‘Don’t you think you owe us something?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘In return for Consuela. In normal circumstances, someone as lowly as you would never come near, let alone handle, to use an unfortunate word, such a gem – literally a gem for billionaires.’
‘It was not just the sex, though even just for that I’ll be eternally grateful. She gave me my life back – or rather, what’s left of it.’
‘Not so fast there. She reported you had many qualities and that she took you in hand at first in a motherly way, and then in a more physical way, believing you were an innocent young boy, which in many ways she found you were.’
The phrase ‘taking in hand’ made Holt wonder just how much detail Consuela had revealed.
‘I was not that innocent!’
‘Admittedly, she did say you at least knew your basic geography, but now she is right out of the picture and resuming her matrimonial duties, it’s your political views we are interested in. She gave me some inkling as to what they might be – not that they were very deeply thought out. It seems that overall we hold very similar ones, though we might differ regarding the means whereby those goals might be achieved. What did you think of the Rethinking Democracy seminar on Vessos?’
‘I thought it was very interesting. Very stimulating and informative, though it was more a matter of hypothetical questions than definite proposals about what should be done. I quite liked the idea of reduced voting power for people not contributing to society to prevent them having too much sway. And that even pensioners should not be allowed to skew the system. Though there remains the problem of how to evaluate those who contribute to society and hold sensible views who are not remunerated monetarily.’
They continued discussing democracy and what needed to be done in England, including taxing food, with penalties for excessive amounts of salt and sugar. Many of the Owl’s gripes seemed reasonable to Holt, as he made clear, though he could not see how they could be achieved in the face of vested interests and lobbyists.
‘I reckon,’ said the voice, ‘we can still make use of you, but in a way totally different from that originally envisaged.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In the operation on which we are now embarking and future ones, you could be the conduit, not directly to His Pomposity the prime minister, but to Sir Charles, who will be able to understand our point of view and present it properly to the powers that unfortunately be.’
‘Will His Pomposity, as you call him, go along with that?’
‘He will have to.’
‘How will we know it is you?’
‘Neither you nor anyone else will be talking to me again in real time. We shall use the name the Owl, with it referring either to me or someone representing our organization. It could even be just an intelligent computer. We will give you a special phone, which we shall call the OwlPhone. Will you do it?’
‘Seems quite reasonable to me, personally. Do I have any choice?’
‘In reality, no. You know too much for us to just let you go. While we might not flush your brain and turn you into a zombie, we might have to lock you away somewhere for years. Wouldn’t be much fun for you, though we might throw in a woman in a similar predicament as yourself. She wouldn’t be a trophy wife, that’s for sure. Could be a grandmother even. Won’t be much of a life sharing a cell with a grandmother, will it?’
‘Then the answer must be yes. Could even be exciting.’
‘Don’t count on that. Not everyone in government and the services will like you being the intermediary. They will play mean tricks to undermine you, and Charlie who they can never forgive for having outmanoeuvred them.’
‘Better than the grandmother.’
‘Okay then. You will tell Charlie that he – via you and the OwlPhone – will be the link between us and the government. You understand?’
‘Yes, perfectly.’
‘Before we part, let’s talk some more about the situation in England. The sorry situation in which our country finds itself…’
The Owl went into a long discourse, covering many topics and pet hates. How, having lost Australia, we should now use the Falklands as a penal colony. Politicians and politically correct do-gooders, who over the years have wrecked the country, should be sent there, together with rapists, paedophiles, and mothers who allow their daughters to be circumcised – along with the doctors who cover it up, and illegal immigrants who have physically attacked people but cannot be deported due to their exploitation of human rights legislation, not forgetting benefits cheats and tax evaders.
‘There won’t be room for all that lot,’ said Holt.
‘I know. I’m getting carried away and partly joking, as I know we cannot have a perfect world. However, there are little things that many might agree with, such as taxing mobile phone calls, text messages and even emails with a double rate if they are in a foreign language, or fifty per cent more if one party uses an unintelligible dialect. Any form of encryption would be subject to a high penalty tax. We could make gossiping expensive, punishing those not working with time on their hands.
‘The unbelievable thing,’ went on the Owl, ‘is that the French can do it, but we can’t. They have a law making rip‑off credit card processing charges like those imposed by the airlines illegal, a maximum unit charge for phone calls from hotels, and, long before the UK did anything, introduced serious measures to stop FGM. They also keep religion and the manifestations thereof out of their state schools.’
The Owl ended by saying, ‘I hope you will appreciate the events that will unfold in the near future are merely a wake‑up call, and items requiring action will be added subsequently. Should action not be taken, the country could expect a repeat of a different nature. We might then even have to target individual officials for incompetence or lack of action. I hope you understand this is for the good of the country.’
‘I can see that. What’s going to happen now?’
