George Barrington Hunter

GEORGE BARRINGTON

HUNTER

JB. Woods

 E- book ISBN: 978-1-4661-7796-3

 The right of JB. Woods to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

All Rights Reserved. No part of this Publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored without permission of the author / copyright holder.

What other people have said about this book.

T. Donna Robison author of ‘No Kiss Good-bye’ wrote:

I dare anyone to stop reading, walk away, and not die to come back for more! It's awesome! The way he expresses the character's internal thoughts and his subtle humour is magnificent. One example of both is—the bill was going to put him in hock for many years to come but at the same time he took wicked delight in wining and dining her.—That's writing from the heart! I love it.

Kenneth Edward Lim author of ‘The North Korean’ wrote:

Your narrative emanating from George’s sessions with a shrink, is fast-paced, credible and engaging. I couldn’t help but grin at how reality often trumps fiction in entertainment value. Your descriptions are well laid out and unaffected, your dialogue true to character. Your treatment of various settings around Southeast Asia is highly informative. Thank you so much for sharing.

Dedicated to my Dad, Thomas(Gus) Platt, who served 22 years with the Royal Tank Regiment including WW2 and to all serving soldiers of today.

JB. Woods

CHAPTER 1

‘What do you mean? He’s dead!’

I knew he was dead but the finality of those words hadn’t sunk in.

‘He had a ten percent chance, Corporal, and we used all our available antidote.’

—

It was 1966 and I had, more by luck than judgment, been recruited into the SAS. Myself and eleven other guys had just completed a course of Jungle Training and we were sent on a routine mopping-up patrol along the Malaya /Thai border to put into practice all we had been taught in the Jungle Warfare School at Johore Bahru.

It was the second day in and being the monsoon season it had been raining almost constantly, which meant our progress was slow and the curses that accompanied every slip or tumble were many and would have alerted any would be Commie within ten miles.

A company of the Aussie Rifle Brigade were somewhere in the area and when we bivvied in mountainous terrain at four in the afternoon their sign was everywhere. The only thing missing was a message in a bottle.

Thankfully, the rain stopped but the jungle canopy continued dripping with monotonous accuracy down our necks into our already soaked clothing and where the straps from our packs held the wet material against our skin it chafed and made life damned uncomfortable.

I shared a tent with Ginger Howard, a laid back Cumbrian farmer, and Chunky Hunt, a curly haired, five foot, good natured guy. The three of us had become close friends since our enlistment into the regiment. The construction of the tent or bivvy was simple. A supporting piece of twine or creeper was slung between two trees. Two ponchos held together by press studs were draped over in a tent fashion and pinned down with metal spring clips. A third poncho was used as a groundsheet.

Space was minimal. Back packs were stored up by your head with a narrow gap between our bedding for personal weapons and for this exercise we had been issued with the standard 7.62mm British FN rifle. Being the senior rank I bagged the middle berth.

We three cooked a meal on the mini camping stoves provided in the Compo ration packs. Dinner was a mug of oxo, curry made from a tin of Irish stew and a sachet of curry powder eaten without rice and followed by a slice of tinned treacle pudding.

It was the accepted rule that all three in a bivvy would be on guard at the same time, Officers and NCO’s included. Dinner over, because we were first up for guard duty we laid out our bed rolls and dry kit ready to change into later.

By six-thirty it was dark and everyone turned in. We set up the guard posts either end of the camp with one man patrolling and every twenty minutes we rotated.

The first stint was quiet and immediately after changing into dry clothes, socks and plimsolls and hanging our wet gear over nearby branches we turned in.

Our second stint was equally quiet and with the sulphur smell of tiger spray in the air at two o’ clock we changed into our dry gear again and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

As dawn broke the guard woke us by shaking our toes. Chunky, always the brightest first thing, said, ‘Cheers, mate,’ and reached for his wrist watch up by his head.

I heard the hiss and Chunky’s scream at the same time. I instinctively rolled away and landed on top of Ginger and in the murky light I could see a cobra with its imposing hood poised ready to strike again.

Chunky was yelling and crying as he wriggled out of the bivvy cradling his right arm. Ginger was fighting to get out and I had to hold him down.

‘Ginger, where’s your machete?’

‘Under you. Move your fat arse!’

‘Lay off it. I’ve got feelings you know.’

‘You’ll have more than bloody feelings if that thing gets angry. Move over and do snake impressions.’

‘How’s that go?’

‘Hunter, you’ve had plenty of practice at crawling.’

I gave him an elbow in the ribs, and slid slowly on my stomach across the bivvy waving my hand gently from side to side like I thought a cobra swayed.

This snake was short sighted and moved in time with my hand and I just prayed it didn’t get affectionate. Meanwhile, Ginger slid his machete from its sheath and in a flash sliced the head off our uninvited guest. In his frenzy he reduced it to bite size chunks.

In an effort to slow the progress of the venom we bound Chunky’s arm tightly with a couple of medi-bandages and kept it rigid with a splint but the injection of venom had been deep and already he was in intense pain and feeling drowsy.

Totally despondent we rolled the camp up in silence, but with a sense of urgency while munching on hardtack biscuits in place of breakfast. We strapped Chunky into a makeshift stretcher made up of two rifles lashed to some bamboo poles with groundsheets tied around them and with the head of the snake in a plastic bag we struggled, sometimes knee deep in mud or waist deep in water as we followed a jungle stream. At one time we had to link our rifle slings together as a makeshift rope in order to lower the stretcher over an outcrop.

Three hours later we reached an area where a Wessex helicopter could land. I accompanied Chunky to the British Military Hospital in Ipoh but the flight took thirty valuable minutes and when we handed him over to the Medics he was delirious and calling for his Mum. The visible part of his hand was blistered, swollen and black and I had a gut feeling which I kept to myself.

Chunky died an hour later, a victim of nature. How do you explain that to his wife and kids? The C.O. wrote to them but it didn’t make it any easier and it could just as easily have been me.

—

George Barrington Hunter, often described as a fascinating man by the opposite sex, dabbed his eyes and blew his nose before he allowed his gaze to wander around the book laden shelves. His body sat comfortably in his six-foot frame and because of his natural dark hair he belied his advanced years.

He stretched and winced as a stab of arthritic pain emanated from his hip. Ignoring it he returned his attention to Doctor Robert Hayle MRC Psych who sat in the armchair opposite.

The Doctor sensing the gravity of George’s feelings spoke softly. ‘The snake affair, George, is one of your recurring nightmares. Why do you think this particular one troubles you?’

‘If I hadn’t pulled rank things would have been different.’

Hayle stopped scribbling and looked up. ‘George, you must stop beating yourself up. Yes, it was sad affair but in no way was it your fault. You could never have foreseen the circumstances. Were you made aware of snakes in the area?’

‘Yes. They warned us in the Jungle Warfare School.’

‘George, it was purely circumstances that took you to that place. This is typical PTS brought on by a feeling of guilt.’

‘I know, Doc, but if I hadn’t taken the centre slot it wouldn’t have happened.’

‘No, indeed, and you wouldn’t be sitting here with me. You would be buried in some far away cemetery in Malaya. You did what was your right. A tradition carried out in the Army since its inauguration. If we could look into the future, George, many things could be avoided but we can’t and therefore we must accept the consequences. It was not your fault. Now then, Jacquie told me in our preliminary meetings that you often wake up shouting and throwing yourself about as if you were trying to avoid something.’

‘Oh… That!’

‘We’ll call it a day, George. You can tell me about it next week. Take half of one of those tablets each night. They will help you sleep and over time hopefully help you forget. Call me if you have any problems.

***

CHAPTER 2

A week later George settled himself into the reclining chair and raised the footrest. ‘Okay, Doc, I’m ready.’

Doctor Hayle studied his notes and after a few moments deliberation looked up. ‘Are you sleeping better, George?’

‘I haven’t slept so well for a long time and Jacquie says the same.’

‘Good, but don’t let up on those tablets just yet. These wild outbursts you have. Tell me about them.’

‘It’s a bit silly really, Doc, but they’re all related to incidents in my life…’

—

I had been promoted to Sergeant and sent on attachment to the American Green Berets. Together we went on a ‘Hearts and Minds’ mission in the Northwest of Laos in an area called the ‘Golden Triangle’ the centre of the poppy growing industry. It was an attempt to keep the people of the area out of the hands of the commies who were known as the ‘Pathet Lao.

The tribes in the area were generally well disposed towards us as the Yanks through the auspices of the CIA paid them the market price for the heroin they produced from the poppies but there was a fly in the ointment. Someone tipped off the bad guys about our movements.

We were two days out from base camp when our squad of four, three Yanks and myself, were jumped. Two died instantly but Aaron and I escaped after a brief skirmish. The jungle is a friend as well as an enemy and we walked all night and through the next day.

Our complete stock was his backpack with its depleted rations, my Browning 9mm automatic pistol, his M16 carbine and half a clip, my favourite eight inch stiletto and one bayonet cum combat knife. Our compass and maps were lost in the fire-fight and if that wasn’t enough he had a serious thigh wound and I had a wound along my ribs which hurt like crazy every time I took a breath.

It was dawn and we were ten yards off the track in primary jungle. The crickets and cicadas are kicking up one helluva din, which is good, and I’m wet through from the water dripping off every leaf.

I’d had a sleepless night keeping watch as there had been movement in the bush during the night and Aaron was moaning in his ruptured sleep. I had to keep him quiet as well as being ready for any eventuality. I think it may have been a tiger but thank goodness we were not on the menu.

‘As you can well imagine, Doc, I was not a happy bunny. Luckily our matches were still dry. That was a blessing as trying to operate the American issue emergency lighter is like trying to light a piece of string in a shower. Anyway, I was able to light the little camp stove. Aaron had not thrown away the rice in his ration pack as we Brits do as a matter of course because it uses too much water so breakfast was half a mug of rice plus a mug of rice water to warm us up.

I used some of our water ration to clean Aaron’s wound which didn’t look too good and we lay hidden until ten o’clock waiting for the clouds to clear so that we could get a watch sight of the Sun. It’s not very accurate but it gives you a rough guide to North and South and by that I was able to steer in what I hoped was a course towards the Mekong River. If we could get to the river plain I could leave him and hopefully cross the river and get help.

We packed our belongings and I went out to the track for a recce. I was relieved to see that any trace of us had been obliterated by the overnight rain.

I tightened Aaron’s tourniquet and we set off with his arm around my neck and he used his rifle as a walking stick. I don’t know who groaned the loudest, me with the ribs, or him with his leg. Him I guess, and he’d also lost a lot of blood.

I cursed the wet ground as we were leaving tracks a blind man could follow, but luck was on our side. The Pathet Lao had lost our spoor and we stayed safe. The sun came out and with steam rising off our wet clothes we did a three-legged walk towards safety.

An hour later Aaron became too weak and his trouser leg was once more soaked with blood. We stopped to ease the tourniquet and I left him just off the track while I went ahead.

Five minutes later I heard a voice. Positive it was American I pressed on but with a little more caution when the jungle suddenly stopped and I stepped out into a complex of paddy fields in the middle of which was an ‘America Air’ helicopter and in the distance the river glistened in the bright sunlight.

My dead reckoning had been good.

‘Hey, Mack, get your ass out here,’ the pilot was complaining over his radio. ‘And bring some frigging hydraulic oil with you.’ He went on to give his coordinates before he became aware of me.

‘Jeez, what the hell.’ In true Mickey Rooney style, not unlike the chopper pilot in the film ‘Bridges of Toko-Ri’, he ran towards me. ‘Hey, what gives, pal? You look like shit.’

I explained the situation and he radioed for a medic and a stretcher as well as his oil.

The pilot was Hank, a New Yorker who chewed incessantly on a cheroot. While we waited for the back-up he came with me to pick up Aaron who was close to dying by this time. His pulse was barely noticeable. Between us we managed to get him back to the helicopter affectionately called a Huey and we waited for the Medi-vac chopper bringing, amongst other things, Hank’s much needed hydraulic oil.

When it arrived the medics soon had Aaron on drips and he was loaded into the relief Huey. I stayed with Hank to give him cover while he topped up his oil. He’d repaired the leak apparently before I came across him.

Job done, he cranked up the motor which whined into life at the same time I spotted uniformed figures running towards us.

‘Hank,’ I yelled, as I scrambled into the left hand seat. ‘Get the hell out of here, we’ve got company,’

‘Are ya sure they ain’t peasants, buddy?’

‘Damned sure.’ I pointed in their direction. ‘That’s not rice paddles their carryin’ and they’re making poppin’ noises in our direction.’

‘Jeezuz! Go tell em, wait.’

He jiggled the control levers a couple of times to bleed the system, slid the throttle into the flight idle position and pulled hard upwards on the collective.

The engine screamed and the Huey lifted off. We did a swift torque turn to the left and made a hurried exit. As we did so there was a solid clunk from the engine compartment. A bullet had found its mark.

Nothing appeared amiss and we skimmed at head height over the paddy fields and when we reached the river Hank took us up to two hundred feet and set a course for Ubon in Thailand following the Mekong.

‘Shit,’ he cursed.

‘What’s up,’ I asked, trying to appear calm.

Hank bit down harder on his cheroot and mumbled through closed lips. ‘The collective was heavy when I took her up.’

He eased the cyclical joy stick to the right to correct our course and cursed again.

‘Jeezuz man, we’re in trouble.’

Now I felt really nervous. As a child I’d had this morbid fear of amusement parks the big dipper in particular and the thought of being suspended beneath a couple of six inch carbon fibre and titanium paddles didn’t appeal to me.

I tried to appear calm but my voice went up to a youthful treble. ‘Why’s that?’

‘We’re losing hydraulic pressure. That damned bullet must have nicked a pipe.’

The nose dipped sickeningly and we swooped earthwards. My stomach came up to meet my mouth but, ‘Oh joy,’ I’d had nothing to eat for ages. I then remembered my dangling lap strap and fastened it quickly.

Hank tried the collective and nothing happened. Using all his strength he pulled harder but the sensitivity provided by the hydraulics had gone and the Huey reacted violently. The nose came up sharply in a steep roller coaster climb and our forward speed fell away.

A lesser pilot would have been in trouble but Hank was up to it. He flipped a switch and shut down the hydraulic servo’s to all systems which made the chopper just flyable but it would mean considerable physical effort on his part.

Somehow he regained control and he depressed the radio switch on the top of the cyclical to call in. A stream of expletives filled the cabin in a manner that only a man from the Bronx can do.

‘They shot up the radio. We’re not gonna make it, pal,’ he yelled.’

I looked at the map and searched around for landmarks. A small island gave me a fix and with a sigh of relief I realised that we were only twelve miles from safety.

‘Hank, go right, ninety degrees. We Brits have a camp at Leong Nok Tha. They’ve built an airfield there and it’s my Squadron base. Can you hold her for another few minutes?’

‘I’m sure as hell gonna try.’

He kicked down on the right pedal and eased down on the collective lever. With beads of sweat trickling through the dust on his face he executed a tight torque turn before we went into a shallow dive to gain speed on a westerly course.

Somehow he found time to take his right hand off the cyclical column, remove his cap and wipe his forehead with the back of his hand before he pushed the soggy cheroot to the other side of his mouth.

A few minutes later the base came into view and Hank decided we would do an emergency auto-rotational landing into the scrub at the side of the runway.

We circled a couple of times to warn people on the ground while easing down to a safer height for the manoeuvre. With immense effort Hank pulled back on the collective to bring the nose up and stop our forward motion at the same time easing back on the cyclical to put us into the hover.

At this point I found religion.

I watched Hank with admiration as he coolly went through the emergency drill. Once in the hover he closed the throttle, clipped it into manual override and as the revs died down we began to descend kept in the air only by the momentum of the blades.

With a touch of right pedal to stop yaw we came earthward. Six foot from the ground Hank pulled the collective to the maximum lift position using the last bit of available thrust in the spinning rotors to cushion the landing.

All would have been well but for the overgrown monsoon drain at the side of the runway. The left skid dipped into it and the Huey tilted and rolled onto its side. The rotor blades shattered into myriads of pieces and the tail boom crumbled on impact.

Hank, who hadn’t fastened his lap strap, tumbled passed me head first into the door pillar and I screamed as my already injured ribs received more punishment. I fell sideways in my seat and my head came into contact with the side of the cabin and all went quiet.

An hour later I woke up staring at the unfamiliar corrugated iron roof of the Station Medical Centre wondering where the hell I was when the unsympathetic voice of Major Gough, my C.O. penetrated my brain.

‘You’ve been living it up with the Yanks too long, Sgt Hunter. A couple of weeks R&R and then you can become a real soldier once more.’

Hank got a lift to Ubon on the back of a low-loader with his broken Huey and I will always be in his debt. As for my sore ribs. A bullet had smashed the rib and it was pressing into my lung. Aaron survived and he is now a Rabbi in New York. He gave the American Military some cock and bull story and they gave me a Purple Heart, the Medal of Honour and a pension. There you have it, Doc. I owe my life to America Air and I have a photograph of the broken helicopter somewhere.’

‘And this is what your nightmares are about, George?’

‘Yes. It’s all about ducking and weaving and trying to escape from that damned swaying machine but I’m tied in and we’re going to crash.’

‘This is another symptom of Post Traumatic Stress, George. This problem can manifest itself in many ways and covers many different symptoms. This time it’s fear. What puzzles me, however, is how a man who has been through the SAS machine is frightened of merry-go-rounds. There is obviously something in your childhood which triggered it.’

‘I was okay on ordinary roundabouts and I liked the moon-rocket but when it came to the big-dipper or the waltzer they scared me to death. Just like that bloody helicopter. I had no control over it.’

‘The moon-rocket was a long capsule which went in a fixed circle very fast, correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘While your waltzer and big-dipper threw you around haphazardly.’

‘Yes.’

‘You hit the nail on the head when you said—‘You had no control.’ I think you’re a control freak.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far, Doc. It’s true I like to have my finger on the button so to speak and guide my own destiny. I don’t like it when every day things get beyond me and I can’t do anything about it.’

‘Do you boss Jacquie and the kids around?’

‘Huh! I wish. She complains that I do but I’m only trying to help really.’

‘George, we must find a way to soften your attitude. It is the basis of your anxiety. On your next visit we’ll talk about other escapades where you’re more balanced. Where the fear was caused by the situation rather than your lack of self control. In other words—Your job. Before you go, did you ever get a break from all this activity?’

‘Yes, Doc, shortly after I was airlifted out of Laos I was sent on two weeks R & R in Pattaya. I was bruised by our crash landing and the wound where the bullet had ripped across my ribs made breathing painful and any respite was welcome.

I know what you’re thinking, Doc, but Pattaya in 1966 was a tiny fishing village seventy miles south of Bangkok and constituted of half a dozen bamboo villas standing on stilts on the shore of the South China Sea. A corrugated tin shack east of the road partially hidden by the primary jungle was the local brothel for the more venturesome.

Six of us, with two cases of beer each plus rations, flew down to Bangkok courtesy of the US Air Force and following a two hour drive we arrived in the middle of the night. After the short time it takes to put a case of beer in the fridge we tumbled into our camp beds.

The noise of rolling surf woke us and the six of us staggered bleary-eyed onto the back veranda. What greeted us was the leader page of any holiday catalogue. The villa had three bedrooms, a kitchen dining room and the fridge we discovered was outside on the veranda directly over the sea which was four foot below us. The tide was minimal and who needs a bathroom when you fell down three steps with your ‘San Miguel’ fuelled hangover into blue tropical water. Alas, it was no good for shaving.

We made our first breakfast from the ration packs but in future we would be eating out as four hundred yards down the road the last building was altruistically called the ‘Cum Inn’.

This became the focus of our life for the next two weeks. It was a good system, we ate there and the landlord kept our beer in his fridge for two bahts a bottle. Most surprising though, this bamboo shack had a ten by ten metre sprung dance floor.

On the second evening, on the second bottle of a journey into stupor, we were surprised when two English couples arrived. A short grey haired man and his younger, attractive blonde wife, Shirley, plus a boring middle aged couple who had lived together too long. The men worked for Shell and were managers in a refinery a few miles down the road.

The evening wore on and I could see Shirley was getting restless and then someone put Glen Miller’s ‘In The Mood’ on the jukebox. I am fortunate in that I learned to dance at school and Shirley needed no second bidding when I nodded towards the floor.

What followed was two hours of mutual seduction but the gentleman in me forbids me from saying more.

Imagine my surprise the next morning when I found Shirley sunbathing on our veranda with little more than three postage stamps for decency. I chased the other five to find their own breakfast and let nature take its course and as it had been an ‘Eternity’ since I had made love to anything more than a Bar-girl I tried my best to emulate Burt Lancaster in the surf but Shirley was far more earthy than Deborah Kerr.

After much ‘deep and meaningful’ conversation, I found out that she came from my home town and lived only half a mile from my parents. Her husband was twenty years older and was more interested in Glen Morangie than sex.

At the end of a frenetic two weeks involving tactful positioning of my ribcage and many push ups we made love at every opportunity, including the beach below the ‘Cum Inn’ every night.

As a naïve twenty-five-year-old, I was in love. She also professed her love to me, but oddly, she was faithful to her husband. He didn’t care what she did so long as she was home for him, which left me both distraught and heartbroken when she told me nothing would come of our liaison.

I would rather face the terrorist in the jungle than the vagaries of a woman’s mind. At least you know he has only one intention—To kill you.

It later dawned on me that she must have had a new lover every two weeks but it didn’t stop me looking into every push chair and peering around every corner when I returned home fearful of the consequences of unprotected—LOVE!’

‘A welcome relief, George, and probably a good stress buster. Book your next session and we’ll get back to the real cause of your problem.’

***

CHAPTER 3

 Doc Hayle folded his newspaper and waited patiently while George settled himself.

‘What about the headlines, Doc?’

‘What’s that, George?’

‘The weather causing havoc down at Heathrow. Departures are snarled up by a piddling bit of snow.’

‘Has this any bearing on today’s session or are you merely passing the time?’

‘A bit of both, Doc. I was thinking about a time when I had trouble with departures although it was nothing to do with the weather.’

‘Why was that?’

‘I’d recovered from my trip to Laos and been sent to fight in Sarawak…’

—

We watched the RAF Argosy glinting in the morning sunlight as it circled the short jungle airstrip relieved that a frustrating operation was coming to an end.

The plan to search out and destroy the Indonesian insurgents who opposed the formation of the Malayan Federation had been disappointing. Our two ‘bricks’—four man sections of ‘F’ troop, ‘X’ Squadron with long wheel base Landrovers had been dropped off a week earlier and it soon became clear that the vehicles were unsuited to the terrain and we could only use them as a base. Captain Brian Warren, who I was to have a long friendship with, was our Commander.

The .50 calibre Heavy Machine Gun mounted on each vehicle made ideal defensive weapons for what we nick-named the ‘Departure Lounge’ so they weren’t a complete failure.

We found traces of the Indos on our patrols but made no contact. They knew that we knew they were there and they avoided us.

The plane turned into the wind on its final approach when it suddenly climbed and banked hard to starboard. A moment later we knew why as the sound of small arms fire reached us.

‘Make a perimeter,’ shouted Warren, ‘and start the engines.’

He took ‘B’ section to the other side of the laterite runway with while I manned this side with ‘C’ section. We each had a Landrover plus a 7.62 GPMG* and our personal FN rifles.

Scrimmed down in the primary jungle at the side of the airfield we watched and waited as the Argosy made a new approach from upwind. A difficult manoeuvre on a normal airfield never mind a laterite strip slightly longer than two football pitches.

It came in slow and low and swaying from side to side. The under-carriage brushed the jungle canopy as the pilot slowed it close to stalling speed while fighting the tailwind which was trying to push them faster.

