Once I Was A Soldier, page 30
I showered and dressed alone, racked by indecision of what to do. Was I right, for example, to continually question the love I felt for Melissa? But was it not better to evaluate the risks of a long-term relationship, rather than relying on a spontaneous reaction to the confusing passion and the natural biological urge of sexual indulgence? Would I even be thinking along these lines if I was in total love? Fianna's twenty-odd-year-ago voice was calling—Is it love, Shaun, or the lust of an older man for a young body to park itself up against for life? Was I reaching out to become a different man than I was and if so, could I change? If I allowed myself to imagine what Melissa must be suffering I would have gone crazy. However, never having sat on an assessment committee debating what amounted to full blown craziness and what were the microscopic differences between that and everyday insanity, then who was I to say that I wasn't so far demented that I was incurably certifiable already?
I informed Adam of my arrival time and told him to tell Fraser that I was coming home with what he wanted. When he started to complain over the shortage of resources I shouted at him to shut up and do it, then closed my phone on him and went downstairs to await the car Francesca had arranged.
* * *
We sat in the kitchen opposite each other, both with troubled minds. When it came to sharing a pleasure that was enjoyed by the two of us, and then when Sonia joined the party, nothing of substantial consequences had room to be brokered, the mind had earthly interests to entertain its workings. Now, however, tactile memories of temporal bodies were no longer abstract, they were the physical beings our minds concentrated on. There were small flurries of snow falling through the darkness of the outside world and little in the way of illumination inside.
“What can you do about Melissa?” she asked.
“Do you mean in saving her from this maniac, or are you asking in the sense of keeping her, or dumping her after she's been found, Francesca?”
A faint smile was lighting her face as she answered.
“You've got me! Both, I think both would be true. Obviously I hope you find her and she's unharmed, but, yes, the second part of your question was on my mind. Marriage is a huge step to take, Terry. One thing you have to consider is your way of life. You like what you do and it shows. I'm wondering if semi-celibacy could be your thing!”
I wasn't ready to search my soul for an answer.
“On this slip of paper in my hand is the name of a highly respected London solicitor. He has an interest in the Velázquez, Francesca. Contact him using my name and I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding the museum curator or with the negotiations about a donation. If things get sticky with either of those then tell him a story about a private detective who has an unmentionable fetish that he practises on Hampstead Heath with willing males that his wife, the daughter of a prominent figure within the Law Society, knows nothing of. Shameful how the actions of such perverts could impact on the custodians of justice if ever made public.”
“Is any of that true?”
“All of it! It's his son-in-law. I have photographs, but you won't need them. There's one other thing on there that maybe one day you might have need of. It's my personal telephone number at my apartment in Canary Wharf, in London. I've left Harvey's cellular on top of his desk. The original SIM card is in it, so he'll never know that it's been used, unless you tell him of course. I don't believe that will happen. The thick coat you bought me is a lot warmer than my own. I've left my old one in your wardrobe. If it's okay with you I'm going to wear yours for the journey home. I'm no good at extended goodbyes, Francesca. There's only minutes before the car arrives so I'm going outside to wait and smoke a cigarette. Here's that note I just spoke of.” She looked it and never looked up at me.
To part from something you have affection for, be it a person or a cherished item, pulls at heartstrings you never knew existed. No such separation comes without pain. You can reach depths of sadness that are so black that any thought of escape is incomprehensible. The darkness becomes your home. Lingering, persistent pain is worse than any punch or a gunshot wound. The pain from a punch or a non-fatal gunshot will vanish as soon as it heals. The only cure from the persistent pain of a break-up is to not allow it to start. I had suffered that despondency once. I was never going to suffer it again.
Without making any attempt to kiss or embrace her I left the room, not looking back. If there was a call from the kitchen, the soundproofing dividing doors blocked it from my ears, but had I heard one I would not have returned. I quietly closed the stately embossed outer doors and made my way down to the street. The pavement lights shone on light falling snow but there was nothing that glittered from those outside steps as the light covering had made them disappear and there was no moon to light my path.
