Percy Crow

by Daniel Kemp

  “Do you think he's still out there pulling strings, Harry?” Sir David asked, as we sat in the summerhouse away from the revelry in the nearby marquee, just as another rock band began their performance.

  “With Jimmy I'm relying on assumptions and guesses, they're all I've got, but as both of us know, facts are hard to come by in the world we live in. Would it surprise you, David, if I said that I believe Paulo is still alive?”

  “I'm never surprised at being surprised, Harry. I am about the fire at Grange Manor though. Must admit I accepted all that was in the file, never questioned any of it. What do you think Paulo wants?”

  “I think I know the answer, but that comes with no idea as to the why he wants it, and why now. Nor do I understand why Jimmy needs to know. Paulo worked in a different era, a period of ancient history. Far removed from the strained, but less threatening, relationship between east and west that now exists. I would have thought nothing he did or knew of could harm America. Unless at one time the Americans lost something big which they've never been able to fully replace because they don't know the extent of their loss. Now, this is a huge stab in the dark on my part, one that if I'm right could be that elusive clue into Paulo's value to Jimmy Mercer. Did anything of note happen in or around the St Lawrence Seaway at the end of the Second World War and then beyond? Possibly still happening today?” There was a smirk on his face.

  “A beautiful place, I understand, and important for many conservationists. You want more than that I suppose,” hiding something, he replied.

  “I'd be very appreciative if you had. In fact what I'd do in exchange is allow your cleaners into this summerhouse and have a good sweep up. Then, if they inadvertently left any hearing aids lying around by next Thursday morning when my staff clean the place for Jimmy's visit, I'd instruct them not to look too closely for bugs and things.” Whether it was my inducement or he would have told me anyway, I don't know. But it didn't matter.

  “Up until the late eighties, or early nineties, NATO had a listening station on Prince Edward Island. I would have to look up the exact date it was moved, but it was roughly within that timespan. The purpose was to track Soviet subs off the coast of Greenland and under the pole, then plotting the routes they regularly travelled down the eastern side of America. Gradually the encrypted signals from these subs started to change. I don't know the subtleties of sonar tracking but the thoughts were that the Soviets had developed some sort of way to hide the heat displacement. For some reason, that we were not invited to share, the Americans believed that the Russians knew how NATO were tracking their submarines so they closed the base down and moved on. What led to your guess, Harry? You seem to be well informed.”

  “Again no, David, not informed, good at guesswork. If you do care to have an ear against a microphone back in your office on Thursday, then you might just follow my train of thought.”

  Sir David Haig, along with his wife, Rosemary, left soon after our conversation, taking the static protection Special Branch officers in line astern, at the bow and on their port and starboard side, in a flashing convoy of blue lights. The bands played on under their own coloured lights late into the morning and nobody noticed two men alight from an unmarked van which they parked beside the summerhouse, quietly going about their business inside.

  * * *

  By the Monday evening all the evidence of a wedding being held on the estate had vanished, with the gardeners back at work revitalising the lawns and flowerbeds. The Hall was back to normal, and Tanta was about to accompany Serena to join George and Sophie already in Milan, ahead of the show. I was helping her to pack.

  “You're so good at keeping a secret, Harry, but I'm clearly not. I'm bursting at the seams to tell everyone.”

  “It's only for another week, Seri. Then the world will know without you saying a word.”

  “Are you telling that American when you meet him here on Thursday, H?”

  “No plans on that. Just the normal boring business things with him, my love. There's nothing exciting about our Jimmy.”

  “Does he know your Russian queen, Harry?”

  “He was the one holding her hand when I met her that first time, but by the second time he'd let her hand slip away, Seri.”

  “You won't let go of mine, Harry, will you? Not forever, I mean.”

  “Of course I won't, you silly girl.”

  “Are you sure you'll be finished by Friday evening?”

  “Aiming to be wrapped up by afternoon tea, or thereabouts. I'm on the 19:10 flight out of Heathrow, Seri. Arriving your time; 22:05. I'll be outside waiting for you by ten-thirtyish, I very much hope.”

