[2017] What Happened in Vienna, Jack?

by Daniel Kemp

  “Have a look at these, while I'm gone. See if you can come up with the same answer that we have. It will give you something else to concentrate on instead of just your injuries.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Reputations

  Sister Monica Kelly, my surgeon-cum-nurse, arrived seconds after Jack departed. If I believed in conspiracies then she could have been eavesdropping in the next room waiting for her appearance cue. As it was, I neither suspected any conspiring nor questioned her motives. For perhaps the first time since arriving in New York I was in the company of someone who I did not feel threatened, intimated by or thought was a liar. She was charming, efficient and apparently cared.

  “I've had the initial blood test back and there is no infection, but I will take another blood sample tonight to monitor that, Mr Redden. I expect you're feeling a bit weak and disorientated, but that's nothing to worry about. The stitches in your foot will have to remain for at least ten days during which time you'll probably find a walking frame useful and less cumbersome than crutches. After all's mended it will be more comfortable to wear a reinforced shoe or boot. I'm afraid one of the expensive shoes you were wearing when you were shot had to be cut away. When I get the time I will ask one of the burly men outside to supply you with that frame. They look as though they could get you absolutely anything, one way or another. I'm hoping to remove the splint by the weekend. For now I'm going to give you a sedative to ensure you sleep and don't get out of bed and overdo things. I don't want you smoking or speaking too much. Walking will feel awkward until you get used to the block, or something similar, fitted into a shoe. But no footwear until those stitches are out. I'll get one of my brother's men to get that frame.”

  “By that, do I take it that Salvatore is your brother?”

  “I thought you knew,” she declared in surprise.

  “I didn't. No! You don't even have much of an Italian accent to your voice. There's a trace now that you've told me, but not really noticeable.”

  “I took on another surname when I joined the order. It was better to distance myself from what he does. I didn't have such a tough time as he did when I arrived here. He had it hard. He still dislikes strangers. I understand the gentleman that's just left helped him out with one or two things. It's complicated, Mr Redden.”

  “Were you in Italy during the war with your brother, Monica?”

  “Yes, I was in Italy, but not with Salvatore. He was in the army.”

  “On the wrong side, I presume?”

  “There were only two choices open to any man in those times: the side of Mussolini and Hitler, or death by the firing squads. When the Allies landed in Scilly he was drafted back to Italy from the Balkans. Things started to change after the standoff at Cassino. The subsequent amphibious attack on Anzio opened the road to Rome. Salvatore was stationed south of that attack. When the Italian soldiers were caught between the two-pronged attack of the Allies, true Italians turned on the Germans. My brother was one of the leaders of that revolt.”

  “Did Jack, the man who just left, help your brother to leave Italy as well as settle in here?”

  “That's for either Salvatore or your man to tell, Mr Redden, not me.” She had her back to me, preparing the syringe.

  “I met a niece of yours a few days ago when I changed my hair colouring. Bit of a tyrant that one, not as polite, nor as gentle, as yourself, I have to say.”

  “I heard about it. Salvatore was full of himself when he told me. You gave as good as she did, I understand. She can be very much like her father that one, bombastic and overwhelming, but there's a good heart somewhere. Maybe I'll find it one day. Let's find a vein for this sedative, shall we?” She tapped lightly on my arm until one met her approval for the insertion of the needle.

  “Where am I exactly?” I asked.

  She sighed heavily before replying. “If your colleague has not told you then there must be a reason that I can only wonder at. You shouldn't be asking me to take on the responsibility of telling you something that he obviously won't.”

  “You won't tell me?” I asked, astonished.

  “I was not asked to, Mr Redden. I do what I'm asked and no more. It is said that all of life is a test, perhaps, this is another one in your life that you've come across.”

  “If you won't answer that one, would you answer this? Why did you treat me in the first place? You must have been suspicious.”

