Albatross (19 page)

‘Let's go and see then,' the officer said. ‘But we'll have to hurry up.'

‘I only want the biscuits,' Harrington said quickly. He managed a pathetic smile. ‘I haven't got enough money left to buy anything else.'

Lomax saw them change direction, and followed, well-hidden behind a stream of people. He pushed through a bit closer as they reached the entrance, and at the same moment he saw the man with the fox's face.

It happened so quickly that Peter Harrington couldn't have said what separated him from the officer. He didn't even see the man who drove straight into his guard, one elbow ramming him in the stomach, followed by a chop on the back of his neck. Harrington felt a grip on his arm that rushed him to one side. He was gasping for breath, shocked by the speed of the incident, being hustled down a side street till he almost fell over his own stumbling feet. A car door was opened and he was literally heaved into the back and the man who jumped in after him pushed him down onto the floor and the car was in gear and moving off. Behind them, Lomax had fought his way after them just in time to see the green Cortina drive away and get its number. He didn't waste a moment. He turned and ran, dodging through the crowds, back to where his own car was parked. He swore as he unlocked it, cursing the caution that was costing him time, cursing himself for being too far away to interfere when the snatch took place.

Harrington was gone, under his nose. Picked up and speeding out of the town while the prison officer was lying unconscious on the ground and the alarm hadn't even been raised. Davina had been right. Albatross had set Harrington up for a rescue. The bloody opposition had got in first.

Harrington had started to shake. Crouched down on the floor of the car he felt sick; a rug had been thrown over him and he lifted it and peered up into the face of the man who had rescued him. He'd been very rough, and Harrington's nerves threatened to relieve themselves in tears. ‘I'm going to be sick if I stay down here,' he said.

The pale eyes glanced downwards, and then searched either side of the car. They were on the open road towards Ashton and there was nothing in sight. ‘Okay,' he said. ‘Sit up for a minute. But duck down if I say so.'

Harrington scrambled up, breathless and awkward. He hunched himself in the seat, sliding down to show as little as possible if a car passed. ‘My Christ,' he said, ‘that was quick. You certainly moved fast!'

Sam nodded. ‘I never hang about,' he said. ‘Listen, I'm not to talk to you, understand? I've got a job to do but apart from that I don't want to know about you, see?'

‘I was only going to say thanks,' Harrington mumbled.

‘Okay, you've said it. Now keep your mouth shut and if I give you a shove, get down!'

‘Where are we going?' Harrington insisted. ‘I want to know.'

Sam glanced briefly at him and said, ‘Shut up.' He turned to look out of the rear window. There were two cars and a transport lorry behind them. They were well clear of Shropwith and the van waiting to pick them up was pulled into a lay-by six miles ahead.

Harrington was huddled into the corner. His shakes were passing; a sense of euphoria was growing in him, and a longing to talk and talk to the grim bastard on the other side. ‘Have you got a cigarette?' he ventured.

The other felt in his pocket, dropped a packet and a cheap lighter in his lap. He didn't speak. Harrington drew in the smoke. He was out. They'd kept their word. Out, and on his way. He began to grin as he smoked. What an organization – they never let their own people down! They said they'd look after them and by Christ they had. And he'd given nothing away. Nothing but a fucking code name which wouldn't mean anything. Albatross. Flap, flap, Miss Davina Graham, that's all you'll ever know about him now. He didn't realize that he was giggling to himself aloud. The man glanced at him and made a face as he turned away, keeping observation on either side.

Bloody nut case, sniggering away. Stir crazy, as they used to say in the old James Cagney films. It wasn't going to be a fun trip all the way to Dublin. He reached out and took his cigarettes and lighter back.

Harrington was unprepared for the push he got. ‘Down,' was snarled at him, and he crumpled onto the floor. A white Fiat was coming up in the rear; it flashed past them while Harrington crouched down.

‘You stay put,' Sam said. ‘We haven't far to go.' Harrington felt like arguing but he decided not to. He was free. Free. That was all that mattered.

‘She's late,' Humphrey Grant remarked.

‘Not everyone is as punctual as you are, my dear fellow,' Sir James White remarked. ‘I remember when you used to come down from Cambridge with Philip, you were always down for breakfast on the dot. He had no idea of time, poor boy.'