It crossed the boundary, the nose came up and it dropped onto the runway with a jarring thump raising clouds of red dust. It bounced once before settling and sped down the runway with the four Dart turboprops screaming in protest on full reverse thrust.

I looked away. Surely it couldn’t stop and then I noticed an undercarriage cover flapping about like a piece of expensive aluminium washing.

Somehow the plane pulled up before the trees, executed a turn in its own length and rolled towards us with the ramp down ready for our embarkation.

‘Sergeant! Load up while I cover,’ Warren shouted over the sound of the engines.

Taffy Evans abandoned the HMG and jumped into the driver’s seat. He gunned the engine at the same time as an RAF Flying Officer hurried down the ramp towards me.

‘Have you guys got a tool kit and some nuts and bolts,’ he yelled.

I ran forward to meet him. ‘What the bloody hell for?’

‘The shock of the landing has ruptured the bolts on the starboard wheel flap. We can’t take off with it like that.’

‘What do you need,’ I shouted.

‘Come and look.’

‘One moment. Taffy! Get that thing on board, the rest of you stay focussed. The bastards can’t be too far away.’

Taking me by the arm he led me under the right wing and showed me the wayward flap and the disconnected strut.

A nut and bolt would fix it but did we have anything that would fit.

I ran to the back of the aircraft and called up to Taffy who was also the Troop mechanic.

‘Taffy’ I shouted from the ramp.

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Check out this wheel flap and see what you have in your toolbox.’

Warren ran over. ‘What’s the matter, George?’

I quickly explained our predicament.

‘Okay, line up the second vehicle with the ramp and shrink the perimeter. Keep the GP’s and one HMG manned.’

I did as he requested while Taffy found a one inch x three-sixteenth bolt, two flat washers and a couple of nuts and buffeted by the propeller backwash bodged a quick fix. This had to be a first. The Army helping the RAF out of a fix.

Two minutes later Taffy shouted, ‘All done, Sarge.’

‘Load that bloody vehicle, double quick. On board lads, face out.’

We scrambled aboard and with the ramp barely raised the Argosy rolled forward.

We had not gone more than ten yards when Taffy shouted. ‘Hold it! I’ve forgot me bloody toolbox!’

‘Leave it,’ I shouted.

‘Not bloody likely.’ Without thinking he jumped up and dashed down the ramp yelling as he ran. ‘The bastards’ll charge me for it.’

Through the dust cloud the first telltale spurts of earth appeared and the crackle of AK 47’s reached our ears.

Taffy’s toolbox was some twenty yards behind us but it didn’t deter him. He ran in a weaving pattern as the hidden gunmen fired blindly through the pink fog. He snatched the box up and ran back towards the rolling aircraft.

We couldn’t retaliate as Taffy, burdened with an extra 15lbs. was in our line of fire. He threw the toolbox on the ramp as a bullet sliced through his heel and he fell forward grasping for a hand hold. The Argosy accelerated with Taffy being dragged along behind and I yelled at the ramp operator to hold my legs as I dropped onto my stomach. I reached out and grabbed Taffy’s outstretched arm.

The ramp operator shouted, ‘GO, GO, GO,’ into his intercom as I dragged Taffy inch by inch up the ramp. The engines roared and we surged down the runway.

We had reached halfway when much to our consternation we saw the telltale trail of a rocket propelled grenade burst from the tree line.

Through the swirling dust the rocket chased us. The plane accelerated but the missile was steadily gaining. Everyone was urging the plane on trying to lift it physically into the air. It was no contest. We were for it.

The load-master shouted into his mike urging the pilot to greater efforts. ‘Get this fucking thing up, daddio, or we’re dead ducks.’

With a sickening lurch the nose came up and we wobbled precariously as the four Rolls Royce engines dragged us unsteadily above the trees collecting a few branches on the way. We must have been close to stalling as you could feel the vibrations through the frame. With a collective sigh of relief we watched the missile pass below us and blow itself up on a tree-trunk. The explosion rocked the aircraft and splinters of wood rattled against the hull.

The ramp doors finally closed and the intercom crackled, ‘This is your Captain speaking. Welcome aboard this RAF flight to Singapore. The hostess will soon…’

The announcement was drowned in expletives which left the pilot in little doubt about his origins.’

—

‘There you have it, Doc. My hasty departure from Borneo. A bit quicker than Heathrow I can tell you, and warmer.’

‘Did you go ever go back there, George?’

‘Yes, but from then on we were taken in by boat up the many creeks leading from the main river and returned the same way.’

‘Were you ever frightened during that or any other exercise out there?’

‘It’s always in the back of your mind but we were doing a job and using techniques learnt in the long campaign in Malaya and the Chindits in WW2. We were successful and very much in control.’

‘We’re back to that word again.’

‘What I meant, Doc, was the fact that I was in control of my life and not at the mercy of someone else’s actions.’

‘I see, but there was an undercurrent of trauma that you wouldn’t have been aware of. The fact that you were working with comrades of a similar breed would have kept you going. A collective help environment in fact. Have you any other similar events where stress levels could have built up?’

‘Many. I volunteered for Oman in the early seventies and a typical…’

‘Stop there, George. Tell me next time.’

***

CHAPTER 4

AMBUSH. Oman 197?...

 To avoid detection our helicopter swooped between the shifting peaks of the sand dunes some as high as six hundred feet. The late evening sunset bathed them in a deep orange glow fading into blue and then black on the eastern slopes. Our destination was an oasis East of Deefa in the Oman Saudi Empty quarter.

There had been a tip off about a meeting taking place there the next day between two communist leaders of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Oman, the adoo, and a Jebali Sheikh. We had been sent to capture them. A Sultanate Armed Forces Armoured Car Platoon was also dispatched as back-up.

Our twelve man troop, each man carrying a pack of around a one-hundred pounds of kit and ammunition, was dropped ten miles short of our target. As well as our personal SLRs we had one belt fed General Purpose Machine Gun for each four man section and ‘Bull’ Jennings carried our one 60mm Mortar.

Our guide was a shifty looking character who was supposed to be a reformed PFLO fighter. He had one eye that looked anywhere but at you and the lads didn’t trust him, much like they did a sooq stallholder, .

As darkness fell we set off in single file sometimes up to our ankles in sand, occasionally walking awkwardly on loose gravel and just short of our target we stumbled in the dark over skull-sized rocks cursing quietly each time we fell to our knees. Used to covering five miles an hour we managed a little over a frustrating one.

Seven hours later the guide raised his hand. We had reached our destination and in the dim light of the stars viewed the peaceful scene. Below us, bathed in a cotton wool blanket of mist, was a picturesque scene from the ‘Arabian Nights’.

We could smell the acrid odour of burning dung coming up from the hollow. There were palm trees dotted around and clumps of thorn amongst which was scattered a half dozen or so black tents. Sheep slept around and between them and incongruously, a few Toyota Land Cruisers.

I shuddered. Something wasn’t right.

Wasting no time because the grey light of dawn was seeping over the horizon Captain Warren allocated the right sector of the valley floor to my section and he took his to the left while Bull and the Mortar section would cover us from the top. It was then we realised our guide had melted into the night. Feeling uneasy, but too late to worry, we spread out.

The clumps of thorn made ideal cover and running from one to the other we got to within a hundred yards of the camp. We eased ourselves into the hollowed out centre of a thicket and I stayed on watch while the other three rested and brewed up a welcome can of tea. It was easy enough to light the tiny campaign stove without being spotted and once lit it had a small blue flame much like a gas stove.

The flap of the nearest tent opened and a man in the dark brown uniform of the PFLO, an AK47 cradled in his arm, walked directly towards us. The Red Star in his hat glinted in the early morning light and I raised my rifle. He was fifteen yards from us when I stood up and said in broken Arabic. ‘Drop your gun or I shoot.’

In one swift movement he adopted a crouch position and pointed the Kalashnikov in my direction.

We fired simultaneously and he was lifted bodily and thrown backwards by the force of the 7.62 mm round, at the same time I felt a burning sensation across my ribcage.

‘Shit! Why is it always my bloody ribs, don’t they know anywhere else?’

And then all hell broke loose.

The sheep morphed into armed men and more joined them from the tents while others piled out of the Land-Cruisers. The air was filled with the crackle of AK47’s all intent on doing us injury or worse. We had been set-up, it was an ambush.

To the south I saw more uniformed figures swarming over the top of a dune.

‘The SAF boys are here,’ I shouted.

Oh, boy, was I was wrong. They were regular South Yemeni troops in support of the PFLO.

The thicket was being shredded by the intense volley of weaponry aimed at us. A rocket propelled grenade passed through the top of our hiding place and buried itself harmlessly into the dunes behind. We hugged the floor to keep as much of our bodies below ground level and returned fire, the GPMG in the expert hands of Taffy Evans taking its toll.

Our radio crackled and in plain language Warren shouted, ‘Get out now, over!’

 We heard the crump, crump, of mortar rounds exploding. Bull was cradling the mortar in the crook of his knee to get better elevation and was giving devastating covering fire close to our position.

The PFLO hesitated as casualties from our concentrated fire increased and taking advantage of the lull we ran back to the dunes.

The sand slowed us but thankfully the Arab and an AK47 on automatic are not known for accuracy. Zigzagging amongst the spurts of sand we made it to safety.

Like music to our ears the noise of 76mm shell fire reached us. The 7th Cavalry had arrived and the SAF Saladin Armoured Cars were raking the adoo and South Yemeni soldiers.

Mopping up didn’t take long as the remainder of the adoo fled. Salvaging our kit we hitched a lift to civilisation on the Armoured Cars.

Amazingly, I was the only casualty apart from a few scratches here and there and Bull had a bruised thigh from the recoil of the Mortar.

Two weeks later I was recalled back to the UK still breathing gingerly but my affair with Oman wasn’t quite over. The plane bringing me home was hi-jacked on Muscat Airfield.

Doctor Hayle looked at his watch. ‘We’re early today, George. Will this take long?’

‘Not really and there is a little humorous side to this although the occasion was deadly serious.’

‘Okay, George, carry on, but make it quick.’

‘It was another case of bad departures for me. The aircraft had just rolled back and was taxi-ing towards the runway when these guys jumped up with guns and hand grenades and held us hostage. They were demanding the release of PFLO prisoners held by the Oman authorities…’

—

 ‘Can I let go now?’

It was four in the morning and I found breathing through my mouth was not the answer to the fetid, gaseous soup in the Royal Oman VC10. It seeped around the best attempts at filtering. To add to my discomfort my injured ribs were aching from being cramped in my seat for a long period.

Decorum had long since been abandoned as had all but the modicum of clothes required for decency. The Muslim men on board must have exercised their beliefs many times at the display of pale skin and female apparel showing places not normally exposed to the sun.

I was three rows from the rear of the aircraft which added further to my misery as toilets designed to disgorge putrid contents at thirty thousand feet were near full to capacity. The temperature was 41C and the mix in the sceptic tanks was stewing along with the soiled nappies stacked in the cubicle reserved for the women.

Surely this was an essential demand of the PFLO high-jackers who were holding us hostage in a distant corner of Muscat airport. The germs of many Westerners were very near to contaminating even the cleanest of right hands and ‘indee mushkila – I have a problem,’ under these conditions was a regular cry. ‘Insh Allah – God is willing,’ must by now sound incongruous even to the most hardened of terrorist.

A branch of the ‘mughir’ tree would be welcome at this time as the smell of frequently sprayed Chanel and Givenchy intensified the attack on the nose.

‘George Hunter,’ I said to myself, ‘It’s time to do something.’

—

I watched the PFLO insurgent patrolling the aisle through half closed eyes and I counted down the rows as he walked away from me. I knew he would turn at row four before making his way back through the restless, dozing passengers.

The moment our custodian reached row six I sprang up, flicked open the catch to the overhead locker and quickly sat down feigning sleep. I was hoping that the many sounds emitted by one-hundred and fifty sleepy occupants would hide my actions and the disarray would distract him from observing the open locker.

He swung around ready to throw the primed Mills hand-grenade in his right hand and peered through the cabin lit only by the emergency lighting. Thankfully he noticed nothing. Undecided, he paused for a minute before continuing his vigil.

I prayed silently, hoping his dulled senses would not be alerted. My prayers were answered. He passed by me, stopped at the rear doors, wrinkled his nose at the smell, turned and walked slowly down the aisle towards the front again kicking aside mislaid footwear.

Row eight, seven, six—I jumped up again, grabbed my back-pack from the locker and slumped down once more.

The guard, less apprehensive at this second disturbance stopped, looked around with a puzzled expression, and seeing nothing shrugged his shoulders and continued his patrol.

I fumbled inside my pack and found my favourite stiletto knife. I withdrew it from its scabbard and secreted it in my left hand with the blade flattened against my wrist and waited for the right moment.

I didn’t have long to wait.

I watched the guard traverse the cabin twice more before the time arrived. Bored by his routine he went only as far as the rear seats, took a desultory glance around and started back. This I judged to be the moment.

The instant he passed me I sprang into action. My right arm curled around and I clamped his hand holding the grenade. At the same time my left hand came under his left armpit and with an upward thrust under the ribcage I buried the six-inch blade to the hilt. I lowered the lifeless body to the floor, eased the grenade from limp fingers, and thrust it at my neighbouring passenger across the aisle.

‘Here, hold that,’ I yelled at him. ‘And don’t let go of that lever whatever happens, savvy?’

The man nodded dumbly, his eyes bulging like a frog on speed.

I quickly frisked the terrorist and found an old Browning SP35 self-loading pistol tucked in his belt. I had just cocked the action when the door to the flight deck slammed open and terrorist number two leapt out waving a short AK47.

‘Heads down,’ I bellowed as I snapped off two shots.

My aim was good and force of the 9mm slugs slammed him into the bulkhead and he left a smear of blood as he slid to the floor.

‘Two down, two to go,’ I counted.

I knew there was one terrorist on the flightdeck, but where was the fourth. I’d lost sight of him over the intervening hours.

The passengers were getting restless and one or two stood up and looked around. I waved them down and told the man with the grenade to get help and open the rear doors and release the escape chute. Keeping calm was a factor and I quietly spread the word not to panic but to go to the rear one row at a time.

Gun at the ready I ventured forward checking each row. I had reached row ten when the insurgent on the flightdeck made his move. He came through the door holding a hostess in front of him with a pistol to her forehead.

‘Heads down,’ I yelled.

‘Stop Ingleezi,’ the terrorist shouted and brutally thrust his gun hard into her temple. ‘I kill her and blow up plane.’

I stopped with the pistol held two handed in front of me. It was then I noticed the cord dangling over his shoulder which came from his rucksack.

I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.

‘Jeezuz, do people really stink like that?’

‘Drop your gun, Ingleezi.’

I was loathe to do this. I’d had the initiative and I didn’t want to hand it to him.

‘Where was number four?’

I sensed the hesitation behind me as passengers stopped disembarking through the rear doors. I could see his eyes flicking between me and them and tempting fate I took my right hand from the gun and in slow motion reached into my trouser pocket and withdrew my handkerchief.

I blew my nose. This harmless distraction seemed to disconcert him and he hesitated long enough for me to wink at the hostess and drop the handkerchief.

She was a bright girl and with a groan she slumped in a faint. Her dead weight turned her assailants body slightly to the left. I squeezed the trigger and a hole magically appeared alongside his right ear. I mentally thanked Browning technology.

‘Where the hell was number four?’

There was a tug on my sleeve and I turned to see a woman pointing to her blonde haired daughter who was being held around the neck by a youth. He held a knife to her throat and looked up at me with wide pleading eyes.

‘You no kill, Ingleezi,’ he said in a high pitched voice, ‘and I no kill her. Okay!’

‘No, okay,’ I said, and squeezed the trigger. At that instant I realised the youth was a girl. I changed my aim quickly and shot her through the right shoulder. I plucked the knife out of numbed fingers and turned to the onlooking passengers.

Calmly I said, ‘Open those bloody doors,’ but inside I was shaking like a leaf.

We were milling around on the tarmac some minutes later making the most of the clean air when someone touched my arm. It was my fellow passenger from across the aisle. I had forgotten him.

He said almost apologetically, ‘Excuse me, sir, can I let go of this now?’

Suddenly, we were alone…

—

‘Goodness me, Hunter, you do get yourself into some predicaments. What did you do with your friend?’

‘After I’d stopped laughing I took the grenade off him and gave it to one of the Oman army guys for safe keeping. As for the fellow himself. He saw the funny aspect of what he’d done and thanked me for saving them. By this time I was shaking nervously and I enjoyed a stiff whisky later in the airport lounge.’

Doctor Hayle finished writing and looked up. ‘That was because the adrenaline had gone. You were no longer in control and a simple request caught you by surprise. That’s why you laughed. It was nerves. Were you nervous as a child?’

George looked down and fiddled with his fingers. ‘Yes, I was.’

‘Have you any idea what caused it.’

He looked ruefully at the Doctor. ‘My Dad was captured at Dunkirk and was missing for the early years of my life. I was bullied at school because I was skinny and had protruding teeth. I was only seven and a half stone when I was fifteen and I was top of the class, which didn’t help.’

‘Did you stammer?’

‘No.’

‘That you could study whilst being bullied says a lot for your character.’ He paused and flicked through his notes before continuing. ‘You left school at fifteen yet you have a rash of ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels and you’ve definitely put on weight.’

‘My parents enrolled me into night school when I was fourteen and did evening classes three times a week on top of my schoolwork. When I joined the Army at fifteen and a half I gained all those certificates. I grew overnight. In no time at all I was over six foot and twelve stone. I lost two front teeth doing gymnastics and I had my false ones set back. Attitudes towards me changed.’

‘You were how old when you Passed Out into the Regular Army?’

‘Eighteen, but I didn’t stay a mechanic, I hated it. I transferred to the Parachute Regiment immediately and I gained a Silver at Bisley in the .22 Class. After that I did sniper training.’

‘What about the SAS?’

‘That was peculiar, Doc. I fancied it and went onto a selection course not expecting to qualify. The standards are tough even by Parachute Regiment standards and designed to fail you, yet somehow I squeezed through and as I was already a sniper as part of a ‘brick’ or a squad of four I did a Para-medics course.’

‘Your early childhood explains a lot. You can tell me next time what happened later in your career?’

***

CHAPTER 5

When I left the Army, Doc, through connections, mainly Brian Warren who was now a Major, I was recruited by the SIS.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can’t tell you too much. I was classified as a Government Official. That’s what it said in my passport. It was secret work where I used my military skills and on reflection I was, how shall we say—A Government sponsored assassin.’

‘What was it like, this work?’

‘Like the time I first saw Jacquie although we didn’t get to meet each other until a long time after.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Her code name was ‘Artemis’ and she was working undercover.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I’m not sure I should, I’ll have to ask her first. It’s still sensitive although it happened almost thirty years ago. If I may, Doc, I’ll make a call to her from the hall.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll arrange for some coffee. How do you like it?’

‘Black and no additives.’

George left the room dialling on his mobile as he did so only to return a few moments later and settle himself onto the casting couch as he preferred to call the interviewing chair.

He accepted a cup of coffee and began. ‘In the early eighties, Doc, many people were confused about the situation in Northern Ireland. It wasn’t a war in the proper sense but a conflagration between two ideals. How to resolve it was a complicated issue going back many years, even centuries, but both sides weren’t prepared at that time to listen to sense and many people who only wanted to live in peace got hurt.

My story is a small part of those things...’

—

 The touch of a feather.

 The rookery dwellers of the copse surged skyward en măsse in a raucous mêlée. Startled rabbits bolted for home, a single hare froze, ears twitching. Reynard, with his latest prize paused in mid-stride before loping purposely back to his lair.

A smudge of pale blue smoke dispersed on an uncomplaining breeze and in a solitary minute peace returned to the lush green South Armagh countryside.

Not a curtain twitched. The village population inured to such noises ignored the short sharp explosion which had disturbed the wildlife.

Hidden in the fringes of a copse five hundred yards from the village George Hunter watched the scene unfolding at the side entrance of the first cottage.

Peering through the telescopic sights of his Enfield L42 rifle he was paying particular attention to the attractive young woman bending over a body lying in the flower bed. She checked for a pulse before patting the lurid tartan Timberland jacket which blended with the border alyssum. Removing a pistol from one of the pockets she put it into her shoulder bag and satisfied she stood upright and looked up the hill towards the copse.

With a sharp intake of breath George uttered to no one but himself, ‘I’d like to get to know you, Artemis.’

Jacquie Riccardi untied her red headscarf, shook her black curly hair loose and stuffed the scarf into her jacket pocket. It was the signal George had been waiting for—Job done.

He continued watching, mesmerised by her distinctive features. She turned and walked toward the front of the cottage and the parked Capri outside. Her short puffa jacket and figure hugging jeans showed off her figure and the logo on the back pockets added to her allure as she walked away from him.

With a quick check of the neighbours she drove off. It was a sign of the times but only the local moggy Baron annoyed by the disturbance on his patch paid any attention.

George packed his rifle into a carrying sheath, retrieved the spent cartridge case and on elbows and stomach crawled through the copse and along the bottom of the hedge in the next field and over the brow of the hill.

Out of sight of the village George switched on the hand radio, gave the call sign and hidden in the long grass, waited for his transport.

Ten minutes later an Army Air Corps helicopter hedge-hopped towards him and while it hovered inches from the ground he ran across and boarded. With a low pitched whine and a gentle whop-whop of rotor blades it whisked him unseen north to Belfast.

Two hours later he disembarked from a RAF C130 Hercules at Speke Airport, Liverpool, and walked across the car park to his rusty yellow Cortina Mk 3. An hour later he was home in Cheshire and running his Garden business.

The following Wednesday in Parliament during Prime Minister’s question time, Margaret Thatcher announced, ‘Assistant Chief Constable John Stalker has been appointed to investigate allegations of a shoot to kill policy in Northern Ireland. Any such policy will cease forthwith.’

—

‘Is that how you met Jacquie, George?’

‘No. Doc. I only glimpsed her from a distance but from that moment I knew I wanted to meet her. I didn’t know how to go about it because as I mentioned earlier I only knew her by her codename. They never told you who was working with you and she was in the front line.’

‘Did you kill many people, George?’

‘That’s a question you don’t ask, Doc.’

‘I know, but it would help with my diagnosis. I promise it won’t go outside these four walls. Patient confidentiality and all that.’

‘Enough, but not just in Northern Ireland. I travelled around the world cleaning up life’s rubbish and enemies of the State. I had to look like a Government Official and there were many perks to go with the job title, like travelling first class and being provided with a posh watch and a Saville Row suit. My equipment went in the Diplomatic bag or as in Northern Ireland I used the military.

‘You were in essence a paid assassin for the Government? It disturbs me that such a thing goes on. Does it happen often?’

‘Only when doing it legitimately would often lead to the perpetrator being let off because politics get in the way.’

‘Did you agree with the policy?’

‘I was recruited to do a job and I never really thought about the scruples of it at the time. It’s a young man’s game and I sort of drifted into it but it’s different from being in a battle face to face. Then it’s kill or be killed. As I said, ‘It was my job,’ and I was much older before my conscience began to question the ethics of it.’

‘Change of subject, George. You were married before you met Jacquie, weren’t you?’

‘Twice. In the early days when I was stationed in Germany I met an attractive German girl who worked in the NAAFI and we got married after a courtship of around six months, but it didn’t work.’

‘Why was that?’

‘With hindsight I was too young but I learned to speak the language which helped later. The second time was some time later when I was working for the SIS and it was not a marriage in the proper sense. By way of a change, instead of killing, they asked me to rescue someone from East Germany which would persuade a Russian General to cooperate.’