Chapter Four
As soon as I'd checked in at the airport I called Job. Megan's head wound was nothing more serious than superficial. She was taken to hospital purely as a precaution against shock; something that Job was still engulfed in, self-blame being his hardest enemy. I could hear his thumping heartbeat when I said that he would have to check that everything was being done properly.
“He has a good head start on us, Job. You'll have a better knowledge of exactly how much that is when Fraser finds out the time those two cars were recalled. Commander Ellis should have circulated his description, but the only way to get any information on a car or van he might be using is the hard old game of knocking on doors. Make sure whoever is in charge on the scene has that well and truly covered. Another thing to remind him or her. At that time of day people are on their way to work. Get them to put it on the television and the radio. It'll take time but everything is useful. I'm going to be out of reach for seven and bit hours. I should be in radio contact around five-thirty tonight. I've got diplomatic clearance when I arrive at Heathrow, so straight off the plane and in the car. My flight's being called, Job. It's all in your lap now.”
“Terry, have you thought about where he might have taken her?”
“The only place I can think of is back to where they both once lived. Iverson Hall, just outside Sheffield! Fraser knows where that is and should have notified the police in Yorkshire when he heard she'd been taken. Check that he has done, Job. Don't get scared of his rank. He won't bite. If Mackinaw goes straight there then it's over, but I don't think he's going to do that. I reckon he plans to hole up somewhere en route, either in one place or more, until he thinks the police have given up. That's when he plans to take her there and kill her.”
* * *
My car was waiting at Heathrow with the driver holding the transmitter of the radio in his hand, as the door was opened by his front seat partner and I got in the back.
“It's Mr Harwood on the open radio. He wants you!”
I didn't need two guesses to figure out why. I hadn't dared to use an airport phone to check how Mike and Freddie had got on in Sevenoaks and although I had total faith in Job, his two colleagues were a different matter. As was the manner of Harwood. There were no niceties to his welcome.
“You and your mate have anything to do with a Russian and a British national being shot dead in the leafy Kentish town of Sevenoaks today?”
I caught a glance of the driver's eyes in his mirror as the initial impression of me being just another very self-important nobody to ferry around instantly changed into one of suspicion as to who was sitting directly behind him.
“What time of day did this take place, Godfrey?” I asked.
“What? Oh, yes! Around three pm, as far as we can work out.”
“I guess I couldn't have as I was somewhere over the Atlantic at that time. Unless of course you now believe that I have supernatural powers and can be in two places at the same time. As far as Job goes, I would imagine he was at Dulwich. So I don't see the relevance of your question about us. But do tell me what gave you the idea that we were responsible.”
“One of those taken out was a name told to you by Ughert and the other was someone you were assigned to by Guy Lancaster's unit, name of Harmon, who you told Ughert about! Very coincidental as it was only yesterday that you put the place of their meet on our radar.”
“In that case didn't you have anyone there to watch over them?”
“All done electronically nowadays as you're fully aware! Did you or not?”
“No, I did not, sir. I take it your electronic toys didn't pick up anything suspicious, Mr Harwood?”
“No satellite picture. Turned off apparently! There's phone calls going backwards and forwards from all departments in Whitehall with the Russian ambassador's arse glued to a chair in the Foreign Office as we speak. The Prime Minister is chairing a meeting in the Cabinet Office with the Chief of the Joint Intelligence Committee being interrogated as though he did it. Ughert is none too happy to be sitting there!”
“Who turned the satellite signal off, sir?”
“No one is admitting it. GCHQ are blaming the Americans and they are saying the plug was pulled over here. Total confusion!”
“Not much I can do about that. I have the item you wanted beside me and I'd appreciate any update you have on the situation at Dulwich where I'm heading off to now.” I signalled the driver to pull away.
