  ‘Funny name for a horse.’

  ‘Not really. His dam was called Serenade and he’s by a stallion called Lucky Chance— so, Serendipity. It means a happy chance.’

  ‘What else do you do, in your tiny cottage?’

  ‘Read, listen to music…’

  ‘What sort of music?’

  ‘Strictly classical, I’m afraid—Bach, Mozart, Beethoven. Not your scene?’

  ‘Very much my scene,’ he contradicted her. He cradled his brandy glass, looking at her. ‘And you do these things all alone?’

  Her eyes met his over the rim of her glass. ‘Yes—quite alone.’

  Later he walked her home along the embankment. The warm weather was continuing and the dark river, at full flood, mirrored the necklace of fairy lights across the Albert Bridge. He glanced sideways at her and remembered what Pascoe had told them; and reached out and took her hand.

  When they stood at the door of her flat she smiled up at him.

  ‘How about that nightcap now?’

  ‘That sounds like a wonderful idea,’ he said, and followed her inside.

  * * *

  The following morning Nick and Stone met for a conference in Pascoe’s office.

  ‘So,’ Pascoe remarked. ‘Nothing happened last night.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Stone. ‘Complete waste of time.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Nick murmured.

  ‘You wouldn’t? Why not?’ Pascoe demanded.

  ‘Well, I mean—’ Nick floundered, his brain racing out of gear—‘we had to be there, didn’t we? I mean, we couldn’t risk not being.’

  ‘That is true,’ Pascoe agreed. ‘We had to take all due precautions, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Do you reckon Zahran may have been planning something and called it off because he spotted us?’ Stone asked.

  Pascoe shook his head. ‘Unlikely. It’s not his style to be put off by the sight of opposition.’

  ‘Maybe Farnaby was there on some ploy of his own, completely unconnected with Zahran,’ Nick suggested.

  ‘That is certainly a possibility,’ Pascoe agreed. ‘You say he spent some time with the PM’s son?’

  ‘Yes. I should say he was making a definite effort to get friendly with him.’

  ‘Well,’ Pascoe brooded, ‘bearing in mind the way he used Amanda Clifton we can’t discount the idea that he may be hoping to compromise the boy in some way for his own devious ends.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Nick put in, ‘he may just have been basking in reflected glory. Leo says he can’t resist anyone with any claim to fame.’

  Pascoe sighed. ‘I think all we can hope for is that we have got hold of one more piece of the jigsaw. We may not be able to recognize it at the moment, but with any luck it will suddenly click into place when we begin to see the whole picture. One thing is certain, anyway, we’re not going to see it any clearer sitting in this office. Get out on the streets and start asking questions. Somebody, somewhere, must know something.’

  Going off duty at the end of the day Nick felt he knew no more than he had when he started. The events of the day blended into a vague impression of sleazy bars, grubby bedsitters and raucous amusement halls. It occurred to him that it would be nice to ring Leo and suggest that they went to a concert; then he remembered that she had told him that she was going to the theatre with Farnaby. It crossed his mind that he had not been in touch with either of his regular girl-friends for over a week. He wondered whether to phone one of them, but the idea did not appeal. He reached for his radio microphone, guessing that somewhere in the city Stone would also be making his way home, and gave his call sign.

  ‘Delta One,’ came the laconic reply. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Bugger all!’ replied Nick. ‘You?’

  ‘No, not a murmur.’

  ‘You got any plans for this evening?’ Nick asked.

  There was a brief silence, then, ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘Leo’s going out with Farnaby,’ said Nick, reading his mind.

  ‘Ah,’ said Stone, non-committally. Then, ‘No, I haven’t got anything planned. You got any ideas?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Fancy dropping into the Red Cow to see if there’s any fresh talent around?’

  ‘No. Not tonight.’

  A pause. ‘No, can’t say I’m all that keen either.’

  ‘Sky are giving a concert at the Festival Hall

  ‘Leave it out. You know I can’t sit still for a whole evening listening to music.’

  There was a silence, filled with the crackling of two receivers, both listening out. Then Nick pressed his transmit button.

  ‘Haven’t been to the pictures for a long time.’

  ‘No.’ Stone considered the idea. ‘What’s on?’

  ‘Have you seen ET?’

  ‘Do m
e a favour!’

  ‘Well—everybody’s talking about it. I just thought…’

  Stone chuckled. ‘Yeah, OK. Why not? It ought to be good for a laugh.’

  So they went to see ET—but neither of them laughed.