Dr Hayle glanced at his watch. ‘Time’s up, George. Make an appointment for next week on your way out.’

 ***

CHAPTER 6

George, you’re getting married.’

Doctor Hayle looked up sharply. ‘Is that what they said to you?’

‘Those exact words, Doc.’

‘What was your reply?’

‘I said—‘Like hell I am. I’m not ready.’

‘I take it they weren’t too pleased.’

‘They could see I was serious and they went on to tell me what they really wanted and if I’d have known what was going to happen I would have declined there and then.’

‘I’d like to hear about it, George.’

‘It’s a long story, Doc.’

‘Never mind. I’m getting paid and I have no appointments booked for later. What was their comment after your initial reaction?’

‘Here goes, I’ll try and remember as much as I can…’

—

Assistant Director of SIS Major Brian Warren pushed back from his desk and looked at George sympathetically. ‘You won’t be married in the real sense, George, but I believe when you see your pretend wife you might wish you were.’

‘Go on, hit me with it.’

‘We’re going to test your language skills, George, and send you with your ‘wife’.’ Warren made inverted comma signs with his forefingers, ‘to East Germany. You will leave London accompanied by our Agent, Anna. She is part White Russian, speaks several languages and will pose as a German. You will travel via the Hook of Holland and West Germany by car and onto Berlin. When you get to Berlin you will cross over into the Eastern Zone as tourists and have lunch where you are going to change wives. Your new one will be the wife of a defecting Russian KGB General. Part of the deal we made with him was to rescue her.’

‘And how do I do that exactly?’

‘It’s all arranged right down to the car. You will be armed but they will be secreted around the car. Have you any preference in hand guns?’

‘Yes. Heckler & Koch VP70’s. The double magazine sounds right for this trip.’

‘Okay. When you go for lunch Anna will go to the toilet and your new wife will join you. Nothing to it. We’ve done it before. After the changeover you will drive back through Checkpoint Charlie. That is Plan ‘A’. Plan ‘B’ is for you to take a tour through Eastern Europe and return via Czechoslovakia.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking. What type of car is it?’

‘Nothing ostentatious, George. It’s a Ford Cortina with a souped up 2.3 litre engine.’

‘It’ll do. When do I leave?’

Warren returned to his desk and picked up a package from the top drawer and a hard back book.

He gave George the package. ‘Here are extra fake Passports, visas and maps, etc… in case you have to resort to Plan ‘B.’ Anna has hers. We have used your real name and you’re a gardener on a busman’s holiday so any chance you get to visit a garden centre or look at wildlife, do it. Take pictures but use only the Kodak cartridges. The Ilford’s contain spare ammunition. For now you will move into one of our safe houses in Essex.’ He threw the book across the desk. ‘Make as if you live there for a few days and read this. It is all you need to know about navigating the Berlin corridor. Next Saturday you go on your travels. You’re booked on the Harwich—Hook of Holland overnight ferry.’

‘I’ve done the corridor a few times but how does Anna get home?’

‘A need to know basis, George, but she’s done it before.’

‘Ergh… What’s she like this, Anna?’

‘Wait and see. Your car’s downstairs. Here’s the keys. She’s waiting for you at the house. Good luck.’

—

George weaved through the capital’s traffic and took the car for a blast up the M1. Satisfied he turned around at Luton and drove to the safe house on the edge of Grays in Essex full of trepidation about his future ‘wife.’

The house was a 1930’s three-bed-roomed semi with an agreeable amount of off-road parking. It was ideally situated on a busy suburban road which would make it difficult for anyone to stop and observe without being noticed.

He parked and with a quick glance up and down went to ring the bell but before he could do so the front door opened and he was greeted by a vivacious woman of medium height with long blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. That she liked close fitting brightly coloured clothes pleased George and with a cheerful smile she played the lonely housewife with zest. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard in full view of anyone who cared to watch.

As the first tingle of sexual tension passed between them, gasping for air when she released him, he stammered. ‘I…I… I take it you’re, Anna?’

Loud enough for everyone to hear she replied. ‘Why yes, darling, I have the kettle on,’ and then quietly, ‘they told me you should have been here two hours ago.’

She turned and he admired the symmetry of her figure as he followed her into the hall and closed the door behind him.

‘Ergh… I’m sorry I’m late. I took our car for a spin.’

‘That’s okay.’ She pushed out a hand. ‘But now you’re here let me introduce myself. I’m Anna Kasynski now Mrs Hunter. For a short while anyway. I apologise for the greeting but I was told to act out the wife bit for all to see.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been here?’

‘Take your coat off, come into the lounge and have a coffee or would you prefer a beer?’

‘Beer would be fine.’

Five minutes later settled in an armchair George put the question to her again.

‘How long have you lived here, Anna?’

‘A little over a month and I was told to advertise that my husband was working away doing research for a new gardening business.’

‘Aah… That explains the greeting.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be. I’ll be looking forward to it in future.’

Anna smiled and blushed. ‘It was nice for me too.’

George took a long swallow from his glass. ‘Anna, we’re going out tonight to celebrate my coming home. Have you found any good places around here.’

‘The neighbours told me if we go across the A13 to a village called Stifford there’s a Pub cum Restaurant called the Dog and Partridge.’

‘That’ll do, and as you and me are technically on honeymoon, I’m having another beer.’

—

They dined well that evening and retired to the lounge to finish their bottle of wine and acted the re-united couple with gusto. George thought he could take to this undercover liaison work. ‘An attractive woman and a nice expense budget, what else can a man want?’ he said to himself while Anna took time out to powder her nose.

The perfect gentleman, he drove home in full knowledge that it could be the early end of a new career if he was stopped.

At home he cracked open another can of beer, stretched out on the settee, and then broached the question of their relationship. ‘Anna! How far do we take this marriage business. I mean, what are the sleeping arrangements?’

She looked coyly at him and smiled. ‘I’m in the front bedroom, George, in the marriage bed, while you’re at the back. However, when we travel we will be in twin-bedded rooms.’

He feigned disappointment. ‘I was afraid of that. I’m ready for bed, good night.’

She kissed him on the cheek and again he felt the tingle at her touch. ‘Good night, George, and thank you for the lovely evening.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said. He scooped up the guidebook and went upstairs quietly whistling to himself.

She followed him and he could hear her moving around in the bathroom. He didn’t read for long and he lay dozing for awhile with the vision of her long hair and the smell of her perfume. The very thought of her stirred him and he went to sleep with a smile on his face.

—

They took every chance to be the faithful husband and wife for the benefit of the neighbours and spread the rumour that they had just moved down there and were looking to set up a Garden Nursery.

He used the call-box on the corner by the Library to contact his business partner Gary to check on the day to day running of his Garden business in Cheshire. Any routine stuff was done from the house.

His relationship with Anna grew stronger and on the third day of their venture as man and wife things changed. She was on a step-ladder cleaning the inside of the windows in the lounge and he went to help her down.

He held her hand but as she smiled a thank you she missed a step. George grabbed for her, fumbled, and clasped her around the waist.

Her touch pinioned him like a bolt of lightning. He held her close as she slid provocatively down the front of him. When her toes reached the ground their lips were almost touching. He felt her hips push into him and like two opposing magnets they were drawn together in a passionate kiss.

She looked into his eyes and said, ‘Hunter, put me down. We shouldn’t be doing this.’

He lowered her to the floor but didn’t let go, instead he leaned forward and kissed her again. She squirmed, and bonded by lust they walked unsteadily to the sofa and were lost in the oblivion of passion.

Relaxing over a cup of tea, flushed by the their energetic interlude she leaned against him and whispered, ‘George Hunter, you’d better come into the marriage bed tonight.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Yes, but this complicates things. How do I leave you with another woman?’

‘And I’m going to worry like shit about you getting back. It shouldn’t be like this.’

‘It’s okay. They have a system which I’ve used before. My passport has crossed that border so many times they think I work there. I know it’s early days, Hunter, but make sure you get back.’

‘I’m new to this job, Anna, but I’m sure we’re not supposed to do this.’

‘This is the first time for me. None of my previous escorts had this effect.’

‘I’m relieved to hear that. I thought maybe it was part of the act.’

She stood up sharply. ‘Hunter! What do you think I am? I’m not one of your Eastern passport diggers. If you think that you’d better sleep on your own.’

She slammed the door as she exited the room and left George bewildered.

‘What did I say,’ he muttered at the same time shaking his head.’

—

The following morning the atmosphere was a frosty and George thought carefully about every word. On his way for a newspaper he stopped at the local flower shop and by lunchtime had resurrected their relationship.

While fostering their rapport with the neighbours they took every opportunity to spread the word about their forthcoming business trip and after tea on the Saturday they set off for Harwich.

 ***

CHAPTER 7

 George didn’t hurry and they arrived at the Hotel Wegner on the outskirts of Hannover late Sunday afternoon where they took advantage of the long summer evening to go for a walk in the local area. There was a Garden Centre close by and they spent time gossiping with the proprietor, taking photographs and making notes before they left after buying some seeds and a pair of high-tech secateurs.

On Monday they took the tram into the town centre and played at tourists where George indulged his taste for locally brewed lager. ‘The real stuff,’ he called it.

He also took the opportunity to buy a large sports bag, two holdalls, some car blankets and a spare petrol can. They transferred their stuff from their suitcases that evening but before that he asked Anna to try the sports bag for size.

She found that she was able to fit in the bag if she curled into a foetal position and he lubricated the zip with the lead from a pencil so that she would be able to slide it easily from the inside.

‘Why are we doing this, George,’ she said with a frown.

‘I don’t know, I have a funny feeling.’

—

George was on his second beer after dinner when they were approached by a familiar figure. The hair was thinner but the marks left by childhood acne were unmistakable.

George stood up and greeted their visitor by his familiar name and not the derogatory one ascribed to him in those far off days of 1956 when they had joined the Army together.

‘Chas—Chas James. So you’re ‘Orpheus’? Well I’ll be darned. What the hell are you doing here?’

They shook hands. ‘Hi, George, who could be none other than ‘Orion.’ I’ve come to see you.’

James presented a blank business card and said, ‘That which is crooked cannot be made straight.’

It was unnecessary but George took a corresponding card from his pocket and gave it to James before replying, ‘And that which is wanting cannot be numbered.’ How long have you been in this business, Chas?’

‘Long enough, George. I transferred to the Intelligence Corp straight from Apprentices School and then spent three years in Cambridge doing languages before going into the field. Can I sit down?’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ He turned slightly. ‘Chas, I’d like you to meet Anna.’

James nodded. ‘We’ve met, George. Get me a beer and let’s get down to business.’

Anna declined and George ordered a beer for James and one more for himself before venturing. ‘Okay, to what do we owe the pleasure?’

‘George, there’s been a change of plan. We’re not happy with it but our Russki friend insists. Tomorrow you’ll go through Checkpoint Alpha at Helmstedt at precisely four o’clock and travel at fifty-five miles an hour. This is a little over the speed limit but gives you approximately ten minutes to pull over at the hundred-kilometre post. How you disguise your stop is up to you. The changeover will take place there.’

‘How does Anna get back?’

‘Our contacts are aware of the change and with a little jiggling she will return by the usual pipeline.’

‘Are you sure. I don’t want her ditched in the middle of nowhere.’

James paused before he answered. ‘Oh… She’ll be alright, George,’ and then added, ‘you pair have become an item, haven’t you?’

George gave James a puzzled look. He wasn’t happy with the answer. To disguise his discomfort he raised his glass and said, ‘Cheers. Let’s talk about old times.’

—

The following morning George and Anna transferred their belongings to the holdalls and padded the sports bag with pillows. They left the suitcases which George thought a fair exchange before checking out early for the eighty kilometre drive to Helmstedt where they arrived shortly before lunch. From a Bier Garten nearby they watched the Checkpoint and made a note of how long it took a car to clear before going into Helmstedt where they purchased two bottles of Johnny Walker Black Label whisky.

They arrived at Checkpoint Alpha at 1540hrs and joined the queue. With the obligatory glance at their passports they were waved through by the British MP’s and drove the hundred metres to the East German Post. They were much more thorough. Their passports and documents were confiscated and they were made to unload and open every bag before the car was searched. George then had to drive over a pit and the underside of the car was checked. He became nervous when other cars, although delayed, were being let through much quicker.

Much to his relief they were eventually released ten minutes late at 1610hrs. which meant they had to drive much quicker to be at the rendezvous on time. That they were in the East Zone was immediately apparent by the state of the road. In the West it had been a smooth and exhilarating drive. Here it was a vibrating nightmare.

They drove in silence and to all appearances everything was normal until the seventy kilometre post when George noticed a Volks Polizei wagon some three or four hundred metres behind them. Instinctively George slowed down to the statutory speed limit and the wagon did also. He slowed again only for his manoeuvre to be mimicked.

‘That’s odd.’

Anna jerked awake when he spoke. ‘What is, George?’

‘That damn Police Wagon behind us. He’s maintaining station whatever I do. I think we’ve been sussed.’

‘What are we going to do, George?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Whatever we do we must warn them of our predicament but not do the exchange.’

He drove strictly to the speed limit until they approached the 100Km marker. ‘Get ready, Anna. I’m going to stop a hundred metres past the post and when I do you jump out, dive into the bushes and drop your pants. Have a pee.’

As they passed the marker George gave the horn a quick beep before he pulled in and switched on the hazard warning lights. Anna flung open the passenger door, jumped out and ran around the front of the car and disappeared into the bushes.

The Police reacted as George expected. With its sirens blaring and blue lamps flashing it pulled in behind them and two armed Volks Polizie ran to the car while two others with their guns at the ready stood facing the scrub on the side of the Autobahn as if expecting something to happen.

Both unslung their sub-machine guns. One came around to his side, tapped on the window and ignoring the rules of the International Agreement concerning protocol on the Autobahn he gestured for George to get out. ‘Vos gibts? Warum hast du gestoppt?’

George mumbled, ‘Nichts furstein.’

‘Why you stopping?’

‘My wife. She is sick.’

The other spook followed Anna into the bushes but quickly stopped when he saw her squatting with her slacks and panties around her ankles.

‘Ich glaube ich spinner,’ she said, ‘Can ich nicht schiesse ohne zuschauer?’

He turned away abruptly and muttered, ‘Enshuldigung, bitte. Ich habe nicht gedacht.’

‘Macht’s nicht.’ And then in English she said, ‘It must have been something I ate.’

She dressed and walked past him to the car where she found George with both hands on top of the car and the policeman searching him.

‘What’s going on,’ she said indignantly. ‘Can’t a lady relieve herself?’

George shook his head in admonishment.

When he had finished with George they both did a thorough check of the car and ten minutes later unable to find anything they begrudgingly waived them on their way.

‘Well done, Anna. Whoever was waiting for us must have seen and heard the clamour and hopefully buggared off. We’ll continue with our journey and stick to the original plan.’

Wary about their intentions the Police followed for a further thirty kilometres and they arrived at Checkpoint Bravo in Berlin a little outside the allotted two hours. Anna’s explanation of her emergency was accepted and after a little haggling with the Russian Guard in which George handed over his Parker Biro for a cap badge they were waved through.

—

They were expected to cross into the East Zone on Friday and Anna made the most of the intervening two days in the Shopping Malls while George paid a call on the Commanding Officer of Wavell Barracks.

After a few minutes of discussion a scrambled message was sent to London and much as he expected the reply was non-committal and he was told to await further instructions.

George returned to the Hotel and had barely tasted his lager when Chas James joined him.

‘What do you want this time, Chas? Your info the last time was crap.’

‘I don’t know what went wrong, George, but I want you to delay until Saturday and then stick to the original plan.’

‘What do you mean—Delay until Saturday and stick to the plan? How can we? We’ve been sussed already.’

A breathless Anna arrived loaded with bags and threw herself down beside him and when she had settled he told her the news. He looked directly at James when he spoke. ‘And so, lass, I’m not sure if we should go on? That do yesterday was a set-up. They were expecting us and obviously they know our mission. I think we should abandon the car and fly home.’

‘There maybe someone waiting for us, George?’

‘Bloody Hell! What a mess. Anna! I’ve only just met you and I care for you.’ She saw the pink flush rising above his collar. ‘I don’t want to do anything which may put you in danger. I’m being selfish, I know.’

‘No you’re not, but a lot may depend on getting this woman back. I know the ropes but I think maybe we should vary our route home.’

‘There you go. You’re suspicious like I am.’

She ran around the table and flung her arms around George’s neck. ‘Hunter, I love you and I feel like you do, but it’s our job. We have to go on.’

He leaned into her and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re right, lass. Let’s enjoy ourselves for an extra day.’ He turned to James. ‘And you, mate, can tell your bosses that the bloody expenses bill’s just gone up.’

***

CHAPTER 8

 Anna, if you’re buzzing off, what do we do with these clothes you’ve spent a fortune on?’

‘You take them with you for the next Mrs Hunter. Here’s the receipts. That’s how I built my wardrobe.’

‘Do you always change over at the Blaue Engel?’

‘Yes. It’s an echtes German restaurant and you’ll enjoy the food.’

‘How many times have you done this?’

‘I’m not telling you but you are the first one I’ve slept with and if you’re good, very, very good—The last.’

He smiled and pretended to look for something in a holdall.

They replaced a couple of the pillows with Anna’s new outfits and left the Hotel at eleven a.m. and George drove to Checkpoint Charlie full of apprehension of what might await them.

—

The crossing into the East Zone went smoothly. Too smooth for George’s liking. The Border guards raised an eyebrow at the boot stuffed to capacity but made no effort to check it other than peering in.

George was suspicious. Previous cars had taken a lot longer to pass through. He didn’t complain and drove with studied legality North-east to the suburb of Weissensee and found the Café-Restaurant Blaue Engel on the side of the lake with parking at the rear.

Sitting in the car outside holding hands they said their farewells. Anna whispered, ‘Take care, George, I’ll be waiting for you at the house.’

‘You likewise, Anna. Keep your fingers crossed and pray. This is a new territory for me and from here on I’m playing this by ear and I’ll be taking the long way home. Goodbye.’

They kissed long and hard before they went in.

—

While they removed their coats Anna whispered, ‘George, something’s wrong. This place is usually busy.’

Before they could move a waiter came over and showed them to a table on the far side of the room. George declined and despite protests picked the table nearest the kitchen.

He sat with his back to the wall and was satisfied he could see the whole room while Anna could watch the narrow space behind him. Thinking it wise to allay fears that they were suspicious in any way they ordered, but only a light bite, ochsenschwanzsuppe and coffee.

Halfway through their soup the hairs on George’s neck bristled. The staff had disappeared and he was aware of activity in the street.

He grabbed Anna’s hand and shouted, ‘Come on! We’re leaving.’

‘But, George.’

‘No buts. Come on, through the kitchen. I knew there was something wrong with this.’

With George in the lead they crashed through the swing doors and bumped into the curious staff. By the main range a foolhardy chef picked up a ladle and menaced George who seized a rolling pin and rammed it end on into the chef’s throat.

Hurriedly they stepped over the writhing cook and burst out through the back door into the car park. And George muttered a quiet prayer in thanks for his early anticipation of trouble. Whoever was out to get them hadn’t got around to covering the rear of the premises and they were able to make the car without trouble.

‘Unload those handguns, Anna and hang on.’

George started the engine and then gunned the car towards the entrance. Anna opened the glove box and ripped the lining out at the top and removed two VP70’s and four magazines and then pulled down on a catch under her seat and two holsters. A shoulder holster for George and a belt one for her.

‘Shit!’

Alerted to the fact that they were making their escape a Police car began reversing across the entrance.

George swung the wheel and glanced the Cortina off the rear of the vehicle and with tyres screeching gunned it down Park Strasse. At the junction with Busch Allee he jumped the lights, turned left across the traffic to work his way South East towards the Frankfurt am Oder highway via Markische Allee and Landsberger Allee.

The Polizei Skodas were no match for the Ford engine and by the time they had reached the main highway George had put enough distance between them and the chasing bunch to be momentarily out of sight. Choosing his moment he picked a gap in the central reservation and did a handbrake turn through onto the other lane narrowly missing oncoming cars. He moved across into the nearside lane and slowed to the flow of the traffic.

‘Keep your fingers crossed, Anna,’ he uttered, ‘I want them to think we’re heading towards Checkpoint Charlie.’

They held their breath as two Skodas with sirens blaring went past in the other direction and kept going. Once clear of the immediate area he did a series of left turns and pulled into a Gasthof and parked immediately before the junction with the main Frankfurt carriageway.

‘Time for a drink,’ he said. ‘We’ll waste a couple of hours and then drive onto Frankfurt during the rush hour. It’s a pity we can’t do anything about that front wing although it should look at home amongst the Trabbies and run down wrecks I’ve seen.’

They hid the pistols, one in a holdall and the other in Anna’s handbag but inside the Gasthof George pretended to use the toilet where he fitted the shoulder holster and extracted his combat stiletto from under the hard bottom of the holdall and clipped it onto his right forearm while Anna ordered bier, bratwurst mit brochen und salat.

When George considered the time was right they bought some frigadelle, two Wiener schnitzel and two bottles of water. As an afterthought he added a couple of bottles of Schnapps.

‘What are they for, George?’

He tapped the side of his nose and said, ‘ Bribes the same as the whisky. It’s Plan ‘B’, Anna, we’re going home the long way.’

‘Do you think that’s wise, George?’

‘We have no option. They’re onto us now. Let’s go.’

There was a garage on the junction of the main road and they filled up which Georges estimated would give them four-hundred and fifty kilometres if they didn’t have to hurry and with a careful look around they edged into the rush hour throng heading out of town.

They made steady progress and had an anxious moment when a couple of curious Volks Polizei in a shabby Trabant eyed them with obvious hostility. The traffic thinned as they left the outer suburbs and a few kilometres into clear countryside George turned off the main road. The shadows were growing longer and he hoped they would distort their profile as they drove between fields and into a wood some distance from the highway.

He walked a hundred or so metres further up the track and studied the ground. There was no obvious sign of fresh activity and he decided it was safe to stop but he parked between some trees and shrubs just in case. Here they resorted to the back-up plan. He reversed the number plates to reveal a different set which although they were English he hoped they, along with their false documents, would throw anyone off the scent long enough for them to get some distance between them.

Taking care not to start a forest fire they burned the old car documents and their current passports and visas.

‘Look at this, Anna. I’m a bus driver on a bus spotting holiday. I suppose there are anoraks who do that sort of thing?’

‘That’s alright. I’m your long suffering half Polish wife who you met while you were in the Army.’

‘That could be awkward. If I was in the Army, as I was, they may think I’m a spy.’

‘Let me do the talking, George. I’ll be your interpreter. Playing dumb should come naturally to a man.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

Anna grinned. ‘Nothing!’

‘Watch it. I’ve got feelings.’

It was almost dark and with a rueful look at his watch he added. ‘Dig out the stash of dollars, Anna, put them in your bag and then grab some sleep. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.’

—

Undisturbed George dozed fitfully until a little after two in the morning. He woke Anna and after a quick snack he gingerly drove without lights to the main road but not before he had placed one of the bottles of whisky on top of their bags in the boot.

He waited a few minutes and entered the highway when the road was clear in both directions. When they had reached the highway speed limit he switched on the lights and continued towards Frankfurt and the border crossing. As expected, apart from a few heavy goods vehicles there was little traffic.

They approached the border post without fuss and sat patiently in the queue before they were waved forward. Obeying the signs George handed both passports and visas to a sleepy Border Guard who disappeared into a hut only to return a few moments later with an Officer. He opened George’s door and enquired why they were travelling at night. George shrugged and Anna explained that they had been told it could take an hour during the day and so they had reluctantly decided to travel at night.