  “A big day, then!”

  “The biggest in my life, Seri.”

  “Ditto!” she said, as I locked her case.

  * * *

  “When will you and Miss Serena be returning home, sir?” Joseph asked, standing on the steps of The Hall as we both waved goodbye to her fading car.

  “In a couple of weeks or so, Joseph, I'll call with plenty of warning. We both have things to do that will keep us away for a good while, my friend. Look after Mrs Franks and don't let Mrs Squires do too much, will you.”

  “I will and I won't, sir. When you get back there's something I'd very much appreciate your opinion on. Would it be possible to raise that on your return?”

  “As long as it's not a wage increase, Joseph. Got to empty the bank to pay for the weekend bash yet.” I laughed, as we parted.

  I retired to the television lounge at the back of the house then, after pouring a large glass of Jura, spent the remainder of the evening watching a video recording of the whole wedding event, lost in thought on forthcoming engagements.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Second Coming

  Jimmy arrived in one of those squashed American four-wheel-drive vehicles that resemble a moon explorer but was slightly miniaturised on the factory floor just for fun. The surrounding escorts were as far removed from medieval knights as New York is as far from London. Shame all the bunting had gone. As they dramatically pulled up, I wondered if there would be any gravel left on the drive after their departure.

  Howard James Fredrick Mercer the second was in fine fettle as he exchanged my welcoming handshake wearing a beaming smile.

  “The sun's out, Harry, how about that. I take it this is Joseph your butler. Never visited an English lord at his ancestral home and never met a real butler in the flesh.”

  “Never too late to appreciate the finer things in life, Jimmy, and there's more to come. We have places laid up for a traditional English afternoon cream tea in the summerhouse, but first let's introduce you to The Hall. Your men can get some refreshments in the great dining room and throw darts no doubt at those ancestors of mine.” I hoped I hadn't under-emphasised the great bit because I intended to enjoy this meeting in every way possible.

  “No, not them, Harry, far more classy than that. I only managed to squeeze in at Yale. All Harvard men, this lot,” he said, with the widest of grins that I never imagined would have fitted his bony face.

  The day had been kind in the weather, all in Milan were safe and Tanta's 'everything' was under control, now Jimmy was where I wanted him. An hour later, after a tour of the house, the plan was continuing to flow perfectly. We made our way towards Sir David's listening devices and hopefully my conclusion with Jimmy for some considerable time.

  “Splendid house with great gardens you've got here, Harry. Love the lake! Many fish in there?” he enquired, as we sat overlooking the sun-reflecting waters.

  “I've never asked, Jimmy. Not my thing, fish. Meat and potato man, myself. The essence of life, I find; good food, good drink and fine company to right the wrongs in this world of ours. How's it looking from your side of the dividing lake?”

  “It's looking just dandy, Harry, and I'm hoping it's going to be even more so after your disclosures accompanied with an English scone with the cucumber sandwich on the side.”

  “You forgot the Earl Grey, old thing. Afterno
on tea wouldn't be tea without the tea, now would it!”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled, reminding me where I came into this story, alongside the pouting Judith Meadows.

  Two kitchen staff in uniform and aprons, with three footmen in full livery, carrying silver trays of teapots, cups, saucers, plates, assorted cakes, sandwiches and other delights, arrived at that precise moment and began to assemble the offerings on the stone table that separated us. I didn't want merely to impress, more to overwhelm was my aim. As his pinched eyes seemed to be resting on the inside of the glass of his thick rimmed spectacles, I think I had succeeded.

  * * *

  The fishing trawler drew alongside the 'Erindale' freighter, seventy-two miles south-west of Tralee. The crew shut down its engines and began to unload the crates of AK-47's, rocket propelled grenades along with the thirty-three canisters of Sarin gas destined for the London Tube system. In less than thirty minutes the Erindale continued its course towards the Irish Sea and the port of Liverpool on its outward journey from Tripoli from where it had left four days previously. The 'Wayside Flower' steered towards the coast of Ireland, and the waiting men on the shore in a bay north of Tralee harbour, shrouded in the mist of a September downpour of driving rain as a succession of ninth waves lifted her bow from the sea.

