Once I Was A Soldier, page 18
“Harvey Bartlett?”
In his green leather chair he swivelled full circle, returning to look at me with a supercilious wide grin on his face before pressing a button on one of the phones in front of him. Seconds later Helen appeared pushing a trolley carrying a large platter of assorted sandwiches, and a flower-patterned coffee pot with matching cups and saucers.
“Time for eats and then time for a picture show, my young friend.”
As the contents of the trolley were being laid out on that low rectangular separating table, Fraser unlocked the top right-hand drawer of his desk. Withdrawing a folder holding several photographs, the corners of which I could see, he returned to the sofa he had previously occupied. I was watching Heavenly Helen leave the room as he launched into his salvo.
“No, Terry! Not Harvey! This man.” The photo folder was opened and three facial images were spread out amongst the empty side plates waiting to be loaded from the platter of bites.
“His name is Olav Solokov. In 1992 he was an aide to the Russian foreign business development minster, attached to their embassy in Paris. By anything but coincidence he popped up in Oxford the same time as Bartlett and attended the same party as Miss Iverson. Melissa had been at Solokov's villa outside Rome for two weeks when Bartlett knocked at her door, suitcase in hand. They had an affair which led to the abortion she won't mention. If it eases your heartstrings a bit then I can categorically say that Miss Iverson was totally innocent about how she was being used. She was defenceless against him, wounded by her life up to that point, alone in the world with no knowledge of calculating men like Bartlett.
“The senator has a history of using women for his own ends. He also has a violent past which he's sought to cover up, successfully, it must be said. He threatened Melissa about keeping the child she carried. We can only imagine how he did that but we do know that Miss Iverson was broken for a while after she had that operation. I'll come to your part in all this now. Let me reiterate my high regard for how you handled the situation in New York so many years ago when Jack Price threw you head first into something that was spiralling down into chaos. The man that you're using now is also top notch, although limited in his application.”
He reached across to pour the coffee and distribute the sandwiches. I took the coffee, adding the remains of my whisky to it.
“It's my estimation that Harvey Bartlett is Russian material. I had a whisper to that effect when working the external desk. I kept that information and moved here with it in my breast pocket. That Russian metallurgist I mentioned to you quoted Solokov's name in conversation about an entirely different matter, but the bells started to ring nonstop in my head and I looked further. I can't discuss with you exactly what I found, not because you don't have my trust but simply because it would take all day and neither of us have that amount of spare time. I want your trust, Terry.”
I was listening, but half of my mind was on Melissa with equal amounts of that half divided into how I thought of her; an uncontrolled nymphomaniac or a woman abused by her own innocence? Those abortions were still unsettling.
“Do I have it?” he asked as I bit into a ham and mustard sandwich after moving the eggs and cress to one side.
“I haven't moved, Fraser, and as far as I'm aware the door's not locked so yes, I'm on your side.” He frowned at my verbosity.
“I had the storyline given to you by Group thoroughly checked. It was and still is good. All I needed was something of Miss Iverson's for you to deliver and I was in close.” I almost choked on the mustard.
“You set that up? How the hell did you do that?”
“There's one great thing about having a House of Lords. The members are extremely pliable. Lord Belsize resented my incursion into Miss Iverson's affairs but after a few circles were squared away complied without too much fuss. I know about his son-in-law's investigations but that was to be expected even though my request went through parliamentary channels. After certain matters were agreed upon, he reminded his client of the cost of garaging her prestigious car whilst wasting money on hiring an inferior one. I left the next steps up to Miss Iverson and you.”
“You were slow. I hoped that you would have kept closer to her than you did. Group got in the way I know as did other duties of yours and I was giving up hope and contemplating an alternative arrangement when you contacted me out of the blue about the threats to her life. A serendipitous moment, don't you think?” I did, very serendipitous, I thought.
“Those threats have to stop, Terry. At all costs. I need you and Miss Iverson concentrating on Senator Bartlett. Nothing and no one can be allowed to stand in the way.”
Chapter Five
Job's two ex-squaddies were not only efficient, they were also quick about their work. Job handed the report they'd compiled to me when I arrived at my Lavington Street desk mid-afternoon. The first question I had after reading it was, why hadn't Detective Inspector Harry James discovered any of this?
Pauline Jenner was a bit of a socialite. She was one of those so-called 'let's do lunch' ones. She had a wide circle of women friends and, apparently, another man in her life; her tennis coach, Jerome Radley.
He's employed at Highgate Tennis Club and has a reputation as a bit of a lad around women, but not sure why. Radley is tall, well built with black hair going grey around his temples which could be colour that he's added. Likes a drink or three and looks like he can handle himself.
He spent all Thursday evening in the Pirate Galleon pub on Hampstead Heath, which if you don't know is a pick-up point for gay men! I got worried about Freddie when I sent him in. Wasn't sure he'd come out the same as he went in….Only joking, guv.
As you can see in the enclosed photographs, Radley was with the same man for most of the evening, although both men seemed to know many others in the bar, exchanging kisses with them. They separated at closing time. I followed Radley, and Freddie tailed the man he was with.