He grudgingly accepted their explanation but nevertheless ordered George to open the boot where he went through the motions of searching. Holding up the whisky he said, ‘Was ist?’

George pleaded ignorance but pointed at the bottle and replied, ‘For you,’ and pushed it into the chest of the Officer.

‘Ist verboten.’

‘Yah, okay. No problem.’

Communist protocol was forgotten and he slipped the bottle into his uniform, spoke a few words to the Guard who returned their passports and paperwork and waved them through.

George thanked them profusely in deliberate broken German and drove sedately down to the Polish Station where he unloaded a bottle of Vodka. They exchanged some of their dollars for zloty and hurriedly disappeared into the night in the direction of Poznan.

It didn’t take George long to discover the hazards of driving in Poland as the highway soon gave way to a narrow ‘B’ road with an earthen track on either side supposedly for tractors. They were soon engaged looking out for the next pothole and in places especially through villages the tarmac turned to rough cobbles which meant that speed limits were superfluous.

Dawn was breaking when on a whim George suddenly turned south.

‘Why’ve you done that,’ Anna enquired, ‘I thought we’d decided on Poznan.’

‘I dunno. Just a feeling. I’m doing a detour around Swiebodzin. We’re going in the right direction.’

They spent a tortuous hour driving down little more than farm tracks first right and then left and up a few dead ends before the found the road South towards Sulechow.

They had only travelled a short distance when Anna said, ‘Hunter, I want a pee.’

He drove through the next village and turned into some woodland and parked fifty metres off the road.

‘Before you go, Anna, dig out one of those Schnitzel, I’m starving.’

‘You’re always starving, Hunter. It’s one thing I’ve noticed about you.’

‘You sound just like me Mam,’ he said. ‘She always complained she couldn’t feed me.’

‘I’m glad I wasn’t your mother.’

By the time Anna had finished her ablutions George was fast asleep, the half eaten schnitzel lying in his lap. She watched him for a few moments quietly pleased to be in the care of this unflappable man. She settled herself in the passenger seat and re-wrapped the uneaten part of his snack before she too stretched out and closed her eyes.

They were disturbed by an urgent tapping on the side window and awoke to find a bearded Polish peasant gesturing wildly and pointing to a battered two wheeled tractor and trailer.

George wound his window down and choked on a mixture of garlic and stale tobacco.

‘Chcialbym aby go do pracy. Sen gdzieś indziej!’

Before George could answer Anna responded with equal vigour and told him in no uncertain terms that they would sleep where they wanted and to remove his foul smelling breath and if he waited a minute and they would move.

Surprised by rhetoric in his own language the farmer stepped back muttering to himself. George rubbed sleep from his eyes and with little difficulty manoeuvred over enough to allow the farmer through. In a cloud of one-cylinder oily two-stroke smoke and waving his fist he chugged deeper into the forest.

George and Anna looked at each other and burst out laughing. ‘I’ve been woken up by many things but he takes the prize and where did you learn to speak like that?’

‘I’m half Polish. My Dad was in the RAF during the war and settled in England. He taught me. I thought you knew that?’

‘I knew the half Polish bit but I never imagined you could speak it.’

‘I do Russian too.’

‘And German. Is there no end to your talents?’

She punched him on the shoulder in mock anger and laughed. ‘Many things some of which you already know.’

He looked at her and smiled. ‘Give us a kiss, you?’

They kissed and only pulled apart when they were disturbed by the blaring sirens of a Police car as it passed by the end of the track.

‘Jesus! I wonder who the hell they’re after? I hope it’s not us.’

‘Relax, George, I don’t think so. We’ve done nothing wrong in Poland and I don’t think they work too closely with their supposed Allies.’

‘You’re probably right but I wonder how much sway the Ruski’s have in this country?’

‘I don’t think there is any love lost between them. They may be Communist but the Poles still have a grievance about the Russian land grab after the War.’

‘Okay, we’ll give them ten minutes and then look for somewhere to freshen up.’

Impatiently George stomped around occasionally kicking a tyre and when only five minutes had passed he said, ‘Come on, Anna, we’ve waited long enough. Let’s go.’

Anna shrugged, climbed in and sat silently while George drove slowly to the main road and carefully looked both ways before continuing their journey south. On the outskirts of the next village they came upon a typical Polish wayside Inn. It was a wooden building surrounded with rusting farming implements and old crashed cars.

They enjoyed a rough strong coffee before they each in turn used the primitive toilet facilities to wash and make a change of clothes. Pleading hunger after travelling all night the landlord heated up a tureen of Bigos, a thick meat and cabbage stew, and placed two steaming bowls before them with a large village loaf and urged them to finish and help themselves to more. On the third bowl they both threw their arms up and begged to stop.

While the inn-keeper was in a jovial mood George urged Anna to enquire about the Police car.

‘To, co uczynił tego samochodu Policji chcą?’

‘WYGLĄDAJĄ dla turystów i powiedzieliśmy je, no. Państwo nie miał wówczas przybyła.’

‘He said they were looking for tourists but we hadn’t arrived by then so he told them he had seen nothing.’

Anna and the landlord gabbled on for a little longer and they parted cordially with a package of Goląbki to help them on their way.

George couldn’t contain himself and as soon as they were out of site of the waving inn-keeper and his wife he said, ‘And what was all that about?’

‘Oh, nothing really. He just said he wouldn’t help the Police whatever the price and asked what we’d done.’

‘And?’

‘I told him we’d had an accident and after an argument we had driven off and that was why the wing was damaged.’

‘And?’

‘I’m too much of a lady to repeat what he said but he was sympathetic and didn’t have a good word for Polish drivers on top of which he told us to be careful.’

‘Yes, wasn’t it but I bet he’s on the phone right now to the authorities.’

‘You really think so?’

‘It’s more than his life’s worth not to, George. If it ever came out that we had stopped there and he hadn’t told them he would spend the rest of his life in a Gulag somewhere. They don’t like the Police or State. It’s the fear factor.’

‘Ooh… Shit! We’d better ditch this car a.s.a.p.’

Traffic had built up on the roads and during their conversation they had to make many excursions onto the rutted soil strip to avoid oncoming Polish vehicles and he became aware of the flashing headlights as they passed. He was not sure why but in the back of his mind something niggled.

‘Bugger!’

He pulled over to the side and searched frantically for the road map.

‘What is it, George?’

‘Those bloody flashing lights. There’s Police ahead. We do it in the UK, remember.’

‘Oh, that. I thought they were just being friendly.’

He was about to comment on women drivers but thought better of it. Instead he said, ‘I’m not sure exactly where we are,’ he poked his finger on the map, ‘but I think we are close to this town here. We’ll take the next left and if we do a lot of rights after that hopefully we’ll get around it.’ He gave her the map. ‘Here take this and see if you can recognise any landmarks.’

He pulled into the traffic behind a small lorry loaded with hay and stayed behind it for the next kilometre before he found the turning he was looking for.

‘That town, Anna. Have you found it?’

‘Yes, and it’s the one you said it was. Take the second right about two K’s down here.’

One hundred metres off the main road the side road deteriorated into a cobbled track no wider than the car with the usual mud borders for passing. Speed was out of the question and cursing under his breath George drove at a desultory thirty miles per hour conditions permitting. Things got gradually worse.

They ignored the first two lanes to the right but after searching backwards and forwards for half an hour George chanced his arm down what was marked as the second right on the map. It was a mud road with occasional stretches of hardcore which because of the predominately dry weather was a series of corrugated humps.

After ten minutes of tortuous driving George remembered the technique used by the Army drivers on the laterite roads in Thailand and he increased their speed to forty miles per hour and although it rattled their teeth it was a smoother vibratory ride.

At every opportunity Anna studied the map and between gaps in the many wooded areas she spotted over his right shoulder a run down Church in the distance.

‘We’re almost passed the village, George. Turn back towards the main road.’

‘Okay. I shall never knock Fords again if this thing stands up to this. Hold tight here’s a turning.’

He swung the wheel and in a cloud of dust maintained their momentum towards the main road. He stopped short of the junction and walked to the corner. The road was busy but this time he saw that the cars going in their direction were flashing their lights.

Their car was now suitably dirty and he took the opportunity to mix some water with a little soil and smeared it over the number plates before mingling with the South bound traffic.

They had progressed a little way when George realised that the car wasn’t handling right and he gently brought it to a halt on the mud strip. His first thought had been correct and he cursed when he found the offside rear tyre had a puncture.

He emptied the boot and extracted the reflective triangle. ‘Anna, lass, put a scarf around your head, look scruffy and take this fifty metres back down the road while I start changing the wheel.’

He watched for a moment as she walked away from him and called out to her. ‘Slouch, Anna. Try and look like a tired peasant on a day out.’

He heard her laugh and she drooped her shoulders and began to trudge while he propped one of their bags in front of the number plate and proceeded to jack up the vehicle. Anna returned and sat in the car when a few moments later a Police car pulled up behind them. Anna was quick to get out as one of the Policemen walked towards them and she whispered to George stay down and carry on with the wheel.

George loosened his pistol in its holster and listened to the conversation between Anna and the Policeman and although he couldn’t understand a word he guessed she was putting on a good show. After a few anxious moments the policeman returned to his car and they drove off.

Anna came around to George’s side. ‘Well done, lass. What did you tell him?’

‘Ooh, nothing really. I just said we were on our way to the next town to buy spares for our tractor and we had this puncture. I felt sure he was going to ask for our papers but he was too interested in flirting. I don’t think the headscarf put him off.’

He tightened the last wheel nut, threw everything back in the boot with the punctured wheel on top and they continued their journey.

‘We’ll stop at the next garage, Anna, and see if we can get that tyre fixed and fill her up at the same time. Have we enough zloty? I don’t want to draw attention to ourselves if we can help it.’

‘I’m sure we have. There is one advantage to a Communist State. The prices are controlled.’

On the outskirts of the next town they came upon a garage with just two hand pumps and a ramshackle shed and although George was dubious about the quality of Polish petrol they filled up and hung around for forty-five minutes while the tyre was fixed laboriously by hand. It was an ideal opportunity to wander around and George noted with satisfaction a number of wrecked cars dumped at the back of the premises.

Anna paid and with the usual vociferous Polish entreaties they drove off but George turned North the way they had come.

‘Why are we going this way?’

‘We’re going to park in the woods until nightfall. Did you see those wrecked cars around the back?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to steal two sets of number plates.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘We’ll soon find out.’

At the next junction they turned off, drove for a kilometre and parked in a small wood.

‘It’s going to be a long day, Anna. There’s no fresh tracks so I think it’s safe enough to go for a walk and then we’ll get our heads down for the rest of the day.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He looked across at her and laughed before he gave her a quick poke in the ribs, tickled her and leaned across and kissed her.

‘Stop right there, George. This car’s not big enough.’

‘He looked around. ‘Ooh… I don’t know.’

‘Forget it, Hunter.’

—

They waited until a couple of hours after nightfall and without lights crept towards the main highway. The road was clear and George switched on the lights and drove the short distance to the garage. It was in darkness and a hundred metres short he cut the lights and coasted up to the entrance and parked on the mud strip at the edge of the road.

‘Wait here, Anna. Get in the driver’s seat and be ready in case we have to leave in a hurry.’

Before she could answer he disappeared into the darkness.

He removed the front plate from one wreck with his multi-purpose knife but the rear plate proved more difficult. The screws came out but the plate remained stubbornly stuck to the car.

‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath. He was just about to give up and move on to the next vehicle when with a final tug it jerked loose. George staggered back and his elbow connected with the wreck behind him. The muscle numbing shock loosened his grip and the plate clattered to the floor. The noise finally stirred the family dog into life and with a latent burst of energy it barked unceasingly in frustration.

George turned to run back to the car when suddenly the lights went on in the kitchen and the proprietor burst out of the back door waving a shotgun and at the same time restraining a salivating German Shepherd dog.

‘Który udaje tam. Stop, lub i pędów.’

He didn’t wait for a reply and not knowing who or what was out there aimed randomly and pulled the trigger. George instinctively ducked and cursed when a wayward pellet scratched his cheek. Before he could react the landlord released the dog which hurtled towards George. It was just about to pounce when a single shot rang out and with a whimper the dog died in its tracks.

Anna holding her pistol in two hands at the ready stepped into the circle of light around the doorway and in a voice which demanded obedience said, ‘Put down your gun and you won’t get hurt.’

The proprietor made to raise his gun once more. ‘NOW,’ she yelled.

He dithered for a moment before he let the gun drop.

‘Anna,’ George shouted, ‘offer him fifty dollars for these plates but he mustn’t tell anyone.’

She spoke quietly to the proprietor. ‘We want two sets of old number plates. We pay you fifty dollars but if you tell anyone we come back and kill you.’

‘What about my dog?’

‘Okay, we give you one-hundred dollars.’

‘Yes, okay. I take it, but if you want numbers so bad why did you not ask this morning?’

‘George! Get one-hundred dollars from the car and give it to him.’

‘One-hundred. What are we buying, the bloody garage?’

He retrieved the plates and threw them in the boot before reaching into the glove compartment for the money. When he handed the money to Anna he said, ‘Ask him how far to Poznan.’

Anna looked at him quizzically but did as she was asked and after a few moments conversation and some crawling apologies they got back in their car and following the instructions they were given did a U-turn and disappeared into the night.

They didn’t go far before they turned around and waited fifteen minutes while George fitted the first set of bogus number plates and then continued on their journey south towards Zielona Gora ensuring everything was all clear at the garage before they crept past.

—

George drove steadily through the night and after a few missed turnings they reached the town of Legnica.

‘We’ll stay here today, Anna, look out for a nice boarding house.’

They mingled with the early morning traffic until they came to a crossroads where they were kept waiting in a queue. George became restless after ten minutes and looked around for a way out when he heard in the distance the distinctive two-tone sirens of Police vehicles. With nerves jangling they sat patiently as the noise got nearer. Two military lorries pulled up and the junction filled with Russian soldiers who began clearing the centre of the road.

With much cursing the cars, trucks and farm vehicles struggled to get out of the way. Their car was poking out slightly when some Poles came across and with much shouting and gesticulating pushed the car further off the road scratching another in the process.

Anna leaned out of the window and remonstrated with them and after a few moments wrangling she ducked back in and said to George. ‘Don’t worry about the bump. If we’d stayed where we were we would have no car.’

‘Why?’

‘Something to do with a convoy.’

George shook his head. ‘What have we landed in, Anna.’

‘I don’t know, but I fancy this town is not the right place to stay.’

The rumble they felt through the floor changed to a roar and a rhythmic clatter that George recognised. ‘Tanks!’ Suddenly with sirens blaring two Police motor cyclists swept by followed by a convoy of Russian T72 tanks. George realised why the Poles had panicked to get them out of the way as one unfortunate Trabant was immediately crushed to pulp by the lead tank.

‘Jesus Christ, Anna! They’re bloody Russians.’

‘You can say that again, Hunter. It’s the first time I’ve been down this way but it looks like we’ve landed in a Russian enclave or their Headquarters at least.’

George grabbed the crude road map and studied it. ‘Right, Anna, girl. As soon as we get moving we turn right at the junction and head out of town. It looks like we’re sleeping in the car again, lass.’

‘Any idea where we’re going?’

‘Nope. Anywhere but here will do.’

For twenty minutes tank after tank rolled by followed by supporting vehicles and Infantry but eventually calm was restored and with good humour and some excited cursing of Russians in general they were once more on the move.

Keeping to George’s plan they turned right and kept going until they were outside the city limits where they studied the map once more. Twenty kilometres ahead was the small town of Chojnow which they entered with caution twenty-five minutes later.

In contrast to Legnica they found a quiet organised Polish community. They chose the first guest house they came across and parked the car at the rear and after a light breakfast they tumbled into bed.

—

They awoke in mid-afternoon and spent the rest of the day window shopping without arousing curiosity before hunger got the better of them and at the insistence of the landlord they ate bowls of the National dish bigos with shots of the local Vodka until they could take no more.

It was while Anna engaged their host in polite conversation that George took the opportunity to change to their second set of number plates and discard two hub caps. As an afterthought he kicked a dent in one of the rear doors and removed the nearside tail light bulb. Satisfied the car now looked clapped out enough to be of Eastern European origin he joined Anna to decide on their next course of action.

They opted to head away from the East German border area before turning South for Czechoslovakia and Bratislava, their eventual destination being the River Danube. Satisfied, they refuelled at the first Garage and drove through the town until they reached the main East – West highway. It was a good metalled road and George estimated they should reach the Border in a little over four and a half hours if they drove steadily.

Thirty kilometres after they had skirted around Wroclaw, George suddenly swung off the main road, switched off the lights and pushed on down a country lane. Ten minutes later he pulled into a wood.

‘What are you doing, George?’

‘I’m getting jumpy. There’s been a car holding station behind us for the last half hour. He was quite a way back but you never know. Come on, lets walk back to the road and have a look.’

They stood in the undergrowth just short of the junction and listened. It was both black and silent. George breathed a sigh of relief, gave Anna a hug and the pair of them walked back to the car holding hands.

‘We won’t take chances,’ said George. ‘We’ll wait a while longer. Lets study the map and see where this road takes us.’

By the blue circle of light given out by the night torch they found they were headed towards a heavily forested area and they decided to continue to the next town before planning the next step of their journey. Before they moved off he replaced the tail-light bulb he had removed earlier and for the first ten minutes they drove without lights. An hour later they entered the small town of Nysa.

Driving slowly they crept through and continued onwards to the village of Glucholazy. The forest loomed up on the right and short of the village, with fingers crossed, George turned into a track and proceeded cautiously. A quarter of an hour later he stopped. ‘We’ll put the English plates on here, Anna, and from here on you drive.’

‘Me, Hunter! It’s nothing but a footpath and you want me to drive?

‘Anna, you don’t do yourself justice. Stay in low gear and bump along slowly and let’s just see what comes.

‘Why can’t you drive?’

‘I’m playing the drunken husband and if we get stopped I’m going to be stinking of Vodka and you got lost. Keep that bottle of whisky handy and some dollars but I’m hoping there’s no one there.’

He finished changing the plates and before he slumped in the passengers seat he splashed a few drops of Vodka on his clothes and took a deep swig for effect.

—

Anna drove cautiously through the forest and half an hour had passed before George thought they had crossed into Czechoslovakia. He sat upright relieved at the ease by which they’d done it. ‘Now to navigate down to Bratislava.’

As he fumbled for the map Anna shouted, ‘Down, George! There’s a barrier ahead.’

He slumped down once more and loosened his gun in its holster as Anna pulled up short of a red and white swing barrier. She waited for a few moments and nothing stirred.

‘What do I do now, Hunter?’

‘Get out and lift that pole.’

She grumbled quietly, slid out of the car and in the light of the lamps pushed down on the counter weight and opened the obstruction to their progress and waited for a moment before she shrugged and walked back to the car.

Before she could open the door an authoritative voice shouted, ‘Stop! Wprowadzone ręce wasze na dachu samochodu.’

Anna froze. ‘English tourist! We’re lost,’ she replied in Polish and cringed as she felt the cold barrel of an AK47 nuzzle the side of her neck.

‘Show Passport.’

‘It’s in the car, okay?’

The young soldier looked closely at George and smelt the Vodka before replying. ‘Yes, but I shoot if you make funny move.’

Anna retrieved the Passports from the cubbyhole below the radio and held them out.

‘Bring to front in headlight.’

With the gun firmly pressed between her shoulders she did as she was asked and in a brave attempt to be helpful she opened them for inspection. He took the passports from her and by the shaded light of a torch studied them but instead of handing them back he leaned his gun on the car and dropped the passports to the floor. Before Anna could react he grabbed one of her arms and she yelped as he twisted it up her back. She could feel his breath on her neck as he said, ‘I like your smell. You come.’

He pushed her towards the trees. Twenty metres in he threw her to the ground and muttered in her ear. ‘Drop jeans. We make love.’

Anna struggled but this only made him more eager. He pulled a bayonet from its scabbard and held it against her neck. He released her arm and pulled at the waistband of her trousers. The sight of her delicate underwear urged him on and he pulled them down to her knees before straddling her and wrestling with his fly buttons. By now he was breathing heavy and only intent on having his way when Anna sensed a shadow and then heard a muffled report.

She grimaced as she felt blood spatter over her as the soldier slumped sideways.

As she rolled away she looked up to see George with his folded jacket held over the muzzle of his smoking gun.

‘Move girl. Get in the car while I sort this guy out. Quickly, that shot was loud enough to travel.’

He went through the pockets of the dead man and removed the money from the wallet before he threw it alongside the body. He then confiscated his watch, ring and boots.

Satisfied he ran back to the car and cursed as he heard the sound of an engine approaching through the forest.

‘Shit! It must be his relief.’

Without time to adjust the seat and with his knees jammed against the steering wheel he engaged first gear, switched off the lights and drove forward a few metres. He wasted valuable seconds lowering the barrier and then with a close eye on the rear-view mirror and hopeful that there were no hidden obstructions lurking in the blackness of the forest he pushed on down the track.

Fifty metres further on they passed an abandoned sentry hut which they took to be the Czech border post. He drove on for a further twenty minutes before he pulled up and with a sigh of relief pushed the seat back and stretched his legs.

‘You okay, Anna?’

‘Yes, but you took your time back there.’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I had to let him concentrate on what he was doing before I could move. Clean yourself up while we listen.’

They waited for fifteen minutes and concluded they were safe for the moment and resumed their journey hoping that the pine needles covering the rough road would disguise any tracks.

Anna sat deep in thought for a short while before she asked George, ‘Why did you remove that stuff from the body?’

‘Oh, that. A diversion. I’m hoping they’ll put it down to a robbery gone wrong. Which reminds me, I have to claim for a new jacket.’

She didn’t reply but looked at him thoughtfully.

—

Ten minutes later they burst out of the forest and joined a metalled road not dissimilar to those in Poland. Two cars width with a dirt track either side for farm vehicles. George pressed on as fast as he could taking alternate left and right turns but heading in a general southerly direction

It was daybreak before they came across a country garage on the edge of a small town. He drove past and pulled up fifty metres further on.

‘Wait here Anna, I’m going to see if I can steal some Czech number plates.’

He walked back to the garage with cautious optimism that Czech driving standards were as poor as Poland and to his relief there were a number of dumped vehicles in a side field. Before he could remove the first screw the ever-present guard dog began barking.

He quickly ducked below the hedge and ran back to the car cursing his luck and Czech dogs in general. With the lights out they sped off as the first hint of dawn pushed over the horizon.

Half an hour later they pulled into an Inn on the outskirts of Olomouc and parked around the back. Once more Anna’s knowledge of the Eastern European languages helped when they checked in and after a light breakfast they went to bed.

A little after mid-day they got up and were disturbed to find a policeman in the bar and another looking over their car.

Anna spoke to the one in the bar with a cheery smile. ‘Dobrý den. Stalo se něco ?’

‘Dobrý den, slečno. Your car, it has English numbers.’

‘We’re tourists going to Bratislava and we are lost.’

He held his hand out and said roughly, ‘Passports!’

Anna looked in her handbag and shuffled the contents. Startled she glanced across at George and saw him patting his pockets desperately before shaking his head and shrugging.

Anna turned to the Policeman. ‘I’m sorry, Officer. I think they’ve been stolen. Can I look in the car?’

At that moment the second policeman joined them and had a brief conversation with his colleague before he signalled George to accompany him out to the car.

George did a thorough search and found nothing. He cursed under his breath as he realised they had forgotten to pick them up after the incident at the Border Post. Pretending to search further he leaned into the boot and surreptitiously slipped the remaining bottle of Johnny Walker and a bundle of dollars into his pocket before he followed the policeman back into the guest house.