“Dulwich, tricky there! Wore gloves and was not noticed by anyone passing. We have got the description of a Ford Transit van that a neighbour said he'd seen parked along the street for a few days drive off around five-fifteen this morning only to park again at the side of the bank. Our crews were reassigned at five-ten. No number of the van but at least a colour.”
“White, was it?” despairingly I asked.
“No, dark blue!”
“Your cryptology background came in useful, sir. Shame you never had the Spencers' name before as that would have saved a lot of work and time, but I guess you only heard it recently.”
“I did yes! All your communications have been relayed to Percy Johnston at the Box ever since that girl landed. I was copied in to your American cellular phone calls by GCHQ. I heard that police commander come up with Mackinaw and I was aware of its connection to coats worn years back. The breaking and making of codes was my business, Jeffries. It didn't take long to equate Spencer to Mackinaw.”
“I suppose you heard the Spencer name from conversations from Lavington Street, sir?”
“Don't know where the name originated from, just on bulletins from the Doughnut via Percy at section 6.” There was silence from the radio and for a second I thought he'd gone. He hadn't!
“Get on with what you have to do at Dulwich, Jeffries, and this time keep me informed. Got it?”
And my old friend Fraser Ughert had told me that he would handle Percy Johnston if the need arose. Well, either he never saw the need or he was simply telling lies! Our conversation ended abruptly with Harwood instructing me to leave the Velázquez with the two in the front, and me requesting a car to be left at the caretaker's apartment for Job's and my use.
I called my friend on a different waveband and told him I was on my way.
“They're keeping Megan in hospital for a day or two, Terry, and I'm missing her already. As you know, Megan's cooking is fabulous. It's too good for me to go without for long.”
“So I've heard, but she'll soon be on her feet by the sound of things. Was there nothing left at the place to nibble on, Job? I asked, hoping he would understand my spur-of-the-moment abstruse question regarding the outcome at Sevenoaks. He did!
“Not a scrap anywhere, Terry! Very tidy person, is Mrs Jenkins. Everything emptied!” As Harwood would be getting all this I hoped it passed over his head.
“Heard anything from either Commander Ellis or Fraser, Job?”
“Commander Ellis is the officer in charge of the scene. She's on site now. Did you want a word with her?”
“It'll wait until I get there.”
“How long will it take?” I asked the driver. It was the other man who replied.
“Difficult to say, sir. Bad time of night. I'd hazard a guess and say an hour, but that's only a guess, sir.” I could get used to being called sir.
“Around seven, Job, give or take.”
I felt no guilt for the deaths I'd arranged, as I sat in silence on the ride to South London through the tail end of the trek home for the people who were unfortunate in travelling to their homes at this time of night. I doubted that the knowledge of the lives that are taken daily by people like me would alter their way of life in the slightest, other than a few tuts at the information as they consumed their meals in front of the television and moaned about life spent in traffic jams. Life, death, they are glued together. With some the glue is harder than it is with others. Solokov was a manipulator of the lives of such people that I viewed from my car seat, whilst Harmon idealised over how he could change their lives to better his own. It was my job to keep the likes of Solokov and Harmon away from normality and either throw them in a cage or kill them. After the briefing at Dulwich I would be on the trail of another who had a ticket for a permanent enclosure or a departure. It was to be my pleasure to make his apprehension as painful as I could.
* * *
Before I'd fallen asleep on the flight home I had tried to grapple with the question both Francesca and Job had asked. Why had Melissa affected me so much? I could find no honest answer, as I truly did believe that if there had been no threatening letters then the possibility of us meeting again were slim at the most with the highest percentage of any bet being wagered on never. I had no trouble in finding a woman's bed to share so it wasn't purely sex-related. What was it then?
Could it be age? Was it the fact of not being able to find a relationship where I felt needed for more than just sex? Was I subconsciously dreaming of fathering children with a younger woman? Perhaps the image of a young, beautiful girl on my arm and a child in a pushchair symbolised the pinnacle of manly success in that subconscious of mine. I could not resolve one of those doubts, and that uncertainty led to only one conclusion. The choice of love was for others and not me.