  “Let's hope the coastguards are sheltering at home in this, Sean, said the skipper to his coxswain.”

  Three miles from the shoreline, two Eire coastguard boats appeared from nowhere, ordering the Wayside Flower to heave to, then firing one shot from its six-inch mounted gun to enforce the point. The six soaking wet Republican Army soldiers waiting, without cover, overlooking the bay were rounded up by an Irish army contingent at more or less the same time.

  The explosion arranged by Percy, on board the oceangoing yacht owned by Lord Kerney, lit up the whole quayside of Westport causing a degree of panic inside the Waterman's Arms that subsided on the consumption of an extra pint of Guinness or two, and the arrival of the local fire brigade. The next one, five minutes after the town's only fire engine was deployed, inside a rival to the Waterman's Arms public house, resulted in far more consternation and alarm. Six Ulster Volunteers died and several more civilians were injured by Percy's incendiary exploding device that collapsed the 'Jerry Maguire' private club.

  At two pm that afternoon, thirty-eight high profile IRA prisoners escaped from H-Block 7, Maze Prison, County Antrim Northern Ireland, killing three prisoner officers on their way out. Several escapees were recaptured almost immediately but others stayed free for many years. It was a huge propaganda coup by the Republicans but no one in their high command was smiling.

  In the early morning hours of Saturday, the day after the breakout, Charlie paid Percy a visit at Gibson Square. Percy was asleep in bed, but Charlie did not climb in beside him.

  * * *

  “Have you found everything more about him, then?” Jimmy asked, without diverting his eyes away from the table.

  “Who, Jimmy?” I asked, as I poured the tea into my porcelain cup. “Shall I be mum, or do you prefer to do your own thing? Do you read the tea leaves in the strainer, old boy?” The warm spicy smell rose from the white china cup, lingering for a while as if a ghost of past memories had been released.

  “Percy Crow,” he answered, taking a side plate with the cream and a scone. “This looks delicious,” he added.

  “You know all there is about Percy, Jimmy, you were never after him. You want my great-grandfather's bastard son, Tovarisch Sergeyovitch Korovin. That's what this has been about. Katherine was just a stone in your shoe but you kept her to get to her father who you were really after? Paulo's been out of the game for years so why do you want him?”

  “You're throwing the football, Harry, I'm standing on the side-lines watching. Tell me what brought you to that conclusion.” He poured his tea.

  “Your lot had an influence in a Panamanian bank where not only did you throw up Percy's name but all those around him, including a Russian spy. Unfortunately, you never found the Russian shareholder until long after that drug program you ran with a Canadian. I believe you mentioned it; MKUltra. That on its own gave whatever department was in charge a real thumping headache.” I added some boiling water to the teapot watching the bubbles of his effervescent mood slowly start to burst, one by one.

  “When Percy died, you kept eyes on Douglas Simmons and Charlie Reilly but lost that Russian again. Simmons had a hobby that you never knew of when your money landed on his table at Appendia, he liked the way you tracked Soviet submarines. Being the treacherous swine he was, he sold the information to his Russian friend behind your back, causing the Prince Edward Island base to be closed when Ivan changed his footprint on the ocean bed. But the CIA never followed your president's order of closing Appendia in 1989, and pulling the funding. Did it? What would be the punishment for disobeying your commander-in-chief?” I refreshed my own cup and his own.

  “You left the players playing, pulling up a chair yourself to the table. I don't know how many clandestine operations were financed out of Panama City but I suspect that although you may have changed its name, its main purpose remains the same. One of funding hair brained ideas into how to alienate friends and drive your enemies further together, Jimmy.” Any resemblance to a smile had left his face as he rose from the table, removed his chequered jacket and hung it around the back of his chair.

