by Daniel Kemp
My first meeting with Sir David Haig had left me with the distinct impression that he was unclear on when Percy was given the cover of a photographer in Ludgate Hill, London, he had even brushed my question aside at our last meeting. Plausible cover was the nearest reason I had come across, I was beginning to doubt that we had given Percy that cover at all, and in fact Percy's connection with Appendia was unknown at the Box until at best his death, or at worst, never. If I was correct then it was a tremendous oversight on our behalf, compromising all of Percy's trade workings. As it now seemed clear that Paulo knew of Simmons, it was not beyond the realms of probability that Percy was known to him. Did Paulo muddy the already murky waters surrounding Ireland with the information that Percy was giving to our intelligence services? Was that the reason for the suspect suicide? I was starting to believe that Percy could have been murdered and if that was true, then why not Nicolás? I had grabbed a couple of hours' sleep and was on the phone myself when Serena's text arrived —No matter what happens at home, Harry, I'm going to Milan next month and I want you with me. I intend to change your whole scruffy attire. So be warned! —I was under threat from all directions.
* * *
Maudlin must have wanted me to find more in the Drogheda fire than just a connection to Angel Dust, that had been a peripheral discovery, not the main one. Could it be that Crowther's recollection had not only been confused into a confession but also to hide something far more pertinent to Percy's past? I was certain that Percy had found his sister's photograph in 1929 and he subsequently used it to blackmail Montague and us. Could she be the one that Maudlin was leading me to, and if so where did he get all that information? Two answers sprang to mind, but the most obvious was from Paulo.
The other was that someone was hiding something that Paulo wanted me to see and no one else either knew of it or wanted it made public at any time, hence the wiping clean of Percy's file back in 1963. For some inexplicable reason other than a hunch I wanted my next move as far removed from Sir David Haig as I could arrange. That meant that I could not include George with the Special Branch hanging around Eton Square. There was one thing I had discovered about the name of Drogheda; it meant bridge of the ford. Was that important I wondered.
* * *
“Joseph, I have a task for you beyond your normal remit. I want you to go to Ireland to a site where there was once a children's hospital. I've written the name down in this envelope I'll be giving you. It was just outside a place called Drogheda, north of Dublin. I'm betting you will find a church there that will match this photograph.” I handed him number eight of Maudlin's nine.
“In the records I'm hoping to find a Rachel Crow, but that surname may have been changed. I'm banking on her Christian name staying the same. That's not the only trouble you may come across; there's the date! Her death would have happened sometime between 1910 and 1929. In 1910 she was seven, so guessing I'd say it was nearer the later date. I'd work backwards if I was you. I doubt you'll find a marked grave either, as I think the death has been covered up, but, if we're lucky, her stay in the orphanage may have been overlooked. Spend time looking around any cemetery that's nearby or hopefully attached to the orphanage. Look for something strange, out of place, unusual or just down right macabre, anything that hits you in the face as not belonging there. You will know what I mean when you see it, of that I'm sure. But I can't give more guidance than that. I'm depending on you, Joseph, like I've never depended on anyone before.”
“I'm flattered, sir. It's a huge compliment you pay me, in believing I'm capable of such an important mission. I expect it's all connected to the break-in here and why you have paid Mr Northcliffe so many visits, then he you. I shall obviously try my very hardest, but could I ask a favour, sir? One that has been on my mind all morning.” He had shown no alteration to his posture nor his facial expression while I told him of my plans, but on the mention of a favour his eyes widen in expectation.
“Fire away, Joseph.”
“I was thinking that now Miss Serena has been taken from you by her unfortunate news, the Hall will be extremely quiet. I routinely checked both diaries first thing this morning and your personal one is empty of engagements until the twenty-fourth, five days' time, with nothing again until the thirtieth. The estate diary has your regular meetings with tenants and the weekly fixed ones with Charles Senior. Other than those all dates are clear, apart from two days you're scheduled to meet with the managers of the market garden production side, when distribution has been scheduled to be included in the discussions. As that was the case, I was going to ask if Mrs Franks and I could take our annual leave together, this being a good time with so little happening.
