Golden Eights

by Nigel Seed

  After the ceremony, the guests filed out of the church to climb aboard the motor coaches that were waiting to take them to the wedding reception. The surprisingly attractive school building and its well-manicured gardens were ideal for the wedding photographs and the guests took full advantage of this with personal cameras clicking away and getting in the way of the official photographer. Many of the younger guests retired to the bar and were finding that drinking on an empty stomach is a quick route to ‘happiness.’ The five friends in their dark blue dress uniforms waited until just before the meal before heading to the bar for a pre-lunch glass. As they left the bar a young man, obviously the worse for wear, wandered up to them.

  “My, what a band of heroes we have here,” he said, rocking gently.

  Geordie cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, may I present my brand new brother-in-law, Michael Lanton, the actor. Michael these are my friends and colleagues.”

  He was about to name them when Michael said, “Ooh and who is this one with more ribbons than a ladies hat stall?” and poked Raoul in the chest.

  Geordie cleared his throat again. “That is Lieutenant Commander Raoul Martinez of the US Navy.”

  Michael immediately started an over the top imitation of gay behavior and cooed, “Hello Sailor! You must let me climb your mast sometime.”

  Geordie looked embarrassed. “Michael, these are my friends.”

  “So what?” said Michael. “Are you and your military friends going to beat me up then? Just about all you’re good for.”

  He turned as he was tapped on the shoulder and just had time to register the approaching fist before it struck him painfully in the nose and knocked him to the floor. He looked up to see his sister in her wedding dress rubbing her knuckles.

  “What did you do that for?” he whined.

  “Two reasons,” Sam said. “First, nobody is going to make trouble at my wedding, least of all you and secondly you don’t know who you are dealing with here. I have just made sure you make it to the lunch table. Now come on.”

  She turned, grabbed Geordie by the arm and marched him into the dining room. Geordie looked over his shoulder at the group with his widest smile.

  Ivan turned to the others. “Now there is a young lady who will make a fine soldier’s wife.” He leaned down, pulled Michael to his feet and dusted him down. “Come on, son,” he said, “no harm done,” and led him through to the dining room as well.

  The meal finished with the usual toasts and speeches including a rather amusing one from the bride’s father. But then, Jim thought, as a professional actor a good speech should be expected. The tables were moved back and the dancing began. Never much of a dancer, Jim sat with his back against the wall cradling a very pleasant glass of wine. He was remembering his own wedding day. That had been a rush job in a Registry Office because his deployment to Iraq had been extended and had prevented them booking the church wedding his wife had dreamed about for years. Janet would have liked a day like this one. He roused himself from his daydream as an old man sat down heavily next to him. The old man leaned his walking stick against the table; put down his glass on the white table cloth and held out his hand.

  “James Lanton,” he said. “I’m Samantha’s grandfather, just about the only one in the family who isn’t a ruddy actor.” Jim shook his hand, surprised at the firmness of the grip from such an old person.

  “Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Jim Wilson a friend of the groom.”

  “Oh, I know who you are Major. Sam has spoken about you. You seem to have had some sort of adventure in America that she won’t talk about, but I respect that, I had to keep a secret for many years too.” Jim nodded and looked back to the dance floor. He was only half listening when the old man said, “Nice array of medal ribbons you have there. They never gave me a medal for my wartime service. None of us got one. We weren’t supposed to exist.”

  Jim nodded absently, then the penny dropped and his mind clicked back into gear. He sat up straighter and turned to the hunched old man by his side.

  “Which war was that, sir?” he said quietly.

  The old man looked at him through clear blue eyes.

  “The big one, ’39 to ’45. At my age which did you think it would be? Although I did get sent to the one in Korea as well, a bit later.”

  Jim looked at him. “Do you fancy some fresh air? I think we have something in common I would like to ask you about.”

  They stood and walked out into the garden with the old man leaning on Jim’s arm until they sat down on a bench at the edge of the lawn.

  “Now then,” Jim said, “I have been doing a little research into the war and I only know of one unit that was never acknowledged with a Defense Medal because they were so secret. Were you by any chance part of the Auxiliary Units?”

  Out of habit, the old man looked around before answering.

  “I was,” he said. “I was thirteen when it started. I had left school and was working as a Baker’s Boy delivering fresh bread on my bicycle. Looking back it was big heavy horrible thing, but I loved that bike. Anyway, because I had a reason to move about the place they made me a messenger between the teams in our area. I think we had more of the hidden bases than other places because it is such a great place to land parachute troops.”

  “So where were you then?”

  “I was delivering to villages on Salisbury Plain. There were three bases out there, including the special one. You must know the Plain from your time in the Army, big rolling open grasslands with woods and copses scattered about. Nice in the summer, but really cold in the winter when the wind is whistling.”

  Jim looked at him. “I know a little about the Auxiliary Units hidden bases but what do you mean by a ‘special one’?”