‘You will be put to sleep again so no one can work out when we held this conversation and thereby identify me. When you wake up, you will have the OwlPhone beside you. It will be a bricklike device like mobile phones used to be, because it contains multiple SIM cards and other communications circuits, including Wi-Fi, and of course some C4 plastic explosive to deter any attempt to open it or subject it to rays, X or otherwise. Attempting to do so will result in it self‑destructing and the loss of the handler’s life and that of anyone else in the immediate vicinity. Also, interfering with it will render communication with us more difficult. You have been warned.’
‘I understand.’
‘That’s all for now. I will leave you in the capable hands of your nurse. Good luck. The next stage of our operation should be even more fun than toppling Nelson, as well as being for the good of the country. I must warn you it is multifaceted and designed to make government fools look even more foolish. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ answered Holt somewhat sheepishly.
A couple or so minutes later, the door opened and in came the nurse with a pill and a glass of water.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘It’s not fast-acting. You’ll be conscious long enough to get back to your room and go to the toilet. I’m so glad it won’t be the “break[Ma77] ” routine. You seem such a nice young man, though somewhat naïve.’
Holt wondered what she looked like under her surgical mask – could she have taken a liking to him.
Chapter 19
Return to the Fold
Waking up under a tree at the edge of a wood, Holt had, as certainly intended, lost all sense of time. He remembered being woken up several times, given a little food, made to exercise, going to the toilet, and being given another pill to put him back to sleep. They could have gone through this routine several times each day to give him the impression more time had elapsed than had in reality. It was impossible to know.
There was a canvas sheet under him, no doubt to protect his clothes, since he was dre
ssed in the clothes he had been wearing when abducted. His shirt and underclothes had evidently been washed, and his suit pressed.
He could not have been lying there for long, for he was conscious of recently having had people bustling around him. His arm ached a little from what had evidently been a wake‑up shot. Next to him was a glass of water, a liquid that he sorely needed, as his throat was parched due to the drugs he had imbibed over possibly a period of many days. Also there was satchel attached to his belt; inside was the OwlPhone.
A tray with a sandwich and Thermos flask marked ‘Strong Coffee’ was also at hand on a low camping table. How thoughtful and considerate! After eagerly consuming the sandwich and drinking the coffee, he felt fit enough to stand up and look around. The first thing that caught his attention was a wooden pole with a sign saying ‘Railway Station 5 miles’. He would not have to buy a railway ticket, as there was one pinned to the Thermos flask containing the coffee. The date on the ticket, which included travel by tube within London, showed almost a month had elapsed since his abduction.
Perhaps because of the reaction to the strong coffee, the first thing he did was to have a pee against the trunk of a nearby tree. Then, starting off somewhat unsteadily, he walked through the woods and fields before coming to some big houses and a hotel, where he asked for further directions, to be told the station was a mile further on. It was Gerrards Cross, where Consuela had picked him up at the beginning of his undercover mission. Small world.
Though people at Giraffe must have been wondering what had happened to him and whether he was still alive, he thought it better to wait until he arrived at London’s Marylebone station before giving them a call. The phone at the local station might be bugged; not that he would be saying anything other than that he was still alive and relatively well and on his way to Farringdon.
The train was virtually empty, and he had no trouble finding a seat with no one nearby. While trying to take stock of his situation and check how much money he had, he checked his pockets and was surprised to find the expensive‑looking bracelet Consuela had given him was still there. He took it out and looked at it wistfully. He would keep it for memories’ sake. Not tell anyone.
On arriving at Marylebone, he made a very brief phone call to the receptionist at Giraffe, who was clearly surprised and overjoyed to hear his voice. Walking as instructed to Baker Street station, he caught a District Line underground train straight to Farringdon. With so many other things to think about, he found it odd to find he had time to muse over the fact that at one time trains on that section of the line had been drawn by steam engines. It was nice to be back in the real world again, however grimy.
Considering he had always worked independently and his interactions with the staff at Giraffe had mostly been intermittent ones in the canteen, he was touched and surprised so many turned out to welcome him back. To his disappointment, Celia was not of their number, but then he noticed her hovering outside the pack. Even though they had never had a physical relationship, she evidently feared being unable to hold back an excessive display of emotion on greeting him that would start the office rumour mill rolling.
Peter cut short the congratulations, saying Sir Charles wanted to see him right away, but first Blackwell would have to check him over to confirm he was physically okay.
‘I have told Blackwell you are not allowed to give any details other than that you were interrogated after being softened up by a woman who cannot be named. To stop him getting too interested, I gave the impression she was an unattractive monster like Rosa Klebb in From Russia with Love. Above all, do not mention your role in the toppling of Nelson or the word “owl”.’
‘Blackwell’s the last person I want to see after all I’ve been through.’
‘I understand, but in this case regulations stipulate you be looked over physically – a kind of health and safety thing so you cannot sue us. Just keep shtum.’