Peter, the senior footman, will eventually replace me in your service, and as you are aware I've trained him well. Perhaps now would be a fortuitous time to assess his performance. All in all, you will have Peter with two footman, Mary, the under cook, with two kitchen maids, Mrs Stokes with a full complement of housemaids and John, the chauffeur. Nothing outside the house will change, of course. Do you think, my Lord, that would suffice?”
“As long as Mary knows the recipe for those roast spuds that Mrs Franks excels at then I'll survive, Joseph. Where is Mrs Franks off to this year? Her sister in Devon again, is it?”
“Oh no, sir! We were thinking of a last minute cruise together, but now Ireland appears as good a place as any.” Something else in my house had passed me by without being seen.
“I never knew about Mrs Franks and you, Joseph, you sly old fox. Does her husband know?” We both laughed loudly, as Mrs Franks was until now a confirmed spinster.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Troubles
The so called Troubles in Northern Ireland started in the mid-1960s with civil rights activists protesting against what they saw as vote-rigging in favour of the Unionists and the discrimination in employment, housing and education against Catholics. The hated Ulster Special constabulary, with its violent B-Specials were a particular target. That's when Percy Crow became his most valuable to the British Government in Westminster.
In 1966 a group of loyalists, claiming to be well armed, declared war on the Irish Republican Army. The date they chose to announce this declaration coincided with the Republican fiftieth anniversary of the Easter Rising, a sacred date on their calendar. Firebombing rained down on Catholic-owned businesses and homes as well as the shooting of many civilians. A loyalist tradition, the Apprentice Boys March, was banned by the government but that order was defied, leading to the Royal Ulster Constabulary, with the B-Specials in tow, savagely beating over one hundred marchers. Serious violence then took place in Derry between Catholics and the RUC, leading to uproar and riots that resulted in many horrific injuries.
It was round about this time that Charlie Reilly had his first worries about Percy not being truly supportive of the Republican cause. A series of bombs, armed with the newly acquired military squib switches that had been laid around Queen's University, Belfast, all failed to detonate. Not because the fuses failed but because a special team of bomb disposal experts had been trained in the defusing of those intricate switches. Percy had deployed the bombs. All were found and removed. Because of this the military arm of the Republican movement went quiet, but Charlie continued in the diplomatic link he had to Washington and thereby his procurer of arms; Joshua Ryan. That line went dead, literally, four days later when Joshua was shot crossing Lake Eire with more squib switches. There was only one person he had told of Ryan's impending delivery and that was Percy.
The prior killing of Charlie's fellow redhead Micky Pat was in Percy's favour as both shootings were attributed to the trafficking of drugs, but that was not the entire case. Luckily, however, it was the reason accepted by all concerned.
Percy had been aware of Douglas Simmons's expertise with drugs since their days together in Germany, and it didn't take him long to extend that knowledge when they met again following his defection from Russia in '52. More details followed as the two became closer th
rough the Panama Appendia Corporation. That was one of the first disclosures he gave to Meredith Paine, along with the address. When Paine left the seat of C, and Maurice Cavendish took it over, it was decided that Crow's involvement in all things had to be concealed completely as Percy was destined for bigger roles to play than just his involvement in Irish matters. It was he who alerted the CIA of its leak in their hallucination program, leading to the arrest of the executed colonel in Texas. He also passed on the names of American financial donators to the IRA cause. His actions were not driven through a deep seated love of his American counterparts, but to cover Percy's actions in Belfast and spread the blame wider. Under Cavendish's tuition Percy was then encouraged to broaden his photographic portfolio, a cover chosen by himself, to include names lodged in the red flagged files that Rupert had previous mentioned to me. He was given leave of absence to enjoy his sexual leanings in as wholesome a manner as he wanted, with specific instructions to draw in as many fellow followers as possible. One was a close friend of Morris Cohen, a Russian spy, whom Percy with Douglas Simmons, had rubbed shoulders with whilst in Spain fighting in the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion. The other, the most important catch of them all, a female employee at the British Non-Ferrous Metals Research, named Melita Norwood who MI6 were able to turn against her Russian employers on receipt of Percy's photographic evidence and then successfully run until the late seventies.
