by Daniel Kemp
“Speaking of places, was that place of yours in Soho, Jack, just a façade with the family snaps laid on to fool me?”
“It was a place I use occasionally if the purpose suits me, but the photographs were not meant to confuse or coerce you in any sense. I don't believe Barrington was relying on any sympathy you may have had for my marital status swinging your vote in my direction.”
“He knew of it though, the flat and your family, Jack?”
“I have used it before and my family issues are not a secret, Shaun,” he answered.
“I'm becoming a mite peeved by this Shaun business. Can we make a start on clearing that up?”
“I will get to it, but for now I'm sizing you up. Are you here for the excitement I can undoubtedly provide, or are you a mole sent to infiltrate my organisation for the benefit of Barrington Trenchard and his friends? I watched you before the event in Charing Cross Road, during it and then, more importantly, after it. Not once did you hesitate or show any remorse for killing that man, Shaun. Does Trenchard want to give you a role where you're the sheriff, judge and hangman all rolled into one?”
“How did you know of me before I shot that man, Jack?”
He had my fascination and attention and he knew it as he took his place at the opposite end of the table, studying me carefully.
“Have you ever noticed how a poor child will scream his head off if deprived of a toy, but the child from a wealthy house will merely complain slightly, knowing that he will easily find one of many thing to play with? You're not screaming a single decibel, Shaun, in fact, you're wallowing in all of this mystery having found yourself in the biggest stack of toys imaginable. I did think you might do more than just ask where you were being taken this morning. But no! Not even a whimper of protest. Not wishing to repeat myself, but not a single tear shed for the Irishman you shot dead? And don't tell me it was in the line of duty. I've seen men take lives, Shaun. I know a cold-blooded killer when I see one. Now is the time to see if you have a calm head in times of crisis, or merely the fool impressed by gun-firing adventures.” He was smiling confidently as he spoke.
If he had worn last night's clothes as a uniform to impress, then today held no reason for the making of impressions. He was in casual clothes, albeit bespoke rather than bought off-the-peg. It was the truth he spoke about me trying to fight against the temptation he offered, but it was a losing battle and one I had no heart for. Reaching for the ashtray, he placed it on the table and offered me a cigarette. I tried to hide that previously mentioned obedient compliance of mine as I took it, placing my own brand in front of myself with my one prized possession, a Dunhill lighter, on top. It was a defiant statement; denying I had been bought for the price of a single smoke.
“Did you really believe that I would swallow the Edward Heath story, Jack? Because if you did then you're the fool here, not me. Why are you avoiding that question of mine about Vienna? I'd like to know if you were turned and if so, whose side I'm being recruited to work for.”
“I'll have to work harder on telling lies, Shaun. I must be slipping in my dotage!” laughingly he replied.
Again my question about alliances was avoided as the mysterious kitchen voice entered carrying a tray laden with a teapot, mugs and milk in the bottle. The door crashed shut behind her, making her entrance even more theatrical.
“By turned, are you suggesting that a true Englishman such as Mr Price might have had his fidelity diverted from the imperial path of colonialism towards what could it be now; the hammer and sickle of Communism, or perhaps you're implying a sparkling star and striped future of abundance and gratitude? If so, then I'll answer for the man who sits before us accused of treachery. No, is the answer. Here's your tea, Shaun! I'll be fetching your bottle of Ireland's finest whiskey sometime later tonight after I've formally been introduced to my younger brother. I'm Fianna Redden, by the way.”
My head was swimming with the colourful imagery and the lyrical prose delivered from a derisive face that stared unerringly at me without blinking her cold fixed eyes. As the tray was placed on the table, she continued without an intake of breath.
“Born in 1947, before you'll be asking me age. Originally from Carrick-On-Shannon, Co. Leitrim, but coming here by way of varied paths that started at an orphanage in Athlone. Before today you were only Irish through your mother, Shaun, but today's your lucky day. Now you're the Irish brother of an Athenian goddess.” At last she looked away, standing to her full height and bracing her back defiantly as she admired the reflection she made in the window.
“Perhaps it could be said that I'm not blessed with that goddess's wisdom, but certainly her beauty, if beautiful indeed she was! Stand and kiss your sister at once, or I'll be pouring the tea all over yer.” she finished.
Her heart-shaped face, with its small, dimpled pointed chin, shone in the watery sunlight. Her predatory amber, wide-spaced eyes were transparent pools of gold that adorned her freckled fair skin, lined with laughter lines which etched the story of a full life. Seemingly someone who gave away smiles like they were wishes. Yet there was a subtlety to that amber gaze trying to conceal the most sorrowful face I had ever seen. Here was a woman who had lost what she knew she could not afford to lose, and the knowing did not soften the desolation.
“Did she have a temper, this goddess from Athlone?” I asked as I stood and faced her.
“Now there's a silly question for a handsome man to ask a woman and no mistake. Did you see Maureen O'Hara in The Quiet Man, Shaun? I'm her reincarnated. Of course I do, and a wicked one at that. There will be no sense in the finding out.”
