Spy Out the Land

by Jeremy Duns

  But this was all too real. She had nearly given up hope of being rescued now: even her father wouldn’t be able to breach such a place. She simply had to hope he acceded to their demands, whatever they were. And in the meantime, pretend to Ben that everything was normal, while reminding herself at every opportunity that it wasn’t.

  Chapter 72

  Paul Dark wiped the spray from his face-mask and pulled at the oars. Like the man in front of him in the dinghy, he was dressed from head to toe in black, but he also wore rubber gloves and a matching mask to cover his skin.

  It was coming up to nine o’clock. He’d chosen the time carefully: the sun had set three hours earlier, but tonight the moon would be close to full, which meant they might be able to see more easily but could also be more easily seen. While it wasn’t quite pitch-black now, the next hour was the darkest it would get.

  The dinghy hugged closer to the bank, and he let go of the oars and crouched, waiting for his opportunity. He checked the fasteners on the waterproof case strapped to his back one last time. Everything was secure. High above, he was dimly aware of flashes of light passing by and for a moment he thought of the war and the searchlights he had seen in Germany.

  Forget the war. Live now.

  They reached the turning, and Dark tapped his companion on the shoulder in gratitude and then bent his legs and slipped over the side and into the black water. He shivered as the cold penetrated his body, then started swimming below the surface. It was only a few feet to the bank, but the current was strong and he couldn’t crawl because the kick would stir up surf and whiteness of it might alert the men above. So instead he stretched out his arms in a wide arc, pushing as hard as he could.

  He reached the bank and came up for air, grasping at the surface with his hands. He held on to a rock momentarily but then his grip failed and he slipped back into the water, the current pushing him away again. He clenched his eyes shut and pushed harder until he made up the last remaining foot again, and now he propelled himself out of the water in one smooth movement and managed to get hold of a sharp outcrop of rock. He pulled himself out of the water and began crawling up with his hands until he was over the lip and into deep foliage. He leaned back, dizzy. Squinting through his face-mask, he could make out the dinghy as it went back the way they had come, to safety and a warm bed in the hotel over the border with the rest of Charamba’s group. Then he looked across at the view facing him. From this point, the ravine looked vast, and he was merely an atom on the face of the planet.

  He started climbing. The moon was already brightening, and soon it would be worse than a spotlight. It took him nearly an hour to reach the small clearing he had identified on the map earlier, and his fingernails were torn and the palms of his hands bleeding by the time he did. The roar of the falls was much louder now, filling the space and making his ears pulsate. He gathered his breath and kept going. The final few feet took him nearly a quarter of an hour to crawl across, because now he could see the sentry: a man in khaki fatigues, the muscles on his forearm tensed around the trigger of a sub-machine-gun.

  He was young, perhaps even thirty years younger. But Dark had the motivation, the element of surprise, and decades more training. He waited until his breathing had stilled, then silently removed the knife from its sheath and held it in his right hand, feeling its heft and accustoming himself to it. Then he crept towards the clearing until he was directly behind the sentry. He leaped forward and chopped at the back of the man’s neck with his left forearm. As the man fell, Dark moved his left hand to cover his mouth and nostrils, then thrust the blade into his kidneys. It caught on something, a bone or organ, and Dark wondered if he should draw it out and attack from the front, but then it sunk in and he was pulling it free and dragging the man back and downwards into the shadow of the bridge.

  He checked the man’s pulse. He was dead.

  The killing had taken less than five seconds.

  He left the man where he was and headed for the foot of the bridge. The steel girders stretched out above him, the latticework resembling the enormous web of a spider reaching up to the long thin stretch leaping across the sky. He could just make out the carriage in the centre, the exterior of it pale grey in the moonlight, the inside of it lit like a Halloween pumpkin. He reached out an arm and gripped one of the girders, then started making his way up.

  Chapter 73

  Campbell-Fraser wanted to murder Matthew Charamba. The summit was now coming into its eleventh hour and he still hadn’t uttered a word.

  He glanced across at the BOSS man standing by the door of the carriage. Campbell-Fraser had every confidence in the South Africans, but there was still a niggling concern in the back of his mind. Harmigan had called just before he’d left Inkomo to inform him that Johnny Weale was missing in action in Brussels and that his intelligence indicated that Paul Dark was now on his way to Africa – possibly to Salisbury, possibly to Lusaka. As a result, Harmigan had decided to fly out himself. The thought had worried Campbell-Fraser until he realised it would be useful. If Dark tried to head for Inkomo to rescue his family, it wasn’t a bad thing to have the Chief of British intelligence standing in his way.

  But now he was worried Dark might have tried something, and he just didn’t know about it. The BOSS agent had an intercom set attached to his belt, and Campbell-Fraser wondered whether he could take him aside in the next break and call Inkomo to check. Perhaps he could also figure out a way to put further pressure on Charamba – let him listen to his daughter and her son on the intercom, perhaps?