Anna looked at him for help. ‘Anna, I’m sorry, but I must have forgotten to pick them up when they checked them at the border. Either that or they’ve been stolen. Ask him if it’s okay to go back for them.’

Anna had a garbled conversation before she said to George. ‘It’s not on and they want to know how our car got damaged. What do I say?’

‘Tell him we had a run in with a Russian tank in Legnica.’

Anna turned back to the policeman. ‘We had to pull over for a convoy of Russian tanks in Legnica and one hit us and pushed us into another car.’

The policeman smiled and shook his head. ‘Damn Ruskis.’

George nudged Anna and took the whisky from his pocket and put it on the bar along with a substantial wad of dollars. ‘Ask him the way to Bratislava.’

She smiled at the constable, nodded towards the bribe and said sweetly, ‘Kudy do Bratislavy?’

This started an animated conversation interspersed with smiles and nods which went on in George’s mind far longer than was necessary to direct someone to anywhere. At last they finished and after the local plod had scooped up their booty and disappeared he asked her what went on.

Anna laughed. ‘He was flirting but the outcome was that we should keep going south and we would come to a main highway which would take us all the way and he advised us to go to the British Consul there and get temporary visas.’

George was a little peeved at the effrontery of the man chatting up his partner and mumbled, ‘Nevertheless we’ll change the number plates. Has this place got a phone?’

Anna spoke to the landlord and he showed them into the back of the premises and proudly showed them his phone. It was a Bakelite relic of the thirties made in Chile.

‘Ask him if we can ring the Consul.’

Permission was granted but the landlord pointed out that all calls were monitored by the authorities.

‘Suits us, tell him. Anna, call the Consul and arrange temporary passports for us to collect and make sure you get a reference number. Don’t be afraid. Tell them everything they need to know about us. I want these idiots to think we’re genuine.’

Fifteen minutes later they were finished and with a hefty tip and grovelling apologies to the landlord they went out to the car.

George settled himself and then cursed. ‘Damn and blast. Don’t these guys know what to do with a bribe.’ He slid his gun from its holster and gave it to Anna. ‘As we go out through the gate pepper that Police car. Aim for the tyres.’

He selected reverse gear and rammed the gas pedal to the floor. They shot backwards and yanking the wheel hard over and pulling on the handbrake at the same time the complaining car spun in its own length spraying debris everywhere. That’s when Anna saw the two policemen with guns drawn cowering from the barrage of grit spraying over them. George rammed it into first gear and charged at the entrance and the Police car partially blocking it.

He didn’t care now and aimed the offside of their car to strike the front wheel of the Lada. At the same time Anna was pumping as many bullets as she could into its tyres and a last one into the windscreen for good measure.

Zigzagging away from the Inn and swerving around approaching traffic they made their getaway North back the way they had come.

Outside the town boundary Anna reported she could hear sirens but there was no sign of pursuit. That was enough for George and he braked hard and threw the car sharply into the next right turn, which was a narrow country lane, and slowed down.

‘Don’t want to leave a signal for the Indians to follow, do we.’

Repeating the procedure they had used before they did a series of right turns, some of them dead-ends. Gradually they manoeuvred themselves back into a southerly direction. When George estimated they had circled the town far enough to avoid detection they drove into a small wood to inspect the further damage to the car.

‘Not bad considering, Anna, but we’ve got to get rid of this heap now. Put just the necessaries into the travel bag. Money, ammunition, booze for medicinal purposes and as many knickers as you can manage and we’ll try our luck at stealing something. Keep hold of a pair of those Polish number plates.’

‘George, I meant to ask you. Why do you keep swapping number plates?’

‘It’s just a delaying tactic, Anna. If anyone gets suspicious I hope during the confusion to gain a few minutes.’

‘Okay, but what about my shopping?’

‘I’m sorry, darling, we have to travel light. I’ll get you some more when we get back.’

‘I’ll hold you to that, Hunter, and I’m staying with you until you do.’

‘Anna! Do you really want to? I have awful habits.’

She stopped in front of him, their bodies touching, and looked up into his face. ‘I know, Hunter, but I’m a girl who likes to take a risk. Now kiss me while the mood lasts.’

The musky odour of pine needles sheltered natures answer to reproduction.

—

Their first attempts at stealing a car were thwarted by dogs and George decided they were better off trying their luck in a town. They hurried on south as George surmised there were likely to be checks on the main roads close to where the incident took place.

Without warning he swerved into the side. ‘There’s a likely one back there, Anna.’

He paused only long enough to put a pair of socks over his shoes and keeping to the shadows he crept back to his target.

‘Thank goodness for eastern technology,’ he muttered as the second skeleton key flipped the lock. He eased the door open and on his knees began fiddling under the dash. The car started first time and he drove off waving to Anna as he spurted past. Half an hour later he pulled into a small copse and moments later she joined him.

They spent twenty minutes transferring their remaining resources at the same time siphoning petrol from the Ford and pouring it into the Lada they had stolen and replacing the number plates with a Polish set.

George then drove the Ford onto some open ground, tore a strip of material of a discarded vest, soaked it in petrol and threaded it down the filler pipe leaving a few inches hanging out. He struck a match and lit the end before he hurried over to the Lada and drove off. Having estimated they would have a few minutes before the flames reached the petrol tank they put as much distance between it and themselves.

‘That’ll keep them guessing but it won’t be long before they connect us to the missing vehicle.’

‘That’s all very well, Hunter, but what do we do meanwhile. We’re stuck in commie land with no ID, a stolen car and false number plates.’

‘Pray!’

She punched him. ‘Hunter, you’re impossible.’

George didn’t push the Lada and they slid past Brno in the early hours of the morning and pressed on south. The silvery thread of dawn appeared on the horizon and they turned off the highway and into the densely forested area south-west of Brodska.

He drove slowly for ten minutes trying not to disturb the pine needle forest floor when he suddenly stopped and gingerly reversed until they were opposite a barely noticeable unused trail sloping away from the main track.

‘That should do us, Anna. Looks like it hasn’t been in use for some time.’

In the growing light he turned into it and rolled gently forwards until the track ended and with a little difficulty parked between two trees.

‘Anna, I’m going to retrace our way in and see if we left any tell tale tracks. Could you throw a couple of branches across the front of the car?’

He returned a few minutes later satisfied with their hiding place when Anna said, ‘Good job we stopped, George.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the track ends just there.’ She pointed to a spot not three metres away. ‘It’s the bank of a stream almost a river in fact.’

‘Not deep enough for fishing?’

‘I don’t think so, it’s running pretty fast.’

‘Good. That means we shouldn’t be disturbed although I fancied fish for supper.’

George replaced the Czech number plates and then studied the map.

‘How do we cross the border, George?’

‘I’m not sure but it looks like we may have to swim the Danube. You see this tributary here, the River March?

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll try that, it’s narrower. In the morning we’ll creep back into Brodska and exchange our remaining dollars, ditch the car and catch the train to Bratislava. Right now catch up on some sleep.’

—

Through bleary eyes George struggled to see his watch. ‘Bloody hell, is that the time?’

Suddenly wide awake he shook his wrist and held the watch to his ear and then realised the futility of listening to an electronic watch. ‘Shit!’ He reached over the back of the seat and shook Anna who pushed him off.

‘Come on, girl, it’s after nine. I wanted to be away before eight.’

‘Carry on, George, I’m comfortable.’ She closed her eyes and wriggled down.

‘Come on, look alive, girl, we have to look like a couple and I need you to swap our cash.’

Anna struggled up and yawned. ‘Don’t rush, Georgie boy, I’m going down to the river to freshen up.’

‘I’ll join you but make it quick.’

Fifteen minutes later they retraced their steps back to the main road and after a short drive North turned down the ‘B’ road leading into Brodska. At the first corner shop George pulled up and waited while Anna bought some bread rolls and cheese spread with their remaining Czech money and then tried her luck persuading the shop-keeper to change a few dollars.

Anna returned flushed and urged George to make haste towards the railway station.

‘What’s the hurry, lass?’

‘Nothing really. I managed to exchange quite a few but I think the shop-keeper was suspicious and although he was friendly I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t warn somebody of our activities.’

‘I didn’t see him come outside, Anna, so I don’t think he took notice of the car but just in case we’ll ditch it now.’

‘Look, George, there’s a little square. Park here amongst the locals and I’ll ask the way to the station.’

He slipped the car in the first gap they came upon but before they got out George rummaged under his seat and pulled out a tattered cap left there by the previous owner and put it on.

‘Do I look the part, Anna?’

‘With that stubble, yes, but don’t open your mouth.’

She found a head scarf in the travel bag, folded it into a triangle and knotted it under her chin.

‘Do I look enough like a peasant?’

‘I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.’

She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘You clown.’

George threw the travel bag over his shoulder and arm in arm they wandered around pausing occasionally to look into shop windows and using each brief moment to surreptitiously look back.

They came to what appeared to be the main road and turned into it. Once out of sight of the square George removed his cap and Anna her headscarf before she ventured into a café and enquired where the railway station was. By chance they had chosen right and a five minute walk brought them to it.

They bought return tickets to Lamac a suburb of Bratislava and the last stop before the terminus. The next train wasn’t due for half an hour and they had a few anxious moments watching new and prospective fellow passengers as they came onto the platform.

On the train they replaced their headgear and breathed a sigh of relief when the Inspector checked their tickets and moved on without a second glance but they spent a tense hour and a quarter before they alighted in Lamac a little after one o’clock.

‘We’re walking from here, lass, and we have to head northwest. We’ll follow the crowd and see if we can find the way under this damn railway.’

It was only a short walk to the underpass which took them under the railway and along the road into the village of Dubravka on the other side. Spotting a mini-market George urged Anna to purchase a twenty litre bottle of water.

‘What for?’

‘Because, dearest, I’m shit scared of water and I can’t swim very well and I need something to keep me afloat when we get to the river. By the way, can you swim?’

‘Aren’t you the lucky one. Yes, I can, but I’ve left my medals at home.’

‘Good, then stop chatting and fetch the bloody water, woman and something to eat. It’ll be a shame to waste the water but needs must.’

Anna gave him a stern glance and noticed the laughter behind his eyes and said nothing as she went in and made their purchase. George did a quick watch sight of the sun, lifted the bottle onto his shoulder and with the carrier bag of bread rolls, soft cheese spread and biscuits into his other hand and Anna carrying the holdall they set off in what George hoped was northwest.

Progress was slow and George had to change the water bottle from shoulder to shoulder many times before they came to the outskirts of the village. Further on a bend in the road leading to the woodlands bordering the river afforded them cover to empty the water bottle.

A little way into the wood a local farmer offered them a lift in his two-wheeled tractor and cart. They declined and as he drove off he looked over his shoulder and gave them a long quizzical look.

‘I don’t like that,’ George said. ‘Let him get out of sight and we’ll have a quick check of our position.’

They didn’t have long to wait and they darted into the undergrowth and stopped in a small clearing out of sight of passers-by.

George looked at the map. ‘I see why he gave us a funny look, Anna. There’s nowt at the end of this road but a tiny hamlet where I suspect they all know each other. We’ll wait here until after dark before we press on. The river is only a few hundred metres past the houses.’

After a quick snack Anna cuddled up to him and he took the opportunity to ask if she would marry him. Nature and love sealed their betrothal and they dozed the rest of the day the only interruption being when a military jeep drove past.

—

George cursed. The one night they wanted cloud the whole galaxy was visible and the moon was lighting up the countryside like a celestial super-trouper spotlight.

Fifteen minutes later they reached the houses and crept past using the grass verge where they could until they came to a junction with a narrow road. Opposite a footpath lead straight on through a small wood which they guessed would take them to the river.

In the shelter of the trees George stopped. ‘Wait here, Anna. I spotted a pallet and another water bottle at the side of that barn back there.’

‘Do you think it’s wise, George?’

‘I’ll be okay. If anything happens head for the river and don’t wait for me. Just go!’

‘George, be careful.’ She reached up and gave him a kiss and whispered, ‘I love you.’

George paused and screwed his face up as he began welling up inside. He grabbed her and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’ Crouching low he hurried towards the barn before she could stop him.

He changed his plan and picked up the water bottle first and dashed back to her.

‘See how easy that was. Dump our gear and put those two bottles into the holdall. When you’ve done that head for the river and I’ll follow with the pallet. Keep your gun handy.’

He raced to the barn once more and grabbed the first pallet off the pile. In his haste he disturbed the next one which slid sideways with a clatter.

Instantly the ubiquitous guard dog started his tirade. Throwing caution to the wind George thrust an arm through the pallet and ran as quick as the weight would allow towards the cover of the trees. His progress was followed by shouts as the front door of a house burst open accompanied by a shotgun being fired and he heard the pellets shredding the leaves from the trees as he ran into the shelter of the undergrowth.

The path leading to the river was steep and unable to steady himself he slipped on the loose gravel. He let go of the pallet and followed it in a roly-poly race to the river bank thirty feet below where he caught up with Anna.

‘Are you okay, Hunter?’

‘Yes! Let’s go, quick.’

He could hear the dog and the farmer getting closer and when he looked back the dog was coming down the path. He quickly drew his gun and shot it ten metres from making him dinner. At that moment the farmer appeared at the top of the bank and raised his shotgun. George fired two taps automatically. The man stumbled and rolled towards them. His shotgun bounced into the air and both barrels exploded as it collided with a tree. George felt the sting as pellets embedded in his shoulder, arm and hand. He grimaced, sheathed his gun and picked up the pallet with his other hand and dragged it the last few metres to the river.

‘Anna, use the bag as water wings. I’ll jump on the pallet and paddle like crazy.’

He stooped and picked up a piece of fence panel driftwood and pushed the pallet into the water but hesitated to take the leap on board.

‘What are you waiting for, Hunter? Jump on, before it goes without you.’

He went to jump again and Anna helped with a push in the back as the current tried to drag the pallet away from him. When the shock of the alpine water hit him he shouted. ‘Jesus! It’s bloody freezing.’

Anna tucked the holdall under her arms and waded in thanking George silently for his insistence on buying it in the first place.

Using the driftwood as a paddle and with Anna pushing from behind they edged away from the bank and into midstream. The cold water numbed the pain in his arm and he realised that she must be suffering fully immersed as she was.

‘Anna, there’s room on here.’

‘I’m fine, George. Let’s go a little further and then I’ll try.’

George saw the splash of bullets before he recognized the sound of Kalshnikov’s. He stopped paddling and looked back. In the moonlight he saw four uniformed figures firing at them with only one thought in their minds.

‘Anna! Get around to the side quickly!’

He heard her whimper and watched helplessly as she began to drift away.

‘Anna!’

Ignoring his fear and without thinking he slid off the pallet and holding on with one hand reached out with his good arm and grabbed her. At the same time he said a big, ‘Thank you,’ when a cloud blanketed the moon’s rays and cast them into darkness.

He pulled her closer in the gloom and allowed the current to take them downstream and away from the danger. He guessed they were about halfway across which meant they were in Austria but he was helpless to do anything about their situation as the current was keeping them firmly away from the opposite bank.

Fearing the worst he tried many times to push her inert figure onto the pallet but the cold and the pain in his arm prevented him and in the end he gave himself up to the whims of the river. He guessed that the authorities further down would have been alerted and he prayed that the currents would keep him away from danger.

Half an hour later he realised that they were being swept into the main channel of the River Danube and he felt the temperature rise slightly and the current was quicker but inch by inch it was edging them towards the outside bank as it swept around the Austrian curve.

They drifted past the huge Lamac stone quarry which shone white against the wooded background and he knew from the map there was only a few kilometres before the river bent back towards Czechoslovakia.

He estimated they were being pulled along at around three knots and he had to do something quick if they weren’t to drift into the wrong hands again. Otherwise a long term in some place of incarceration awaited him.

With numb fingers he pulled Anna around to the front of the pallet and managed to hook the straps of the bag around the end of the cross members and using Anna as a counter weight, hand over hand, he dragged himself aboard and began paddling with the piece of driftwood the way he had seen gondoliers do it. He gave a silent cheer as he realised that his efforts were paying off. With the help of the current they were edging towards safety. How he was going to get ashore was something he didn’t want to contemplate.

Finally they bumped the far bank and he cursed in desperation as he was unable to grasp anything until nature once more came to his rescue in the shape of a shingle beach which floodwaters had shaped below the tree-line.

He jumped in and unsteadily, occasionally stumbling on hidden stones, he dragged the pallet to the edge. He unhitched Anna and let the pallet go before pulling her onto dry land.

Exhausted he flopped alongside her but couldn’t catch his breath. His numbed brain registered the first signs of panic when his body began to tremble uncontrollably and he couldn’t recall what had happened. In a moment of lucidity he tried to check Anna but he was too weak to move. In a last desperate effort he reached out and squeezed her hand before falling into unconsciousness.

—

His first impressions were of being wrapped in a warm cocoon with lights swirling above his head and voices speaking in a familiar tongue.

Someone bent over him and he was aware of gentle perfume as a light shone into his eyes. A cool voice spoke to him in a German dialect he didn’t comprehend and he mumbled through the thinning fog, ‘Nichts furstein, me English.’

‘Well, hello, Mr English. Welcome back to the land of the living. What’s your name?’

‘Ergh… Where am I?’

‘Austria.’

He smiled and then a dark recollection seeped into his brain. ‘Where’s, Anna?’

The nurse took his hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Tell me who you are first. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know.’

‘Ooh… Sorry. I’m Hunter. Where’s Anna?’

‘Have you got a first name, Hunter?’

‘Yes, it’s George. Now—Anna?’

‘Was that the lady they found you with, George?’

‘Yes.’

She squeezed his hand again. ‘I’m sorry, George, but Anna is dead. She had been shot through the back of the neck.’

George closed his eyes and cried unashamedly.

The nurse left him only to return a few minutes later with a Police Inspector. He put his hat on the end of the bed took out a notebook and looked at George with the typical inquisitors misbelieving gaze.

‘George Hunter?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the lady with you, Mr Hunter. What was her name?’

‘Anna Kasynski.’

‘Your nationality, Mr Hunter, you had three passports in your pack?’

‘We’re both English and I would like to speak to the British Consul, please.’

‘Okay, in good time. Firstly, what were you doing in the river and why were you carrying guns?’

George thought for a moment before answering. ‘We work for the British Government and have just escaped from the East zone. Now can I see the Consul?’

‘You were spies?’

‘Not in so many words but we were working undercover. We have travelled down from East Germany, through Poland and Czechoslovakia and jumped into the river north of Bratislava.’

‘You’re lucky to be alive.’ George glared at him. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry about the loss of your partner. She has an eastern name.’

‘She is, was English. She had Polish parentage.’

‘How did she get shot?’

George gave him a quick run down of their adventures over the last twenty-four hours.

The Inspector retrieved his hat and stood up. ‘Once again, I’m sorry about your loss, Mr Hunter. I’ll arrange a phone for you but I’m confiscating your weapons.’

He acknowledged the nurse and left.

—

Dr Hayle pushed his chair back and contemplated for a few moments before saying, ‘George, I don’t know what to say. This of course adds to the build up of stress over the years. You said that you and Anna were close. How close?’

‘We bonded immediately and on that last day while waiting for nightfall I asked her to marry me.’

‘Did she respond?’

‘Yes, and not to put too fine a point on it we sealed our promise right there.’

‘Sad, so sad. What happened next, George?’

‘I bought a wedding ring and with her parents’ permission she was wearing it when we buried her. I retired swearing I had finished with the spying game forever.’

‘A typical reaction to grief, George. It also added to the underlying cause of your current PTS. Did you overcome your fear of water?’

‘No, not really, but it went a long way towards it. I have never held on to something so hard in my life as I did that pallet and I was in a state of panic for most of the time. Having to care for Anna kept me going but I think I collapsed more with relief at getting my feet on dry land rather than hypothermia.’

‘What about romantic attachments after that. Did you meet anyone else before Jacquie?’

‘I had a special relationship with a person whom I admired very much. Someone in the Household Services asked the SIS for help after death threats were made against her. I was assigned as secondary security in addition to her official bodyguard. Unseen and not heard, if you follow what I mean. We had a clandestine passionate fling but it ended rather sadly.’

‘Who was it, George?’

‘I’m not prepared to say but before that I had a score to settle.’

‘What was that?’

‘It was obvious from the trouble Anna and I had that there was a mole. The commies knew about both pick-ups and I wanted to find the punk responsible.’

‘If there was a mole, George, how come they never picked up Anna before. You said she had done the trip many times.’

‘I don’t know but as it turned out there was reason for this particular betrayal.’

‘I see. Did they find this mole?’

‘Yes. Over the previous ten years there had been many leaks and many agent losses but this one was different. We escaped and because of that narrowing down the informer wasn’t that difficult. It could only have been, James. Outside of London office he was the only one who knew of the job and as the Director of German operations the only one who knew about the change of plans.’

‘Were you sent to track him down?’

‘No, I volunteered. That bastard was responsible for Anna’s death and a couple of months later I got the call.’

‘How did they contact you, George?’

‘Usual way. Sometimes a blank card through the letter box or a blank letter or occasionally a phone call with a codeword. Then I would go to a dead letter-box and pick up instructions.’

‘Tell me about your mole hunt, George.’

 ***

CHAPTER 9

 Charles James.

The walk from the Embankment did nothing to improve George’s humour. His hair was plastered to his head and another trickle of water ran down his neck as an inconsiderate September low pressure system hung over London. Taxis were an option but department expenses didn’t cover those if you weren’t actually deployed.

He looked up at the top floor of Admiralty Arch and wondered if it had been chosen deliberately because there wasn’t a Tube Station near enough to avoid such weather and he hated umbrellas especially the golfing variety or was it their owners.

Dabbing his face with a soggy handkerchief he turned the corner into Cockspur Court and followed it around to the back of the building. With a quick glance left and right he slipped into an incongruous doorway which led to a hallway where he was confronted by a steel door. He punched an eight number code into a keypad and began the tortuous climb up three flights of stairs.

Halfway up he shed his wax jacket and by the time he had reached the top he was breathing heavily.

Pausing for a moment to compose himself outside the only plain door he punched in another five digit security code, letters this time instead of numbers, and walked in. His first action was to hang his coat and while he was doing so a quiet voice said, ‘What can we do for you Mister...’

He turned and looked towards a trim middle-aged lady whose greying hair was tied back in a French pleat. ‘Oh, it’s you, Hunter. Are we expecting you today?’

‘No, Maggie, yesterday. Is Brian in or is he still in the Home counties enjoying a late breakfast and have you got a towel handy?’

‘In the bathroom, George. Do hang it on the radiator when you’re finished.’

He looked at her to see if she was serious or being facetious and decided she was serious before going through a side door and along the short corridor to the washroom. He returned five minutes later feeling much refreshed. Heated hand-driers were useful for many things and drying hair was one of them.

Maggie was ready for him, ‘Go through, George, he’s waiting in the Conference Room.’

He went in the opposite direction this time along a corridor past several offices and knocked on the door facing him when he reached the end.

‘Come in.’

He didn’t know why but he straightened his tie before stepping across the threshold into a long wood panelled room overlooking the Mall. Down the centre of the room was an extended mahogany table and what George thought were a set of Sheraton chairs but actually they were attributed to William Hamilton of Edinburgh around 1790. Waiting at the far end with two other gentleman was Brian Warren the Assistant Director of SIS, his boss.

Brian came forward to greet him. ‘Morning, George, I’d like you to meet the Home Secretary, Mister Brittan and I believe for the first time—C.’

He shook hands with them and they remained standing around one end of the table. By way of reprimand Warren said, ‘Took your time, George.’

George shrugged. ‘I’m sorry but you know the vagaries of our weather or maybe not, secluded as you are South of Watford Gap. I had so many call outs to repair damage caused by the high winds I couldn’t get away, but here I am.’