I had seen a poster of that film and as she stood a pictured formed in my mind's eye of her being carried in John Wayne's arms with her flowing, long wavy red hair swaying on the way to the altar. I gently kissed those pale lips, trying to taste the sweetness of a life that had drained away somewhere far from this dead room. I found none, nor could I find simplicity in those eyes.
“Was your scepticism born in that orphanage, Fianna, or did you find mistrust and suspicion somewhere else on your journey?” I asked, holding her small waist as lightly as I could.
“There we have it, Shaun! Your brain and my beauty! Our parents must have been something to see.” She pulled away from my light grasp and I watched as she took her seat between Jack and me, neither of our eyes diverting from her. It was then that I noticed the small, yellow-metalled jade ring she wore on the first finger of her left hand. My thoughts were ended abruptly by Jack.
“You will have time after I'm gone to assimilate and memorise what Fianna will tell you about your shared background. Learn it well. Unfortunately I must be somewhere else by one o'clock this afternoon so cannot join in the pleasure. There are documents and details in the room above where you'll sleep tonight, Shaun. Fianna can teach you all of that. I'll be here in the morning, bright and eager to start again. For now I'll paint the broad outline of what you'll be doing for me and what I represent. He took a long draw on one of my cigarettes before continuing.
“All I told you of myself last night was the truth, but only part. I never left the intelligence services. I just moved along corridors and changed offices. Where I am now I don't have a fixed abode with telephones and chairs as do the institutions that you know, we move as the circumstances dictate. As I said, we dirty our hands in places they've never heard of at dinner parties in Guildford; however, often we enjoy more wholesome meals than them. We have no official title only the letters that spell our name; No One Is More Important Than Each: NOIMITE. Without the whole we are nothing. There are only two permanent staff. The man who you met at The Albany, Job, is one, I am the other. Everyone else is transient. No one is told more than what is immediately in front of them to do and I expect complete adherence to those instructions. We do not use the serving military, nor present operatives attached to any government intelligence services. Private security, retired army and local resources are our main supply of manpower. Excuses there to Fianna! I'm no
t forgetting you, but there aren't many women available to us.”
Her curves, tall figure and angelic face left my circuitous mind wondering what was meant by 'available' as the returning rain danced in the grass beyond the windows, bending them down then up under the weight of its fall. They had no choice but to bend, I wondered if it was the same for Fianna.
“Are the two of us just temporary accomplices in the plan you have then, Jack? To be dispensed with when it's all over, or are we to be permanently counted amongst your number?” I caught sight of Fianna's turning head in his direction as I asked.
“You do not disappoint me in your directness, Shaun. Uncertainty is always better to be dealt with at the table than to be cited after the negotiations. But I cannot be unambiguous in this. Time is an entity that none of us have control over. Neither of you are transitory in what lies directly ahead, the absolute opposite is true, but this story has been playing without an end for longer than both your ages, thirty-five years to be precise. It's impossible for me to guarantee the unknown.”
“Is it performance related, Jack?” I asked, to which he simply smiled.
Chapter Eight
The Chancellery In Vienna
“In late November 1937, whilst the war in Spain raged on with ever increasing casualties and the emergence of a wide-reaching war in Europe was a foregone conclusion, a meeting took place in an office within the Chancellery of Austria, in Vienna. It had three high profile attendees with all the fuss and palaver that comes with such people and their travelling entourage. They were served their refreshments, requirements and everything else they asked for by a Jewish man, who for the sake of this story I'll call Mr X. The guests I'll call A and B and their host will be C. You may be able to work out who they were a bit later, that's not so important as secrecy. I can't imagine Trenchard not insisting on you becoming a signatory of the Official Secrets Act. I trust you are aware of the consequences of failing to comply with that Act of Parliament. Fianna has worked alongside us for a little while, so is aware of our rules. Any breech of that Act, or our rules, will be severely punished, Shaun.” He stared at both of us before continuing without waiting for a response.
“As the meeting drew to a close four females were introduced to the gathering on the insistence of guest A. Guest B made no complaint. After both guests had their fill of sexual pleasures guest A suggested younger participants to indulge themselves with, to which, to his only credit, guest B first declined. Guest A wanted young fair-skinned girls with blonde hair. It was the host who suggested the victims; one of whom was well known to Mr X. Despite strong but whispered protests from Mr X, Mr C would not change his views. C held his exalted position because of family connections and was seeking further patronage from A, willing to pander to any request. What then transpired between those girls and guest A, was condoned by both the host and guest B, who although as I said was initially reluctant, eventually gave in to temptation. I think your minds can fathom out what happened without me going on any further and spelling out the sordid details.
The girl that X knew, with her entire family, was hastily sent to America that night to join similar refugees from Austria who had emigrated long before this day. Unfortunately, that girl was pregnant. She gave birth to a healthy female child in August 1938. The child was kept. Unwisely, in my opinion!” The telephone we had passed in the passageway began to ring. He stopped speaking and checked his watch.
“Would you be a dear and get that, Fianna. I'm expecting Job to call with an all-clear.”