Radley drives a distinctive yellow Ferrari. This year's registration. He has a house in Muswell Hill. Big place, which seemed to be all his. No bells for flats nor post boxes outside. I will find out for sure tomorrow.
Radley's friend is short, small-boned and dainty but has a vicious temper. He slapped another guy in the pub with the front and back of his hand fiercely and with purpose. Several men turned their backs to the scene as though it was a common occurrence. The slapped man did nothing. Radley's friend lives in a block of new luxury flats built alongside the Grand Canal off City Road, Islington. He looks as though he has a few bob.
Further reports to follow,
Mike
According to the autopsy report Charles Jenner was five foot four inches tall and weighed ten stone nine pounds, Jerome Radley could not have doubled up as Jenner. If not him then could it have been Radley's friend? I did some digging.
* * *
“Can you get a firearm, Job?”
“Where did that come from? Are we going to war, Terry?”
“Just thinking aloud. Can you?”
“I can't get one, but I can get two. If I'm to have one to save my life then you can carry one to save your own. I'm not going into a situation where I'm having to look over my shoulder worrying about you! But can't you draw one from somewhere?”
“I have.” I showed him the 9 millimetre Glock pistol I had in a shoulder holster.
“I didn't know they were available as service issue over here yet. It hasn't come from normal channels then, Terry?”
“I was with Fraser Ughert earlier. He authorised the issue.”
“A very important lady, this Miss Iverson, to warrant this amount of attention, Terry. Can I ask why?”
“You can, my friend, but I'm not allowed to tell you. All I can say is that things might get a bit hairy from now on in. The small fellow your mates saw Radley is related to Bobby Allen. Name of Paul Allen. We need to see him with a bit of persuasion in our hands. I don't imagine it will be a cordial meeting especially if we have to shoot him.”
“What, you fancy a bit of revenge for losing your pinkies do you, Terry?”
“Something like that. But I was thinking further up the leg.”
“Do you think he's the one behind those threatening letters?”
“No, I don't! What I think though is that he, or one of the Allens, killed Pauline Jenner and then forced her husband to empty his safes, and then killed him making it look like suicide. One of the Allens is either involved in all of that, or one they have bragged to is banged up now and our mysterious writer has got all his information from that man!”
“One of those names we have on our list?”
“That's what I'm hoping for, yes.”
“Can't we wait for that police commander?”
“I don't think so, for two reasons. I doubt she will get any information from Radley's friend as she won't be as persuasive as us and secondly, I have to go back to New York no later than the middle of next week. Ideally I'd like this settled by then.”
“Yeah, I can get a gun. Do we need my two guys as back up?”
“Would they do that for us, Job?”
“I don't know if Jack ever told you about any of the overseas operations I went on with him, but on one of them, a mission to extract a couple of VIP's from Vietnam, my two mates came along as scouts. Without them there was no mission. Precise directions for a helicopter extraction are hard to follow on the ground as in the air you can't tell where the enemy is for most of the time. There was heavy vegetation cover between the safe landing spot and where those two Johnnies had holed up. Mike and Fred's role was to locate them and pick a secure passage out. Me and another guy who landed were their insurance.
“They found them a mile and a half from where the chopper was. You've got to bear in mind that none of us were officially there. Vietnam was not our fight and the government had not sanctioned this rescue, in fact HM Government knew nothing of it and were to know nothing of it. Jack working to clear someone else's balls-up! Anyway, about three hundred yards from the lift zone a bunch of some thirty Vietcong spotted the four of them coming through the overgrowth. There was a fire-fight and the other guy and me got a lot of them. The others dived for cover and held off until all six of us had to break cover and run for that chopper. That's when things got a bit heavy.
“The chopper had been specially modified at an ordnance depot known only to Jack Price. As I laid down a covering pattern of fire the chopper lifted off and fired two air-to-ground missiles. There was only a few left. I swept up as the other guy covered the final exit. When we were sure the ground was clean for a successful extrication, up and away home we went. Fred and Mike thought I and the other insurance man saved their skin that day. That's why they would walk through fire for me, if I asked. They are two dependable guys who know how to look after themselves, and pretty handy to have around when the shit hits the fan.”
“What happened to the man you described as the other insurance, Job?”
“Lost contact, Terry. It happens in our line of work. He signed up for a private security firm run by one of those we got out of Vietnam. Man by the name of Kenneth de Courcy. Some bigwig in Royal circles apparently. I haven't seen nor heard of my mate since that little caper.”
“I seem to remember you briefly mentioning Vietnam when you hauled me out the back of The Albany in Piccadilly in 1972 and set me on the path to getting my toes shot off. Did I ever thank you for that?” I taunted him with a broad smile on my face.
“Not my fault you can't jump high enough,” he retorted.
We both fell silent as if a ghost had entered the drab room, and was looking disapprovingly down on two souls enjoying a past moment that shouldn't be visited unless all that were there in that time were still present. In that eerie quietness I thought I heard the bullet smash into Fianna's head and saw the vacant look on her face as she accused me of firing the shot that killed Alain Aberman a microscopic second too late to save her life. A tormenting nightmare that I can never put away. Job broke that soundlessness with questions I'd rather not have faced.