‘Right, George, down to business. you expressed the desire to get the man responsible for Anna’s death, is that right?’

‘You know that.’

‘Just checking. We know who it is, and yes, you were right, it was James. We weren’t sure who the leak was but your last job pinned it. It would have been difficult to prove had you been caught but the fact that no one else knew apart from you, Anna and we three, it could only be him.’

‘What about the people who had your Russian in custody. Wouldn’t they know?’

‘C’ coughed politely before butting in. ‘That is the reason we have different departments, George. Department ‘X’ had our General and put in a request to get his wife. Department ‘Y’ which is Brian, plans her rescue and then there is our German Operations organiser, in this case, James. Therefore, as we have suspected for some time it must be him. That is a simple way to explain facts. It is far more complex in reality.’

‘Thank you, sir. What do we do now?’

Brian stepped in to continue the explanation. ‘James is lying low, George, but we are giving you a free hand to find him and bring him in.’

George paused for a moment in thought before he said, ‘If you don’t know where he is exactly how do you expect me to find him?’

‘That’s why we’re giving you a free hand. New eyes may come up with something different. Consider it promotion, George, and your salary will reflect this.’

‘Okay, I’ll need all the bumf you have on James. Is he married?’

‘No, he’s divorced, but he does have a daughter who’s living with his parents in Tunbridge Wells.’

‘I’ll make a start there. I want ID, visas and travel warrants in the name of Adam Byewater in my Garden business guise for movement in the GDR and I want a Stasi issue Makarov (PM) pistol and suppressor.’

‘No problem. Because James knows you, we’re changing your codename from Orion to Venator. Any questions?’

‘No.’

George acknowledged—C, nodded to the Home Secretary, and left the room. When the door had closed the Home Secretary spoke for the first time.’

‘Do you think he’s the right man for the job, Brian.’

‘Yes I do, sir. He’s a free spirit not bogged down with protocol. Not that he would take any notice if he were given instructions. Tell him what we want and leave him to it. He thinks on his feet as was seen in his last exploit. If anyone’s going to find our man, he will.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, Brian. I’ve got to go, the Iron Lady’s waiting.’

‘Is she involved?’

‘Nothing moves in this country that herself doesn’t know about.’

—

George spent the better part of the afternoon going over old cases involving James at the while taking advantage of civil service catering before he caught a taxi to Waterloo station.

He cursed his timing and joined the queue at the ticket kiosk and when he finally managed to purchase a Peak-Period single to Tunbridge Wells he joined the scrum for the train about to leave. The whistle went and he grabbed for the nearest door handle. He was immediately knocked sideways amongst a cascade of files and paperwork and a young woman screamed as she fell to her knees alongside him.

‘You stupid shit,’ she shouted, ‘why don’t you look what you’re doing?’

‘Whoa, there, miss. Apart from not recommending your finishing school I’m catching a train just like you so practice what you preach. Too late, it’s leaving. Pick up your stuff.’

He put down his overnight bag and collected assorted paperwork and files and when he stood up to give them to her he was struck by her clear blue eyes and long straight red hair. He guessed she was about mid-twenties and from her black suit and white blouse and the logo on the papers he deducted she was something to do with the Law.

‘There you are, love. I hope they’re not to mussed up.’

She glared at him and said rather stiffly, ‘And don’t call me—Love.’

‘Nothing personal, love. It’s a term of endearment where I come from. Can I buy you a cup of coffee by way of compensation? We have half an hour.’

She stood for a moment pondering. George cocked his head slightly to one side and raised an enquiring eyebrow. She smiled. ‘You can buy me a Vodka and Tonic. Nothing less.’

Always a sucker for a female smile he stammered, ‘Ha... Have two,’ and immediately regretted his generosity.

They walked side by side back up the platform and the spring freshness of her perfume wafted across to him. He braved a sideways glance and noted the pale freckles against her porcelain skin.

‘What are you looking at,’ she said.

‘Ergh... I... I was thinking we haven’t been properly introduced. My name’s, George.’

She stopped and tilting her head slightly she looked him disconcertingly straight in the eye. ‘Are you chatting me up, George, whoever you are?’

‘Hunter. Ergh... No, just being friendly. I like to know who I’m lavishing my hard earned wealth on.’

She started walking again. ‘In that case Mister Hunter, the name’s, Naomi.’

They found a comfortable isolated table in the Lounge and George prepared to go the bar while Naomi sorted her files and folders. As he turned to leave she said, ‘Make that a double, Hunter.’

He was about to retort and thought better of it but mentally added it to his expense sheet. He returned a few minutes later to find her putting away the last piece of A4 and sat opposite enjoying the first sips of lager before he spoke.

‘Are they all there?’

‘I think so. It’s my homework so I’ll soon find out.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so you look a bit too old for school.’

She laughed. ‘If only. I’m in my final year as a wannabe Barrister and these are cases I have to swat up on.’

‘I’d better watch myself. You maybe prosecuting me one day.’

‘No, I’m going to be a defence lawyer. It’s much more interesting. What about you?’

‘Oh, me. I run a garden business.’

‘I know you’re from the north but what are you doing down here?’

George hesitated before replying. ‘I’m taking a breather. I’m looking up old Army pals to fill in my memoirs. I may write a book one day.’

‘Are they in the area these pals?’

‘Yes, one’s in Tunbridge Wells, at least that’s where he came from, and that’s where I was going when we met.’

‘What’s his name this old pal?’

George glanced at his watch. ‘Oye, look at the time. We’ll miss the next one if we don’t hurry. Let me carry your files.’

‘Okay. I’m going to Tunbridge Wells so we can chat on the train.’

He walked with her to the train and as they were about to board he made a snap decision.

‘Naomi, I’ve decided it’s too late. I’ll stay over in London and go tomorrow. I’ll take in a show or something.’

She hesitated one hand on the door handle. He saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes as she pondered her reply. ‘Hunter, can I join you? I haven’t been to a show in a long time?’

Caught in two minds George stood paralyzed holding her files balanced on one hand while at the same time trying to find the right way to put her off. He had avoided a train journey in an attempt to evade further questioning and now she was offering to become his companion for the evening.

‘Well if you don’t think I’m suitable I’ll go. I don’t offer myself to every man I meet however cumbersome he is.’

Once again he was caught off-balance. ‘Yes... Yes, you can come. By all means. I was deliberating where you would stay tonight. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s not everyday a guy gets an offer like that.’

She released her grip on the carriage door and ignoring the files George was holding out she turned and walked purposely back up the platform.

George swivelled on his heel and followed a couple of paces behind. For a moment his mind was distracted by earthier things as he watched the sway of her hips accentuated by high heels resist the restrictions of a pencil skirt. ‘Behave yourself, George,’ he admonished himself and hurried to catch up while he pondered where he was going to rest his bones that night.

At the taxi rank he asked where she was staying to which she relied, ‘Our firm has an understanding with a family hotel close by the Inns of Court in case we have to work late and I keep some spare clothes in the office for just such an emergency.’

‘Does this Hotel have enough rooms for the two of us?’

‘I’m sure they will.’

‘Good. We’ll book in and then I’ll fetch my suitcase. I left it with a friend in the City. We’ll meet in the lobby at seven-thirty.

—

George didn’t have an adjective to describe her as she descended the stairs. Her knee length button through silver lamé dress followed her contours and the lights reflected off her evening sandals and when she stopped a few feet from him he noticed her emerald earrings and pendant necklace contrasted perfectly with her hair.

‘Close your mouth, Hunter. Do I pass muster?’

‘Oh Boy, there is only one word and that is—Yes—with a capital—Y.’

She fingered the lapel of his light grey three piece suit. ‘Nice,’ she said, ‘no expense spared and a good match.’

‘Shall we go, Miss...’

‘Mrs—Mrs Anderson.’

George stepped back. ‘Oh, you’re married.’ He had visions of an unwelcome visitor some time in the future.

‘Relax, Hunter. I’m divorced and don’t ask. I’m living with my Grandparents at the moment.’

‘Phew, I’m glad about that. We’d better go, I’ve booked tickets for that new show—Starlight Express.’

‘A good choice. I’ve heard such a lot about it. All positive.’

—

They arrived minutes before the show started and she was surprised but said nothing at being shown to the best seats inside the horseshoe jutting out from the stage which meant the show was all around them.

Later she suggested a small fashionable Restaurant where they wined and dined and despite George’s best arguments she insisted on going Dutch but she couldn’t refuse his offer of Champagne after the bill had been settled. He only hoped this rush of blood would be covered by his expenses under entertainment. They laughed and giggled their way to the end of the bottle and it was past midnight before they ordered a taxi to take them back to the Hotel.

They sat close and George kept his thoughts to himself when she suddenly flung herself across him and kissed him ardently. Initially startled he responded and they were encased in each others passion until they arrived at their destination.

When they alighted she didn’t wait while he paid the taxi and he caught up with her outside her room.

She stood with her back against the door breathing heavily. He put an arm either side of her head and leaned forward. She responded by giving him a quick peck and whispering, ‘Goodnight, Hunter. It was a lovely evening.’ With a swift movement she opened the door and slipped inside.

Dumbfounded, he shook his head as he heard the lock click over.

‘Err...What the hell was that all about,’ he muttered, ‘something I said?’

He walked slowly to his own room bewildered by the turn of events. His mind wrestled with his libido and he went to sleep dreaming of what might have been.

—

He was disappointed to find she had checked out early the next morning but he felt better when he read the note she left. It contained just one word—Homework.

He booked out and returned his suitcase to the office before he took a taxi to Waterloo and caught a mid-morning train to Tunbridge Wells. Opting to walk it was a little after eleven-thirty when he stood admiring the Victorian houses in Calverly Crescent.

It didn’t have the grandeur of the Crescent in Bath but it was nevertheless impressive. He wandered across and gave the 19th Century bell pull a yank and didn’t have long to wait before the door was opened by a distinguished military gentleman of advanced years. ‘Good morning, and if you’re selling anything I’m not interested.’

He went to close the door when George held up a hand, ‘No, sir, I’m not selling, I’m looking for Charles Anthony James. I’m an ex-army pal from years back and this is the last known address I have for him.’

‘Oh, sorry. I’m his father, you’d better come in.’

Retired Colonel James showed George into the living room and suggested they should have some coffee before they got started. He disappeared only to return a few moments later. ‘My wife’s bringing it through in a moment. You like proper coffee, Mister, sorry I didn’t catch your name. I don’t hold with this instant muck personally.’

‘The name’s Hunter, sir. George Hunter, and I liken instant coffee to muddy water.’

‘Good, that’s settled. What can I do for you, George? Oh, sorry, my manners, please take a seat.’

George quickly assessed which was the favourite armchair and selected the one opposite.

‘Your son, Charles, sir. We joined up in fifty-eight and went through Army College together before we went our separate ways.

He was one of a group of five guys who hung around together and I’ve traced three of them. I would very much like to find Charles, or Chas as we called him. I’m trying to organise a reunion as well as pick his brains because I want to write my memoirs.’

The Colonel’s wife entered, greeted George and then left after placing a silver tray and coffee set on the centre table. Colonel James poured two cups before he continued, ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, George, but we haven’t been in touch with Charles for some years. I disapprove of the choices he made with his career. However, his daughter lives with us and they regularly keep in touch usually in London.’

‘I see, is she at home, sir?’

‘No, she works in the City and didn’t come home last night. She rang to say she went to a show or something but she is coming home this evening.’

An alarm rang at the back of George’s mind but he dismissed it as coincidence. ‘Would it be in order for me to visit her here, sir?’

‘Why don’t you come to dinner. Have you got somewhere to stay?’

‘I won’t inconvenience you, sir. I shall have dinner at my Hotel and call later if that’s alright, sir.’

‘By all means. About eight-thirty then.’

They stood and shook hands. ‘Goodbye, sir. Until this evening.’

—

George walked back to the Station and collected his overnight bag from the left luggage and after a few enquiries walked back into the centre of town and booked into the Pantiles Hotel.

Rather than spend time hanging around the hotel he opted to grab a snack in town and a quiet pint in a nearby Pub before doing some personal shopping. His afternoon was made for him when he managed to find a first edition of his favourite author H.V. Morton and negotiate a reasonable price but he turned down the opportunity to purchase a rare version of the ‘Diaries of Arminus Vambury.’

After dinner he decided he’d worn away enough shoe leather for one day and instead caught a taxi back to the James house. He was expected and the front door opened almost immediately in response to his ring.

‘Come in, George. Did you find somewhere to stay?’

‘Yes, sir, the Pantiles Hotel.’

‘Oh, good, go through and make yourself at home. Would you like a coffee or something stronger. I do a good line in whisky.’

‘I’d like a whisky with a little water, sir.’

Colonel James followed him into the lounge and poured two whiskies before he left to call up the stairs, ‘Naomi! Your visitor’s here.’

George froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. ‘It couldn’t be.’ He then recalled what Colonel James had said earlier about his grand-daughter going to a show. ‘Oh, brother!’

He heard her coming down the stairs and stood up to prepare himself for the onslaught and was taken aback when she breezed in with a cheery, ‘Hello, we meet again.’

The Colonel looked puzzled as he glanced between the two of them. ‘You two know each other?’

They both went to answer and laughed together before George ventured. ‘Yes, sir, we bumped into each other literally. I was responsible for spreading her homework all over Waterloo Station last night. It was my fault for not looking where I was going.’

Naomi followed George’s lead. ‘That’s why I had to return to the office and decided to stay in town, Pops. You would enjoy the show.’

George returned to his seat and Naomi was about to curl up on the sofa when the Colonel said, ‘Why don’t you two go into the study and then I can watch some TV?’

‘I have a better idea,’ said Naomi brightly, ‘would you like to join me down at the pub. Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten your name.’

‘She’s good,’ thought George, before he replied, ‘My name’s Hunter. George Hunter and I wouldn’t mind going for that drink.’

In the street and a safe distance from the house she said to George, ‘I knew it was you as soon as Pops said something about an Army pal. I was dying to come down earlier but I didn’t want to let on too soon.’

George glanced across at her and nodded. ‘It could have been tricky. Now tell me about your Dad.’

She looped an arm through his. ‘Oh, no, George, that can wait. Tell me about yourself.’

He had expected a much cooler reception and he delayed while he formulated a story that would sound both truthful and sincere and he was thankful as they turned the corner to find the pub close by.

They found a quiet table in a corner of the lounge and as soon as she was settled he asked, ‘Double Vodka and splash, is it?’

‘No thanks, I’ll have a glass of red wine, please.’

He never said anything but liked a girl who didn’t stick to the same drink. When he returned he sat on the padded bench seat around the wall of the lounge and was surprised and secretly pleased when she sidled up close to him. He could feel the warmth of her and smell the same spring aroma of her perfume. Annais-Annais had been one of Anna’s favourites.

She touched his arm and felt him tense. ‘What do you want to know about my father, George. Are you an old pal for real?’

‘Yes, I am. Our Army numbers are only a few hundred apart and because we joined at the same time, five of us clicked, although we all came from different backgrounds. I remember your Dad had a plum in his mouth and we used to wind him up a bit.’

‘I think he lost the plum but he does speak well but what line of the Army were you in?’

‘It’s a long story but I transferred to the Paras almost immediately after leaving college and later somehow qualified for the SAS. I never saw your Dad after we parted on our Passing Out day in sixty-one. The other four of us have crossed paths but do you know what happened to him? Come to think of it he must have had you around that time.’

‘I was born when Dad was sixteen the same age as my Mother. They were married when Mum was eighteen but it wasn’t a love match and because he was away for long periods it all finished in an acrimonious divorce. I was brought up by Pops and Grandma from the age of ten.’

‘He kept that bloody quiet. Where did he go?’

‘I don’t know but I never saw him in uniform. He would turn up in civilian clothes, good clothes mind you, and then disappear a few days later. Mum said he was an international salesman or something to do with trade. I don’t see him for long periods but he does sometimes phone long distance from Germany I think.’

‘What makes you think he was in Germany?’

‘When Pops or Grandma answered the phone they would just say to me—It’s your Dad—like they didn’t approve but I answered one day and the operator said—Long distance from Berlin.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘Just recently.’

‘He didn’t use STD. Could he have been in the Eastern Bloc by any chance?’

‘George, why are you asking all these questions?’

‘Oh, just interested, that’s all. By recently, do you mean in the last three months?’

‘George, this is nonsense. You’re not an Army pal at all, are you?’

‘I am actually but I’ll tell you the real reason. He’s gone missing and the Government have asked me to find him.’

He felt her move away before she said, ‘What for, has he done something wrong?’

‘He’s a Government Intelligence Agent and works undercover. They think the Commies may have him so any info you have on his last whereabouts would be most helpful in his rescue.’

‘Are you saying he’s a spy?’

‘If you like to put it like that—Yes.’

‘Oh… That would explain a lot. What have you learnt up to now, George?’

‘Not a lot, only what you’ve told me. That he probably rang from the East, when did you say exactly?’

‘Four weeks ago.’

‘Did he sound under duress when he spoke?’

‘Err… He talked slower but I thought that was because he was over a bad line but he sounded okay otherwise.’

‘Which narrows him down to East Berlin a month ago. That’s my next port of call.’

‘East Berlin!’ She clutched his arm tightly and pulled herself closer. ‘George, you can’t. You mustn’t put yourself in danger. I would never sleep at night if I thought you had been caught because of anything I said.’

‘Relax, lass. Would you like another?’

‘Yes, please, make it a double G & T.’

George ruefully fiddled with the change in his pocket before he walked to the bar. When he returned she sat close to him and hung onto his arm.

‘George… I’m coming with you.’

‘Eh… What… You can’t. I mean, I’m on official business. I can’t pay for you and the department won’t.’

‘I have some money and I want to see my Dad.’

‘Naomi, I can move around easier on my own and it could be dangerous.’

 ‘I don’t care.’

George sat quiet for a moment trying to find reasons to put her off. Apart from that already mentioned he could think of nothing but, ‘What’ll your Grand-parents think, and your work, what about that?’

‘I’ve got some holidays due and I’ll tell Pops I’m going abroad for two weeks. I’m a big girl and he won’t argue.’

Accepting the fait accompli he gave the appearance that all was well and continued with light conversation until it was closing time and he called a taxi. Outside the house he said goodnight and gave his word that he would call for her the next morning.

She leaned across and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Hunter. Until tomorrow.’

—

He arrived at the Station in time for the first off-peak train feeling guilty but as he strolled onto the platform a familiar voice called out to him.

‘Hunter! Hunter, over here.’

He stifled the groan and turned towards the voice. She looked like she had just jumped out of the latest fashion catalogue her only concession to travel being her hair which she had tied back in a pony tail.

Her dark green leather coat with fur trimmings and knee high boots shouted quality.

George could only admire her but wondered if she really knew what she was letting herself in for.

She stopped before him and smiled. ‘George Hunter, if you think you can get away with deceit, think again. Lawyers live on it. I must admit I was about to give up on you when you arrived although I have been here since seven.’

‘Naomi, I won’t say I’m glad to see you because I’m not, but now you’re here…’

His voice was drowned out by the arrival of the train and he unwillingly held the carriage door while she man-handled the largest suitcase he had ever seen. He deliberately didn’t help her in the hope that his intransigence may persuade her to give up on her plans but he hadn’t figured on her determination.

Once settled she raised the question of their next move. ‘Where’s it to be, Hunter?’

‘I have to go to the office and organise my trip to Germany. We’ll leave your suitcase at Paddington left luggage and then you can sit in the coffee bar around the corner from the office while I pop in.’

‘Oh, no, Hunter, I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

He shrugged, ‘Okay, but I think the powers that be may be a little more persuasive.’

Naomi could sense his mood and remained quiet for the rest of their journey but he steadfastly refused to help her in the transfer across London. In the taxi they sat apart the resentment to her presence plain on his face. When they arrived at Admiralty House in his desperate effort to show his manhood and unconcern about her welfare he dashed up the stairs two at a time but she unfalteringly followed. He was glad of the few moments afforded by her slowness as it gave him time to catch his breath.

Maggie, however, was in no mood for tomfoolery and she urged George to stop messing around and close the door.

‘I can’t Maggie, we have a visitor.’

‘Are they authorised?’

‘Nope, and before you say anything it’s not my fault. She’s the eternal bad bloody penny.’

Red faced and holding the door jamb while catching her breath Naomi gave Maggie a half hearted wave. ‘Hi, I’m Naomi…’ She took another couple of breaths, ‘Naomi Anderson.’

Maggie gave George a disapproving look and said, ‘George—get her a chair and close the door before the whole of Russia walks in.’

Silently acknowledging defeat he complied and in anticipation of the third degree that was coming he said, ‘Maggie dearest, can you make arrangements to get us to Berlin via Hannover,’ he nodded in Naomi’s direction, ‘and Miss here, will pay her own fare.’

Naomi interrupted, ‘Mrs, if you don’t mind.’

‘Hello, George, what are you doing here and who’s the delightful young lady with you?’

George and Naomi turned towards the voice as Brian Warren entered the office.

‘Hi, Brian. This is Naomi, Chas’s daughter. She insists on following me and we’re here to arrange travelling plans. His last known whereabouts is East Berlin.’

Warren’s face clouded over and then changed almost immediately. ‘George, my office. Naomi you wait here. Maggie, have you got any coffee on the go?’

Maggie stood and saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’

Naomi giggled as Brian turned his back and walked down the corridor with George in tow.

‘Close the door, George. Tell me what’s going on but I think I can guess.’

George related the facts without embellishment but added that he would like to dissuade Naomi from her objective.

‘No, George, I think it’s a good idea. Take her with you, we may be able to tempt James to give himself up.’

‘You reckon. What happens if he gets naughty?’

‘Then you, George, have a decision to make.’

‘Thanks for that, Brian. I’ll give her one thing, she’s feisty. Are you going to make her legal?’

‘No. We’ll provide her with any visas and pay for her passage but it will go better for her if she remains a civilian.’

‘Okay, you’re the boss, but you don’t half give me some bloody problems. First Anna and now her.’

‘Get away with you, you old smoothy. She’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.’

George remained non-committal and returned to Reception and a cup of Maggie’s coffee.

 ***

CHAPTER 10

  As Airports go Hannover was nothing special. A barn of a building which the early autumn weather did nothing to enhance and similarly the walk to baggage claim and the queue at Passport control like other destinations around the world, barring Singapore, soured what should be a good experience for many passengers.

Documentation complete George and Naomi followed the crowd into the Arrivals Hall and were met by a uniformed chauffeur who handed George a package and took control of their trolley before leading them out to the waiting Mercedes.

When Naomi had settled herself she had a furtive look at George and made a quick reappraisal of him. Anyone who commanded this kind of service for his country was worthy of a little admiration.

Perks for Government Officials stopped short of five star and they booked into a pleasant four star family Hotel close to the centre of the city. In the quietness of his room George opened the package which contained the Makarov automatic with a full magazine and several Ilford film cartridges. These were used to disguise spare ammunition.

He had just checked the action when there was a light tap on the door and Naomi walked in unexpectedly. He dropped the gun on the bed and hoped he wasn’t too obvious when he threw his coat over it.

He could only stop and admire as she approached him. Her hair hung loose over a cream blouse and her waist was nipped in by a black leather belt which complimented her pencil skirt. It was a style George liked. It was fashionable, functional and damn sexy.

She stopped in front of him and ran a finger down his tie. He dreaded what was coming next. Women did this sort of thing only when they wanted something.

‘George, I’m in need of liquid refreshment. Will you join me for a drink.’

He relaxed. This type of demand he could put up with. ‘I was about to call you, lass. Give me a few seconds to brush up and I’ll collect you.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll wait. Are you going to take some photos while we’re here?’

