by Daniel Kemp
Then, the problems began. His time spent away, alone, in pursuit of the lifestyle that they had both craved started to irk, then worry and distress Dotty. She listened to the suitably impressed friends pass their assessment and judgement on his wandering life, by praising her trust and indulgence. “He's a man, out there on his own. I wouldn't trust my husband!They're all the same, my dear. Only a place for one thing in their mind…and it's not always football!”
Doubts set in, so much so that on his return she started to check the pockets of his clothing and laundry. The clues were there, but she never found them, assuming the dampness of his underwear to be simply a sign of the hygiene he employed in those faraway places. The suspicions grew when the same pattern appeared at home, always damp, as if pre-washed before ending up in the linen bin.
“He's having an affair,” she thought. “Someone he's impressed with all our money.”
That was not the case, either, but she was close to the truth. She came even closer one morning when she went through the pockets of a suit jacket he had worn the previous day. She found a short letter, but it had long consequences:
The London Clinic
1 Devonshire Place
London
W1 2DY 3TD
Dear Sir,
I have the results of the tests and they prove, conclusively, my first diagnosis of gonorrhoea. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience, to arrange an appointment so we can discuss the treatment.
Signed: R. D. Lawrence
Sexual Health Clinic Consultant
The first call she made was not to Jack. That came later in the day, after the locksmith's visit and the telephone conversations she had with their son and daughter, both away at college. Jack faced a scathing and withering attack, face to face, at his Edgware Factory, under a barrage of clothes slung at him from a vitriolic, suitcase-emptying, Dotty. Jack never again lived with Dotty, or had the same relationship with his children that he had before that disease was announced to them.
His problem had started many years ago, the ugly stains staying hidden until too late. He never could recall the name of the bar in Moscow where he guessed the cause, or causes, of that problem had originated. He could not remember their names either and, helplessly, the night spent in their company seemed to pass quicker as every year past by. He paid a substantial price for his indulgence, but now, nine years on, he had recovered all his costs of divorce, all of his dignity, and all of his health, after following his consultant's advice. This harrowing experience had left its mark, leading him to become well-versed in the art of guidance on many subjects, including patience, the divergence of assets and his most prolific subject…the advocating of 'saying no' to unprotected sex, a campaign he rigorously spoke out on.
“Sure Geoff, love to. I'm at the same hotel,” he replied.
“I was on the board at BP, when the chance to front a government backed takeover of a company owned petrochemical plant in Antwerp was put to me,” Geoff announced to the waiting Jack in the bar. “I could realise the potential that I knew was there, and with government money behind me, everything looked rosy. They'd even recruited the eldest son of an Earl to open doors that might otherwise been closed to us. It didn't work out that way, though.
I wanted to push the company forward into the twenty-first century not just producing by-products of the oil industry. I even had my sights on being the first to discover an alternative to unsustainable resources, and we're not that far away, despite the uncooperative attitude of my overlords. All they want to do the government, that is, is to find out what our competitors are up to with no thought to where we should push on with our efforts. I think, for example, that the Russians have deliberately cut back the supply of oil to push the price up, thereby making the cost of crushing the rock strata that holds billions of barrels of reserves more cost effective. I want to develop our position in two different directions. One where we benefit from the excavation of this new oil in Russia, and two, establishing ourselves in countries where there is no oil. And then developing our technology further for when there is no oil left anywhere. I need contacts, Jack, to convince the officials on my back that I'm right and that our markets are out there. The world needs us, Jack.”
“I know just the man, Geoff. He's a Russian named Yuri, a finger in every pie going. I'll get word to him…set you up a meeting. By the way, you ever been tempted at home or while away on business to pay for sex? If so, I've got a story to tell you. Sit back and enjoy your brandy…I'll educate you.”
George collected Jack's communique and read of Geoff's conundrum, then found himself in a pickle as well. He had never instigated a meeting for his father before, ordinarily handling messages containing mention of politicians or individuals working against the best interests of GB Ltd, for Paulo to do with as he wished. This was different. A stranger would be meeting his father, something he would dearly love to do and had dreamed about. He remembered Maudlin's cautionary written words of not being inquisitive nor acting for personal reasons, but those warnings he had read before he became a qualified spy. Now, he was one that others wrote books about, a furtive figure hiding in shadows doing the legwork for the important spies hiding out of sight. He had mastered this role, and avoided detection by sticking to the rules. Could he bend them ever so slightly to make his dreams come true without the use of John the Steadfast?
Chapter Thirty: Autumn Colours
“I'm sorry about that, Harry. I don't know what came over me…I'm not normally that open about that chapter in my life. I think it was seeing you trying to make sense of what David said; how there were doubts, but nothing was done. If it had been, I mean, if Willis and Howell had been arrested sooner then all this would have happened before now. You can see that, can't you?”
“Yeah, of course I can. It just seemed so futile, having intelligence and not using it. I wish I had cottoned-on sooner, or that you had. I keep thinking that if I had told Trimble all I knew on that Wednesday, or better still on the Sunday when Special Branch told me, then maybe Teddy would still be around. It's like you said…we all make mistakes.”
