by Ken Lussey
‘Come on, Bob. You should know as well as I do that it’s not as simple as that. Telling the officers involved to keep quiet is one thing. By then they’d already filled in some of the paperwork they must complete when bringing suspects in. I’d have been on their backs if they hadn’t. I can’t simply tell them the whole thing’s gone away and I’ve released the men.’
‘I’m not well placed to argue this one with you, Jack, because I know no more than you about what’s really going on. But I do get the feeling that while MI5 would prefer not to make ripples, they’d also be prepared, if necessary, to have their director ring your chief constable.’
‘In other words, although you’re making it sound like you’re saying “please”, what you’re really saying is that I’ve got no choice?’
‘I’m sorry, Jack. As I read things, that’s exactly right.’
‘Alright then,’ said Callaghan. ‘But I am attaching three conditions to this, and I want your personal agreement to them all.’
‘What are they?’ asked Bob.
‘The first is that you get to the bottom of what is going on and pass on my concern about these people wandering around my patch to MI5. The second is that you take personal responsibility for these two men until you can hand them over to someone senior in MI5. And the third is that at some time soon you come over to stay with Flora and I and, over a glass or two of whisky, you tell me what’s behind all this.’
‘I accept,’ said Bob. ‘Now where do I find Smith and Thompson?’
Chapter Four
The man looked up from the bed as the cell door swung open.
‘Are you Arthur Thompson?’ asked Bob. The man nodded. ‘Good. I’m Group Captain Sutherland and I’m here at the request of Monique Dubois. I’m the deputy head of MI11. You and Geoffrey Smith are being released by the police into my custody. For the benefit of the lieutenant here, can you confirm that you are happy to accept that?’
‘Yes, of course, sir.’ The man stood up. ‘I’m short of things like shoelaces and my belt and tie.’
‘Those will be returned at the custody desk,’ said Callaghan.
‘Madame Dubois was guarded on the telephone,’ said Bob, ‘but is there anything I need to know about Geoffrey Smith before we release him? He’s not going to try to do a runner on me, is he?’
‘No, sir. He’s a bit wild when women or champagne are involved, but he’s otherwise fairly well house-trained.’
‘Just so long as you know that the rest of your career in the Security Service depends on it,’ said Bob.
Geoffrey Smith’s cell was several removed from Arthur Thompson’s. The door swung open to reveal a tall and extremely thin man with a pencil moustache who looked in his early thirties. He stood up, almost to attention, when Bob asked him to confirm his name, and seemed content to follow the lead taken by Arthur Thompson as their few belongings were returned to them.
Very little was said in the car as they made their way cautiously through darkened streets while avoiding poorly lit traffic.
The pilot held open the door as the four men climbed into the cabin of the Avro Anson utility aircraft. Bob again took the seat next to the pilot’s, in the cockpit, after telling Smith and Thompson they were taking a short flight to Turnhouse.
As the aircraft climbed away from the runway, Lieutenant Dixon came to the front of the passenger cabin. ‘I’m not sure how you are going to take this, sir, but there’s a request from the gentlemen in the back to fly over the Hillington factory when we turn to head east, so they can see what it looks like from the air at night.’
‘Can you pass back a simple refusal, Michael? You can push your luck too far, and I think that would be doing so. Flight sergeant, would you mind turning to the right and following the line of the River Clyde when we head east? I want to stay well clear of the factory to the south of the airfield.’
‘Thanks, Bob, I’m very grateful.’
Bob had telephoned Monique from the duty officer’s room at RAF Turnhouse. ‘That’s no problem. There are a few strings attached, however.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps I should have made the connection when you mentioned the name, but it turned out that Lieutenant Callaghan and I were close colleagues before the war, and ten years or so ago it looked for a while like we might even become brothers-in-law.’
‘He was the brother of the lady who died in Clydebank?’
Bob had guessed that Monique would remember the story he had reluctantly told over dinner in Caithness the previous month. ‘Yes. He attached a number of conditions to his release of your two men into my custody.’