He hid the grimace and scooped his coat and gun up with both hands and made a show of hanging it in the wardrobe. Not ideal but the best he could think of on the spur of the moment. A quick splash in the bathroom and three minutes later he declared himself ready.

‘Right, miss or is it misses, let’s show ourselves to the world.’

‘Naomi, will do,’ she said and looped her arm through his as they walked down the corridor towards the lift.

In the lounge she chose to sit on a stool and made no effort to hide her legs. George stood opposite leaning on the bar and noticed the overt glances at his companion and wondered how the hell they were going to stay unobtrusive with this beacon of beauty and her lustrous red hair lighting their path.

‘What’ll it be?’

 Her eyes sparkled at his change in attitude towards her and she smiled openly.

George suppressed a groan and said to himself, ‘I wish she wouldn’t do that.’

Naomi on the other hand said cheerfully, ‘As the first drink in foreign parts this calls for a Vodka Martini.’

‘Would, madam, like it shaken or stirred?’

Entering into the lightness of the moment she said, ‘In view of our mission, definitely shaken.’

George laughed. He liked her but he wished it was under different circumstances. He stuck to a glass of the local bier and when they clicked their glasses he said, ‘Here’s to your Dad. I hope it doesn’t take too long, I would like a holiday after this.’

When she took her first swallow he noticed she was wearing her wedding ring for the first time.

‘Why the wedding ring?’

She looked at him through laughing narrowed eyes and said, ‘To protect me from predators.’

‘Had you anyone in mind,’ and then on a more serious note he said, ‘it’ll come in handy later but tomorrow morning, lass, I want you to go shopping while I pay a visit to the British Consulate. Get yourself an overnight bag and some German style clothing. Take a note of the local fashion as we need to blend in.’

‘George,’ she said sombrely, ‘you will come back for me, won’t you?’

He patted her knee. ‘I’m under orders.’

That evening Naomi retired early and left George to indulge in his hobby in a nearby Bierstube.

—

Over breakfast they were told that their ‘hire’ car had been delivered and would they pick up the keys from reception. George acknowledged and told Naomi to take a cab while he took the car for a spin before going about his business with the Consul.

He waited five minutes before he walked across the foyer on his way to the car-park and out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man raise his copy of the Bild Zeitung to shield his face. George made a mental note and felt the comfortable lump of the Makarov under his right armpit. He didn’t break step and came upon the car parked close to the Hotel entrance.

Pleased to see that the powers that be had given him a Ford Taunus, a useful family car similar to a Cortina but left-hand drive. He made a fuss of checking it over at the same time keeping an eye open for anyone acting suspiciously.

When he drove off he followed Highway 6 in the direction of Nienburg. At the ten kilometre post he braked hard and swerved into a Petrol Station at the last moment. Ignoring the pumps he drove through and back onto the highway towards Hannover noting with satisfaction a dark Mercedes pulling into the side unable to do a U-turn quick enough.

Throwing caution to the wind George ignored the speed limit and threaded his way through the traffic and drove out to the Airport keeping a close eye on his rear view mirror.

Satisfied he was no longer being followed he parked and went to the Observation lounge, purchased the local rag and sat near the window. He ordered a coffee and although he didn’t take sugar he left the spoon upright in his cup.

He didn’t have long to wait when a blank business card was dropped onto the table and a quiet confident voice said, ‘That which is crooked cannot be made straight.’

George didn’t look up but took a corresponding card from his top pocket and replied, ‘For God shall bring every work into judgement, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.’

A thick-set man of about George’s age wearing a short leather coat and a traditional German peaked cap sat down and ordered coffee before he spoke.

‘Venator?’

George folded his paper and replied in German, ‘I am he. Have you any word?’

They shook hands before the man spoke again. ‘Rudë Bingen, and the answer to your question is—Yes. We keep a note of all International calls particularly those from the GDR and we traced the call to his daughter a little over a month ago but not only that he has called her number from the FDR several times since.’

‘And the latest?’

‘Just a week ago. He knows we’re onto him.’

‘What day was that exactly?’

‘Last Tuesday.’

George was puzzled. ‘That was the day she asked me if she could come along. She must have known or guessed the reason for my coming here.’ He paused while he unscrambled the information. ‘Rudë, where exactly did James call from?’

Rudë pulled a bundle of papers from his inside pocket and gave one to George. ‘The Celler Hof Hotel, in Celle. That’s not far from here and close to the British Army Garrison at Bergen—Hohne.’

‘That sounds like a good place to start.’ He stood and shook hands. ‘Thanks for the info, Rudë, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Okay, Mister Venator. You never told me your name.’

George tapped the side of his nose. ‘Need to know, old boy. Thanks again.’

He picked up his paper and scribbled the telephone information Rudë had given him across the top and with a quick check of his watch walked out to the car.

—

He was waiting in the Bar when she walked in. He didn’t immediately recognise her in figure hugging designer jeans and outrageous high heels but when he did he appreciated the poise with which she crossed the room.

At the same time he groaned. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said mentally, ‘even when she dresses down she stands out like a sore thumb.’

She draped her brown single breasted leather jacket over the back of the stool and with the grace of a Panther sat opposite him. ‘What is it, Hunter, don’t you like, and before you answer that, I’ll have a beer.’

‘Naomi, you’re supposed to blend in. Right now you’re like a bloody lighthouse.’

‘I’m dressed like the local women as you clearly said.’

‘I meant the hoi polloi.’

‘Hunter, I’m not one of the masses. Now, do I get that beer or what?’

He waited until she’d been served before he said, ‘Pack your bags tonight, gal, we’re checking out tomorrow.’

‘Oh, where’re we going?’

He had a premonition and replied, ‘It’s a secret but I’ve a nice hotel in mind. I’m going to do a few gentle widths of the pool now, what are you doing?’

‘Do they have a pool here?’

‘Yep!’

‘I’ll see you down there.’

—

George made no attempt to evade the Mercedes following them and they arrived in Celle a little before twelve and while Naomi was unpacking her wardrobe he took the opportunity to return to Reception.

Waiting for the right moment he approached the desk and playing plainly with a twenty- mark note he slid a photograph of James across to the clerk and said, ‘I’m trying to trace this man. He’s an old Army pal and I’m told he stayed here last week. Can you check for me?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, customer confidentiality.’

George let his jacket fall open as he produced a fifty-mark note. ‘Try again. Did this man stay here last week and what name was he using?’

The clerk stood wide-eyed and stuttered, ‘Ergh… One moment. I’ll check the Register.’

He flicked back a page and ran a finger down the list. ‘That’s Herr Schmidt. He checked out yesterday.’

‘Did he leave a forwarding address?’

The Clerk riffled through piles of A4 and post-it notes on a spike before he said, ‘Wait a moment, I’ll ask my relief?’

He picked up the phone and pressed a button and muttered a few words. Satisfied he put the phone down and opened a draw and retrieved a shoe box of paper notes. ‘It should be near the top, sir, be patient. Ah, here it is. He was expecting a phone call and he left a number to ring when he left.’

George took a note of the number and returned the scrap of paper. ‘What did he do while he was here?’

‘He went out everyday in his car. He has stayed with us many times and I thought he was a travelling salesman but I don’t think he’s German even though he has a Federal Passport.’

‘Thanks. Do you recognise the code?’

‘Yes, It’s East Berlin.’

George dropped the fifty-marks on the desk. ‘I’d like to make a call to this number, where’s the nearest public phone?’

The receptionist pointed across the room. ‘We don’t have one but if you go into that kiosk I’ll dial the number and put it through.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

The phone was ringing before George could sit down and when he answered a woman spoke. She first repeated the number before giving her name.

‘Frau Dankert!’

‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ said George, ‘I must have a wrong number. I was trying to find a Herr Schmidt.’

There was a pause and he could hear movements and muttering in the background before she spoke again. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no one of that name here.’

The phone went dead and George was left looking at the receiver with a bemused expression before he shrugged his shoulders and replaced it on the hook.

‘Somebody’s hiding something.’

This was the first sign of any misinformation on the part of James. Thus far George had been surprised by ease with which he had been able to find that number and James’s cover name in the East. The tardiness regarding open phone calls and contact numbers was unusual for a man of James’s experience.

He returned to Reception and said to the clerk. ‘If Mrs Anderson asks after me tell her I’ve gone for a walk and will be back shortly.’

‘Yes, sir.’

George went out to the road and looked left and right before making up his mind and going right. He walked two blocks before he came to a public phone and had to wait several minutes while a young woman finished giggling to some distant lover.

His call was answered immediately and checking no one was in earshot he gave the information regarding James’s telephone number and asked for a trace before sauntering back to the hotel where he again went directly to the receptionist. They exchanged a few words and the clerk nodded before George wandered into the bar where he found Naomi. Keeping greetings to a minimum he ordered lunch.

They had been eating in silence for ten minutes when Naomi exploded. ‘For goodness sake, Hunter, what’s the matter. Have I suddenly got the plague?’

George put his knife and fork down and looked her straight in the eye. ‘You lied!’

‘When. No I didn’t. I’ve told you everything.’

‘What about the phone calls. How am I expected to help your Dad if you don’t tell me where he is. He phoned you from this hotel the day before we left and goodness knows how many times in between. You do know we’re being followed.’

‘Are you checking up on me. You’re not an Army pal at all, you’re one of them. Why are you out to get him?’

‘Naomi, your Dad is selling secrets to the other side and quite possibly has ratted on several of our agents. We need to find him before the Stasi.’

‘Why? Are you going to kill him?’

‘Do you think life will be a bed of roses if he crosses over. It will be a lonely life in a pokey flat somewhere where he will die an alcoholic in five years. They supply the Vodka free, it’s the only perk he’ll get.’

‘And what will it be if he gives himself up?’

‘I can’t say. That’s not my department. I only find them and bring them home one way or another. Possibly a short jail sentence and a change of identity but still alive.’ He finished his beer and ordered another to hide his guilt. ‘Now tell me what you told him when you phoned him earlier.’

She sat contemplating his request for a minute before she said, ‘I told him where we were up to. He sounded both surprised and frightened when I said it was you who’s chasing him. He said it was your job to round up the strays. Why do you want to know?’

‘He betrayed me on my last job, not once but twice, and it would be fair to say I’m a little bit aggrieved.’

‘You’re going to kill him?’

‘That’s as maybe. Go and pack your bags while I settle up. We’re leaving in an hour and from now on you don’t leave my sight.’

He waited until she had gone upstairs before he went to the toilet where he fitted the silencer onto the Makarov. Leaving the washroom he pretended to wipe his hands on his handkerchief as he openly walked out to the street and around the side of the building to the car-park.

His guess that his shadow would follow proved correct and he ducked quickly around the last corner and drew his gun. As the man drew level George jabbed the pistol into the back of the man’s neck and directed him to walk slowly to the Mercedes.

‘Get in,’ he urged the man with a sharp prod, ‘and put the keys in the ignition.’

George held the door while the man leaned forward to insert the keys. With a minimum of movement he altered his aim to the man’s forehead and squeezed the trigger.

The depleted sound of the shot went unnoticed and taking care not to get blood on himself he eased the body upright and fastened the seat belt around it. With a quick glance around George closed the door. The reassuring quiet click of the heavy Mercedes door was music to his ears. He went to his own car and drove it around to the front of the building in a sombre mood wondering if his victim had a family.

—

The drive to Helmstedt was made in silence as was their evening meal in a restaurant close to Checkpoint Alpha. A little after eight-o’-clock in his guise as Byewater, following the usual rigorous vehicle check they crossed into the GDR and arrived in Berlin two hours later.

In preference to using the agency ‘safe house’ which he considered probably the most unsafe house, George booked into the hotel where he had stayed with Anna. The memory of her still lingered and with mixed emotions and much to Naomi’s distaste he insisted on a twin-bedded room.

He unpacked swiftly and being partial to the local Berlin brew he left her to her own devices while he indulged in some light relief in the bar but not before he had made a quick phone call.

He retired after midnight and found her asleep with her hair fanned out on the pillow. He studied her for a full minute. ‘Beautiful but misguided,’ he thought.

—

Over breakfast he was told that there was a letter for him at Reception. He crossed the foyer and spied Bingen in conversation with a young woman. Picking up the envelope he rejoined Naomi and while she finished a second cup of coffee he tore it open and read the short note inside.

Folding it he slipped it into his shirt pocket and confident that wherever she went she would be followed he told her a cock and bull story about going to Wavell Barracks and she was free to do her own thing.

He joined Bingen outside and they climbed into a battered VW Beetle.

‘Where’re we going, Rudë?’

‘Herr Venator, that’s a secret.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Need to know.’

‘Touché. Call me George.’

They laughed simultaneously and passed the time discussing the day’s news until they pulled up outside a disused warehouse.

‘Is that the Wall I can see down there, Rudë?’

‘The very same, Georg,’ he pronounced George’s name the German way, ‘but a much brighter affair than was the original. Our graffiti artists are every bit as good as your London variety.’

They went through a patchy painted door and down some steps into a cellar where they came up to a strong-room metal door. Rudë punched in a code number and they passed through and into a long well lit tunnel. They had been walking for five minutes when George said, ‘Where does this lead to?’

‘Under the wall, Georg.’

They came to another security door and on the other side there was a bank of computers, recording equipment and telephone switchboards operated by a mixture of women belonging to the British Army and Air Force with a sprinkling of German civilians.

‘Rudë, I thought the Russians closed this tunnel in the fifties?’

‘That was the CIA tunnel in the Altengleinicke District. The British Army dug this one after the Blake debacle and didn’t tell anyone until many years later. We no longer tap into Military traffic but we do monitor all calls between East and West.’

‘I see, and that’s how you’re able to tell me about James and Naomi?’

Rudë went to one of the girls and had a few words before returning with a slip of paper.

‘Georg, this is the transcript of the conversation between her and James last night after you went out. He knows everything.’

George studied it for a while. ‘Interesting. Do we know the address of this number?’

‘Yes.’ Rudë led George over to a wall map and pointed to a spot. ‘It’s a block of flats here. It’s not one of the known Stasi safe houses so it would appear to be some kind of permanent residence.’

‘Are you suggesting he’s been living there off and on for some time?’

‘Since we were alerted to his possible defection a few months ago and we now know his alias we have back-tracked through our records and found that he has been using that address for some considerable time and calling the same number in the UK.’

George scribbled a number on a piece of scrap paper. ‘Was it this one by any chance?’ Rudë nodded. ‘He’s been preparing for the day he would be found out but it’s unlike him to be so lax. It’s like he wants to get caught.’

‘Surely that’s right Georg, he would want to get caught by you and not the Stasi?’

‘Only if he has a death wish. We kill traitors.’

‘That does not explain Philby, Burgess and the others and what about the Fuchs debacle.’

‘We’ve tightened up since then, Rudë. The punishment fits the crime now without the benefit of a Court case. Let’s get back to the present. Can I get into the East Zone from this tunnel?’

‘No. We did think about it at one time but can you imagine the queue. It was too much of a risk so things were done to divert attention away.’

‘I see. In that case I’ll cross over tomorrow. Can we swap cars?’

‘Ergh… I don’t see why not, but why?’

‘In case anyone is watching me I want you to drive around in mine as much as possible. Make yourself visible.’

‘And the woman?’

‘She comes with me. I haven’t made my mind up about her yet. Let’s go. We’ll change cars back at the hotel. Have you got double sided plates and a set of East Zone?’

‘No doubles but a set of GDR on the reverse.’

‘That’ll have to do. I want your coat and hat. Can you recommend a good Berliner Restaurant and Hotel?’

‘I’ll leave the details with the car. Good luck.’

 ***

CHAPTER 11

 At 7.00pm the following day, using the disguise of Byewater, they pulled up at Checkpoint Charlie. The GDR Border Guards queried the vehicle ownership but accepted George’s explanation that it was a courtesy car while his was being repaired. Following Rudë’s directions he drove with exaggerated legality through the streets of East Berlin.

It was a cloudy evening and he parked midway between street lights around the corner from the Lindeman Hotel and Restaurant.

‘Powder your nose, Naomi, I’ve a small job to do and give me your wedding ring.’

‘What for?’

‘You’ll find out later but if we’re staying overnight it’ll help with our alibi.’

---

Using his favourite misleading tactic he reversed the number plates and five minutes later they checked into the Hotel. Naomi protested when George booked a twin room and he winked at the receptionist as he picked up their Passports who, knowledgeable into the ways of the human psyche, winked back conspiratorially when he gave George the key.

They dumped their overnight bags and twenty minutes later presented themselves at the Restaurant next door. George flashed a Federal twenty-mark note at the head-waiter and asked for a secluded table which they were given with more ceremony than he would have liked. Comfortably settled he had a whispered conversation with the waiter and explained that he was about to propose to Naomi and could they have a bottle of champagne.

Moments later the wine-waiter showed him a bottle of Seckt from the FDR. George raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and nodded his approval.

Throughout the meal George made a great play of jollity and drank deeply and he was most vociferous when he made a display of putting the gold band on Naomi’s left hand which is traditional for engagement on the Continent. He ordered more wine and by the time they had finished the meal he was distinctly the worse for wear.

Fumbling with his wallet he made a show of paying the bill and staggered a few times for effect. The head-waiter spoke to Naomi and urged her to persuade George to return to the Hotel.

She did so and while cursing antibiotics for his state of inebriation George crudely jerked his fist and forearm a couple of times and shouted that he was fit for any nocturnal activities.

When she had manhandled George back to the hotel the Porter supported him as they ascended the stairs to their room. Throughout this display of stupor he was making a mental note of exits and he flopped onto his bed apparently asleep. Naomi thanked and tipped the Porter and casting a disapproving look at George prepared for bed.

She slid under the duvet and George startled her as he suddenly stood up and crossed to her side. He opened his palm and offered her a tiny red pill. ‘Here, take this.’

The reality of George’s game came to her. ‘What for. I’m taking none of your bloody pills.’

He picked up the glass of water from her bedside locker and said, ‘You do it the easy way or you can do it the hard way. You choose. It won’t harm you, I promise. You’ll have a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back before you wake up. Now take it before I get annoyed.’

‘No!’

He put the glass down and before she realised what he was about he pushed her down on the bed, pinched her nose with one hand and forced her head back. He instantly popped the pill into her open mouth and reached for the glass and held it to her lips. Easing his hold on her nose he said, ‘Now drink.’

She choked and he allowed her to catch her breath before he put the glass to one side.

‘There, that was easy wasn’t it? You’ll have a bit of a hangover in the morning that’s all.’

As a precaution he cut through the phone wire and waited as she gradually gave up the fight and went into a deep sleep. He retrieved a spare Passport under another pseudonym from a concealed compartment in the base of his bag, swept up the car keys and taking the bag with him he switched off the light. Locking the room from outside he placed the key on a ledge above the door and listened for a few moments before he made his way warily downstairs.

At the bottom he turned towards the rear of the building away from Reception and following the convenient signs he found an isolated emergency exit. It was the push-bar type which he loathed but having no option he pushed down gently cringing at the squeak as the bolts rubbed against the guides.

He waited and hearing no noise he eased himself out and closed the door hoping that the night staff wouldn’t notice it wasn’t secured properly. A steady drizzle was falling and he pulled his collar up. Keeping close to the building he made his way to the side street where the car was parked. Pausing just long enough to look left and right he made a dash across the road.

Before he drove off he took the time to remove his jacket and retrieve the gun, holster and silencer from the hidden compartment above the glove-box.

He enjoyed the feel of it as it fitted snugly under his right arm and the silencer he slipped into a concealed slit in the seam of his trousers before he put on Rudë’s coat and hat. It had taken too long and he cursed quietly.

Relieved to find that the streets were on a grid fashion he did two left turns which brought him back to the main road. It didn’t take him long to find that car servicing and repair were not high on Rudë’s agenda. Peering through a smear of condensation and ridges of water left by worn wipers he proceeded cautiously. The headlights reflected on the poorly metalled roads which were cobbled in places as he gingerly followed the directions scrawled on a piece of old notepaper.

Twenty minutes later he found the apartment blocks where James resided and he parked amongst the resident Trabbies and run down western bangers. Rudë’s negligent use of the carwash meant the VW fitted in perfectly.

It was a little past eleven o’clock and he ruefully looked up at the number of lit apartments. Hunched up against the weather he trotted across to the middle block where he checked his notes against the information board and cursing roundly the lack of maintenance of the lifts he made his way up the stairs to the third floor and along the gallery to the last one. With a sigh of satisfaction he noticed the lights were still on. Pausing outside he drew his gun and fitted the silencer before rapping gently on the knocker.

As the door opened a crack he didn’t wait. He threw his weight against it and thrust his gun into the face of a startled middle-aged petite blonde. He raised his finger to his lips and urged her forward while he closed the door behind him.

A voice called out in German. ‘Who is it, Irma?’

George shook his head and wrenched the phone connection from the wall before he urged her towards the kitchen where the voice had come from. He thrust her through the door and followed her in.

‘What the…’ James stood up. ‘Oh! It’s you. Took you long enough, George? Irma, dear, put the kettle on.’

George kept his gun trained on James in a two-handed hold. ‘Turn round, Chas, and face the wall.’

‘Easy, old boy. I’m not armed. I see you had the sense to carry a Markova, George. Nothing like experience to throw the scent off.’

‘And I said—Turn Around!’

Recognizing George’s tone James complied. George took three steps across the room and patted him down before backing off. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk, Chas?’

‘In the front room.’

As a double precaution George yanked the phone extension from the wall and smashed the plug before he spoke to Irma in German. ‘Make that coffee but don’t come in until I tell you, understand?’

Wide eyed she nodded.

‘Lead the way, Chas, and don’t even blink.’

George let James walk past him and then laid his gun against his neck as they walked along a short corridor and into the lounge. George closed the door behind him and told James to sit. He picked an armchair by the fire and George crossed the room and stood in a corner by an early model TV.

‘So, George, what are you going to do now?’

‘Who, me. I’m going to kill you of course like you destroyed my fiancée.’

‘Oh… I see. You lost Anna. Unfortunate but nothing to do with me? I must congratulate you on your escape by the way. How did you do it?’

‘Never mind but because of you she got killed.’

‘Like I said, it wasn’t me.’

‘Your hand was on the trigger the moment you bubbled us you cretin and why then?’

‘That loophole had leaked traitors long enough, George, and would give me credibility. You weren’t supposed to get away but when you did things changed.’

‘Traitors, did I hear you say, traitors? You two faced bastard. If I wasn’t under orders to take you back I’d kill you now.’

‘I wouldn’t go back, George. Life in jail is too hard to contemplate.’

‘And living in this squalid concrete box isn’t?’

‘It’s freedom of sorts and I have GDR citizenship. I’ll miss the Firm’s pay naturally.’

He stood up.

‘Sit down, Chas, I haven’t finished.’

James ignored him and George shouted, ‘Sit down or I’ll end it now, Chas!’

‘You wouldn’t do that, George. You couldn’t do it. I know you too well. You haven’t got it in you to shoot an old friend in cold blood.’

He arrogantly turned away and walked towards the door and didn’t hear the two muffled reports of the shots that killed him.

George grimaced, and said, ‘Times change you bastard, and that’s for Anna.’

He deliberately left the used cartridge cases where they fell, unscrewed the silencer and returned his gun to its holster and did a quick search of the room. It was when he reached the third drawer in the sideboard he noticed for the first time a photograph in a silver frame. It was of James, Irma and what appeared to be a twin boy and a girl.

‘My God! James you bloody fool, why didn’t you say?’

He scooped up the picture and hurried through to the kitchen startling Irma who was staring blankly at the wall lost in her thoughts.

