Pilgrim Soul (40 page)

‘And now working in a cancer hospital.
Our
cancer hospital.’

‘Here she is.’ I slid the photo across to her. It showed an attractive woman in her forties. Dark brown curls and dark eyes. Smiling, good teeth. A woman you could pass in the street and say good morning to, confident you were dealing with someone who shared your standards and beliefs. A good citizen with a nice friendly name. A chameleon. A werewolf.

We got dressed and waited for the day to start up. By now, with all the door-crashing and kettle-whistling and wireless-hissing, Danny would be up and about. In fact, he was usually about long before this. Sam took a cup of tea up to knock on his door. She came back down with it, her face full of concern.

‘He’s not there, Douglas. His bed hasn’t been slept in.’

I punched the table. ‘The eejit! He couldn’t wait. Had to go out and check the hospital.’

‘And the gun is gone. The Webley.’

‘The
bloody
eejit. Well, he either found her or, more likely, failed to find her. Either way he should be back before long. Let’s get some toast.’

Danny wasn’t back by seven thirty. I tucked my service pistol in my coat pocket and headed out for a rendezvous at Central Division with six old warriors.

They were waiting for me as I marched up. All six of them. Three threw away their fags as I approached. Former lieutenant Lionel Bloom came to attention and threw a smart salute, which was fine, as he was wearing a Glengarry. So were the others. It was the only bit of uniform they’d managed to muster. For combat tunics they’d substituted donkey jackets with good leather shoulder and elbow patches.

They would do. Would have to do. We might be facing four armed men, ready to defend Kellerman to the death. And with Danny gone off half-cocked who the hell knew what had been stirred up?

‘Good morning, Lionel, gentlemen. Let’s get you fixed up.’ I entered the station and found Duncan leaning against the counter chatting to the desk sergeant, and holding a sheet of paper.

‘Well, if it isnae Colonel Bogey and the Home Guard.’

‘I thought Sillitoe would assign someone competent to help me. Oh, well, Duncan, shall we get going?’

The desk sergeant led the way, followed by Duncan and me.

‘Can Ah jist say, Brodie, this is the stupidest order Ah’ve ever been given.’ He waved the paper at me.

‘McCulloch?’

‘Sillitoe to McCulloch to Sangster to me. Are you really gonnae gie these guys guns? They’re peching just keeping up wi’ us. Ah cannae see them belting aboot in a shoot-out. Far less hand-to-hand combat.’

‘They at least know which end the bullet comes out and how to point them. These guys were going over the top at Ypres when you and I were in our prams. Don’t knock them, Duncan.’

We walked down a rabbit warren and eventually came to the small police armoury. The sergeant opened the heavy metal door and Duncan and I walked inside. It was a small room with a table and one wall filled with police Webleys and a handful of shotguns, two of which had their barrels shortened.

‘These don’t look standard issue.’

‘Confiscated.’

I chose the two sawn-offs and four revolvers. ‘Lionel? Can you send your men in one by one, please.’

The sergeant issued a weapon to each plus a box of bullets or shotgun cartridges. Each man signed for his arms and seemed immediately familiar with their weapon.

I had them line up outside the armoury door.

‘Gentlemen, I don’t want to see these weapons on display. We don’t want to scare the public. Can you please find somewhere to tuck them out of sight. I’d put the revolvers inside your donkey jackets or down the back of your trousers. Keep mind, the Webleys don’t have safety catches. Don’t blow your bums off.’

The two men with shotguns looked for help.

‘Inside your jackets, gents. There should be enough room in your poacher’s pocket.’

They grinned and tucked them away out of sight. Duncan stood shaking his head and muttering, ‘Bloody daft, so it is. Bloody daft.’

I ignored him. But he had a point.

‘Let’s go, boys.’

SIXTY-THREE

Other than an extra 9,994 men, the Grand old Duke of York had nothing on me and my donkey-jacketed army. I marched them up and marched them down the Glasgow streets, and then finally up Garnethill. En route I explained to Lionel and David Doctorow, his old sergeant, what was happening and what I planned. They in turn made sure the others knew their roles.