‘He can’t do that!’
‘Well he did, and more to the point, I accepted them. The most significant was that I took personal responsibility for Smith and Thompson until I could hand them over to someone I trust in MI5.’
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then Monique said, in a very neutral tone, ‘I see.’
‘The problem I have is that the only person I know well enough in MI5 to pass on this responsibility to is you, Monique.’
‘Bob, this sounds a little as if you are proposing to hold my people hostage against my coming to Scotland.’
‘Not at all, Monique, I’d be equally happy to fly down to London with them and hand them over there.’
‘Maybe I was wrong,’ said Monique. ‘Maybe you are Machiavellian enough to fit right in to this unpleasant little world of ours.’
‘Is that a “yes”?’
Monique sighed, slightly theatrically, on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll make my way up to Edinburgh tomorrow. I’ll contact you when I’ve arrived, and we can take things from there. Where are you keeping Thompson and Smith?’
‘They are out of harm’s way in the officers’ mess accommodation at RAF Turnhouse. Thompson has assured me that Smith won’t make a break for it, but I’ve got them in a twin room just in case.’
‘That sounds reasonable,’ said Monique.
‘There is something else you can help me with.’
‘What’s that, Bob?’
‘Lieutenant Callaghan was not happy that your people were mounting some sort of operation on his patch without telling him. I have some sympathy. I want you to talk to Arthur Thompson and tell him that he can brief me on why he and Geoffrey Smith were taking such a close interest in one of the most strategically important factories in Scotland. I also want you to tell him that he can brief me on Geoffrey Smith, who I get the feeling is rather more than he appears.’
‘That’s a very big request, Bob.’
‘I know it is. But on Monday I became deputy head of the branch of military intelligence that’s responsible for military security. Given what is manufactured in that factory, I think I can legitimately claim that military security has an interest, don’t you?’
There was a long pause, possibly while Monique consulted someone else present at her end of the conversation as she held her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Very well, Bob, we agree. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll fill you in on the background myself.’
‘Excellent. See you tomorrow, Monique.’
‘How do you feel about getting drunk for your country, Michael?’
Lieutenant Dixon shrugged. ‘I can think of worse things to have to do for my country, sir. What did you have in mind?’
They were standing at the bar in the officers’ mess at RAF Turnhouse. Smith and Thompson had been settled into a twin room on the upper floor of the building and, as added security, Lieutenant Dixon had taken the room next to theirs. Bob also had a room in the building, though not in the same wing. ‘Madame Dubois from MI5 is travelling to Edinburgh tomorrow to take our two friends off our hands. She has promised me a full account of what has been, and presumably still is, going on. She has also agreed to tell me more about Geoffrey Smith, who I
find rather intriguing.’
‘So where does the alcohol come in, sir?’
‘Smith and Thompson know we are with MI11 and so are, up to a point at least, on the same side as them. Being locked up in a police cell this afternoon couldn’t have been a very pleasant experience, and I’m wondering if Smith might be the sort of man to feel the need to celebrate being released. It seems to me that we have what’s left of the evening to see if we can persuade him to divulge anything that might be of value which I can use to cross-check with what Madame Dubois tells me.’
‘Don’t you trust her, sir?’ asked Dixon. ‘I seem to recall you telling Lieutenant Callaghan that you did.’
‘She works for the Security Service, Michael, so I can’t afford to trust her unquestioningly at a professional level. Look, you know the area better than I do. Can you think of anywhere with a bit of atmosphere nearby that we can go? Ideally somewhere that doesn’t close too early and where we can get a bite to eat as well as a drink.’ He looked around the bar. ‘Here would be ideal, geographically, but it’s got no atmosphere, and I get the feeling that everyone’s a bit reluctant to let their guard down in the presence of a group captain.’