* * *
“I didn't request this posting, Mr Somerset. I was detailed to take control from the Commissioner as I was more up to speed on the situation than the locals. I hope my presence does not embarrass you in any way. I can't stand down just because our, well, you know what I mean.” She was standing beside a marked police car with a mug of hot steaming tea in her hand.
“I do, Serena, and I'm far from embarrassed. When we spoke earlier today I was with a lady and it was I who felt embarrassed. I'm back here now and I would count you as a friend. Let me drop the pretence. I'm Terry! Surname of Jeffries and I work for the intelligence services as you've probably guessed. Melissa Iverson is another friend who unfortunately got herself caught up inside an operation I was running. She was not part of that operation. Now that's all clear, perhaps we can get on with finding her.”
“Have the intelligence service still got an interest in Miss Iverson other than a humane one?”
“Sorry, I can neither confirm nor deny that. What I can say is that it's imperative that's she found alive. Care to give me a rundown on what you've got, Commander, and where you got that tea?”
There wasn't much about Mackinaw that she had been able to discover. He ran away from home in 1980 when he was fifteen and was never close to his family, which considering he was now extracting revenge on their behalf was very strange. But there was more to come on that. He married in '86 and divorced two years later. His wife of that time had never heard of him since. The last benefit payment he was due was sent to a seamen's mission in Hull and that was where the trawler owners would hire their crew. He had no bank account that Serena had discovered, hence there were no debit or credit cards in his name to follow. There were, however, a few personal details she had found. On leaving home he flitted between juvenile offenders' institutions and various unskilled jobs in and around Sheffield until at the age of nineteen when he found employment as a car mechanic in Wolverhampton. He stayed for eight years until the day he smashed a tyre lever into a workmate's skull. Full blown prisons were the next homes he frequented more often than the more comfortable confines of those he found in doss houses and seamen's missions.
Her briefing came to his parents. On being evicted they applied for accommodation with Sheffield District Council only to be told that the legacy left to them, twenty thousand pounds, would disqualify them from being eligible for social housing. They found a one-bedroom flat in the centre of Sheffield from a private landlord. The living conditions were abysmal. Carol Spencer found work in a local shop but despite strenuous efforts Joseph was unsuccessful in finding employment. He died in 1986. Three years later his wife was taken into care by the council when almost penniless and suffering from the early signs of dementia. Somehow or other Frederick heard of his mother's condition and visited her during her first year in that care home. His irregular visits, mainly because he was locked away somewhere, continued until she died on 11th of June 1994.
The matron at the home where Mrs Spencer passed away remembered Frederick Mackinaw because she'd remarked on the different surname than his mother's. She overheard Mackinaw swearing an oath over his mother's body as it lay in the Chapel of Rest. When asked how she could be sure those were the words he spoke so many years ago and in a quiet place of remembrance, she replied 'there was nothing quiet in that room for over an hour. Mrs Spencer's son barricaded the doors and sat on top of his mother's open casket swearing his head off about some woman called Melissa and what he wanted to do with her'. He was forcibly ejected by security staff after that hour of obscenities.
Chapter Five
All we had to go on was his photograph, which was issued too late for Thursday's daily national newspapers, but not the late morning televised news channels. As far as I could see the rescue operation was relying on two things; one; Mackinaw would be recognised and two; Melissa's escape, as he could have taken her absolutely anywhere. To me neither of those outcomes seemed likely. He had obviously planned this for months and must have followed us from Chester Square on the day Melissa arrived back in this country. Which probably meant that the letter she had received saying that he knew of her New York address was false! Mackinaw was a careful man who was going to be difficult to catch. As far as Melissa being able to escape, then yes it was a possibility, but not a strong one nor one we could sit back and hope for. The one thing going for us was that he never intended to kill Melissa quickly. That time was what I was relying on.
