Read THE HEART OF DANGER Online
Authors: Gerald Seymour
Tags: #War Crimes; thriller; mass grave; Library; Kupa; Croatia; Mowatt; Penn; Dorrie;
"I did, yes ... He's a good fellow. Not bright, but dogged .. ."
Arnold had hold of his glass and his fingers shook and what was left
of
the wine spilled onto the crumbs on the cloth.
"You all right, Arnold?" "Not bright enough for Five, not bright enough to have been taken into General Intelligence Group, not bright
enough to have a future. But dogged." Georgie had the wine waiter, muttered to him. Within his price stricture, anything. "In my slow mind there is the grind of cogs meshing. You recommended a Five
reject?" "He's a very good investigator." "Go to the end?" "Do you
have something I could smoke, Georgie, a cigarette or a cigar ella
Bless you .. . Yes, he'd go as far as was possible, maybe further."
Georgie lit the cigarette for him. Arnold coughed hard. Georgie
said,
quietly, "Going to the end is where the evidence is." "If there's evidence to be had I'd back him to get it." The bottle was on the
table, uncorked. Arnold poured for himself, and his hand still
shook.
"Are my friends at Five playing funny little games, Arnold?"
"Depends
on your perspective, whether they're funny .. ." And he wanted to
talk, talk to anyone, talk even to Georgie Simpson, and it was a
hanging offence in Gower Street to talk to personnel from Babylon
on
Thames. "Evidence is leverage, right? Leverage is pressure,
right?"
"You're a bit ahead of me." "I usually am, Georgie." "So stop pissing
on me." "Words of one syllable .. . What I'm told is that we require the means for pressure. We wish to pressure those moronic hooligans
in
Belgrade. We wish to pressure the Serbs .. . Too fast for you,
Georgie? .. . Evidence is pressure in the world of public relations,
the spin merchants, the image men. The Serbs, bloodthirsty mob, want
to appear virgin clean, but good evidence tends to stain the snow.
It's all part of the pressure game to get those morons to the
conference table." "You didn't tell me that, last week." "Blame the
monkfish." "Congratulations. You have an uptight reject .. . ?"
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"Yes." Told about a half of the truth .. . ?" "Could be a quarter."
"Straightforward sort of chap, not too much intelligence .. . ?"
"Fatal to be intelligent." "Who will predictably go to the end of the
road for evidence .. . ?" "Something like that." "Arnold, do you have
the faintest idea of what the end of the road might be like .. . ?"
"Please, don't patronize me." "Was this your idea .. . ?" "We all bend the knee when we have to; of course it was not." "Does it end up
with handcuffs and things .. . ?" "God, no. He'll just make a report." "Sorry if I'm slow, haven't you hazarded him .. . ?"
"George,
get the bill, there's a dear thing. Your Gavin, he went to university
in London, didn't he? My Caroline, she went to Hull, Social
Sciences.
My man, my reject, he wanted rather badly to go to college, it didn't
work out, doesn't matter why. You know what I can't abide about
Caroline's friends, probably the same with your Gavin? They're so
cynical ... so scheming .. . they seem to believe enthusiasm is a
vice.
It's as if my reject was spared that cynicism. One of those people
that are ambitious but don't know how to get themselves promoted,
think
promotion derives from merit.. . God, my Caroline could tell him.
My
Caroline would walk over our throats if the main chance was in view
..
. There's something rather attractive about a man who hasn't cynicism
in his backpack, but it tends to leave him so very naked .. . Sorry,
been talking too much, haven't I? Should be getting back to the
shop."
He pushed himself up from the table. Georgie looked up, staring.
He
thought Georgie, happy and ponderous and cheerful Georgie, was
frightened. "Haven't you hazarded him .. . ?" "Perhaps He sat on the
bed beside her. The sheet of paper was supported by a book. Ulrike
was
in the doorway behind him and she prompted the translation. The woman,
Alija, held the book and the paper high in front of her eyes and drew
the road and the square and the lanes of the village, and she would
make a mark on the map as it formed, and Ulrike would say that the
mark
was the school or the church or the store or the farmhouse with the
cellar, and each time Penn took from her hands the sheet of paper
166
and
the book and wrote the designation word himself. The noise of the
sleeping room in the Transit Centre was around them, but shut from
his
mind. She drew the line for the river, and she marked with a crude
circle the second village that was across the stream. Ulrike told
her
of his thanks. They walked out of the sleeping room and down the
stone
stairs. Evening was rushing forward. They were at the main doors
of
the Transit Centre and across in the square Ham had seen him and
started up the engine of the car, a small Yugo. He could sense that
Ulrike was unusually serious. He thought she understood why he had
come back to the Transit Centre to speak with Alija. Would he come
to
dinner? The smile, sorry but no can do, the shrug. Was he going
back
to Zagreb? The smile, the shaken head, again the shrug. She knew
why
he had asked for the map to be drawn. What he thought so fine about
her was that there was no interrogation, no questioning, no
requirement
for lies. She looked into his face. He saw her tiredness and the
clean skin and the strength of her chin and the power of her eyes.
No
questions .. . Her hand was for a moment on the sleeve of his blazer.
He understood what it would be like for her, working from dawn and
through the day and past dusk in the Transit Centre, alongside the
misery. He thought she recognized that he made a small gesture
against
a wrong. He felt a marginal pride, and it was a long time since he
had
stood tall with himself. Her fingers squeezed, for a moment, at his
arm as if to transmit comfort.. . She was gone, and the doors closed
behind her. He walked in the dusk to Ham's car. Almost dark outside,
he reckoned. Hard to be certain because the windows were on the far
side of the Library area, and so thick and tinted. The girls were
hurrying for their coats and there was a babble of talk from them,
and
Penny smiled at him as she loaded her bag, and the one who sat nearest
his table scowled at him and she'd have a plenty big enough problem
scrubbing chocolate off her blouse. The supervisor challenged him.