  “During my life I've seen many men shot for what they believed in that someone else didn't. I've never judged a wounded man by his beliefs, I can only see the injuries. I understand that life is not always as straightforward as we would want it to be, nor what the law states it should be. Some of the things the 'law' allows to happen are morally wrong. Evil should never be assessed by legality. My brother doesn't ask me to do anything illegal. He asks that I'm here for his friends when the morality of their actions is better off not being addressed by legal agencies. God accepts sinners into Heaven as well as saints, so why can't both be treated without prejudice? Now don't you go fussing over things you don't need to worry about. Just relax and take the next few days easy. Besides, it's raining outside so you're in the best place. Nice and warm and dry. Very humid out there. Shall I put that paper you're clinging onto somewhere safe, Mr Redden, as it's time for you to fall asleep?”

  “No, I need to put it under my pillows,” I pleaded then explained.

  “When I was at university, cramming all manner of things into my head, I used to put books or the papers I was reading under my pillow at night believing that the words would jump off the pages and into my brain when I was sleeping.”

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  “I did pass most exams, but you'd have to open up my brain and see what's there to completely answer that one. Don't go planning any visits to neurosurgeons without asking me first though, will you. I'd like to keep my head on if that's okay with you.” As she took my arm in readiness, I asked my final question.

  “What is that smell I keep breathing, Monica?”

  “It's burning frankincense, mixed with holy oil. Can you fathom out where you might be now, Mr Redden?” She was smiling as she slid the hypodermic needle into me.

  London

  Just before midday that Tuesday, the second request Dicky made after ordering black coffee was for his doctor. Top civil servants, along with senior government officials, although having their own medical practitioners provided for them also have the advantage of being able to call upon a staff of standing medical doctors supplied from the public purse on call twenty-fours a day, seven days a week. All those doctors were covered by the same Hippocratic Oath sworn by their civilian counterparts. The only trouble was that their oath did not apply to internal government-driven investigations. No ethical secrets were safe if the doors were being knocked down by sledgehammers wielded by employees of the security services. While he was waiting for the duty doctor to return his secretary's call he telephoned Fraser.

  “I need two things at the moment, Fraser. As quickly as you can, old fruit. One would be the chasing up on Peter Rawlings at the MOD over anything he may have on a Captain Harry West. Group have all the details on that one. Make sure that when he comes back having found nothing you stress just how disappointed I will be. Lay it on strongly, please. Second; I need Daniel Cardiff here in my office a.s.a.p. How is he by the way? Heard anything this morning regarding Echo?”

  “Mr A and wife left straight after breakfast. He kept his word over paying for the room and bites, so accounts won't be raising hell over any expenses spent on this one, sir. My first lady left about ten-thirty with her handbag full of the usual souvenirs from the bathroom and Cardiff called in half an hour or so later. I'm told he was near to tears, sir. He's in an anteroom of our Lambeth building. We've fed him and drowned him in tea. Seems to have recovered his composure somewhat. Shall I courier the photographs over, sir?”

  “I want the negatives as well, but I also want you to do something for me first. Find o
ut from the Palace what's in our subject's diary for today. Use the Home Secretary's name for that. Give me a call as soon as you find out about that.”

  “I will try, sir, but those at the Palace make me feel so uncomfortable if ever I have to speak to them. Can't we get the Home Secretary to enquire?”

  “I wish I could, Fraser, but that's out of the question at the moment,” Dicky replied.

  Twenty minutes later he phoned Group. Sir Archibald took his call.

  “I've instructed Ughert to put Cardiff on this evening's flight to New York. An hour or so ago I gave GCHQ the name of a Haynes Baxter-Clifford who we believe may have some connection with the IRA. Joseph reliably informed me that he'll be able to work something up at his end in order to monitor the situation. I want Cardiff on the ground as our contact if we need first-hand information of collaboration. There's one other thing that you can help with me. I need the file drawn on an operation I was caught up in way back in 1946; name of Agatha.” Sir Archibald interrupted.

  “Palestine issue was it not? Montgomery thought it up after some Zionist underground organisations had blown up several bridges. Were you there, Dicky?”