“Yours wasn't a mistake, Harry. If you had known everything, which was impossible, you wouldn't have changed a thing. The person who did this had already worked it out for themselves. I reckon that all the information that I put together about Paulo and Tanya was already known by him. What I am confident about is that he does not know that George is Paulo's son, but he has obviously made the connection between Paulo and your family and the bank. I'm doing my best, Harry but it's not easy. Whoever it is, it's deep, H…well covered. I think he's frightened that Paulo will expose him. He's trying to find how he contacts us here, plus he wants to discredit Paulo back home and have him arrested. I don't think it wise to trust anyone but ourselves in all of this. Treat everyone as suspicious, then we won't make any mistakes…either of us.”
She stopped for a moment, simply staring ahead, her face cupped in her hands, elbows on both knees. I was torn between believing that she was remembering Tony, or looking for answers to fill in the centre of that jigsaw puzzle that surrounded me. I didn't have long to wait to find out.
“That's what I do well, nowadays, since Tony died…you know, Harry?”
“What's that?” I asked.
“I've reverted back to my childhood, not trusting anyone. I believed Tony you see, all he said about staying alive. I forgot to question things when I was with him, and he was the only person I had ever known to make me daydream about life. When I was young my grandfather took me to Blenheim Palace, to show me what being English was all about…how we fought for our heritage, he said. The two of us were taken on a private guided tour from one room to another full of trophies, gratefully given, the guide said, to the Duke of Marlborough by the villagers or townsfolk he liberated during his campaigns. I was nine and didn't believe a word of it, so I spoke my mind.
“He stole them, you mean?” I said, out loud, to the guide. As I was so young, she never
deemed it necessary to answer my accusation, but my Grandfather simply smiled at me. For a while I forgot that scepticism, but after Tony died; it came back with a vengeance.”
“What did you do after Tony's death?” I asked, not as an unwarranted question, but one I hoped carried the sincerity I felt.
“I screamed, I shouted, threw things at the television, drove a car into a brick wall while I was thinking of topping myself. The department offered me counselling, my GP offered tablets. Tony's family gave me a place to grieve and deal with it. You'll find your own place, Harry, but for now we've got work to do. Don't get like me and blame everybody. Let's concentrate on what we know and find whoever it is that killed your father and brother, before I get into one again and you go all sentimental on me.”
“I'm not the sentimental type, Judith. Haven't you noticed?” I said.
The characteristic 'Hmm' was followed by her proposal to return to find George. “He's the key to all this, Harry. I just hope he knows how to open the door.”
We left the Common with Judith humming a tune I did not recognise, one that had no name to others, one that only she found significance in. I felt a closeness to her that allowed me to use that name she had suggested a lifetime ago and had resisted until now. I was falling.
“Let me drive us to find him, Judy. Let's see how that German car of yours deals with London traffic. There's always plenty of room to park in Eton Square, as all the residents use the underground car park. Can't leave the Rolls and Bentleys on show, can they? Who would believe we were in a global financial meltdown if they did?”
“Am I converting you, H?” she asked, smiling at me.
* * *
Paulo had found George once. It was not at Eton Square, though, and he wasn't meant to. His discovery was a lucky accident; the only trouble was that nobody benefited by that discovery.
George left the Free Will on the hymn book shelf and, about a month later, planted himself on the same plane as Geoffrey Rowell. He had done his homework on Mr Rowell after retrieving Paulo's invitation, checking to see that he was indeed who he said he was. However, he could only be marked five out of ten for his effort, as he had never set eyes on his man until at the booking-in desk at Heathrow.
They travelled in separate cabs to the Westin Grand Hotel, number five on the updated list of Berlin Hotels. George was the first to arrive, and found himself an empty table by the window, ordering a beer from one of the attentive waiters walking the floor of the foyer. Being a conscientious, shy man, he was embarrassed by the assiduous attention his near-empty glass caused the busboys, so he ordered another and wondered why Geoffrey was taking so long. An hour passed in agitation, frugally sipping his now-warm beer, his stare fixed firmly away from the interior into the night, beyond the ever present industrious floor-walkers imagining all manner of things that could have happen. An accident, a mugging? Perhaps a breakdown of the bus he must be using, or the cab? Then, it came to him. He must have been accosted by a tout from the unregulated taxis at the terminal and taken one of those…poor man! No doubt driven by an illegal from Poland, one of the thousands from that country taking their economic revenge on the citizens of Berlin, using Geoffrey's money to help the rebuilding of Warsaw by taking the scenic route. That has to be the reason, George thought, as he smiled at his own reflection in the window.
Paulo was standing on the pavement outside the Westin Grand as the evening commuters spilled from their offices and hurried along Friedrichstrasse on the way to somewhere, but his view of his son with the goatee beard was not obscured in any way.
At last, Geoffrey arrived. He was cutting it fine to make the appointed time of the meeting, which was dinner at seven-thirty. George had already checked that he had a room reserved, and imagined him rushing there to shower and change, so as to present himself and his case for benevolence to his father in a presentable fashion. He must hurry, he thought. He only has an hour to go.
