Albatross (17 page)

He found the square where the unmarked bus was parked. He watched the first batch of prisoners troop out and separate into twos or threes and spend an hour in the town before they reassembled. There were three weekly shifts bringing the men into Shropwith, and the third group included Peter Harrington. Lomax followed him, taking every care not to be seen by the man who was walking with him. He was dressed in casual sweater and jeans, but everything about his walk and build and the proprietary way he steered Harrington towards the shops marked him as a prison officer. Lomax timed their arrival and departure.

After a few days he moved from the motel into a little guest house, explaining that he was a salesman, and left after two nights. He booked into the main hotel in the town, and put a call through to Davina.

‘I've got the timetable,' he said. ‘It's going to be easier than I thought.'

‘Thank God for that.' Her voice sounded anxious. ‘Can you talk about it?'

‘Not really,' he answered. ‘I just wanted you to know there won't be any heavy stuff, so you needn't worry. How are you, sweetheart? Missing me?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I am. When are you coming back?'

‘At the end of the week. I just want to make sure I've got the pattern right. What have you been doing with yourself?'

‘Working,' Davina answered. ‘Earning Tony's salary for the first time.'

There was a pause and then Lomax said, ‘You won't have to go on doing that for much longer anyway. I'll see you on Friday. God bless, darling.'

Davina hung up as the line cleared. No heavy stuff. She felt so relieved when he said that. He never exaggerated and he never lied. The most truthful man she had ever met, Davina thought, and smiled. Not tactful either. She did miss him; the little flat was lonely and the evenings dragged without him. She had prepared their tiny spare bedroom. The bed was made up, ready for Peter Harrington. The last place the police would look for him would be in an SIS flat.

She closed the door as the phone rang again. It was Humphrey Grant. He sounded brisk and unfriendly. ‘I'd like to see you and Major Lomax,' he said.

‘What for?' Davina countered. Lomax had said he'd be back by Saturday. She had to stall Grant for the rest of the week.

‘We've got a problem,' Grant said. ‘Harrington.'

‘That's not our problem any more,' she answered. ‘I told you, I've pulled out.'

‘I know.' He sounded angry. ‘I know that's what you've done. But as a result of your damned recommendation, he's been moved to an open prison, and the Chief wants to know why. You and Major Lomax are going to do some explaining.'

‘It's nothing to do with Colin,' she countered. ‘You know that.'

‘He went with you the last time you saw Harrington,' Grant snapped back. ‘Without authorization. So he can come and explain that too.'

‘What you're saying is the Chief wants to see me,' Davina said. ‘Why doesn't he ring me up himself?'

‘Because the whole damned thing has blown up in my face,' Humphrey's voice rose. ‘Your brother-in-law has been stirring up trouble. I'll say this on my own account: you've handled the whole thing disgracefully badly!'

‘Anything else before I ring off?' she asked.

‘Yes. Get in touch with the Chief. He wants a meeting and I'm to be there too.' The line clicked off.

Davina lit a cigarette. ‘The whole damned thing has blown up in my face.' John Kidson had been stirring up trouble. Lomax had to be covered while he was away. She could go and see Sir James and brazen it out without him. And if he was going to attack her, then she had a weapon to loose off at him in return. And at Kidson and Humphrey Grant. She felt suddenly very angry. She was so deep in her thoughts that she jumped when the door bell rang. She hesitated, then went to the door and opened it. Tony Walden stood outside.

‘Good lord!' she said.

‘Can I come in?'

‘Well, yes, of course. Is anything wrong?'

He smiled at her and said, ‘Does it have to be? Can't I just drop in for a friendly drink – or will your friend throw me out?' He was in the little hallway, half turned away from her. She saw there was no smile on his face. He looked strained and tired.

‘Colin's not here,' Davina said. ‘Come in and I'll give us both a drink.'

He sat crouched forward, his hands between his knees, looking at her as she got a whisky for him and a glass of wine for herself. ‘I should have brought some champagne,' he said.

‘What are we celebrating?' she said.