  The old man thought for a moment. “I don’t really know,” he said. “The other two would let me inside on a cold day for a cup of tea and to get warm, but the people at the special one never would. They would come and sit in the wood with me and give me a mug of something hot out of a thermos flask, but even if it was pouring down I was never allowed to even see where it was.”

  “Do you know why it was special?”

  The old man shook his head. “No. They never said although one of them did let slip that there were other special hides spread all over the country. But what they were for I never knew. They didn’t get many messages so I didn’t go up to them much.”

  Jim looked around. “This could be very important. Can you tell me where the special base was?”

  “After all this time I don’t see why not,” said Sam’s grandfather. “After all the story is out now, though still not well known. I used to meet them up by Stonehenge, but I’m not sure their base was actually there. The Druids picked a good place for their temple, you get a good view across the plain from there so maybe they were an observation unit, I really don’t know.”

  “Mr Lanton, you have no idea how valuable that information may be. But tell me, did you do your training at Coleshill?”

  The old man nodded slowly. “I did. They laid on a special training course for lads like me who were going to be passing messages. Looking back now it’s surprising what they taught boys of my age. They even issued us with combat knives in case we were caught and had a couple of ex-Shanghai police officers teaching us unarmed combat. They were the ones who had designed the knife too.”

  Jim looked at the old man. “I don’t suppose you are still in touch with any of the boys who were on that course are you?”

  The old man looked wistful. “I was,” he said, “but most of them are dead now of course. The only one I know who might still be alive is Cyril Davies. Last I heard his mind was going and they had him in a home near Derby. The rest are gone or I just lost touch.”

  “Is granddad boring you with his old stories?”

  Jim turned to see Michael walking towards them. The blood had stopped dripping from his nose, but his shirt was stained. The punch seemed to have sobered him up.

  “I have bee
n sent to rescue you and to tell you the cake is about to be cut.”

  “No rescue needed,’ Jim said. “I will bring Mr Lanton in. No need to hang around and miss your cake.” Michael shrugged and turned away. Jim waited until he was out of earshot and offered his arm to the old man for the walk back inside. “Mr Lanton,” he said, “you may just have done your country another service. If it works out I’ll let you know and if you remember anything else I really would appreciate you contacting me.”

  Chapter 10

  Once in Spain, the drive to Benidoleig took just over the hour and they arrived in the center of the village with no idea where to find the hotel they were staying in. Finding a small café with chairs and tables set out under the trees, they sat and ordered a coffee. The young waiter spoke no English, but they managed to ask him where they could find ‘El Cid’ where they were booked for two nights. The waiter indicated by waving his arms that they should drive another fifty meters to the traffic island and turn left. How far along that road they should drive was unclear, but it was a small village so they decided to give it a try.

  They headed out in the direction the waiter had waved. The village petered out after about 200 meters and they were back among the orange groves. The sign they were looking for appeared. They pulled the car into the small car park and shouldering their bags. They climbed the rough stone stairs and found themselves on a wide open terrace with a very inviting pool. They turned into a very comfortable bar area and checked in. They were taken up to their rooms by Charlie, the manager. Having emptied their bags the two met up in the bar to discuss their next move. Ivan brought over a couple of beers and sat down at the terrace table.

  “Well boss, do we just go and bang on this guy’s door or are we going to be more subtle?”

  Jim thought. “It might be a good idea to see if anyone around here knows this man and try and get an introduction. We want him to help us, not be upset and uncooperative. Maybe we could ask Charlie?” He stood and went to the bar.

  “Charlie, can we have a word?”

  She came round the end of the bar and joined them at the table.

  “How can I help?”

  Jim sat forward. “We have come to try and meet up with a man who lives in the village. He’s English so we wondered if you know him, Martin Crowther?”

  “Martin? Yes I know him; he’s a member of the bowls club that plays here.”

  “Is there any chance you could ask him to meet us? We don’t want to just turn up on his doorstep like a couple of bailiffs.”

  Charlie nodded. “I’ve probably got his number in the membership lists. Can I tell him what it’s all about?”

  “Could you tell him it’s a private matter, but important.”

  She nodded and went to make the call. In a few minutes she was back. “They are on their way out right now, but he says you are welcome to go round in the morning about ten o’clock.”

  Charlie went back behind the bar and the two men sat over their beer looking across the orange groves to the rugged mountains on the other side of the valley.

  Jim cleared his throat. “Ivan, my ex-wife lives somewhere around here and I would like to go and see her. Do you mind if I leave you here and take the car?”

  Ivan was surprised. “No problem, boss, there’s a game on this evening and they have cold beer and a good TV here.”

  “Thanks, it’s important to me.” Jim stood and went inside to get directions from Charlie. He came back and said “Ivan I don’t know how long this will take. I may be back for dinner or I may be late. I’ll see you for breakfast, whatever happens.”