Grant didn't answer. He didn't like the reference to his friendship with the Whites' only son, now dead. He preferred to forget the time at university and Sir James hadn't mentioned it for years. He was in a dangerous mood. Grant recognized the playful manner that concealed his hidden motives. The more jocular the Chief became, the more deadly was the blow in preparation. He turned away and stared moodily out of the window. He had seldom felt more insecure, almost naked under those chilly blue eyes. Once, he thought bitterly, I turned to him as a father. What a fool I was to think he could be trusted. How little I realized the barriers that lay ahead, the long lonely years of concealment, the loss of my identity, the morass of lies I've waded through – the sacrifice of my whole life. And it all began at Cambridge when I made friends with his son.

He turned, hearing the door open, but it was only Kidson. Once they had been on familiar terms, colleagues working closely, respecting their different talents for the job. Now there was coolness, suspicion between them. The succession to James White hung between them like a jewel to be snatched or a weapon to be seized. He and Kidson were not friends any longer.

‘Good afternoon,' Kidson said. ‘Good afternoon, Chief.' He paused and then said, ‘I thought Davina was coming.'

‘She is,' Sir James said. ‘The traffic must be bad. She'll be here any moment.'

He lit a Sub Rosa cigarette. Grant wondered whether he came close in order to inflict the smoke upon him, knowing how he disliked it. There was a glint of cruelty in his smile and the white eyebrows were arched in question. ‘Quite a conference, all three of you together. It will be like old times having Davina with us. And here she is!'

They all turned as she came into the office. Head up, chin slightly forward, she wore her battle colours flying. ‘Good morning,' she said collectively.

‘I said the traffic must be bad,' Sir James remarked, ‘to make you so late.'

‘It was perfectly clear, thank you. First of all, I've taken time off from my office, so I'd like to get down to business as soon as possible. You wanted to see me?' She spoke to James White.

Her rudeness was rewarded; the smile disappeared and he said acidly, openly irritated, ‘We are all busy, and you have kept us waiting. I think it best if we sit down.' He took his place behind the big mahogany desk and Kidson and Grant disposed themselves in the armchairs. Davina remained on her feet. She shifted a large brown envelope under one arm.

‘Davina,' he said, ‘what were you doing visiting Peter Harrington?'

‘Carrying out instructions,' she said flatly. Kidson looked up quickly and stared at her.

‘Whose instructions, may I ask? You had left the Service.'

‘I left the Service in order to carry them out,' she answered. ‘And that is all I am going to say.'

‘Humphrey,' James White said, ‘you initiated Peter Harrington's transfer to an open prison. And Davina visited him with authorization from you. Is that correct?'

Grant looked down at his thin hands, folded like claws in his lap. ‘Yes,' he answered, ‘it is.'

Davina didn't glance towards him. She wasn't going to incriminate him; he could rely on that at least.

‘John,' James White turned to Kidson, ‘John, I think you have something to say.'

Kidson didn't hesitate. His manner was accusatory when he began. ‘I saw Davina coming out of Anne's Yard one evening a month ago. I can give you the exact date. April 20th at eight thirty. I was curious, knowing she's resigned from the Service and apparently wanted nothing to do with it or anyone in it. She'd given me that impression when I'd seen her a couple of weeks before,
en famille
. I inquired about it from the security staff the next morning. A woman answering her description had been into the building, signed the night book with the name of Iris Burgess, who used to work here, and produced a pass made out in that name. We've checked it through and Iris Burgess is in Johannesburg.'

‘Did you in fact come into the building on a forged pass, Davina?'

She moved the brown envelope from under her arm and held it like a shield in front of her. ‘Yes,' she said flatly, ‘I did.'

‘On instructions?' The question was asked gently.

‘At my request,' she countered.

‘And who issued you with a forged pass?'

She shook her head.

‘I did,' Humprhey Grant spoke up. ‘And I gave her the key to the filing room.' There was a blanket of silence on them then. Nobody moved or said anything. They waited for James White to speak.

‘You and Davina acted in secret. You must have an explanation for what amounts to a gross breach of conduct on both your parts. I should like to hear it.'

Davina had been waiting for the moment. Before Humphrey could say anything, she stepped up to the desk and laid the brown envelope in front of Sir James.

