by Sam Nash
Tipping the envelop, I allowed the contents to spill out onto the table. Two tiny magnetic tapes and a hand-held Dictaphone clattered onto my tray. I glanced up and around me, aware of the noise it made, wondering who might be observing my movements. There was no one, not even a surveillance camera nearby.
There was a label on the case of the first tape which said: Copy – hide somewhere safe. The second tape had no such instruction. My actions unsteady, I fumbled with the Dictaphone and inserted the second tape. Adjusting the volume dial at the side of the small machine, I held the speaker close to my face and pressed play.
It was music to my ears. All at once I recognised the voices, the occasion, the outcome, and I let out a long cathartic sigh. Jenkins had indeed saved both me and my family. He had the forethought to do what I had not. A slip of paper peeked out from the envelope. It read;
I have made an appointment for you to see AK at ten o’clock this morning. I shall meet you at the MoD reception. Always at your service – Jenkins.
I looked heavenward and thanked the stars. Then, I planned my approach over a Danish pastry and two cups of English Breakfast.
The newspaper made for grim reading. Saddam’s troops cut a direct pathway through Kuwait City to the Royal residence at Dasman Palace. The Emir of Kuwait managed to flee into the Saudi Desert, but a younger relative of his was shot. As a further insult, military personnel mutilated his body with a tank. Air raids continued throughout the night, and eased off early this morning. Still no decision from allied forces regarding action. As I suspected, US and UK politicians are too busy feathering their own caps to organise counter measures.
I thought of my forthcoming meeting with Knight. With any luck, he will be too preoccupied to outwit my demands. I gathered my belongings and followed the signs to the underground. My route took me south bound on the Northern Line to Bank. A brief shuffled walk, pressed among strangers and tourists, redirected me to the Central Line for a couple of stops. I disembarked at Chancery Lane, and rode the escalators to the surface.
With a clear objective ruminating at the back of my mind, I strode out into the sunshine with a new purpose. To achieve the same level of protection and obscurity that my grandmother enjoyed.
Crossing the road, I wove my way between the multitude of Queen’s Council barrister and solicitor’s chambers, in the heart of London’s law quarter. A public walkway afforded me a shortcut through hidden gardens and executive offices, joining up with Chancery Lane adjacent to the London Silver Vaults. From there, I marched with my head held high, south to Fleet Street.
At any other time, I would have lingered in this historic area, exploring the rich layers of legend surrounding Temple Church. It seemed especially poignant, given my recent brush with the brethren to the Templar Knights - the Knights of Malta. With no time to waste, I turned left and hurried to the familiar Georgian frontage of Boare’s Bank.
The look of recognition from the woman at reception, said it all. My immutable stare, sent her scurrying to find Mr Boare, Director and CEO.
“We were not expecting your return so soon, Dr Lawrence.” Mr Boare exclaimed, his hand extended in greeting. “Nevertheless, it is good to see you.”
“My apologies for arriving unannounced, yet again.” I shook the man’s hand.
“Not at all. How may we help you?”
I explained my need for a secure, but temporary place with which to deposit items of value, while I attended a meeting nearby. Mr Boare deputised his assistant to lead me back to Phebe’s bank box in the basement.
Cosseted in the private viewing room, I disgorged the tin box, rummaged for the wrapped brooch, the fob watch and magnetic tape from my bag, and placed them inside the locker. As an afterthought, I pulled the fake passport out of a pocket and tucked that in too. All being well, I could return later to collect them, after I have arranged a more suitable long term hiding place.
I thanked Boare’s colleagues, and left. Lady Luck was smiling down along with the sun. I hailed a taxi right outside the bank, and jumped inside. There was an oppressive heat cooking my neck and shoulders through the rear windscreen. As we drove away, a cool funnel of wind filtered through the open windows to freshen my reddening face.