“How far has Mr Ughert authorised you to go, Terry?”
“To break him, find the truth and then deal with the situation as I feel appropriate.”
“Why has the chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee got himself involved and how far does his interest reach?”
It was impossible to convey how much regret I had by the long deep breath expressing sadness that I made, but if sighs counted for anything then mine went beyond a zillion.
“I'm not allowed to tell you, Job. And I'm sorry that I can't.” Not much of an answer when expecting him to risk his life on someone else's behalf.
“I'm a plain soldier and you're not. You don't get to be dirty in this line of work. That's my duty, not yours! You answer to Mr Ughert and I answer to you. That's how this chain of command works. Once you've picked your target, me and my chaps will lift whoever that is and take them somewhere nice and quiet for you to interrogate using whatever methods you want us to apply.”
“I never did get around to ask what branch of the army you served in, Job, I think now's as good a time as I'll ever get?”
“I was a private in an infantry regiment in Korea, Terry, before I was assigned wherever it was decided they wanted me. Served a bit of time in most, before Jack signed me up.”
“Win any medals and commendations, did you?”
“Those sort of things never interested me. I just wanted to be remembered as doing my job thoroughly, looking after those around me and being a reliable soldier.”
“Never held a commission?”
“Me! No! I wouldn't have taken one for all the tea in China. Although officers wore the same coloured uniform as me, I never considered them to be soldiers. Soldiers were the ones beside me, the ones you wiped the arses for when they were in the muck and mire. The ones you wanted to know, but not know too well in case the final time you saw them they had their head blown away or worse, no legs nor arms screaming for more morphine as mortar shells were raining down like the monsoons in the Far East. Officers gave orders then instructed the medics to leave bulletins listing the dead. It was the officer corps I saw in Seoul who rationalised the slaughter I'd only just survived. No, Terry, I was never an officer. I was the kind of thinking soldier officers hated in the Army, but loved in a war. I happily went off to every war I was assigned to so I wouldn't disappoint them back home when they wanted me back.” Briefly he had that characteristic part-smile part-smirk on his face as he replied, but his expression quickly changed back to his usual studious contemplation as he added,
“Be that as it may, Terry, there's a job to do so when do you want it done?”
“As soon as I get confirmation on the address we'll set it up.”
* * *
We met in the road beside Moorfields Eye Hospital, about five hundred yards from where Paul Allen, only son of Bobby Allen's brother Bennie, lived in Graham Road, in the early hours of the following morning. Job may have been nearer his sixtieth birthday than his fiftieth but his colossal frame belied the fact of age, and by the concentrated look on the faces of his two slightly younger compatriots none of them would have looked out of place on any battleground in the world let alone in the centre of London. All three scared the proverbial out of me.
From somewhere Job had found an ambulance and the two first-responders' uniforms he had conjured up now had two different wearers; Mike and Freddie, who were checking their equipment bags as I climbed in the back. Both bags contained Uzi submachine pistols alongside the normal life-saving apparatus. I didn't comment! I watched as Job's heavy forefinger indicated points on a hand-drawn pencilled map of Paul Allen's building and the outside road. He then gave his orders. Five minutes later I stopped the car, another of Job's requisitions, outside Canal Buildings, Graham Road and Job jumped out. As I reached the top of the road and was about to turn around, the ambulance driven by Mike, with Freddie sitting beside him, passed me going in the opposite direction with its blue lights flashing and its siren blasting out.
* * *
As you pull up I ring any buzzer and say the occupant of number three on the third floor can't answer the door as he's had an emergency and called for an ambulance. I'm a passing doctor if someone were to ask and no one will, believe me. Then we're in! I go to number three, knock, shouting - the ambulance is here. Open the door if you can, sir. He opens up because he's pissed off at being disturbed as well as being curious. Bang, I hit him! He's on the floor. You two carry him down strapped to the carrying-chair, put him in the back of the hospital wagon and drive off into the night towards King's Cross. When you're out of earshot turn the blue lights and the noise off and carefully deliver our guest to the warehouse I showed you earlier. The only one he ever sees is me and that's for a split-second as I wallop him. When we take him out of the ambulance, and from then on, we all wear these balaclavas. We might not be leaving him, but we take precautions just in case. When Mr Jeffries here arrives we take orders from him and follow his instructions to the letter. Any questions?
There were none.
Chapter Six
When I arrived at the disused railway depot to the north of King's Cross station, the ambulance had disappeared. The door to the abandoned bonded warehouse was locked from the inside. I knocked lightly and Freddie let me in. We carefully descended three flights of rickety wooden stairs passing rusty derricks, winches and other heavy lifting gear built into the stained brick walls which glistened in our touch lights. The winey smell was heady and sweet and the damp air was sticky. Both sides of the second floor were lined by glassed offices, some still glazed whilst others not, some intact with furniture, others open as if cases of wine or liquor were their occupants and not humans. It was a sinister yet innocent and blameless place where ghosts of the past walked in the shadows.