  “It's suddenly hot in here, Harry! No air-con?” he asked.

  I opened the far double doors, letting a gentle breeze blow through, carrying the sweet perfume from the rose beds directly outside.

  “Afraid not, old sport.” I offered more tea which he accepted, retaking his chair.

  “When Katherine spoke Percy's name, all hell broke out in your computer rooms. Korovin may be alive, the printed scenario declared. He might still hold the key to Prince Edward Island, it said. Maybe every leak you ever had filled his bath with milk and honey, it said. I'm guessing, Jimmy, that the only one who might know exactly what Paulo knows would be Alexi Vasilyev. Can't you ask him?”

  “No! He fried himself opening the door to his apartment.”

  “Tragic news! Must remember to send a card. Let us carry on in the present world, Jimmy.”

  He removed the heavy black glasses and stretched the sagging skin beneath those brown ratty eyes as if trying to wipe away a stain, but as much as he tried it wouldn't go. Joseph arrived on cue.

  “The car is waiting at the front, sir. All is packed and loaded. You must leave within the next twenty minutes if you are to catch that connecting flight from Leeds to London.”

  “You leaving us, Harry?”

  “You know I am, Jimmy. Off to Milan where we both hope Katherine will show. Maybe I'll bump into you there. After Milan, Serena and I are off to the Greek island of Hydra, in the Aegean, for a holiday. Please, Jimmy, don't pester us there, I'd hate to offend you in public.”

  “You're not wrong about that relative of Maudlin's, Harry. You arrived by a circuitous route, but you got there just the same. You're quite the detective. When the name of Dimitry Posharsky, aka Tovarisch Sergeyovitch Korovin, showed up on a thousand computer screens, it was as though the living dead had returned to haunt us, and we panicked. Do you think Paulo will attend your girlfriend's fashion display? If so, then you can all play happy families together, toasting two great empires that are on the verge of dying and disappearing.”

  “Did anyone at the CIA headquarters raise a glass to a Patrick Simms of Detroit, or a Canadian named Joshua Ryan when you had them killed to keep your secret about those LSD experiments? The newspapers might like to add that to a lengthy editorial they write about MKUltra. The litigation would take decades to settle. If Paulo is alive, then you might want to think long and hard about your next move, Mr Mercer. Personally, I think your country is blamed too often for the ills of the world. The disclosure of Appendia, along with the home-grown murders of fellow Americans and trusted neighbours, won't help your reputation. Will it, do you thin
k?”

  “It seems to me, Harry, that you don't need to visit Hydra for any more serpent heads. You have more than enough already.”

  “Can one ever have enough heads in the games we play, Jimmy? Just one tiny matter to bring to your attention before I depart, and hopefully for the both of us we never again met. What we called the Tube Alloys project, but you rechristened The Manhattan project, had a radioactive leak, as you're fully aware. What you don't know, though, is the size of the hole or where all the neutrons, protons and electrons all ended up. You have a code name; Lionel, one of the founder members who stole your atomic secrets. Very soon I might have his real name, Jimmy.” I paused to that news sink in.

  “You stay well away from Milan, Jimmy, otherwise one of those serpents heads you mentioned will be shouting Assault, Reclaim, Mobilise all day long until your President shows up. Joseph will see you out when you've finished your tea. He'll make up a doggy bag from the left over sandwiches for the journey home. Sail well on a steady breeze, Jim.” I made as if I was leaving but spun back quickly.

  “Oops, I am getting forgetful in my dotage. Pass on my regards to your father, won't you, dear boy, adding, if you'd be so kind, that if I find any sample of your department's DNA on Serena's belongings that she fetched from her father's home, he'll be missing a son. Tatty bye, old fruit.”

  Chapter Forty: Pushkin

  The IRA brigade commanders, with their political allies in tow, met on the outskirts of Kilkenny, two days after the debacle at Tralee. Convictions were on the agenda, and there to be minutely examined.