The Unquiet Heart (28 page)

I whispered, “What? What did they make you do, Eve?”

“I told them I knew about the bomb. I told them about Menachem Begin. Told them he was the leader of Irgun. Told them he didn’t give a warning. I betrayed him.
How could
I
?” She broke apart again. I pulled her to me and held her for a long time till the sobs stopped. She pushed back and went to the bathroom and washed her face.

I was pacing the room when she got back. “We’re going to file a complaint, Eve. They can’t do this to you. I won’t let him get away with it. That bastard!”

She took my hand. “But he
can
, Danny. You know he can. Who’d believe me?”

I calmed down. I decided to go. Take the pressure off. Let her sleep. The sun was dropping behind the trees.

“What will you do now?” I asked.

“See Jim. See if he’ll print the truth. See if I still have a job.”

“Then?”

She shook her head. “We’ll see.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Do you want me to come round? I mean…”

“Let’s leave it, Danny. For a bit. I’ll call you if I … You know.”

I left her, left the building and walked into the park. I sat on the wall watching the river, going over and over what she’d told me. Why had Wilson let her go? Why hadn’t he charged her? He
could have pinned a murder on her. He could have charged her with accessory to commit terrorist acts. Had he got all he wanted? It wasn’t much of a confession. They probably already had
Begin’s name against this action anyway. At least she was out. Why look a gift horse?

When the parkie ushered me out I went home. Then I went to the pub. Maybe the lads needed a beer. I did.

TWENTY FIVE

I didn’t expect to hear from her any time soon. Perhaps ever. So her voice on the end of my phone, two days later, was a shock, like a call from the spirit world.

“Danny, can you talk?”

“Yes. Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Can you come round? I mean here to my flat in Battersea? I mean sometime, when you can…”

“Put the kettle on.”

It took me the best part of an hour and three buses. I was still economising after that taxi ride from the prison. I buzzed her flat number and she let me in. When the lift reached her floor I
found her waiting by the door. She still looked fragile but her face had a hectic flush. I soon found why.

“They won’t print it! Hutcheson won’t touch it, Danny. Wilson got to him. He showed Jim my confession! The bastard, bastard! Jim said he didn’t believe it but it was too
late anyway. No one would believe it. He didn’t want to rake it all up again.”

I opened my arms and she fell into them. She stood sobbing against me for a while. Her thin back and arms made me curse Wilson and all his kin. Finally I pushed her back gently from me, but held
her by her shoulders.

“Eve, are you surprised? Forget the confession. You’re a reporter. You know when a story goes cold. It’s been nearly six weeks.”

She freed herself from my hands and went and stood by the window. “I’m not a reporter. He won’t give me my job back. He asked me how it would look if the paper had an ex-Nazi
on the payroll.”

“Wilson put in a good word for you, then?”

“What do you think?”

I walked over and joined her at the window. I looked out into the street. Two men were talking. Both wore coats and trilbies though it was mild and dry. One of them walked away. I pulled back,
dragging Eve with me.

“Did you see him? I recognised one of them. The one I accosted in the street. Ages ago. The Yank. I’m sure it was him. Have you noticed anything lately?”

Her shoulders slumped and she reeled away from me and collapsed on the couch.

“Yesterday. It started again, yesterday. Why won’t they leave me alone?” She began sobbing.

“You tell me, Eve. Is there anything you’re keeping from me? Anything you’re not saying?”

Her answer was to sob harder. I left her then, and as I emerged from the building, I tipped my hat at the bloke loitering across the road. He stared at me till I began walking away. I headed
back to my office. I had a phone call to make.

While I was in the hospital Cassells had given me a number to call. It took less than twenty minutes before he phoned me back.

“Why are you still following her?”

“We’re not, old chap.”

“Then who is?”

There was a long silence from his end. “Look, let’s do this over a drink…” He gave me directions to the Feathers, a pub in the side streets between St James’s Park
and Victoria, just behind the tube station. He was lurking in a booth in the empty lounge bar. A scotch was already standing on my side of the table, and an empty pint glass and a whisky sat in
front of him. He had a fag going. I didn’t know Gerry Cassells smoked, or drank for that matter. I sat down opposite and he pointed at my glass. I lifted it, nodded and took a sip.