“Will do, boss,” she replied and left the room with a serious expression on her face.
“Just like you said, it was Job and everything is tickety-boo, boss.”
He picked up where he had left off.
“Mr X survived the war, being one of the very few lucky ones who had held a pre-invasion government position, to be completely unscathed or touched by Nazi hands. He came from a moderately wealthy family and was a forward-thinking man, having made friends with a Catholic priest when he heard of the execution of a very close friend; the father of the girl he knew. X was subsequently hidden by that priest when Austria acquiesced to German demands.” He paused, his previously unremitting poker face becoming etched with regret and sorrow.
“All four women along with the two other young girls who had been part of the obscenity of that day, were shot on the host's instructions, with both guests looking on. All were Jewish! Mr X's position within the Chancellery had given him a chance to save the pregnant girl and his skill at forgery saved her life. He changed the family's name and their stated religion to Catholic, thereby extraditing their flight to freedom without any undue hassle.” Another pause.
“The father, X's close friend who was murdered, of the two children of this family had died some several months before all this happened and the mother died a few years after arriving in America, but her son and daughter, plus the granddaughter, are all alive. The son has gone on to own and control a pharmaceutical company who are in talks to merge with a similar West German chemical giant as we speak. Those discussions have been going on for months and are drawing to a close. The host of that 1937 meeting also survived the war, being released from the concentration camp in which he was confined relatively free from suffering in 1945. He emigrated to America a year later and is the only living person outside of the family other than me to know the name of who raped that thirteen-year-old along with the identity of the other guests. Both the German intelligence services and those of America are now closely delving into the family history. They only want suitable bed partners trading together, not ones with the history as told to me by Mr X in the Cafe Landtmann when I met him there in 1945. I had been sent to Vienna to bolster our newly appointed legation sorting through the various applications to travel to the UK. Three days after our meeting Mr X was hit by a car whilst crossing the road to Aspern airport on his way to start a new life. He never recovered consciousness from that assassination”
“Who killed him, Jack?” I asked.
His chair made a rubbing noise as he pushed it backwards and rose from the table.
“I have no idea, Shaun, but for our purposes we have put together a realistic story that fits. Now I must go, leaving the upstairs paperwork to fill in what I've omitted to answer of your questions. By this time tomorrow you will either be leaving England for America or walking away from my offer entirely. The choice lies with you and in what you will read. If you stay there is an element of danger with nobody beside you to make the instant decisions you will have to. Spontaneity and your ability to adapt will be your only weapons. If you leave then the question of what to do with you will arise. I'm hoping that no answer to that problematic situation will be needed.”
He opened a drawer of the sideboard and withdrew a buff-coloured file sealed by a blue ribbon, placing it on the table in front of me.
“Read what's in here, Shaun.” He took his jacket which was hanging behind his chair and made to leave, before adding, “There are some 'take-away' restaurant cards by the phone along with some money for incidentals in the other drawer here. Use what is necessary, but please, ask for receipts. There is a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey in the kitchen. Try to leave some for when I return, I might need it.”
At that he left, walking in the now drizzling rain to a blue Vauxhall car parked about twenty yards away. He was alone when he drove off. Fianna and I were still seated at the table. I offered her a cigarette and took one myself.
“So, you know the details, Fianna and decided to stay. No implied threats required in your case. Is Fianna your real name, by the way?”
“That's a yes to all of it, Shaun, and before you ask, the name Redden is real as well. The thing is, I changed back to my proper name from another that's not important now. I'm in for the whole craic of the trip.”
“How do you know, Jack, Fianna?”
“I don't really. Met him a few months ago when he approached me with his story.”
“And whe
re were you when he made that approach?”
“I was being detained at Her Majesty's pleasure.”
“Under an assumed name, I take it?”
“Ah, you are a wise one, Shaun. There you have me!”
“Which prison were you in?”
“No, I wasn't in prison as such, Shaun, at least not when your man Mr Price found me. I was in one before I was released to a big fellow with scars on his face and a mean temper of a man. Now that came as a surprise, the release I mean, just settling in to the new prison, I was. He took me to a different kind of internment, without the bars and locks. I was told by Scarface that I'd be needed to do a job of work and he didn't elaborate on what would happen if I didn't. Had no need, if you're following me.”
“Would that job be anything to do with a security van?”
“There we are again, you with your brains and all that. We've turn the square into a circle and danced in its centre, Shaun, me boy. An Irishman with the English name of Henry Acre was the chief Apache. I take it that's the Irishman you shot dead. I met him the once and spun him the story I was told to tell. They were very thorough, Mr Price and Mr Scarface. Not too much detail, just enough to be convincing, they said. I was to be an Irish patriot with a love of the money and the drink. The background they gave me all stacked up to Acre's satisfaction,” she winked.
“I haven't far to look for the source of Jack's tip-off to be in Charing Cross Road then!”
“No, about two foot away.”
“Was it Jack that planted you inside that team?”
“A girl gets a living wherever and from whomever a girl can, Shaun. You're not going give me some holier-than-thou speech, now are you? Cos if you are, I'm walking out.”