  Chapter 9

  Nick was just making his early morning coffee when the phone rang.

  ‘Mr Pascoe would like to see you in his office straight away,’ said Control.

  He met Stone in the foyer and they went up in the lift together. Leo was already in Pascoe’s room, her cheeks flushed from exercise and her hair damp from the shower. Looking at her, Nick felt pallid and unwholesome. He and Stone had sat up late the night before, after the film, drinking and talking. Neither of them had mentioned Leo, though they had known that she was uppermost in both their minds.

  ‘I think we may be on to something,’ Pascoe began without preamble. ‘Tell them, Leo.’

  Leo’s voice was businesslike. ‘Farnaby told me last night that he wouldn’t be able to see me over the weekend because he was going to be “busy”. Then, later on, I overheard him telling someone that he was going to be at Epsom this afternoon, for the racing. Well, Guy Farnaby is to horse-racing what Mary Whitehouse is to a Soho strip-joint; so the only possible explanation, once again, is that there is going to be somebody there that he’s interested in. The question is, who.’

  ‘Oh, only about 5,000 other people,’ Stone muttered. ‘Like the other night.’

  ‘Think, Stone!’ Pascoe chided him. ‘Who did Farnaby meet that night?’

  ‘Of course!’ Nick exclaimed. ‘The PM’s son. Is he going to be there?’

  ‘Unfortunately official sources are unable to confirm or deny that,’ Pascoe replied. ‘As a private citizen he is under no obligation to keep us informed, and it appears that he did not spend last night at his flat and no one knows where to get in touch with him.’

  ‘So it’s another wait and watch job,’ said Stone.

  ‘I’m afraid that is about all we can do,’ Pascoe agreed.

  ‘I still don’t see where this connects with Zahran,’ Nick put in. ‘OK, there might be something in it for Farnaby, with his nasty little habits, but where’s the political mileage for a terrorist like Zahran?’

  ‘I can only assume through bringing pressure to bear on the PM,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘Then it is a blackmail job,’ commented Stone.

  ‘It may be a red herring, for all we know,’ sighed Pascoe. ‘But once again, it’s one we can’t afford not to follow up. We shall go on looking for Zahran and maintaining precautions in other directions, of course. But I want you three on this job, so let’s get down to some planning. We’ve got three hours, and a lot of ground to cover—in every sense of the word.’

  * * *

  Stone watched the winner of the last race thunder past the post and was glad that he had decided that betting while on duty was not a good idea. However, someone else had been betting, and with remarkable success. If Farnaby was as much a stranger to racing as Leo had implied, then someone had been giving him some very good tips—tips he had been sharing with a friend! Already the two of them were on their way to collect their winnings on the last race. Stone followed at a discreet distance and saw them turn in the direction of the car-park. He drew back into a doorway of the stand building and took out his radio.

  ‘Delta One to Watchdog.’

  In a plain van parked on the crest of the Downs Nick pressed down a key. ‘Delta One, this is Watchdog. Go ahead.’

  ‘It looks as if Father Bear is about ready to go home—and Goldilocks is with him.’

  ‘Roger, Delta One. Maintain observation.’ Stone left the doorway. The crowds were beginning to stream out of the stands and enclosures, heading for the car parks or strolling away across the Downs in the late afternoon sun. Stone ran up a short flight of steps at the back of the stand, from the top of which he had a fairly clear view of Farnaby’s Rolls. Farnaby himself and the Prime Minister’s son were talking to a small group of friends. Then Stone saw the young man reach into the boot of his car and produce a small suitcase. With a nod and a wave he and Farnaby began to move away towards the Rolls. Stone pressed the transmit button on his radio.

  ‘Watchdog, Delta One. I think we may be onto something. It looks as if Goldilocks is going to stay with Father Bear.’

  Thank you, Delta One. We have a mobile unit standing by to follow.’

  Stone leaned forward suddenly as a movement caught his eye. A familiar figure in a white trouser suit had appeared between the parked cars and intercepted Farnaby and his companion. He saw her make a gesture as if to throw her arms about Farnaby’s neck and saw him flinch and catch her wrist, holding her off. Stone raised his binoculars and watched the scene unfold. Leo was speaking earnestly, even tearfully, and Farnaby was plainly embarrassed. Then she seemed to grow angry and even made a gesture as if to strike him but when he turned away towards the car she ran after him and caught his sleeve, pleading with him. He jerked his arm free and the chauffeur opened the door of the Rolls. She continued her supplications until both he and the boy were in the car, and then turned abruptly and ran off, apparently in tears. Stone saw her reach the white Jaguar from the Triple S car pool which she habitually used in her ex-film-star persona and get in. ‘What the hell was all that about?’ he muttered to himself.