"Working late, Mr. Carter?" He smiled, sweetly. "Never was one for
watching a clock." "You're not supposed to be here with the night 167
shift." "Only once in a while. I doubt I'll attack them .. ." What was damnable was that he had finished his sandwiches and emptied his
thermos dry. "It shouldn't be a habit, Mr. Carter .. . Oh, this came for you." The supervisor handed him a fax message. "Thank you."
It
was always the same when the night shift came on. There was hardly
a
civil word between the day shift and the night shift, capitalism and
communism, chalk and cheese, and the whitter nfthe night shift girls
was around him, complaining about the state of the desks left for
them,
the state of the rubbish bins, the state of the carpets. He started
to
read the fax. Sometimes the bickering criticism amused him. That
evening, Henry Cartel- found it distinctly annoying, and a hindrance
to
his concentration. TO: Carter, Library, Vauxhall Cross. FROM:
Ministry of Defence (Personnel).
SUBJECT: HAMILTON, SIDNEY ERNEST.
TX: 17.21, 14.3.95.
STATUS: Biography/ Assessment Classified. BORN: Hackney, east
London,
12/8/1962. MOTHER: Harriet Maude Hamilton. Father: No name
listed.
EDUCATION: William Wilberforce Junior, Hackney Comprehensive no
qualifications claimed. MARITAL Married Karen (nee Wilkins), from
STATUS: Guildford, Surrey, in July 1985. 1 daughter, Dawn
Elizabeth,
born in January 1987. Separated December 1989. Initial allegation
of
Battery brought by Karen Hamilton against husband, but withdrawn.
EMPLOYMENT: (Prior to military enlistment) Van driving general
delivery
work.
MILITARY SERVICE:
EMPLOYMENT:
CURRENT:
ASSESSMENT:
168
Joined Parachute Regiment, March 1982.
Served with 3rd Bn. Northern Ireland tours: 1983, 1986, 1989.
Marksman/ First Class. Promoted Lance Corporal 1985, demoted 1986.
Dismissed
8 April 1990.
(Disciplinary problems led to demotion,
wrecking of bar in Cullyhanna, South
Armagh, followed by verbal abuse of a commissioned officer.
Dismissed
from
Regiment after the beating of an Irish sales representative in
Aldershot.)
(Post military dismissal) 4 months with
Personal Security Ltd (Bodyguards),
Hornchurch, Essex, in close protection.
Dismissed.
Self-enlisted with HVO (Republic of Croatia
Defence Force). Originally with
"International Brigade'. (NB: Following death of HOWARD, BRIAN
JAMES,
fellow mercenary, shot dead at OSIJEK,
Republic of Croatia, in March 1992, he is wanted for questioning by
Strathclyde
Police. Local inquest recorded Open
Verdict.)
Unstable, unreliable. Fortunate to have served so long with
169
Parachute
Regiment.
Yes, he was right, usually was, the fear of failure drove those young
men across those hideous front lines. He knew, because he had stood
on
the safe side and waited for them to come back. So, it was the map
that mattered, the map supplied by this 'unstable, unreliable'
creature
.. .
He breathed hard.
"Don't fuck about on me, squire," Ham whispered. "Get on with it."
He steadied himself, eased his weight forward on the side of the
inflatable. The noise of the great Kupa river was an engine idling.
Far away, to his right, down river, a single small light shone. The
deep, dark water of the river was behind him, but close was the fast
sluicing sound as the current broke around the paddle manoeuvred by
Ham
to hold the craft steady. Penn reached back. His fingers felt down Ham's arm to his hand. The palm of his hand wrapped over Ham's
fingers
on the paddle. "And when I'm back, then I'll go find them, find them and tell them that you love them." "Just come back with your balls still under your belly." "The bloody map, Ham, it's a good map?"
"The
only bloody map you'll ever get. On your way, squire." His boots
were
hung by the laces round his neck, his socks were knotted at his throat.
He hesitated. If the map was no good ... If the bastard had drawn
the
map wrong ... If he could not follow the map ... If the map .. . The
fist caught him on the shoulder. The fist pushed him off the side
of
the inflatable. He splashed in the water. His bared toes sunk in
the
slime mud and the fallen weed. Panic time. He reached back for the side of the inflatable to steady himself, but the paddle was into
his
ribs. The drive of the paddle propelled Penn towards the bank that
was
the dark mass ahead of him. The backpack caught his head and landed
on
the bank above him. He struggled forward, stumbling through the mud.
170
He groped for the bank, and the tree branches were in his face, and
he
grasped at them and they broke, and then he had a better hold. He
dragged himself through the reeds and up the bank. His hands caught
at
the shoulder straps of the backpack. He sagged. He could see the
inflatable moving out towards the main flow of the river, a shadow
shape and the quick flash of the paddles breaking water. He watched
the inflatable all the time that he could see it, and when he could
no
longer see it, he searched for it. Penn wiped his feet with the
sleeve
of the tunic. He drew on the thick wool socks. He laced the boots.
He
threaded his arms through the straps of the backpack. He was in
Dorrie's place. The silence and the black darkness were ahead of
him.
The silence was good. He was at ease in silence. He could be silent with himself, and Jane would have thought him sulking, had been able
to
absorb silence from the childhood days when his mother had taken him
to
the church in the village where she worked the swab cloth on the
flagstones and tidied after the ladies had taken down the flower
arrangements. Silence was safety and it nestled around him. He had come to Dome's war.
Penn pushed himself up, started forward.
Ten.
It was as Ham had told him .. . Penn had moved on his stomach up from
the river bank, trying to insert himself between the reeds where they