‘I always drink champagne when I lose,' Tony Walden answered quietly. ‘Whisky will have to do tonight.'

She sat beside him. ‘Tony, what's happened – what do you mean, lose?'

‘My account with the prince,' he said.

‘Oh, no – oh, I am sorry. It meant such a lot to you.' She reached out and touched his arm.

He looked at her and the smile flickered briefly. ‘You're a very sweet woman, aren't you – you really mind for me.'

‘Well, of course I mind,' she said crossly. ‘What do you expect? But tell me what happened. What went wrong?'

‘That,' he said slowly, ‘is the part that matters. I could have lost it any time. I explained it to you – you can't count on anything with the Arabs until the contract is in your pocket and you're on your way home. But this was different. I got a message this morning saying the prince had decided to employ another agency.'

‘Without any explanation? I can't believe it!'

‘I could,' he said. ‘But there was something in the way it was done that made me very uneasy, something hostile – and they're a polite people. He's a polite man who prides himself on his Western manners. I have a contact there, Davina. Obviously, one had to have someone inside to help in these things. It costs money, but then … so I got on to them and they told me what had happened. I lost the contract for the agency because it was pointed out to the prince that he was doing business with a Jew.'

‘Oh, my God. That's sickening!'

‘What's sickening,' he said softly, ‘is that it was done deliberately. Somebody cut my throat. And it wasn't one of my rivals. My contact was certain of it. It was done in a semi-official way, he said. The prince knew perfectly well that I was Jewish, but once it was made public, he had no choice. Who would hate me enough to do that?'

‘I've no idea,' Davina said. ‘Tony, I'm so sorry. Will you be able to find out? Isn't there anything you can do?'

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘But it's a bad precedent. We have a lot of Middle East clients. If it gets about that I am
persona non grata
, my American colleagues won't waste much time. Who would want to ruin me, Davina?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I have no way of knowing. You said it was semi-official. Why don't you go straight to the Foreign Office and ask them to look into this! They might be able to find out who it was – after all, business is vitally important to us in that part of the world. I'll think of someone for you to go and see.'

‘I know most of them,' he said. ‘I could make a fuss, but I think it might do more harm than good. I'm not exactly part of the Establishment, Davina. One naturalized English Polish Jew isn't going to find a lot of allies in Whitehall.'

‘Don't,' she said. ‘It makes me sick!'

‘I'm right, aren't I?'

She looked at him and said, ‘Yes, I'm afraid you are.'

‘I couldn't face going home,' he said. ‘I was busy all day, and I could stop thinking about this because of the other work to be done, but when I left the office, I couldn't go home.'

‘That's very sad,' said Davina. ‘Are you sure? Won't your wife be just as upset as you are?'

‘My wife will be upset because I've lost a lot of money. She thinks making money is the only thing that matters in my business. She won't realize how much I care about the other side of it. The stab in the back. That's why I can't tell her tonight. I don't think I'll say anything about it at all. Do you have any more whisky?'

‘Plenty. Colin drinks nothing else. Give me your glass.'

‘I couldn't think of a better place to go than here,' he remarked. ‘I took a chance on your Army friend being here and kicking me out. I just needed to tell you what had happened.'

She came back and sat beside him. ‘He's away for a few days,' she said. ‘Hadn't you better ring up your home?'

‘To say what?' Tony Walden asked her. There was a moment's silence between them. Oh you bloody fool, Davina said to herself, it's just because he looks as if he's been kicked in the teeth, and you know that feeling …

‘To say you won't be home for dinner. I'll make you something here if you like.'

He said quietly, ‘I'd like that very much.'