I passed round the photo of Kellerman so they all knew who to look out for. I warned them about the four men who’d raided the Sheriff Court with the sole aim of shutting up poor Malachi, for good. I had no idea who they were or why they’d done it. Nor did I know if they were armed or not. If they were Kellerman’s protection team they could be waiting for us at the hospital.

At the top of Hill Street there was a good bit of wheezing around me and I gave them five minutes to have a smoke and get their breath back. Ahead and on the left was the synagogue, its windows glittering in the morning sun that filtered through the rain clouds. Directly opposite and ironically close stood the long low sandstone building of the cancer hospital. There was no sign of Danny. What the hell was he up to?
Where
was he?

We moved forward, me in front and by myself, Lionel and two of his men on the left pavement and the other three led by Doctorow on the right. I had no sense of an ambush in place. But then, despite what Roy Rogers or Dick Tracy may have us think, you never do with the best-set ones.

I deployed my men at either corner of the hospital and marched straight up the short driveway and into the reception hall. I smiled at the lady behind the desk.

‘I wonder if you can help me? I’m looking for Dr Heather Coleman.’

Her sweet young face brightened up. ‘Dr Heather? Oh, she’s one of our favourites. Always such a smile.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They say she’s brilliant.’

‘That’s interesting. Why do they say that?’

‘She’s that good with the patients. And an awfie good surgeon. Anyway, everyone seems to be looking for her today. You’ve just missed her.’

‘Who? I mean who was looking for her and where is she now?’

‘Let me see.’ She looked at her reception book. ‘A Mr McRae. He asked for a Dr Herta Kellerman. I said he must be confused. He must mean Dr Heather Coleman. She was due in about eight for the day shift.’

‘But you say I’ve just missed them?’

‘He waited over there and spoke to her when she came in. Ah didnae hear what was said but it looked like a wee bit of an argument.’

‘Then what?’

‘Next thing, him and the doctor are heading out the door.’

‘Thanks, lass. You’ve been a great help.’

I darted for the door. For a moment I couldn’t think where to start looking. They could be anywhere. Holed up in Glasgow? Trying to leave it? Why?

I called Lionel over. ‘Get your men. Split them up and have them cover the main stations and the passenger terminal down at the docks. See if there’s a ship leaving this morning. You’re looking for Danny McRae and the woman.’

‘She was still here?’

‘
Was
is the word, Lionel. We just missed her. I’m heading back to Miss Campbell’s. Call me there with any information. Go!’

Lionel rounded up his lads and set off at the double. I turned right and began striding downhill. My brain was racing. Why was Kellerman still around? Didn’t she know her pals had been taken? What the hell was Danny up to? Would he shoot her out of hand? Was he still angry over Bathsheba? Had he had a relapse? God, I hoped not. He was my example, my hope.

Back home I waited for news, pacing the hall. The call came just before noon.

‘It’s Lionel Bloom, sir. I’m at Central Station. They’re on the London train. We spotted McRae and the woman in the crowd, then lost them. But we caught sight of them heading down platform nine just before they closed the gate.’

‘What time does it get into London?’

‘Seven o’clock tonight. Euston.’

‘No sign of the other four?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

I hung up and stood thinking and calculating. The simplest thing would be to phone Sillitoe and arrange a reception. But Danny’s behaviour had thrown me. Was he losing his mind again? And what did it foretell for me? I needed to confront him. Personally.

Sillitoe told me I could call for any help I needed. Anything. I did.

SIXTY-FOUR

There were trains every half-hour to Kilmarnock. By one thirty I was being dropped at Prestwick Airport by the local taxi firm. The Dakota was waiting for me, engine running. We landed at RAF Hendon just after four and I was sitting in Euston Station supping a bowl of soup by five. All the time in the world. For thinking.

Euston. Back where I started, a year ago. Dragged north to Glasgow to try to save an old pal from a hanging. It was how I’d met his advocate, Samantha Campbell. Met and fell for a hard-to-live-with, independent lady with troubles of her own. Lately I’d begun to think the feelings were reciprocated. But did we have any future? She was a career girl and I was back in the army. Seconded to MI5, for God’s sake, moonlighting from my job as a reporter on the
Glasgow Gazette
.

Meantime my old buddy and alter ego had appeared like a ghost at my own funeral to draw me back from my dalliance with the shades. He’d talked about his own mental battles and how he’d overcome them. Had he just lost the fight? Or had he been more in love than he said with the girl who called herself Bathsheba? It was a terrible twist. Had it derailed him?