Going, was on George's mind, also. He had come for a glimpse, no more than that. He had no reservation in the hotel, only a table for one in the restaurant at the same time, hoping to make sight of the enigma that was his father before the last flight home.
Both men ate alone that night, on separate tables no more than twenty feet apart, and both had regrets and unanswerable questions. George could never ask his; it would tell Paulo that he had disobeyed his instructions. Geoffrey had asked his, but not of Paulo, the man he had hoped to have met but who had never showed. He had asked, instead, a colleague who was an expert in certain matters, their conversation causing the delay that George had fretted over. They had a common need, a business matter…something Geoffrey could not soil his hands on.
* * *
“The non-appearance of Korovin, made me look again Comrade Colonel General Antopolov, I was very suspicious. Was it simply a coincidence? I reviewed all reports concerning the British as far back as 1956. In almost every case, whatever we discovered, they were informed of by an agent known to them as Garden; sometimes before or sometimes after. In one particular case, the Stonehouse affair, an English MP working for the Czech StB, was uncovered by the British. It was Korovin, then, with the KGB, who advised the Czechs to tell him to run. Given the right circumstances it was the correct advice, but these were not the right circumstances. The British, I have been very reliably told, never knew of him until his faked suicide in Florida…perhaps another coincidence. What sticks out, however, is the lack of investigation by the late Colonel General Vladimir Sokolov into the circumstances. What is more confusing is that it was Sokolov who suggested Australia as Stonehouse's retreat where he eventually was found.
Korovin's subsequent role in the return of Soviet assets within the Federation brought him in close contact with many ex-political leaders and Mafia associates if you remember, and it was they who were thought to be behind Sokolov's death. As you are aware sir, Comrade Korovin has grown extremely wealthy through those associations, and Sokolov's widow and family are enjoying their life in the affluent south of France to its fullest.” Alexi Vasilyev finished his report, but not his investigation.
* * *
“That reminds me, Harry…I think I must have left my riding boots in the boot of my car, and they'll need cleaning. Come on, Hector! Time for home.”
Hector was harnessed, sadly not to a leather-studded collar and thick plaited leather lead that his namesake might have needed for control, but to an elasticated variety, his freedom controlled by a plastic grip. As we neared the car he became increasingly agitated, sniffing the air instead of the grass, wagging his tail, and barking as if challenging Achilles to battle.
“What's the matter with him?” I asked.
“I'm not sure,” she replied, reeling him in. “He's never acted like this before.”
“Perhaps he's seen a fox and it's the beagle in him that wants to chase it?”
We stood beside her car as Hector performed his impersonation of a 'Whirling Dervish,' jumping in the air and chasing his tail, emitting a muffled bark as he did so.
“He's seen plenty of the furry kind on the common, Harry, believe me. This is somewhat more serious…he was Tony's dog, trained to sniff out bombs. Fancy opening the door to find out if I'm right? Brought your passport with you, H? I think it's time we left, don't you?”
“Where are we going, Judy?”
“Let's try Hamburg to start with, and see where it leads.”
Sir David Haig was still in his London apartment when he received Judith's call, preferring to recover there, from his early morning rise than in the clinical surrounds of Whitehall, Goddess excluded. She was not from his private life…he was not that type. He was a straight up-and-down honest guy, not cheating on his family or his country, as Judith explained to the worried, questioning, Earl of Harrogate.
“Yes, we can trust him, Harry. If he had planted the bomb, then there would have been no need to have asked me yesterday if I had driven into town or caught the tube, would there? Plus, he might have looked a
mite surprised when we arrived, huh?”
“You're assuming that he never left it here this morning on his way home. Maybe you didn't put enough sugar in his coffee, Judy!”
My mobile phone was in hyperdrive in the back of a turbo charged London cab. I had already made and received more calls than I would normally make in a week before we were over Albert Bridge, on the way to Heathrow, by way of a surprised George.
“Good morning, Lord Paterson…it's Detective Chief Superintendent Fletcher here. We can release your father and brother's bodies. They're being held at Southwark mortuary. I will text you the address, if you would like to notify the collections to your undertakers.”
I had called Joseph to complete the arrangements with the funeral directors, telling both sisters, and Maurice, who was now at Harrogate; but I told none of these of my destination, nor the fact that I was lucky to be alive.
“Not really the time to go swanning off somewhere with your latest, is it, Harry? No matter how important you say it is! What am I expected to do?” Maurice had asked.
“Do what you do best, Maurice, and moan. Failing that, ask Joseph what needs to be done and help him out. I'm trying to find whoever it was that murdered Elliot and Edward for God's sake. Show a little bit of understanding!” I curtly replied, and promptly closed my phone. I had left instructions at Eton Square for George to contact me, and when he did I followed Judy's biddings.
“It's all a bit sudden, Harry. Where are we going, and what will I need?” George asked. Judy had decided that the explanation would be better heard from me.
“It will come as a shock to him, Harry…I'm not sure how he is going to react. Don't go into too much detail at this point. I think we can leave out the Maudlin tie-up, and Auntie Loti. Let's stick to Paulo…that will be enough for now.” The best-laid plans having been formulated and decided upon, we set about our mission