‘The explanation is in there,' she said. ‘Confidential files that have been tampered with over a period of fifteen years. Vital connecting information has been subtracted in order to conceal what I was trying to find.' She glanced at Humphrey Grant. He masked his surprise a second too late. Kidson had turned a dull red that faded. Only James White remained unmoved.

‘And what are you trying to find?' he asked.

‘Albatross.' She dropped the name like a grenade among them. ‘And I just want to give you all notice that I'm damned near to doing it. Good morning to you.' She walked to the door without a look at any of them, opened it and closed it firmly after her.

It was Kidson who exploded. ‘Who the hell does she think she is? Chief, have her stopped! Bring her back here, she can't say something like that and just bloody well walk out!'

Sir James didn't move. ‘Humphrey,' he said quietly. ‘I think she surprised you as much as John or me. You didn't know about the files, did you?'

Grant's cadaverous head came up. ‘She asked to see them,' he said. ‘She said they held no evidence.' He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his nose. ‘She actually resigned from the investigation after she'd seen them.'

‘Which meant she didn't trust you,' Kidson pointed out.

‘She didn't trust you either, John, or me,' Sir James remarked. ‘Albatross. The code name for a person or an operation – why did you set out to do this behind our backs, Humphrey? I think you should explain that before we go any further.'

Grant cleared his throat. Momentarily shaken, he had recovered himself, and he met John Kidson's challenge first. ‘After Mexico, I got a report from Major Lomax. It was a confidential report compiled by a man who didn't expect to live beyond six months. He didn't show it to Davina, he gave it to me. It was very alarming. As a newcomer to the Service, he had seen what people like us had overlooked. A series of sinister connections pointing to a traitor working at the highest level. Which meant that one of us, even you, Chief, could be a Russian agent. I would point out,' he said sourly, ‘that Lomax chose to come to me with his suspicions. I in turn recruited Davina as the one person trustworthy and able enough to uncover the mole.

‘Her resignation was part of the cover. She went to see Harrington, who confirmed that there was a Russian agent inside the Service and had been for years. He gave her the name, Albatross. He was dealing for freedom and he gave nothing else. Part of that deal was to move him from the Scrubs as a prelude to exchange or rescue. I initiated it before Davina threw the whole thing up, saying she couldn't find anything. I was furious and amazed at the time. After all, I had taken a considerable risk to try and find the traitor.'

‘You had indeed,' James White murmured. ‘What interests me is that Davina evidently didn't trust you after reading those files. I'm not being unpleasant, Humphrey, just stating a fact. She decided to go out on her own. Which meant that you had joined us as a possible suspect. And she certainly hasn't shown confidence in
you
, John. You'd think she'd have gone to you as a brother-in-law as soon as Humphrey mentioned this.'

‘Not,' Kidson said angrily, ‘if it was suggested to her that I could be Albatross.'

‘Are you implying that I accused you?' Humphrey's voice rose.

‘I don't know what you did,' Kidson answered. ‘But whatever it was, it backfired in your face. She found enough to suspect you and withhold the information about the files. And, incidentally, you got Harrington out of a top-security jail. Was that before, or after Davina pretended to drop the case?'

Humphrey turned his back on him and spoke to James White. ‘A move was the first part of the deal with Harrington. I instructed the Home Office accordingly – usually, as you know, these things take time. However, on this occasion they moved fast, and Harrington was in Shropwith before I had a chance to cancel. But I was at fault, I admit it.'

‘Wouldn't plain bloody negligent be nearer the truth?' Kidson snapped.

‘That's enough!' James White cut across them as both men were on their feet confronting each other. ‘Calm down, John. You too, Humphrey. We are all suspect, according to our colleague. And one of us is about to be exposed, if she told the truth just now. We can sit here and wait for Davina Graham to explode her time bomb under us, or we can investigate for ourselves. I think our first move is to get Peter Harrington back into a safe place, and the second is to study these files and see what Davina found.' He exclaimed in annoyance as the telephone rang. ‘I told Phyllis not to put through any calls,' he said. He listened for a minute or two and then said sharply, ‘Good God – when did it happen?' Kidson and Humphrey looked up. Sir James replaced the receiver.