  Following the directions Charlie had given him, he was soon driving under the archway that led to the hillside housing development known as Monte Pego. A quick visit to the bar at the foot of the hill got him further directions to the address he was looking for and he set off up the slope, following the steep winding road. In a few minutes he was outside a neat white villa with a wrought iron gate. He stepped out of the car and opened the gate, walked through the small garden and around the villa. As he came to the pool terrace he could see the end of a sun lounger and a pair of feet. He walked around the corner and looked down on the woman dozing in the shade.

  “Hello Janet,” he said.

  Janet started awake; she brushed her long blonde hair off her face. “Stupid man! You could have given me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jim sat down on the next lounger, looked into her clear green eyes and sighed. “You’re looking well. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been fine. What are you doing here?”

  Jim sat back. “Nice view,” he said, “how did you find this place?”

  Janet sat up. “Enough of the chat. You walk back into my life three years after the divorce without any warning. Now, why are you here?”

  Jim smiled. “Three years, two months and one week but who’s counting? Anyway, I have a job to do in the next valley. I was surprised to see Monte Pego was so near when I looked up where Benidoleig was on Google. I couldn’t very well ignore you when I was so close.”

  She looked at him. “I’m ready for a cup of tea. Would you like one?” They went inside and she put the kettle on.

  “So how long have you been here then?”

  “Just over two years. I moved here when the house sale went through in the UK.”

  He nodded. “I was surprised when you sold the house. I thought you liked it? Your lawyer worked hard enough to get it for you.”

  “And you didn’t try very hard to keep it.”

  He smiled. “I thought you deserved that much after putting up with me for eight years.”

  “Jim, it was never about putting up with you.” She turned to pour the boiling water on the tea bags. “It was always the separations and the uncertainty I couldn’t handle. It was good when you were home, but that was so seldom with all the deployments overseas.”

  “I know,” he said. “I always knew that was why. I never blamed you. I think that’s why I came today. I never actually said that it wasn’t your fault and I do understand. So how do you keep yourself occupied when you get bored with looking at that view off your terrace?”

  Janet paused, staring at his face “That was a really nice thing to say Jimmy, thank you.” She smiled. “Anyway, when I can tear myself away from the view I write children’s books. I’ve had three published and the fourth is going through the editing process now.”

  Jim smiled back. “I’m really pleased for you. I’m glad things are working for you.”

  They walked back out onto the terrace and looked down on the valley with its rice fields glistening in the sun and across to the glittering blue Mediterranean.

  Janet leaned against the metal railings around her pool and said, “So what have you been doing since ..?”

  Jim looked into the distant heat haze. “Oh, nothing very special, just more of the same.”

  He could not tell her about the attack on New York or about the search for the Secret Army.

  “So then,” she said, “what are you doing in Benidoleig?”

  “Nothing much, there’s just someone there who might be able to help with a project I am working on.”

  “That’s it? That’s all I get from you?”

  He looked at her sideways “Sorry. That’s all there is, or at least all I can tell you.”

  “So nothing really has changed?” she said. “Just for a moment I thought there was a chance you had turned human inside that khaki suit of yours. Well, it was nice to see you’re alright. Keep in touch.”

  Jim shook his head and smiled. “Well, as dismissals go that was short and sweet.” He put down his still full teacup and looked at her for a second or two. “Goodbye Janet, I hope the books go well.”

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Jim and Ivan left ‘El Cid’s’ and drove the short distance to the village following another set of Charlie’s directions. They took the left fork up the steep road towards the church. Then
pulled over and parked close to the village farmacia. They walked up the narrow street to the church and turned left, then turned right at the small restaurant on the corner and found the house they were looking for just after it. They knocked at an ornate wooden door that opened almost immediately.

  “Very prompt, gentlemen. Come on in.”

  They stepped through the door into the cool, dark hallway. “Mr Crowther? I’m Jim Wilson and this is Ivan Thomas, we have a couple of questions for you if we may.”

  “Come on in to the yard, the coffee has just brewed.” Crowther led them through the surprisingly large house to a small courtyard with a set of garden chairs and then brought a coffee pot and a trio of cups. “Right then, how can I help you?”

  “Mr Crowther, we are aware that you put a gold coin into an auction in New York. What we would like to know is where did you get that coin?”

  “How the hell did you know about that? The auction house agreed to keep my name out of it. That’s really irritating. Anyway what the hell has it got to do with you?”

  Jim put down his coffee cup. “I take it there is nothing illegal in your ownership of the coin? Nothing you would be unhappy about us finding out?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Only if you want it to be one. But we are very serious about discovering the history of this coin.”

  Crowther sat back in his chair and looked up at the square of sky above him. “Well you can just bugger off. It’s none of your business. Why should I tell you any damned thing?”

  Jim looked at Ivan then turned back to Crowther. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you give me no choice. You should be aware that coin belongs to somebody important and he wants it back rather urgently. So, even if it was your father who stole it, you are guilty of handling stolen goods at the very best. I guess trying to sell those stolen goods as your own would also be fraud. The secrecy you have insisted on speaks volumes about your knowing that this is illegal. Unless you want to explain yourself to the Guardia Civil I suggest you cooperate.”