The taxi zipped along a bus lane, retracing my walk from Trafalgar Square. I tried to recall how many days had passed since my first meeting with the Minister for Defence. So much had occurred; I barely knew what day it was. I just needed to hold it all together long enough for this final encounter. A chess game with a conniving tactician; my liberty as the prize.
Leaning forward in my seat, I could just make out Nelson’s Column as the cab approached the end of The Strand. My musings on his meteoric rise in status now seemed trite. No one will ever know his full story – the unedited version. He may have been a pawn in a much larger game for the majority of his life, until such a time when he too, could take back the reins of control.
We turned left at the roundabout on to Whitehall, narrowly avoiding collision with a double decker. My pulse quickened as the ugly MoD building came into view; a vast, limestone barrack of a place, which occupied more prime real estate than the Queen. I wondered if I would have admired its sleek lines, had I mustered more respect for the man in charge.
The taxi driver dropped me off opposite the entrance to Downing Street. I peeled off a note from David’s money roll and passed it through the window. For a brief minute, my legs wobbled beneath me. I thought of David, winding through the lanes of a remote part of Wales in pursuit of his family. The opposition he might face from the gentleman friend of Lily’s. The antagonism from the people he most loved in the world. What if Knight had issued orders to seize my little darling before David could reach her?
With renewed hatred stinging inside my chest, I thumped open the heavy swing doors of the main entrance, and decanted the content of my pockets into a plastic tray. The guards on the security desk shoved my travel bag and belongings through a machine, while I walked through a doorway which scanned my body for hidden weapons.
Through the automatic doors, the thin man waited for me. I gathered my things up and hurried to meet him. Jenkins stood, with his hands linked together behind his back. I rushed to his side, offering my hand to shake. He delivered a curt and dismissive nod in response, immediately turning on his heels.
“If you will follow me, my lord…” Jenkins announced, his tone clipped and formal. We passed through more doors, and walked in silence to the same staircase Knight had led me to - into the bowels of the building. At the mid-point of the tunnel between the MoD building and the old War Offices, Jenkins stopped.
“Forgive me, my lord, Dr. Lawrence. Eyes and ears everywhere.” He whispered, his head on a swivel, monitoring our situation.
“Nothing to forgive. I should have been more circumspect. I have to ask though… why place yourself in such danger in order to preserve my family and me? If Knight found out what you have done, there would be no trial for treason, no mercy. You understand the consequences if you were discovered?”
“Believe me, Dr. Lawrence, I am fully aware of AK’s tactics and his temper. I do this freely, and for you alone.”
“But why?” I persisted, dropping my echoing voice to a mere whisper.
Jenkins unclasped his hands and folded the lapel of his jacket over. Pinned on the underside of fabric was a tiny replica of Phebe’s brooch - the golden symbol of lambda encircled by an orbiting globe. “Your grandmother was one of the kindest and most generous people my family ever had the grace to know. She was more than a patron to my relatives. She provided wisdom and care that has ensured the future of every Jenkins for the rest of our days and beyond. It is my honour to provide what protection I can.”
I was dumb-founded. What intricate plans Phebe had made throughout the decades of her life. My grandmother has given me a safety net like no other; one that could eradicate the bonds of entrapment for all my kin.
“I cannot thank you enough
for this, Mr Jenkins.” I stammered. Footsteps of an approaching member of staff silenced us. We resumed our steady pace through the cool tunnel, and began the climb into the War Offices. I sneaked a sideways glance at my co-conspirator. His young years seemed at odds with his mature sensibilities. He barely looked old enough to grow a full beard, yet the ease with which he juggles the affairs of one of the most powerful men in Britain is astounding. “Is my granddaughter…”
“Safe, at least for now. You have my numbers should you ever need my service again, but please, do not betray our connection.” He muttered, as we crossed the central hall towards Knight’s temporary office. He knocked and entered simultaneously, announcing to the occupant that Lord Sedgewell had arrived. Swinging the door open, Jenkins made a quick, courteous dip of the head towards me, accompanied with a miniscule flick of the eyebrows. I guessed these gestures to mean, you are welcome, and – go get him.