  A couple of seconds later Leo’s voice came over the radio, calm and even, but with an edge of urgency.

  ‘Delta One, I’m following Father Bear. If you can get to the car-park entrance in time I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘Omega, this is Delta One. No need. There is a mobile unit already standing by.’

  ‘I don’t care if the Seventh Cavalry is standing by,’ came the reply. ‘I’m sticking with them. I just got a good look at the chauffeur. It’s Stratos Zahran!’

  Almost before she had finished speaking Stone was on his way down the steps. He saw the Rolls edging out of the car-park in the stream of traffic and reached the entrance just as Leo’s Jag arrived, three cars behind. He leaned down and opened the driver’s door.

  ‘Move over. I’ll drive.’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Leo, and her eyes met his implacably. She eased her foot on the clutch and the car inched forward. ‘Are you getting in or not?’ she asked.

  He ran round and got in beside her. The car slid out onto the road, following the Rolls. Stone reached for the microphone.

  ‘Watchdog, this Delta One. I am mobile, following Father Bear.’

  ‘Unnecessary, Delta One,’ came Nick’s reply. ‘Kappa One and Two are already in position.’

  ‘Correction. Maximum security absolutely vital. We have an ID on the driver. It’s the man we’ve been looking for all this week. Please inform Control.’

  There was a brief silence, then Nick’s voice, low, as if he had forgotten that he was holding down the transmit key. ‘Bloody ’ell!’ Then, aloud. ‘Thank you, Delta One. I will contact control and get back to you. Hold a minute— Observation post two reports target has turned left onto Leatherhead road.’

  ‘Thank you, Watchdog. We have visual contact.’

  The Jag slid round a long left-hand bend. They could see Farnaby’s silver Rolls dropping into the dip ahead of them and, two cars behind it, a red Vauxhall Cavalier.

  ‘That’s our two,’ Stone said. ‘In the red car.’

  The Rolls proceeded at a sedate pace up the farther hill, the little procession of cars following it.

  ‘By the way,’ Stone said. ‘What was all that in aid of in the car-park?’

  ‘Oh, me throwing a wobbly, you mean?’ Leo said. ‘I wanted a chance to get a good look at the chauffeur. I strolled past earlier on and I was pretty sure it wasn’t Stringer, the usual man; but he had his cap down over his eyes, pretending to be asleep, so I couldn’t see who it was. I knew he’d have to get out when Farnaby appeared, so I had to have an excuse for having followed him down here in the first place. It was a sort of double bluff, really. On the surface I was
doing the jealous woman act—why had he stood me up for a whole weekend etc., but he knows quite well things aren’t like that between us. He thinks I’m really desperate for a new supply of dope. I’ve embarrassed him, annoyed him even—but hopefully I haven’t blown my cover.’

  The radio crackled and Nick’s voice came through.

  ‘Delta One, I have a message from Control. You are to maintain surveillance on Father Bear but not, repeat not, under any circumstances to attempt to stop him. The safety of the passenger is of paramount importance. Control is consulting with other security forces and you are to act only under direct instructions except in an emergency. Is that understood?’

  ‘Understood, Delta Two,’ Stone replied drily. ‘He wouldn’t like to get the instructions written out in triplicate and witnessed by a JP, too, would he?’

  Nick chuckled. ‘I dunno. Shall I ask him? Report your position please.’

  Stone reached for the ordnance survey map which he had already found in the glove box. Leo leaned over and took the mike from him.

  ‘Just turning right towards the village of Ashtead, heading for the A24,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Omega,’ came Nick’s reply.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Stone asked.

  She gave him a brief sideways glance. ‘I should be. I grew up around here, and I still come down this way most weekends. I know every inch of the country within ten miles of Dorking.’

  The Rolls led them around the Leatherhead bypass. Nick came through again on the radio.

  ‘We think Father Bear may have noticed Kappa One and Two. I’ve instructed them to peel off at the next roundabout. An unmarked police car is ready to take over from them.’

  At the roundabout the Rolls turned left, heading for Dorking, and they saw the red Vauxhall swing away to the right while a dark blue Sierra nosed out of a lay-by and slotted in two cars behind the Rolls. Maintaining these positions they eased through the Saturday shopping crowd in Dorking High Street and headed out towards Guildford.