  “In a very minor capacity, Archie, I was, yes. How do you know of it?”

  “I was on Monty's staff at the time. A humble captain in the Royal Ulster Rifles. We were being amalgamated with two other regiments and I seemed surplus to requirements, so they shunted me off to him.” Archie gave a self-deprecating laugh at his modesty.

  “Sadly my memory is not as good as your own, Archie, otherwise I wouldn't be asking,” Dicky replied curtly, far from being in a jocular mood. “There was a chap I ran into during that escapade who worked in our High Commissioner's Office. I'm afraid I need reminding of his name. Could you get someone to delve into it and send me a list of those attached to Cunningham at the time?”

  “Of course! I'll get someone on it at once. I must, however, question that decision of yours to use Cardiff so soon and on such an assignment, Dicky. Have you no one in situ that could do the job? Can't you use the New York station? And another thing, Cardiff has no cover whatsoever. He will get made as soon as he steps off the plane. If not then, as soon as he opens his mouth. He's never been in the field before.” Exactly, Dicky thought, but never voiced that opinion.

  “He'll be fine after the doctor I've sent for sees him, Archie. I'll wrap him in a blanket of goodwill for good measure. You won't forget Joseph at the doughnut, now will you? Just give him another nudge.”

  “I will, Dicky. Leave it with me.”

  He just had time to take a tablet for his drowsiness and a quick shower before his secretary called.

  “The duty doctor will be about fifteen minutes, sir, and a Daniel Cardiff is pulling into the underground carpark as we speak. Is there anything I can do whilst you are waiting for the medical officer?”

  “Ply me with coffee until he's here and interrupt my meeting with him after about three minutes with an urgent message that needs my immediate attention, Louise. Knock and enter with that news, please.”

  “Cardiff is in the lift, sir, and I have GCHQ on hold. Will you take their call, or shall I tell them you will return their call after your meeting?”

  “Put them through and hold Cardiff until the security light goes green, then show him straight in.”

  Daniel Cardiff was twenty-five-years-of-age, over six foot tall with brown hair, hazel coloured eyes and of presentable appearance. There was nothing handsome nor ugly about him, neither was there anything physical that distinguished him from most of the other young men that were recruited into the subversive world of espionage, but there was something that separated him from a lot of that pack. He had found a home at Group through patronage, not from the divine summons of an enlisting agent.

  “I knew your uncle, Admiral Sir Maurice Curtis, Daniel. Fine man indeed!” Dicky lied as he rose from behind his desk to greet Cardiff. After exchanging a handshake he continued.

  “I hope you realise just what a huge contribution you've made to this department. If it were possible for me to publicly acknowledge your dedication then believe me, I would, but that's an impossibility as I'm sure you know.”

  Dicky guided his guest to one of the soft armchairs that stood beside his well-stocked mahogany drinks cabinet in front of a window overlooking St Thomas' Hospital and Big Ben, the other side of Westminster Bridge.

  “Would you like a drink Daniel? Tea or alcohol? Your choice?”

  “I'm okay, sir, but thank you for your kind words and the offer.”

  He was far from okay, thought Dicky, taking the other chair, trying to hide his disgust at what had happened to the decency behind the ashen face that stared starry eyed in his direction.

  “Was this your first assignment, Daniel?” Dicky asked, knowing full well that it was.

  “It was, sir. Now I'm worried that having done what I did it will be on my file as a trademark if you understand what I mean. It was my first time with a man, sir, and something I don't want to repeat. I do want to get on in this job that I know my family orchestrated for me but, well, I guess I'm stuck with the reputation now, aren't I?”

  “Your good name is not tarnished in my office! Your reputation as a devoted member of Group is firmly cemented in my mind, young man. However, I'm afraid that there is one more painful ordeal that I have to ask you to undertake, but this one is for your own welfare. In a few minutes the in-house doctor is to arrive. I want him to thoroughly examine you. I'm told that there are various diseases attributed to anal sex that can be treated successfully if diagnosed early. He'll take some blood samples and ask a few questions. That's all, nothing to worry about, but I would advise that you make a clean breast of what exactly occurred.”