“Your local?” I asked.

“I don’t have a local.”

“We could have met in the park.”

“Twice round the pond and you’d meet the whole of MI5. This is quiet.”

I could see why. There were a couple of blokes in the public bar, not talking, just reading their papers. The pub had an air of indifference. The landlord didn’t care if you drank here or
not.

“What’s happening, Gerry?”

“What’s happening? Hah! You might well ask.” His usual clipped tones had slowed and elongated.

“I am. Tell me.”

“You know there’s a new war on, of course?”

I raised my eyebrows and waited. I wondered how long he’d been here. The pub had been open for an hour. There were other damp rings on the wood table.

He leaned over. “Us and them. West and east. Capitalism and commies. We’re not shooting yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”

“What’s this got to do with Eve? Or me for that matter?”

He took a long drink of his beer, got up and walked to the bar. He walked faster than he should and stood gripping the counter until the barmaid deigned to serve him. Then he returned with
foaming pints, and went back for two large whiskies. He made a dent in both of his glasses before continuing. He wiped the foam off his moustache.

“She got in the way. That’s why. Meddling Eve. And her pals. The whole bloody ragbag of them. Stirring up the Middle East, just when we didn’t need it.”

“Gerry, what the hell are you talking about? She was on our side, remember? Your side.”

He nodded. “Trouble with doubles is they get confused.” He flapped his hand in the air. “Change sides once, they’ll do it again. She did. Bloody Jewish
underground.”

“But it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s all over.”

“Hah!”

“Gerry, for fuck’s sake stop going hah! Just tell me what’s going on.”

“S’not over. It’s just starting. A new dance, but same old, knackered players. Change partners and dance with me.” He stopped and looked around furtively. “Listen.
The Reds are the bad guys now, so anyone who isn’t a commie is a good guy. My enemy’s enemy is my friend. Right?”

I gave him a long incredulous look. “You can sit there and tell me we’re working with the SS now?! The same rotten bastards who started all this?”

His face twisted. “You think I like it? You think we’re all happy campers now?” he subsided. “It’s not our show any more.”

I guessed the answer but needed to hear it. “Whose show is it, Gerry?”

“The Yanks, o’ course. New outfit. Central Intelligence. Truman set it up in January. Replaces all the old departments like the OSS. And they don’t just gather intelligence.
They
act
.”

“Like SOE?”

“With more money. Buckets of cash. They’re everywhere. We’re tripping over them in Europe, Far East, Palestine…”

“Berlin?”

He nodded. “Buying intelligence. Using the old networks set up by the SS and SD. They argue that we’re all on the same side against the commies.”

Light dawned. “Mulder? Eve’s old boss was on the payroll?”

Cassells nodded and gulped at his beer.

“That’s why they’re still following her?” I asked.

“Her and her new pals.”

“Irgun?”

“Yanks don’t want to lose any more of
their
agents.”

“Why are you telling me this, Gerry?”

He lit another smoke and gathered himself up again. “Because it stinks! It bloody stinks. Can’t change my spots. Lost good men and women to bloody Nazis. Now we’re supposed to
protect ’em. Well, I won’t. Wilson can if he wants. But not me. Time I retired. Thinking of buying a pub. Down in Devon. Got my eye on a place. Noss Mayo. Little village by the
sea…”

“Gerry! What about Wilson? What’s he up to? Is it about Eve?”

“She shouldn’t have gone after Mulder.” He shook his head.

“Gerry!”

“Wilson is MI5’s link man with the Yanks. He does it with relish. Loves the power. Likes how they operate.
Action, that’s what it takes!
he keeps telling me. Not for me.
Not my cup of tea.”

“What’s he up to?” I pleaded.

“He put your girlfriend in a little flat, yes? Battersea, isn’t it? So he can keep an eye. And on you. And if necessary…”

He paused, then like some old ham actor, he drew his finger across his throat.

“He wouldn’t dare! She was a British agent. Not even Wilson…” I forced myself to be calm. “What can I do?”

Cassells shrugged. “There’s nowhere safe, old chap. But I’d get her away, get her out of that flat. No need to make it easy for him.”