‘I stay in the officers’ accommodation at HMS Lochinvar, sir. It’s on the river, west of the Forth Bridge at a place called Port Edgar, and very convenient for Craigiehall. It’s used as a training depot for the Royal Naval Patrol Service and the officers’ wardroom has developed a bit of a reputation for enthusiastic celebration. I normally steer clear, but it might be just what you are looking for. And I’ve got an account, so there’s no question of needing to find the cash. And, with all due respect, sir, nobody there is going to care how senior you are when you are wearing that colour uniform.’
Bob smiled. ‘That sounds ideal. Let’s get a car and duty driver from Craigiehall to take us to Port Edgar. Could you arrange that and round up the jailbirds?’
The contrast between the mess bar at RAF Turnhouse and the officers’ wardroom at HMS Lochinvar was as marked as Lieutenant Dixon had forecast. The night was far from young, and Bob had the impression that some of those present had been drinking for quite some time. Noise levels were high, and games of darts and snooker were in full swing. The noisiest area was a corner occupied by a group of Women’s Royal Naval Service officers, who seemed particularly adept at repelling advances by male colleagues.
Lieutenant Dixon managed to stake a claim to another corner alcove and the four settled in. Once they’d eaten it became clear that Geoffrey Smith was a champagne and cigar man who saw it as his duty to take the lead in ensuring his table’s consumption did not lag behind the rest of the wardroom. Bob had seldom seen anyone put away expensive drink, however cheap it was as champagne went, quite so quickly.
Arthur Thompson, on the other hand, had perfected the art of appearing to drink without really doing so and seemed content to chain-smoke cigarettes. Bob drank modestly and saw that Lieutenant Dixon was doing the same. As the conversation flowed across pre-war English football, the contrast between Scotland and London and, with Geoffrey Smith taking a strong lead, the relative merits of women in uniform and civilians, Bob realised that a clear pattern was emerging. While Smith was uninhibited, Thompson saw himself as the protector, and an important part of his role tonight was to ensure that Smith said nothing that might be of use to Bob.
They were on their fourth bottle of champagne and Bob was thinking of calling it a night when a chance comment by Lieutenant Dixon brought an unexpected breakthrough. ‘I suppose that getting out of those cells must feel like a good reason for a celebration,’ he said to Smith.
‘Not really,’ said Smith. ‘If you’d been in as many prisons as I have, you’d realise that a few hours in Renfrew Police Station is something of a rest cure.’
‘Geoffrey, I’m really not sure this is the time or place for this,’ said Arthur Thompson.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Arthur. I’m sure the group captain is a man of the world.’
‘What do you mean, Geoffrey?’ asked Bob.
‘Well, if after the war there’s a market for a book on the prisons of Europe, then I’m your man to write it. I’ve seen a good few of them.’
‘How did you manage that?’ asked Bob. ‘Michael, can you get us another bottle of champagne if they’re still serving?’
Thompson turned to Bob. ‘Sir, I must protest. You are taking advantage of the amount Geoffrey has drunk.’
‘Are you suggesting I can’t hold my drink, Arthur?’ said Smith, as Lieutenant Dixon went to the bar. ‘One of the things the Abwehr used to do was get me drunk to see if I told them a consistent story. I’m not going to tell the group captain here anything I don’t want him to know. You see, Group Captain, before the war I was a bit of a lad.’
‘That’s an interesting way of putting it,’ said Bob. He watched Thompson resign himself to Smith’s boasting.
‘In 1931 I joined the army, the Coldstream Guards, but got bored polishing buttons and boots and guarding Buckingham Palace. I ran off with a girl I met in Soho, but the army caught up with me and locked me up in the glasshouse in Aldershot.’
‘So that was your first time in prison?’ asked Bob.