If he hadn’t gone doolally, what the hell was he up to? Trying to gain kudos for delivering Kellerman? But to whom? Was it somehow linked to the murder of Malachi? What secrets did Malachi have? Why was he silenced? Punished,
pour encourager les autres
? Who were the
others
in this context? Was it the protective ring round Dr Kellerman? Or some fresh trouble I couldn’t even think of? My brain seethed.

On the whole it’s best not to have time to think.

I was waiting by the barrier as the train pulled up in a huge belch of steam and a final convulsive tug from the giant brakes. I was part concealed by the welcoming crowd and I had my hat down on my brow and my coat collar up.

I saw the pair of them amidst the arriving throng, McRae holding her tightly by the arm. She was smaller than I expected. Petite even, dark-eyed, quite pretty. Not at all like a fiend who carried out medical experiments on prisoners.

But then I froze. Just behind, flanking the happy couple, walked two men. Their eyes glanced left and right, front and back. I saw the glint of glasses and knew it was the professor and his silent pal. The two Jewish terrorists who’d tortured Langefeld to death at Malachi’s bidding. Irgun Zvai Leumi.

My mind reeled. Then I understood. They had a gun on Danny. They’d been waiting for him at the hospital. That made brutal sense. I reached inside my pocket and fingered the cold steel of my own weapon. I wasn’t going to lose out again to this pair. But this was no place for a shoot-out. Maybe I could create a diversion so Danny could break loose?

I withdrew further into the shadows, running through the permutations, trying to work out my best tactic. I’d had a long-enough flight and nearly two hours of waiting at the station to think of a plan. I’d squandered it all, gambling on a spur-of-the-moment idea to hit me when I was faced with the situation on the ground. I hadn’t bargained on Irgun and two captives.

They were getting close. Soon they’d sweep past. I abandoned subtlety and took the full-frontal approach. I strode forward, head down, and straight into the slight figure of Dr Herta Kellerman.

I hit her with my left shoulder with enough force to carry her backwards and out of Danny’s clutches. She was light enough to be ripped off her feet. I had my left arm round her waist and her head buried in my chest so that it would look like a passionate embrace, taken to extreme. I kept going in this wild tango, punching a hole between the two startled Irgun agents and then through the onrushing crowd.

I said to her in German, ‘If you value your life, Frau Doktor Kellerman, don’t scream, just hang on.’

I felt her gasp and then her arms came up to clutch my shoulders as she hung on for dear life. We’d made ten yards before I heard the shouts behind me. I swept to the right and burst into the ladies’ waiting room. It was empty. I dropped her on her feet, dragged her to the far end and pushed her behind me. We were cornered but at least they couldn’t get behind me. I drew my gun.

‘Hold me!’ I shouted and turned to face the music, gun levelled on the door.

The two agents barged in, pistols up and pointing at me.

I shouted. ‘Stop! Close enough!’ Kellerman’s arms were grabbing at my waist, her head buried in my back. She was sobbing.

The two men froze and stood poised, knees bent and guns in both hands, with me at the apex of their crossfire. Then Danny dashed in and stood panting between them, gun in hand. Aimed at me.

‘What the fuck are you doing here, Brodie? What the fuck are you playing at?’ he screamed.

It hit me like a bucket of ice water. My breath stopped. Then I found my voice.

‘You eejit, Danny! What are you doing with this pair? Whose side are you on?’

The three men moved apart, widening their angle, with Danny in the centre. He kicked the door shut. Through the dirty windows I could see the crowd dissolving, too intent on getting home to notice what we were doing. Within a few seconds we were alone in this stuffy crucible.

The one I thought of as
Professor
called to Danny in Hebrew.

I guessed what they were saying.

Danny replied in English. ‘Don’t you bloody dare! Nobody shoots! Put your bloody guns down! Do you think he’s here alone?’

As he said this, Danny lowered his own gun and stood up straight. Slowly the Irgun men let their hands fall. I kept mine up, aimed at Danny’s belly. Danny walked forward until he was six feet away. Until I could see his eyes. They were red raw.

‘Haven’t slept much, old pal?’ I asked.