There was one thing that Cavendish held that guaranteed Percy's name being kept away from Irish matters and that was the Appendia file. The golden inducement to procure American's actions to cover all of Percy's actions in Belfast and its surrounds.
The worries that troubled Charlie about his lover's convictions were soon assuaged by subsequent actions in furthering the Republican cause. Two British politicians had been turned, along with an editor of a broadsheet newspaper. It was Percy photos that had contributed to this and it was his warning to the Official IRA of an army raid in the Falls Road area that lead to the first British soldiers being killed along with twelve injured. Three off-duty Scottish soldiers were added to the rising casualty list when shot dead in a Belfast pub by the IRA following information from Percy. British army barracks were attacked by time bombs devised by Percy, killing many more. Percy had gone beyond Britain's Joint Intelligence Committee's control!
When August 1971 arrived, no suspicion was cast in Percy's direction when three hundred and forty-two republican paramilitaries were arrested and held by the British, sparking four days of constant violence when the army took a bloody revenge for previous atrocities committed by the IRA. By July the next year, Percy had discovered the names of the eleven leading brigade commanders of the Official IRA. Seven were shot dead by British snipers. The Provisional IRA took the war to mainland Britain following the ceasefire called by their rivals, the now headless Official arm. Percy was recruited by the Provos for his bomb-making skills. Edward Heath, the British Prime Minister at the time, owed his life to Percy's timely warning of an attempted assassination.
By 1981 things were beginning to change within both branches of the IRA, and here at home in MI6. Dicky Blythe-Smith had been appointed as Head of Intelligence and he had a very secret agenda that had been cleared at the highest of highs. It was in that same year that Lord Maudlin Paterson was told all he needed to know about Percy Crow to add his name to the list of invited guests to Number 16 Eton Square. Every fibre of his Lordship's body was stamped, King, Queen or Prince, the fact that Dickie never revealed the name of the Royal incriminated in Percy's photo made no difference to Maudlin's outrage.
* * *
It had been six days since first Serena, then Mrs Franks with Joseph, had departed, and five since all had first telephoned or messaged me. Mrs Franks had wanted to know if Mary was meeting her high standards in the kitchen, whilst Joseph had confirmed my guess about Drogheda being the location of the eighth photograph. It was the Church of Our Lady of Grace, in the grounds of which the orphanage was situated.
Serena had made sure that someone had been with her father's body the whole time since his death, following the instructions of her faith and staying as close to true Jewish philosophy as she could. Autopsies are unacceptable in Judaism, as they are seen as a desecration of the body. Something that had already happened. But as the police found nothing suspicious in his death, an autopsy was not required. She vehemently pleaded for his face to be repaired by an artisan blessed with that skill, and for his body to be artificially restored, as only then could the ritual cleansing before burial be consummated. She exercised all her might in persuading members of a local chevra kadisha group to perform the Taharah, immersion of his body in water, and then wrapping it gently in his prayer cloth. The body was placed in a simple wooden coffin before being seen by the rabbi. The funeral was held in the evening of the following day at the family mausoleum in the grounds of his home on the outskirts of Santa Marta do Pinhal, as in Judaism the dead soul must find its home in the soil as soon after death as is physically possible. I watched every moment in the solitude of my office. Serena wore a torn black ribbon over her heart in respect as she delivered the only eulogy that was permitted with not a single tear in her eye, but I saw through that charade, feeling her pain in every sinew of my body. There was no post-funeral reception so in that she had saved additional distress. Later that evening she telephoned detailing the arrangements she had made for the sale of the shipping company and that of the home.