‘Yes. After I got out I earned a reputation as a safe cracker. Learning a little about explosives in the army had its benefits, you see. I got caught a few times, and spent a few more spells in jail, but life was pretty good when I wasn’t in jail. Plenty of money and a never-ending queue of beautiful women. After a while things got a bit too hot. It came to a head after I was arrested here in Edinburgh and was charged with blowing up the safe in the Edinburgh Co-operative Society headquarters. For some daft reason they let me out on bail and I headed for Jersey.’
‘What happened there?’
‘By this time my photo had been on the front page of just too many newspapers. I was having dinner in a hotel with a girlfriend when I spotted the police coming for me through the two doors into the dining room. I smashed the front window with a chair and escaped. The problem was that I had no money with me, so that night I went and had a good time at a night club, then robbed the safe in the office. The police turned up and caught me in the act.’
‘That was unlucky,’ said Bob.
‘Not really,’ said Smith. ‘Given the list of jobs I was wanted for in England and Scotland, I’d have been lucky to get away with 15 years in prison if I’d been taken back to the mainland. But because I got caught doing a job on Jersey, they insisted on trying me there, and I was given a two-year stretch.’
Bob had been working out the chronology in his head. ‘What happened when Jersey was invaded?’
‘The Germans took over the running of the prison, though not much really changed, not until food began to be a wider problem for the island, anyway.’
‘How did you get out?’ asked Bob.
‘I wrote a letter in German offering my services to the Abwehr as a spy.’
‘And they simply said how nice that would be, and let you out?’
‘Far from it, Group Captain. They took an awful lot of convincing that I was genuine.’
‘And were you?’
‘Ah, the trick question, Group Captain, and very well played. No, obviously I wasn’t genuine, or I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you now. But after a while the Germans came to believe I was. Not before I spent rather longer than I care to recall in Fort de Romainville, a sort of half-way house to the concentration camps, on the edge of Paris. The place was a mixed sex prison so had its compensations, but if ever I do write that book I was talking about, Fort de Romainville will feature as the very worst prison I’ve been locked up in.’
‘But they let you out of there, too?’
‘They did. Then they trained me up on Morse code and on the use of larger quantities of explosives than would ever have been needed to blow a safe. And then, at the end of last month, they flew me in a Ju
nkers bomber from Norway to Scotland and I landed by parachute in a field. I immediately contacted the police and MI5 and offered them my services as a double agent.’
‘I remember the Edinburgh Co-operative Society robbery,’ said Bob. ‘I was in the police in Glasgow at the time. Your real name is Stanley Harrison, isn’t it?’
Arthur Thompson raised his hands, as if in surrender. ‘Sir, would you mind leaving things there? From what you told me earlier, Madame Dubois will be here tomorrow, and I am sure she will fill in the gaps for you.’
‘That’s fair enough, Arthur, but I would like to know what the interest is in Hillington.’
‘I’m usually just called Stan Harrison, Group Captain. I’m pleased my fame reached as far as Glasgow, though it’s perhaps as well the police in Renfrew didn’t make the connection earlier today. We might as well tell him the rest, Arthur, it won’t take long.’
‘Alright, but can we all stick with the name “Geoffrey Smith”, please?’
‘You see, Group Captain,’ continued Geoffrey Smith, ‘the main reason I was sent to Scotland by the Abwehr was to sabotage the Merlin engine factory at Hillington. When I return to Germany, which is the plan at present, I will need to have a faultless and extremely detailed cover story worked out, and that was why we were at the factory today.’
It fell to Lieutenant Dixon to ask the obvious question. ‘But you’re not actually going to sabotage the factory?’
It was Arthur Thompson who answered. ‘No, though I believe steps are going to be taken to make the Germans think that it has been sabotaged. Then Geoffrey will return to Germany as a hero.’ Thompson looked at Bob. ‘Before you ask, sir, neither Geoffrey nor I have any idea how the deception will take place. We just need to make sure that Geoffrey’s story matches what the Germans think they know, to the minutest detail.’
Geoffrey Smith staggered slightly as he stood up and headed for the toilets. ‘I was beginning to think that the man would never get drunk,’ said Bob.