  “Am I finished in field work, sir?” Cardiff asked, leaning forward in his chair, directing his gaze towards Dicky's shoes.

  “Very far from it, young man. You're just starting. In fact you are to go to New York this afternoon as my eye's on the ground in an operation we might be running over there. On leaving here you're to report directly back to Fraser's department. He is processing all the necessary paperwork now. You will have plenty of time during the flight to assess the information he'll give you. There are two simple rules to follow once you are over there. One: if someone contacts you, never invite that person into to your room. Always, and I stress this, Daniel, always meet in a public place for the first time. Second: never open your hotel room door to anyone who is not staff of that hotel. Tell them you're taking a shower and you'll be ten minutes or so. Then get a name and meet in the lobby. There you are. Easy enough to follow, now have a brandy with me. I'm having one. Won't you join me?”

  “I'm not a queer, sir, if that's what's everyone is thinking,” Cardiff blurted out as he began to cry.

  “It never crossed my mind that you were,” Dicky replied honestly, adding, “Make sure you tell the duty doctor that, Daniel, it will help in the long run.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Trelew

  The doctor had left Dicky's office by the time Fraser Ughert telephoned at 12:43.

  “Apparently our subject is a man of fastidious routine, sir. Every other Tuesday afternoon he has his haircut at three-fifteen at Truefitt & Hill, the barbers at the Palace end of St James's Street then takes a cab to Waterloo Station catching the four-eighteen to Weybridge. He's due his fortnightly trim today. We are not in possession of any facts regarding the Weybridge end. I think it's either got to happen in St James's Street or at Waterloo. If it's an immediate reaction you're after then it has to be the barbers. That way we can almost guarantee his return to St James's Palace for a secure line. We could lose him at Waterloo, and Weybridge would be too loose for my liking.”

  “Give me a moment,” Dicky replied, then placed the telephone receiver on his desk beside the framed photograph of the Queen. At that moment Daniel Cardiff rose from his chair and made to leave the office.

  “No, not you, young man. I was addressing the man o
n the phone. You stay where you are for the time being.”

  Sir Richard walked to his window, looked out, then muttered, “Okay, here we go.” Cardiff, although now seated, again moved. “Stop being so jumpy, dear boy. You have a role to play and nerves to keep in check.” Dicky did not sit. He spoke to Fraser standing and peering into the space before his view.

  “This is what I want done, Fraser, to the letter, mind you, and no deviation. You find the most unnoticeable employee in the building and give him an unfolded photo in a sealed addressed envelope and enough money for some cab rides. First he takes a taxi to St Paul's where he alights, then walks for a few minutes down Ludgate Hill into Fleet Street. Once there he hails another taxi. He gives the envelope to this cab driver and demands that it's delivered into our lord's hands. Tell him to make absolute sure that it's for the addressee only; no one else. Not the receptionist nor a barber, but Lord Beaufort himself! I want this done when our man is in the chair. I also want someone outside the premises to make sure it's all gone smoothly. Oh yes, one other thing. On the front of the envelope write, From a close friend. For your immediate and earnest attention. Is all that quite clear, old fruit?” He raised his eyebrows in the direction of where Cardiff was sitting as if asking him the question he posed to Fraser. Cardiff fashioned a subservient smile in response.

  “Perfectly, sir,” Fraser replied confidently.

  “And the tickets, etc, all dealt with?”

  “Yes, they are. We've booked him on the six-thirty flight this evening. British Overseas Airways of course. Then I've placed him in the St. Regis Hotel. There's a dossier he can study on the flight of known IRA fundraisers, makes boring reading material but it gets him started. I followed your instructions regarding his passport. You were right to check, as he never had one. We pushed the buttons and had it issued an hour ago in his name. All we're waiting for now is Cardiff himself, sir. I've laid on a police escort for him to the airport. That should put a smile on his face.”