Knight remained seated behind his enormous antique desk, papers strewn across the leather inlaid panel. A telephone receiver was pressed against his ear, while he sported an exaggerated look of focus. He waved me closer and pointed to the chair opposite him. Another old and impolite ruse to display dominance. I played along.
I sat. I waited. I watched. From the periodic hmms and uhuhs, I surmised that the line was in fact vacant. More charades to exert his appearance of control. And this is the man to direct our forces in the Gulf? Our military personnel are in the hands of a buffoon. I folded my arms across my chest. He spotted my annoyance, bellowed a command down the empty telephone line, and stood up.
“Well, well.” He yanked his straining waistband up to meet his middle aged paunch, tucking the escaped shirt tails into his trousers. “Did you enjoy your little jaunt around Europe, my lord?” Knight to C6.
The moment for genial greeting had passed. I remained seated, and glared at him. Pawn to C4.
“Were the shrimp cocktails as delicious as they looked, or did the Black Pope keep them all to himself?” He encircled me, his heavy steps cushioned by the Axminster rug. Knight to D4. “I’m surprised you didn’t take the Bentley. What was it… don’t tell me… you didn’t like the colour?”
I stayed quite still, and wholly unnerved. When I failed to respond, his face changed from amusement, to anger.
“What? You think I don’t know every pathetic detail in your life? Although I must give you credit over David. I didn’t think he had the balls to defy orders and leave his mission, but no matter. He is back in our sights again now, along with little Mary. I can see why she is the apple of your eye, my lord. Such potential, such energy.”
My mind flitted to all the medieval forms of torture that I would gladly inflict on the oleaginous creature standing before me, should he ever harm a hair on Mary’s head. It took a great deal of self-control, but still I remained outwardly unrattled and mute. He took my silence for defeat. A less than welcome homecoming, allowing him a glorious moment to apply the shackles.
“Still, what is done, is done.” A return to his bemused state, he sauntered back to his chair and sat down. “Are you ready to do some serious work now?”
I paused just long enough to register that self-satisfied grin. It will forever be frozen in my memory, as a reminder of the low cunning and devious gambits employed within the echelons of power. Unfolding my arms, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Dictaphone. Adjusting the volume, I pressed play.
“No, sir. We have not addressed the experimental vaccines.” There was a brief pause in which the sound of rustling paper interrupts my speech patterns, and then; “it appears that two coded inoculations are untested for human safety. I was not given any details of their constituents, nor the diseases for which they are purported to protect against.”
Another halt in my delivery. A few background murmurs of discontent filtered through before my voice rang out once more. “Sir, need I remind you of the Nuremberg Code, research principles and ethics on human experimentation?”
The general’s voice bellowed out. “Why you, obstreperous upstart! How dare you…”
“Actually general, he is right.” It was the lady lawyer, her precise intonation unmistakable. “We are vulnerable. Without the definitive lawful sanction on the products, we leave ourselves open to legal action further down the line.”
I looked at Knight’s horrified expression. As his own words resounded back to him, his eyes fell closed. “Then it remains classified. All medics will be instructed not to document inoculations or which of the coded vaccines are administered. They cannot bring legal action if there is no record of it occurring.”
I switched the Dictaphone off. Checkmate.
Returning the small device to my travel bag, I then smoothed the wrinkles in my jacket and removed a folded note from my inside pocket. I cleared my throat.
“This is what will happen now. Your assistant out there, will find David a cushy desk job within the organisation and a damn good pension. His record will be expunged and there will be no reprimands or charges. Furthermore, you will deal with the local police in Le Havre, London and in Cumbria. They were, after all, the result of your meddling. I’m sure you can wave the old MI6 flag at them in explanation.