Only three men would be needed to pick up Peter Harrington. One would drive the car out of Shropwith towards Ashton, where a van would be waiting and Harrington and his rescuer transferred. They would then proceed directly to Manchester Airport and catch the flight to Dublin. The plan was timed to get Harrington on the five o'clock plane to Dublin where he would be conveyed to a safe house. The leader of the expedition was experienced at what Borisov's people called ‘removals'. He had removed numerous people, many against their will, and he planned meticulously on a tight schedule. He chose his own team. He paid them and they dispersed until required again. Nobody asked any questions, or ever saw the others except when they were operating. The leader was known simply as Sam. He had a Liverpool accent and the indeterminate colouring found in many Celtic people. Sandy hair and pale eyes, poor teeth overcrowding a narrow mouth. He had a thin, super-fit body and reactions with fist and feet that betrayed his specialized Army training in the Marine Commandos. He had been dishonourably discharged after a five-year sentence for theft. His connections with the underworld were without prejudice. He organized kidnapping, blackmail and murder impartially for anyone prepared to pay. He ran a small garage and repair shop in West London, and lived with his wife and four children in a pleasant detached house round the corner from the garage. He didn't speak with a Liverpool accent at home.

He had spent three weeks outside Shropwith, monitoring the prison routine and the weekly trips to the town. He mapped out a route, and drove it himself to see how it worked. Two weeks before he intended removing Peter Harrington, he went through the complete routine himself, driving out of the town while the prison bus was still parked in the square, transferring to the van near Ashton and catching the Dublin plane. He flew back to London the next morning and sent a report that everything was ready.

The only thing he couldn't do was alert the subject. A telephone call to Stephen Wood's home took care of that. ‘Oh, dear,' he said to his wife when he had taken the call, ‘I'll have to make a trip up to see one of my chaps next week. It'll be overnight, I'm afraid.'

‘Not any trouble, I hope,' his wife said anxiously. She admired her husband's dedication to what he called his ‘chaps'.

He said, ‘He's been asking to see me. That was the governor on the phone just now. Poor fellow's in hospital; they don't like the look of him.'

‘Where is he?' she asked. ‘One of your regulars, dear?' She knew the men whom he had visited over a period by name and always asked about them.

‘Davies,' he said, ‘in for robbery with violence. He used to be at the Scrubs and they moved him up to Walton. Always in trouble, I'm afraid. Still, if he's asked for me, I've got to go. I'm sorry, it's going to spoil our evening with the parents. Wednesday is the only time I can spare.'

‘Doesn't matter, dear,' she said. ‘I'll explain to them. We'll go over another day.' He always referred to his old mother and father as the parents. His wife shared his concern for elderly people, young children and the criminal outcasts of society. She would never have admitted to herself that cancelling an evening spent with her in-laws was a relief.

He travelled up to Shropwith on the morning train. Visiting hours were not till seven in the evening after supper. He spent a pleasant day wandering round the attractive old town, visited the church which had a fine Norman tower, and browsed happily round the small museum which had an interesting collection of local artifacts. He never missed an opportunity to see something historic when he went to a new place. By seven o'clock he drove into Shropwith and presented his card and identity papers.

Peter Harrington was watching television when he got the message that a Mr Wood had come to see him. He knocked over a mug of coffee in his excitement. The trusty on duty insisted that he wipe it up before he went to reception to see his visitor.

Stephen Wood stayed for an hour. He talked away, shelling platitudes like peas while Harrington fidgeted and squirmed, waiting for the book to be passed. How was he getting on? He certainly looked well, hadn't he put on a bit of weight? You want to watch that you know – Easter and Christmas were the worst times he found; they always ate so much over the holidays, what with the children and parents coming over – was he still doing carpentry? He hadn't forgotten his promise to make him something as a memento, had he? He treasured several things his chaps had given him over the years. Harrington stared at him in anguish, mumbling replies. No book. But he had something in a paper bag. As he got up to leave he pushed it to Harrington.

‘All that talk about watching your weight,' he said, ‘and here I am bringing you chocolates.' He laughed his ghastly hearty laugh, haha, haha, and it seemed to Harrington that everyone in reception and their visitors paused to look up when they heard it. He took the blue box with the roses painted on it.

‘Thanks very much,' he said. ‘Thanks, I like these.' He stood up, so eager to get rid of the man that he banged his knee on the edge of the table. ‘Very nice of you to come,' he said.