“We have a branch of the company that owns many properties worldwide, including the house in Whitecliffe. Some are sumptuous, some not, Harry. I could have access to any one of them of course, but I don't want any. I want to live permanently with you from the day I return. You have my heart, H. I lost it a long, long time ago when I became cynical about love. I never thought I'd need it again, but I do now. Way beyond my wildest dreams you gave me the desire to find it. Don't destroy this love I feel for you and say you don't want me.”
* * *
The most ferocious bombing of mainland Britain since the Second World War begin in 1981, as did the hunger strikes of inmates of the Maze Prison. All hands in the security branches and military were to be focused on these threats. But in the security branch of the Secret Intelligence Service that deals with threats from outside these shores there was another agenda.
Dicky Blythe-Smith had an equally pressing worry. Crows blackening the sky! He needed a plan to end their flight. Hugh Banners, a Conservative member of parliament, just happened to be in Boodle's club, St James's, when Maudlin was holding court.
“I tell you, no one will find an answer to the Irish question until long after my death. I've been over there, fought and seen it. Too many people have a vested interest in not bothering. It's not about religion and creed, it's about money and power. Violence breeds violence and the love of money breeds the love of money.”
Chancing his arm that the pause Maudlin had taken to sample his brandy would be long enough for him to put forward his proposal, Hugh Banners steeped forward and interrupted Maudlin's oration.
“Maudlin, old chap, those who speak very little and say even less, have asked me to ask you to host a small soirée at Eton Square for a select few guests. I have the list here. Fifteenth of September, carries the vote. You have almost three months to arrange it. He in charge seems to think that's plenty of time to get stocked up. How would that suit?”
“Who's paying the damn bill, Banners, that's what I want to know? Trying to get money from the Home Office is like squeezing a eunuch's balls. There's nothing there to grab hold of. I think Thatcher is a closet socialist and won't admit it.”
Maudlin did not look at the names jotted down that day as the evening parties, or formal dinners, when senior politicians needed the privacy that he and Phillip provided in London, were becoming a regular occurrence. He would often say that if Beau Brummel had known of Number 16, it would have been there, and not Boodle's, he would have had his last bet before fleeing the country and the inevitable debtor
's prison. A serious man, was Maudlin, not given to flippancy when discussing money or women. He opened the envelope the next day at breakfast.
“Who the bloody hell do they think I am, a circus clown? Next they will be getting me to host an orgy! A bloody troupe of stage walkers, a photographer and two bloody Irish thugs. I'm not having it.” Time, brandy and a few glasses of claret soon dulled his objections.
Paulo was then forty-five years of age, flying high in the KGB always in search of higher offices and in constant communication with his father Maudlin through one or other of their clandestine means. He soon had the list and wasted no time in its thorough disentanglement. No different to Dickie Blythe-Smith, he devised a plan, but that's where the similarity ended.
That Percy Crow is like his namesake the bird. Evil creatures! They'd tear your skin off if you were to fall asleep for too long.
* * *
It seemed to me that all I'd ever had from women was trouble. Some of it, the majority, was pleasurable but when it got too close to upsetting my own well packed apple cart I did the hundred yard sprint in double quick time, running all the way to ancient Greece to reinforce the battlements at the city of Marathon. Love for my mother had come easily but the love for another woman had escaped my grasp, never having the strength to accept it as an option. I'd come close, but never collided with it. It now wished to live in my home. Would it be brave to refuse its entry, or would it be cowardice in continuing to pursue the salacious life I lived? My reasons for bachelorhood had been many and varied. Most were based on an informed assumption that two people would never find happiness if tied together by the mortal acceptance of a religious set of rules. Marriage as an institution was repugnant to me. I'd seen too many couples crumble under its strain to embrace it with any degree of welcome. So, I thought, had Serena, but seemingly not.