“Secondly, you will offer the Jesuits and the Americans a seat at the table. Top consultancy positions will be created at high level defence policy committees, and a promise of inclusion as your global surveillance network develops and expands.” I stopped and looked at his blanched face. He inhaled, as though he were about to protest, but I continued before he could speak.
“In return, you will negotiate a moratorium on stalking my family. We are off limits to all concerned parties, from now and for ever more. Is that clear?”
Knight hesitated. I could see he was plumbing the depths of his intelligence for a counter attack.
I squinted at him. “You understand that I have many copies of this tape, distributed to solicitors up and down the country with instructions to release it to the press should anything happen to me or any of my family. I also have the raw evidence in digital form, from Porton Down.
“You will comply with my demands, or I will also release files supporting your involvement in the Falklands Crisis. Who would have thought that being Under Secretary for the Environment at that time, could be so lucrative?” This was a stretch, admittedly, but he had no way of disproving my claim, other than to call my bluff. I only had the accounts of his hidden land deals and offshore oil surveys from Phebe’s journal to guide me.
This snippet of a threat had the desired effect. Knight’s eyes widened in incredulity. A vein throbbed in his bullish neck. I pressed my luck.
“I think I will take that book containing my family tree too. Have your assistant fetch it for me. I have a train to catch.” I stood up and turned to leave. Knight fumed, his short breaths whistling through the bushy hairs in his nose. I heard a buzzing noise, as Knight pressed a button to summon Jenkins from the adjoining office.
I slammed Knight’s office door behind me, without so much as a by your leave. Jenkins was waiting for me in the corridor, carrying the large leather tome of my forefathers.
“You heard what was said?” I asked, keeping my voice low and tempered.
“I did. I left the intercom open. There is a vacant technical position in government patents that is perfect for David. I will leave it a day or two for AK to simmer down before I suggest it to him.”
We wandered across the marble foyer towards the tunnel steps. Here, Jenkins bid me farewell with his customary curt nod, and handed me over to a uniformed guard to escort me back to the MoD building.
Despite the dragging weight of the large book, my travel bag and my exhausted bones, I skipped up the steps with a vigour I have not felt since my thirties. The uncertainty and torment of the last couple of weeks, wreaked havoc on my family. Nothing would ever be the same again. As Phebe stated in her letter to me, this issue could be eased, but not erased. I may have Knight on the run now
, but for how long will these terms of blackmail hold? Is it enough to keep Mary below their radar? What will happen when the cabinet is reshuffled or a general election puts them out of power? I fear I may need the assistance of Jenkins more than I care to admit.
I left the MoD feeling sickeningly grubby. I had lowered myself to play by their rules. Compromised my ethics in every conceivable way. Lives were lost. They may not have been innocent, but all life is precious. I made a vow to preserve it at all cost. My principles did not hold up when faced with danger, particularly when those I love are under threat.
Everything I set out to achieve at Porton Down came to nothing. The troops in the Gulf will be subjected to that cocktail of noxious chemicals, despite my efforts, rendering my vision a foregone conclusion. Their pain and suffering will last a lifetime, and all I did was to use their plight as leverage. This version of me is abhorrent. If this is the man I have become, I am ashamed of myself.
From the air-conditioned corridors of power, I exited into the humidity of the London smog and traffic fumes. Overcome with relief and nausea, I dashed through the car park towards the Embankment, and steadied myself against the trunk of a tree. Here at least, a little breeze alleviated the sickness.
I sat on a bench, watching the barges and tourist boats navigate the Thames currents. The reflected light from the ripples was hypnotic. It reminded me of the glinting facets of the black jewel in Phebe’s brooch. I still had to collect those items from Boare’s Bank before heading home. Heaven knows where I can best keep them safe. That will require a great deal of thought and planning to achieve. Not to mention how best to show my gratitude to those steadfast and loyal friends of my grandmother.
With a cup of strong tea from a street vendor clutched in my free hand, I began my trek to the Westminster tube station, on my weary route home.