So it proved. Blackwell wanted the details of what he had done with the woman rather than undercover in general. However, thanks to Peter he was able to stonewall him. As a result, Blackwell had to make do with reporting Holt was in such good condition he must have had an easy time of it, a holiday almost, which in fact had been true initially.
If Holt had described how intensive and stressful the subsequent interrogation part had been, that would have given Blackwell a pretext for saying he was damaged goods, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and therefore a liability.
It fell to Peter to recognize his fragile mental state and insist that Celia accompany him on the journey to Sackville Street in case a reaction set in. For Holt, this was a bittersweet choice of minder, for though pleased to see her, he felt guilty about his intense sessions with Consuela, for whom he still had lingering feelings and yearnings. He felt he had cheated on Miss Innocent, even though they were not in a formal relationship.
As the black cab sped through the midday traffic towards the West End, Celia inevitably questioned him about the ‘hoity‑toity’ woman she had seen him with at the US ambassador’s reception.
‘You seemed very close, even though she was somewhat older than you. Did anything happen?’
‘We were not together long enough for it to be meaningful. I was only with her up until the initiation test, which of course you know about. Most of my time undercover was spent drugged out of my mind or being interrogated.’
Their arrival at Vigo Street at the top of Sackville Street fortunately, or so he thought at the time, prevented Celia from asking him to define ‘meaningful’. Relieved, he got out, slammed the door shut, and stood at the kerb watching her taxi disappear into the distance before walking down the street to number 45.
As on previous occasions, he rang the bell and pushed open the first door and then the second after the first had clicked shut. Cut-Glass was standing at the top of the first flight of stairs, and – surprise, surprise – seemed genuinely delighted to see him.
‘Come on up, Jeremy. Sir Charles is waiting impatiently. So glad to see you made it safely back. We were all getting concerned about you when you disappeared into thin air after the Nelson thing. We guessed you had been rumbled and feared the worst.’
‘I was rumbled, but not due to any mistake on my part.’
The door to Sir Charles’s room was ajar, and on seeing Holt and Cut-Glass, he beckoned them to come in. Usually so calm and poised, he looked tired and strained as he walked over to shake Holt’s hand.
‘Welcome back, Jeremy, and let me say how much we all appreciate what you did for the country at great risk to your person.’
Holt put his fingers to his lips, walked to the far side of the large room, and put the OwlPhone under a cushion on the sofa. He walked back to Sir Charles and spoke in his ear.
‘We must speak in a low voice.’
‘Understood,’ whispered Sir Charles, bringing a chair up to one Holt was sitting on and sitting down. Holt then proceeded to brief him on all that had happened.
‘Sir Charles, before going into detail I must warn you that they have someone or even several people on the inside who tipped them off that the PM knew about the plan to topple Nelson beforehand. As only I could have revealed their intention, my cover was blown even before they launched the missile. That’s why they abducted and interrogated me. I am sorry to say I must have given away some information when drugged and pressured.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘I can’t remember exactly, but according to their boss, called the Owl, as you are aware, and who seems to know you personally, even claiming you are a chum, I admitted that I worked for you. In fact, he knew all about Giraffe and you being in charge, so I was not giving much away – not like giving a list of secret agents – and anyway, I don’t know the real names of the people working for you. I am sorry all the same.’
‘Don’t worry. You’re lucky they let you go. It was your call. We couldn’t help you.’
‘There’s much more to it than that. He wants me,
and you – the two of us – to be intermediaries between his organization and the government. As you thought before I undertook the mission, something big is definitely about to happen in London, but I have no idea what it is.’
‘Why do you think the Owl knew me personally?’
‘He talked as if you had been chums at school – in very familiar terms. He even knew your nickname.’
‘Anybody could have found that out.’
‘He said you, like he, could have been prime minister had you so wanted.’
‘He has quite an imagination, but it sounds as though all that may be a red herring to throw us off the scent.’
Sir Charles, evidently pleased at the back-handed compliment about him being a potential prime minister, knew it might all be a bluff, and that the Owl’s main intention might simply be to make money speculating against the pound.
‘Before I give you the details of what happened to me undercover and during my interrogation, I must tell you about the special phone I put over there just now. He calls it the OwlPhone, and its main purpose is for us to be able to communicate with him. I put it under the cushion because I suspect he could use it to listen in to our conversations.’
‘We can easily check that,’ commented Sir Charles. ‘But possibly he would only activate it – the listening in – at certain times.’
Holt went over to the sofa and collected the OwlPhone to show it to Sir Charles.
‘It is rather large,’ explained Holt, talking in a normal voice, ‘because it has multiple SIM cards and communication modes, which switch automatically, making it impossible to track the origin of the communications, not forgetting a self-destruct charge that will go off it is tampered with. His Wisdom says I should keep it with me at all times and not allow anyone to X-ray it or subject it to any form of radiation or strong electromagnetic force. It contains C4, by the way, so he could blow us up anytime. He is going to call us on it at 2 p.m. on Monday.’
LONDON ALERT Page 19