  Campbell-Fraser looked up as he registered the sound of breaking glass. One of the windows of the carriage was shattered and the curtain had blown into the room and draped itself over several of the African delegates. As Campbell-Fraser moved towards Smith, he saw the BOSS man in his peripheral vision moving to reach for his pistol. In the same instant, he saw that the figure tumbling through the glass was clutching something in his hand, a greyish-white object.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ he shouted at the BOSS agent. ‘Plastic explosive!’

  Chapter 74

  Rachel approached the sentry hut and asked to speak to Sandy Harmigan. One of the men stepped forward and looked her over. He took in her accent and the way she was dressed – far too many layers – and smiled.

  ‘And who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Rachel Gold.’

  He nodded and went into the hut. She waited, gathering her thoughts. There was no wind, and sweat was sticking to her blouse. Beyond the barrier she could see a constellation of corrugated-iron buildings in the midst of the forest plantation, with clusters of aerials extending from rooftops like metallic branches. The sentry emerged from the doorway and walked back towards her.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  Ten minutes later, she saw a tall figure walking towards her. It was Sandy, wearing his pale-grey linen suit and his straw hat. He looked like he was about to go punting.

  ‘You found it, then!’ he said. Now he reminded her of her father, greeting a guest for lunch. ‘Sorry about not being able to warn you in advance, my dear. By the time I decided to come out, you were already in the air from Belgium. I take it the flight was all fine?’

  She nodded, noting the lie, and followed him up to the barracks. He led her through a deserted, darkened operations room, past radio sets and walls covered in maps and pins. Rachel was reminded of the early days of Review Section. She’d come a long way since then.

  Sandy ushered her into an office that had a sign reading ‘MAJ. CAMPBELL-FRASER’ on the door. The air conditioning was on full blast. The room was sparsely decorated, with a filing cabinet, a small refrigerator and, positioned diagonally, a long desk. Seated in a low chair at the far end of it was a slim figure in a severe dress, wearing a pendant around her neck.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Harmigan,’ Rachel said.

  Chapter 75

  Car 49 was silent now. Each of the delegates had a wire leading into a small putty of plastic explosive attach
ed to his forearm. All the wires were connected, and led to the small device held in the hand of the man in the black mask. Matthew Charamba had disarmed the BOSS agent, and now held his pistol out in front of him, his jaw clenched.

  Ian Smith was the first to speak. ‘This is madness,’ he said. ‘If you kill me or anyone else in this room, it’ll set your cause back decades.’

  The man by the window drew back the mask to reveal his face. ‘I don’t intend to kill you, Prime Minister. My name is Paul Dark. You might not have heard of me, but some of your party have.’ He nodded at Campbell-Fraser, whom he recognised from Manning’s dossier.

  ‘I don’t know this man,’ said Campbell-Fraser. ‘I have no idea—’

  There was a burst of crackling static and a tinny voice echoed around the room. ‘De Bruyne – everything okay in there?’

  It was the BOSS agent’s walkie-talkie.

  ‘Answer it,’ said Dark. ‘Tell him all’s well.’ His eyes flicked to the detonator in his hand. ‘Make it convincing.’

  De Bruyne spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. ‘Everything’s fine here. Someone just dropped their glass.’ He signed off.

  Dark nodded. ‘Good.’ He turned his attention back to Smith. ‘Just so we know where we stand, Prime Minister: on Friday, a group of Major Campbell-Fraser’s men kidnapped Matthew Charamba’s daughter and grandson from Sweden, on your instructions. The idea was to manipulate Professor Charamba into appearing at this summit and arguing, without seeming to, in favour of your government’s position. With his popularity across the country, he’d be able to secure the votes needed to push through the resolution with the black population. But the result would be an indefinite extension of white rule. It was a clever little plan. Ingenious. But it had a flaw, didn’t it? Unfortunately, Campbell-Fraser’s men didn’t realise Hope Charamba’s boyfriend was not all he seemed.’

  ‘Dark?’ said Smith. ‘Wasn’t there a Soviet spy with that name?’

  ‘Yes. When Campbell-Fraser realised who I was – or perhaps when someone realised for him – he tried to have me killed by sending one of his thugs after me. And now here we all are.’ He looked around the carriage, and the frightened group of men staring at him.

  ‘I assure you I had no knowledge of this, Mr Dark,’ said Smith, his voice quiet but determined. ‘However, I’ve no doubt we can come to an amicable arrangement.’

  ‘We’d better,’ said Dark. ‘Whether you knew about it or not, the plot has failed. There isn’t going to be any resolution here except for our family being returned to us, along with a guarantee of safe passage into Zambia. Otherwise, we’ll release the tape recordings of the telephone calls Major Campbell-Fraser made to the professor here, and even with his voice disguised I think you’ll both find it rather difficult to explain to the world’s press. And we also, of course, have other options.’ He glanced down at his hand again.

  ‘But if anything happens to us, your family will die anyway,’ said Smith.

  ‘If you refuse to release them, it won’t matter, will it? The professor and I are in agreement about this.’ He nodded at Charamba, who nodded back.

  ‘Your threat is meaningless,’ said Smith. ‘If the press see all this commotion they’ll want to know what the hell’s going on. So the story will get out anyway.’