I left him there, still nursing his drink and looking like the saddest man in the world. I paced round St James’s Park, my mind in turmoil. By the lake in the evening sunshine,
Cassells’ tale sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. I couldn’t, didn’t want to believe what he told me. But it all had the ring of truth.
In vino veritas
. And behind all
this fear and craziness stood my bête noire, Wilson. Cassells described him as a sort of go-between for the American Central Intelligence Agency and British Secret Intelligence. But I knew
Wilson. He’d be enjoying this. Sadists need victims. Like what he did to Eve in prison. Now he’d be waiting his chance to twist the knife. Personally. Away from official eyes.

I thought of the stray moggy I fed. I found it with a mouse one day. It didn’t kill it. Not right away. Just caught it, roughed it up, let it go, and caught it again. Time after time.
Until the mouse was so terrified and torn it couldn’t move. It just sat there trembling until its heart gave out. The sun dropped behind the trees and a cool wind whipped across the pond. A
sudden dread filled me. I walked smartly out of the park.

It was dark by the time I got to her building. I walked slowly, using the odd parked car for cover. There was no one around. No sign of watchers. I looked up to see if I could see her window. It
was hard to pick out one from the identical frames and curtains. The one I decided was hers was in darkness. I took a risk and walked over to her front door. I buzzed several times but got no
reply.

“Forgotten your key, dear?”

I turned round and found myself gazing down on a bent old woman struggling with her string bag and a stick to climb the four stairs. I stepped down and helped her up.

“We’ve just moved in,” I lied. “My wife said the buzzer wasn’t working this morning.”

“Happens all the time. I was telling the caretaker only the other morning. The milk is always late. And the dirt! Dear me, the dirt. Gets into the hall and everywhere. Never
swept.”

She dug around in her bag and finally pulled her purse out. She found her key and let me in. We shared a lift up to her floor and I carried her bag to her front door. I left her once she’d
put her light on, and walked to the fire exit and down the two floors to level three. I eased the fire door and peered into the hall. It was dark apart from a single bare bulb glowing in the
ceiling. I paced my way quietly to her door and put my ear against the wood. I could hear nothing. But under the ill-fitting door was a faint bar of light.

I tapped gently on the door, then louder. “Eve? Eve, it’s me, Danny.” Nothing. I kept up the tapping for a bit then drew out the two slender wires I keep in my top pocket. I
slid one into the lock and felt for movement. It didn’t take long. My SOE instructor would have been proud of me – though he was probably back in the nick again.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Eve? Are you there? Don’t worry.”

I stopped dead. It didn’t look as though she would hear me. The source of the light was the bedroom. It illuminated the chaos. Chairs tipped over, couch on its side and cup and teapot
smashed on the floor. I walked into the bedroom expecting the worst. But there was no body, no blood. Thank god. Her few clothes were scattered on the floor and across the tumbled bed sheets. Eve
hadn’t gone willingly. But where? And was she still alive?

I left her flat in a cold fury. Where would Wilson take her? Back to prison? But the scene in her flat wasn’t caused by an official visit. The boys in blue wouldn’t have needed to
turn the place over to get her to come with them. Waving a warrant would have done the trick. In her frail state she would have gone with them like a lamb to... I didn’t finish the
thought.

I stormed out the building, practically running. Bastards, bloody bastards! Why couldn’t they leave her alone? My panting lungs turned to near-sobs until I pulled up short in the middle of
Battersea Bridge and forced myself to take deep breaths. The lights were coming on along the Embankment and making the trees glow in silhouette. Slowly I let the river seep into my mind. Some
calmness returned. I had to think. Had to plan.

An idea came to me and I shoved it away. Crazy ideas come too readily to me. But it wouldn’t leave me alone. So I hopped on a bus heading back to Lambeth and changed to one for Camberwell
Green. It was just nine o’clock. The George would be open for another hour. With luck, one or two of the lads might be around.

TWENTY SIX

OK, it was a stupid idea. But it seems the lads were as far round the twist as me. They knew all about Wilson. I’d ranted about him over many a beer. How he’d used
his position to get free access to Soho girls and how he’d beaten and abused them. How he’d nearly killed me. And what he’d done to Eve, the plucky girl who’d saved their
skins in the warehouse robbery. If there was a way of paying her back, they were ready for it. They even offered to do it for free.