  ‘You will deal with that now. You and Professor Charamba will go out and make a brief statement together saying you’re very close to reaching agreement but that the pressure of everyone waiting for it is off-putting so both delegations have asked to continue the talks in complete privacy tonight. If they don’t leave at once, they’re in danger of scuppering a deal for the future of Rhodesia – that sort of thing. Dismiss the security detail for the same reason.’

  ‘They won’t like that,’ said Smith.

  ‘They won’t be able to do much about it – a request from the negotiators themselves, one of them the leader of Rhodesia. I’m sure you can make it convincing, Prime Minister. I presume there’s a no-fly zone over the area?’

  Smith nodded.

  ‘Stand that down, too, effective immediately. And if you try to give any sort of signal something is wrong, the professor will shoot you through the back.’ Dark glanced at the opposite end of the carriage, where a small clock hung from the wall. ‘You’ve got three minutes to clear everyone away and get back to your seat or I flick the switch on this thing.’

  Smith made to object, then changed his mind. Charamba walked towards the Zambian end of the carriage and gestured with the pistol in his hand. Smith stood and joined him.

  ‘After you,’ Charamba said grimly, and Smith opened the door. Charamba followed him out, and a few moments later the sound of Smith’s voice floated up to them.

  ‘Gentleman, we have a brief announcement to make . . .’

  Dark looked around the compartment until he found what he was looking for: there was a telephone on one of the side tables. He carefully handed the detonator to Phillip Gibo, then picked up the receiver: the connection was live. He gestured to Roy Campbell-Fraser to leave his chair and come to sit in the one next to him.

  ‘We need to make a call, Major. I want my family placed on a flight here at once.’

  Chapter 76

  Celia Harmigan returned Rachel’s greeting with a look of barely disguised loathing. Sandy strode across the room and settled into one of the other chairs, folding his legs. It was a swift, casual movement, as debonair as ever, but Rachel sensed an unfamiliar awkwardness.

  ‘We flew here in one of Celia’s planes,’ he said airily. ‘Considering the urgency, it seemed the best option. Celia insisted on coming along for the ride.’ He looked towards her and smiled forgivingly. ‘A little African adventure.’

  Rachel took in the false jollity, and Celia’s continued silence.

  ‘Has Dark turned up yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Sandy said, sitting up. ‘And with any luck, he won’t. In the meantime, the summit is continuing, and I’m using this spot as an observation post. I know the chap who runs the place.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said quietly. ‘From Malaya. I know.’

  He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’ve flown all this way, so let’s hear it.’ His voice was steely and hard now, the pretended air of friendliness suddenly gone.

  ‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘Us, of course.’ She glanced at Celia. ‘But also the two of you. Edmund is back as Chief.’

  Celia Harmigan looked up. ‘Christ, Sandy,’ she said. ‘Can’t you keep your little bitch under control for even a few hours?’

  Sandy Harmigan didn’t speak for a few seconds.

  ‘She’s bluffing,’ he said, finally.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, dear heart. I interviewed Proshin in Brussels – yes, against your orders – and he told me all about your little gang. “The Spear”.’ She turned to Celia, nodding at the pendant. ‘Lovely piece. It’s not silver, is it?’

  She had fallen silent again, and Rachel went on.

  ‘Platinum, I expect. But that’s not where the big business is, of course. The big business is chrome. Geoffrey Manning told me about it in vivid detail.’

  ‘Manning!’ said Sandy, and laughed. ‘Rachel, I’m disappointed, really. You shouldn’t believe a word that fool says. As for Proshin, I’ve no idea what he’s told you, but you should know by now that a potential defector will claim just about anything under the sun. Especially if he’s been ordered to by Moscow.’

  She walked towards the table and sat on the end of it. ‘You’re not understanding me. It’s over. It’s not just me who believed Manning – Edmund did, and so did the JIC. They met to discuss it all this afternoon.’ She looked down at her watch. ‘The PM should also have been informed by now.’

  ‘Well, well.’ Sandy placed his hands on the table and spread them out. ‘While the cat’s away, the mice do play. Look, I’ve no idea what you think you’re doing, but if anything you’ve just said is true you
’ve wasted a lot of people’s time and they won’t be very pleased when I get back to London and clear it all up. Manning’s a traitor to the Service, and Innes is mentally deranged – howling at the moon I’m a double agent, for God’s sake! As for Proshin, well, he’s clearly a Soviet plant spreading disinformation on Moscow’s orders. Some rather peculiar stuff, by the sound of it. How were you taken in by all this nonsense?’

  Rachel nodded – she’d expected him to try this line. ‘You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this,’ she said. ‘Even to me. You’re too late. Innes, Proshin and Manning each have credibility problems, but put them together and they’re a formidable team. Proshin had the documentary evidence about your group. Manning had the expertise to explain it. And Edmund had the ability to decipher it all, and the clout to make sure it was listened to. A shower, a suit and personal vindication can do wonders for a man’s persuasive talents. And he never accused you of being a double agent – at least, not for the Soviets. Because your allegiances lie elsewhere, don’t they?’

  ‘Sandy, I think I’ve had enough of this now,’ said Celia. ‘Can you get rid of her?’