George placed the photo in front of her. ‘Tell me about the children.’

 ‘That’s Kurt and Heidi our twins. They’re twelve.’

‘Where are they, Irma, and why didn’t you say something?’

‘They’re in a State Boarding School. That’s why he did what he did. I have something for you.’

She pushed her chair back and crossed to a wall cupboard where she withdrew a package and a letter before returning and handing them to George. ‘These are for you. He was dying you know.’

‘What do you mean, Irma?’

‘Read the letter. I think you’ll understand.’

The envelope was addressed to him. ‘Pour that coffee, Irma.’ He sat down, ripped it open and began to read. Five minutes later he put it down and with a shake of his head he said, ‘Why didn’t he just give himself up.’

‘You were only half of his plan and when you escaped he never had a lever against them and as long as they had our children he couldn’t give himself up. From then on the only way he could make sure the children were free was for him to die in action. It was emotional blackmail by the Stasi. I always warned him about his smoking and when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer he was going to die anyway so he came up with this plan. Because he had citizenship I get a small pension and my children back.’

‘I knew it was too easy. What happens to the children now?’

‘They have no use for them so they’ll send them home and I’ll have to scrape a living somehow. I’ll probably have to pay rent also.’

‘Irma, this changes everything. Has he left you anything?’

‘He withdrew all the money from his accounts on both sides of the curtain and gave it to me. It will tide me over for a while.’

‘Okay, wait here while I nip to the car.’

He took a careful look out of the front door before hurrying to the car and retrieving his overnight bag and returned a couple of minutes later. Plonking the bag on the table he withdrew from the lining a foil wrapped strip and gave it to Irma.

‘There’s twenty gold sovereigns in there. They’ll help but be careful how you dispose of them. I’ll see what I can do from our end but I warn you the English Civil Service is not known for speed. Put those coins somewhere safe.’

Irma coiled the strip and buried the coins deep inside the flour bin. ‘They won’t look in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll move them later.’

‘Good, now I have to act quickly as my plans have changed. If I’m to help you I have to get back in one piece. I’m going to tie you up loosely and you may be uncomfortable for a while but you must give me until ten in the morning before you raise the alarm. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

While he was restraining her he asked, ‘Do you know about your step-daughter?’

‘Yes.’

He finished securing her hands with a tea towel and began fastening her ankles to the chair legs while he was talking. ‘I can’t give you any details it would be too risky but she will be a great help but I have to get her home first.’

He used a handkerchief to gag her. ‘I’ve left that deliberately slack so that you can work it loose. Make sure it’s good and wet with saliva before you shout for help. That way it will really look like you’ve actually freed yourself, understand?’

She nodded.

He had another quick look around and satisfied he turned out the lights and as he left he turned and said, ‘I’m sorry about everything. I only wish there was a better way. Oh, by the way, we only spoke German.’

He wondered how long she would hold out against intensive Stasi questioning as he silently closed the door and crept along the landing and down the stairs praying that VW technology was equal to the searching tendrils of Berlin drizzle.

—

He made good time on the return journey and twenty minutes later parked at the back of the Hotel. Cursing all things meteorological he refitted the Federal number plates before he wrapped the gun, silencer and holster in Rudë’s coat and dropped them in a nearby dumpster.

With James’s package safely stowed in his bag he crossed the road and inched his way close to the wall of the Hotel and breathed a sigh of relief when he found that East German hotel night staff were just as negligent as others around the world. The fire exit was as he had left it.

He could only partially bolt it without waking the hotel and he hoped that it wouldn’t be immediately noticed when the morning staff returned. It was the witching hour and he hoped his surreptitious movements would not be heard. Retrieving the room key he let himself in. Naomi was curled in the foetal position hugging a pillow and he wondered who she was dreaming about. He threw his jacket over a chair and ignoring the welcoming duvet he sat on the bed and dozed fitfully until daybreak. A little after seven o’clock he shook Naomi awake.

‘Get off. Leave me alone.’

He shook her harder and gently slapped her face before resorting to emptying the glass of water over her.

She spluttered awake. ‘Argh… Uugh… Oh, it’s you?’

He fetched a towel from the sink and threw it to her. ‘Wake up, girl, we have to move quickly and I have news for you.’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘No! Come on, we have no time to lose. The balloon will go up shortly.’ He refreshed the glass of water and gave it to her. ‘Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll dress first and wait for you downstairs and if you don’t want to spend the next few years in jail—Hurry—and bring your bag with you.’

She joined him in the dining room half an hour later and moaning that the word hurry didn’t appear to be in her vocabulary he made her eat something and drink coffee before they checked out.

It was still raining and he ran to the car and drove it around to the front of the Hotel. It was later than planned but still a good time to cross the border although the wait in the queue was always an anxious time.

While they were driving to Checkpoint Charlie he gave her the letter left by her father. ‘Here read that. It explains why your Dad committed what was in effect professional suicide.’

She sat quietly reading and when he glanced across he noticed an unchecked tear rolling down her cheek. As they approached the Checkpoint she put the letter down and said firmly, ‘Hunter, get me home. I have a job to do.’

‘First thing, lass, forget Hunter. It’s Adam Byewater and we were engaged last night. Have you got your ring on?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Flash it around and if we’re asked why we didn’t return last night our celebrations lasted through the night. When we get home we both have work to do for Irma and the kids. Got it?’

She leaned across, clutched his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Don’t get used to this, Hunter, Byewater or whatever your name is.’

They were next in line and George lowered the driver’s window and in the distance he could hear klaxons and sirens blaring.

‘Dammit,’ he exclaimed.

‘What’s up, Hun… Adam?’

‘Hear those sirens. Just hope they’re not going to where I think they are.’ Impatiently drumming on the steering wheel, he said, ‘We don’t have much time.’

The car in front must have raised some suspicions and the checks took much longer than normal. George tried not to show his nervousness. He didn’t want to alarm her or draw attention to himself.

At last it was their turn and the Guard called them forward. The one by George’s window took their Passports while the another signalled him to open the bonnet. There was a pause before George was asked to go to the office.

George had been expecting this and followed the Guard into the shack and leaned casually on a high desk while a further scrutiny was done on the Passports and a printed list by the officer in charge.

It was a full minute before he approached George. ‘Mr Byewater, why did you not return last night?’

George smiled, nodded towards his car and said in broken German. ‘We got engaged last night.’ He winked. ‘We celebrated too long.’

‘Where did you stay?’

‘The Lindeman Hotel. It was part of the Restaurant.’

George disguised his anguish when the Officer picked up the phone. He talked for awhile and appeared satisfied with George’s explanation. ‘You have bad head this morning, Mr Byewater?’

George nodded, ‘And some.’

‘Okay, you have Jagermeister and then is okay. You can go now.’

George smiled and said, ‘Thank you,’ turned and walked back to the car.

He was about to climb in when the officer ran out and shouted, ‘Mr Byewater!’

George ignored him and dropped into the passenger seat and started the engine and then shuddered when the Officer leaned in and said, ‘Why you not answer me. Mr Byewater? You are Mr Byewater?’

‘Oh… Argh… Yes. My headache and,’ he nodded towards Naomi, ‘I was in a hurry to finish what we started last night.’

‘Don’t you think you should take your Passports with you, Mr Byewater?’

George patted his pockets and shook his head. ‘Silly me, I forgot them.’

He started to get out of the car when the Officer shoved them through the open window. George shuddered inwardly as the screaming klaxons drew closer.

‘Mr Byewater. Be more careful in future.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

As he closed the door he looked in the rear-view mirror in time to see two Vopo Skodas turn into the street with blue lights flashing and sirens wailing. Trying to appear composed George nodded to the Officer and drove at what he hoped was an unhurried pace the hundred metres down to the US/UK Post.

Forty metres short George noticed hurried activity behind them. Guns were aimed in their direction. He flashed the headlights and prayed that the American MPs were alert. The barrier swung upwards. He banged the steering wheel with frustration. How long did it take to go from zero to sixty, until his celebratory—‘Yee-haa’—startled Naomi as they accelerated to safety.

—

Brian Warren put down James’s letter and leaned back. ‘So, George, he set it all up hoping that it would be you going after him? He took a chance on your escaping?’

‘Now I think of it, Brian, we were able to suss the traps too easily. They were either too obvious or just that little bit too late. He set it up in such a way that had we been captured he could bargain with the authorities or if we escaped, as we did, we would eliminate him. Either way he hoped to free his children. He took a chance because after we crossed into Poland it was down to luck. What about his family?’

‘After the media hype and political furore has died down I’ll have word with the Minister. We’re blaming them for killing one of our agents as the evidence suggests and they of course say we got rid of our own. As for helping his family, the package James left behind gave us much information about Stasi activities and should go a long way to help his case. Oh, while I remember. His daughter rang yesterday and said that Colonel James had agreed to send a monthly allowance to help his son’s family if we could arrange it. I’ve passed it onto the Paymaster.’

‘Brian, is there any way we can get Irma and the kids out?’

‘I think it would have to be done through Diplomatic channels, George. James effectively closed the gate on the easy route.’

‘Do what you can, Brian. I feel I owe him.’

—

Dr Hayle looked up from his writing. ‘Did they ever get James’s wife back to the West?’

‘It took two years of haggling but they did eventually. A couple of years later and they could have walked across when the GDR collapsed.’

‘A positive result in the end. What happened after that, George? Did you retire?’

‘I never really retired, Doc, I just stopped the gun for hire business.’

‘What brought that about?’

‘Deep down I felt guilty about James but I carried onto my next job. There was this reptile who had been dealing with that shit Gaddafi and supplying arms to the IRA amongst others. He had no particular allegiance to any insurgent organisation causing mayhem over there so long as they bought their goods from him. I was asked to put him away.’

‘Did you?’

‘No, I should have done as he was a despicable character but I had this niggling feeling in my gut.’

There was a click and a disembodied voice said, ‘Your next appointment is here, Doctor.’

‘I’m sorry, George, you’ll have to tell me about it next time.’

 ***

CHAPTER 12

 ‘A retiring thought’

 You were going to tell me about your change of attitude, George.’

‘Yes, Doc, it was a strange feeling. This guy lived in North Devon close to the edge of Exmoor which gave me plenty of cover and I was inserted by Helicopter during the night.

He was known to have a routine. Every Monday morning he pulled a rubbish wheelie bin up his short drive to the lane and that particular morning I was waiting for him.

I peered through the nettles under the hedge I had chosen as my lair and I had the creep in my sights. I lined the crosshairs of the telescopic sights just right of his breastbone, took a deep breath, exhaled, and took up the first pressure of the trigger.

At that moment—I froze. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t make my finger apply the final squeeze.

I lowered my rifle, it was an L42 Enforcer, my personal choice. I did a quick assessment and expressed my doubts aloud.

‘George Hunter! What are you doing? You don’t know this guy. What if he’s not a genuine subversive target. This could be a personal vendetta by someone in the department and you wouldn’t know it.’

I knew this decision was going to jeopardise my career but looking a guy in the eye and knowing he is evil is quite different to killing someone because they said so. ‘What career, anyway?’

I had another more practical one already and I realised I didn’t need this. I was working for the SIS who were using my skills perfected to take out an enemy, not legalised murder. Dedication only stretches so far, it was time to concentrate on other things. I had a garden business to run.

The mist laden morning air was reaching into my bones. ‘I’m too old for this,’ I muttered under my breath. My target had moved on and I considered enough time had elapsed to make it safe for me to get the hell out of there.

I slithered back on my stomach and something knobbly dug into my chest. Upon investigation it turned out to be the rounded end of a glass bottle. Using the screwdriver attachment of my multi-purpose knife I removed the soil from around it and unearthed a 19th century Codd* style mineral water bottle with the glass marble stopper still intact.

‘Not a wasted morning after all, George lad. Worth thirty quid of anyone’s money.’

I didn’t get the connection right away but I’d always had a morbid fascination for nettles, they had hidden secrets. They marked places of human activity and thrived on the nitrogen created by it and what was rubbish a hundred and fifty years ago is today’s collectables and this one was going to join the others on top of the kitchen cupboard. I had a quiet titter to myself as I also recalled the pleasure I’d had as a lad beheading nettles with a stick as I walked home from school down the lane in Westmorland where I had been brought up. I used to pretend I was a knight in shining armour jousting for the hand of a fair maiden.

‘Not just a life changing moment, Doc, but a satisfying one…’

‘Do you still collect bottles, George?’

‘I used to but Jacquie won’t have them in the house. The shed’s full though. You’ll have to visit sometime and then I can give you a potted history on bottles. The one I told you about is 19th Century, circa 1876 or there about. The glass marble in the top is what stopped it leaking.’

Doctor Hayle could tell by George’s eyes that here was a subject that was close to his heart and he scribbled a side note before he continued. ‘What did you do after that?’

‘I didn’t retire completely. I still did the odd clandestine job for the Firm but I spent a lot more time developing my business.’

‘Was this the period when you had your brief affair?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

‘I’ll tell you about the time I last saw her but no names, okay.’

‘It’s late, George. We’ll do that when you come for your next session and bring that bottle with you, I’d like to see it.’

 ***

CHAPTER 13

 Doctor Hayle checked his watch and said, ‘Good morning, George, are you ready for it?’

George pulled a faded glass bottle from his jacket pocket and gave it to the doctor. ‘This is for you, Doc, I have two, and, yes, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Good. Make yourself comfortable’.

While George settled himself Doctor Hayle held the bottle up to the light, twirled it and scrutinised the marble captured in the neck.

‘A nice example, George, did this device really work?’

‘Surprisingly enough, yes. It was quite simple and you never had to renew the stopper so it was cheaper.’

‘I must take more interest in our past, George, but down to business, time is tight this morning. How are you sleeping?’

‘The best for a long time, Doc. This talking about things appears to be working and Jacquie’s enjoying it also and dare I say it, my libido is returning.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. There’s still this underlying streak to violence to deal with though. Last week you mentioned another affair of the heart before Jacquie. Did this have any bearing on your guilt?’

‘No, that was an affair of a different kind. It was escapism for both of us. In her case it was a relief valve from a constrictive marriage and the stress of a divorce. She was a bird in a cage craving for love. We were of different backgrounds but at the time we were right for each other and I have fond memories of her.’

George reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded package.

‘These, Doc, are a memento of that liaison which she herself gave to me on our last tryst.’

Doctor Hayle opened the package and peered in. ‘If I may say so, they’re very personal.’

‘Yes, and I don’t know what to do about them.’

He gave the items back to George. ‘Tell me about this last meeting and then we’ll decide.’

George weighed the sealed freezer bag in his hand and wondered how to explain the flimsy items within. Common sense told him to throw them away but fond memories and pride held him back.

He tipped them out and sniffed them. The lily scented perfume on one blended with the personal musk of the other and immediately conjured up her image. A tall blonde with a toned physique and the purest of blue eyes which held everyone in her presence spellbound.

The vision reminded him of the well handled Hank Jansen paperbacks of his youth. How well he described his heroines—Pulchritude. The very word conjures up beauty and sex.

Fingering the monogram on the silk hand-kerchief he remembered she had a thing about initials. She thought connections with other things in life were a good omen. The Hotel had opened on the 18th of April, his birthday, and with her initial she considered it a good reason to choose the Dorchester.

They dined in ‘The Grill Restaurant’ and whiled away the time later in the ‘China Tang Bar.’ The thought crossed George’s mind that the bill was going to put him in hock for many years to come but at the same time he took wicked delight in wining and dining her.

Straight black hair hung down past her shoulders and blended beautifully with her pale skin and the velvet plum coloured evening gown she wore. Lightly tinted glasses dimmed the colour of her eyes but the admiring and often puzzled glances in their direction gave him a bigger thrill as he knew the truth and smiled knowingly.

They retired late to the room she had booked and off came the wig and glasses. A swift tug on the zip and the dress dropped with a tantalizing swish to the floor. Proud of her body, exposed and vulnerable, she pirouetted and chastised him for being slow.

‘What’s the matter, don’t you want me?’

Their pheromone fuelled affair continued late into the night. It was fire and water, Aries and Cancer, each consuming the desire of the other.

It occurred to him that the person who had pushed this vibrant unashamedly passionate woman out of their life must have been dull and uninteresting.

—

The following morning she came from the bathroom insolently naked with her wet blonde hair slicked back. She sat at the dressing table and he watched as she placed a couple of strategic hairclips and dried her hair.

He was mesmerised by the way the muscles rippled in her back with each tiny movement. Urgent signals zinged from his brain and set his receptive nerves tingling. He held his hands discreetly in front of him and saw her laughing at him through the mirror. Had time not been against them he would have found the energy to linger.

With practised ease she put on the wig and finished her make-up. Standing up she did a twirl.

‘Do I pass muster,’ she said while fastening the flimsiest of bra’s before moulding herself into a black leather two-piece suit. Wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo sandals and dark glasses she looked every bit the courtesan.

‘I love both of you,’ he said, and gave her a kiss. While they kissed she slipped something into his pocket.

‘A small memento,’ she said.

In reception his anxiety increased as the bill loomed. She calmly handed over her Bank’ card and the hotel staff, if they recognised her or her rounded signature, never let on.

—

The taxi pulled up at the rear garden entrance of her apartment complex and she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Hunter, you’re the second person to advise me to cancel this trip but it’s too late to put it off. I’ll contact you the minute I get back.’

He watched as she manoeuvred her overnight case through the wrought iron gate and that was the last time he saw her.

—

George gently handled the tiny pieces of personal apparel. He read the labels and wondered about the significance of the name before he re-sealed the bag and returned it to his jacket.

‘I cherish that night, Doc, and the memory of a beautiful person.’

‘Have you told Jacquie, George?’

‘She has seen my file and knows of the assignment but she knows nothing of the affair.’

‘I think you should tell her. She won’t mind and will think more of you for doing so. Show her the package, after all it was before her time and as you don’t need reminders of grief discard the items and relieve your conscience of another burden.’

‘Thanks, Doc, I’ve never told anyone about them before and I feel a weight has been lifted of my shoulders already.’

‘Good, that’s one issue solved. Now what about facing your phobia?’

‘There were two occasions, Doc, when I was confronted by water One while I was working with Jacquie and another after I retired. As I recall I was nervous but not scared. It didn’t hinder me in my judgement.’

‘Didn’t you have quiet period before that?’

‘Yes, I dropped from the big time for a few years but I did get an adrenaline boost on a couple of little jobs not connected with National Security.’

‘Like what?’

‘There was one occasion when an ex-22 Regiment guy asked Major Warren for assistance. His daughter had got tangled up with a loan shark in Liverpool who was coming on heavy.’

‘Book your next session, George, we’ll talk about it then.’

 ***

CHAPTER 14

This bit of private enterprise, George, what was it?’

‘As I mentioned last week, Doc, I was having a sabbatical when one day I got a call from Major Warren. An open call, none of your clandestine spy crap, asking me to help out over the Mersey with a little local difficulty concerning this loan shark.’

‘Were you bothered by it, George?’

‘From the moment I received the call I knew my retirement was over and a couple of days later I was sat in the snug of the ‘White Swan’ with Tony Weston, an old SAS buddy on many operations during my service days.

He handed me an unmarked file. ‘Read that, George, and then I’ll fill you in on the details. Same again?’

I nodded and flicked through the pages of A4 while he went to the bar. It was a general description of a singularly unattractive character called Derek Hatfield from Liverpool, an amateur body-builder on stacked heels. His wavy hair was tied back in a ponytail and his piggy eyes were buried in a bottle-tanned steroid bloated head.

Weston returned. ‘Finished.’

‘I don’t read that slow and it ain’t a bloody novel is it,’ I replied somewhat belligerently. ‘What’s it all about?’

He pointed to Hatfield’s picture. ‘He’s a loan shark and he’s got his hooks into the daughter of one of our guys. He’s already used violence against her and threatened worse if she doesn’t pay up.’

‘What’s that to do with us?’

‘We, that is me and you, are going to smack him.’

‘Oh, thanks, and what if I don’t want to?’

‘George Hunter, on Warren’s recommendation we, that is the SAS Association, checked you out and we know you’re bored with gardening. This is an unpaid sideline to give you a buzz.’

If the truth were known he was right. Although business was picking up it didn’t give me the adrenaline rush I had grown used to over the years.

‘Okay, what do we do?’

‘We know Hatfield goes off his patch on Saturday evenings and he won’t have his heavies around him inside his favourite Club. The plan is to pick him up, take him somewhere quiet and have a persuasive chat. Our Number Three will drive us and the doorman has been fixed. Come tooled up, but no firearms.’

—

Lifting Hatfield was easier than I expected. We were dropped outside the ‘Blue Lamp Club’ and the Security Guard looked the other way. A fifty-quid bonus suited him fine. Hatfield arrived half an hour later with a blonde girl of doubtful employment and a dubious taste in clothes and they sat at his usual table.

We waited until the ‘Tom Jones’ wannabee was into his second song before we made our move. I felt the satisfying coldness of the double edged combat knife slide into my palm as I walked across the room in the dim light. I went to the target’s left and Tony to his right.

Leaning forward I pressed the blade into Hatfield’s neck and whispered. ‘Unless you want to undergo the fastest crico-thyrotomy since Jack the Ripper keep quiet and walk out with us. Don’t do anything silly. I’m a nervous kinda guy and I hate the sight of blood. Now get up slowly and walk.’

Tony meanwhile impressed upon the girl that it was business.

I was nervous. It was too easy, but no one took the slightest notice as three shadows disguised by the spotlights progressed down the room and out through the emergency exit.

Number Three was waiting in the back alley with an unobtrusive Vauxhall. We hustled Hatfield into the back between Tony and myself and drove off into the night and fifteen minutes later we arrived at a prepared lock-up garage and bundled Hatfield inside.

With a well practised manoeuvre Tony secured Hatfield’s wrists behind his back with electrical ties, plonked him on a kitchen chair and tied his ankles together likewise. We stuffed his own tie into his mouth and secured it with a piece of knotted cord.

A block and tackle was hanging from a roof beam and we yanked Hatfield to his feet and looped a short piece of rope with a slip knot around his neck over the hook and hauled him up just far enough to be uncomfortable.

I caressed Hatfield’s ear with my knife and looked at Tony. He shook his head. I tickled Hatfield’s nose with the tip and Tony shook his head again.

I pleaded with Tony. ‘Oh, go on, let’s. He beats up on women.’

This time I drew the blade across Hatfield’s neck enough to get a thin trickle of blood and I said in my best hoodlum voice.

‘I call my knife, ‘Wish.’ You wish you weren’t here and it’s the sound you make when I cut your windpipe.’

Tony stopped me and said, ‘Hatfield! You and your unsavoury operation have come to our attention and as such you will stop and leave town. For the record, I, or someone like me, will be watching you for the next few years wherever you are. If you backslide, your next appearance will be in the obituaries. Nod your head if you understand.’

Beads of sweat were standing out on Hatfield’s head and he nodded without hesitation.

We winched him up onto his toes and depending on his fortitude, as long as he held that position he could breathe, albeit uneasily.

‘We’ll call the Emergency Services—if we remember,’ said Tony, ‘bear in mind what we told you.’

What happened to Hatfield? We called the Police an hour later and the last we heard he was doing Real Estate in Spain.

—

‘For a man of your background, George, that was a little bit of light relief.’

‘I felt like I was doing something useful for a change. Helping an old buddy and getting rid of a bit of scum.’

‘Did you do many like that, George?’

‘One or two with many months in between.’

‘Did they ever ask you to do your old job?’

‘Yes, but I refused. I was quite happy with my bachelor life. The business was doing well and my sister brought me a rescue cat who had a mind of his own. I finished up living with him instead of the other way round.’

‘No romantic interludes?’

‘I had one or two dates and but I think the longest affair was about a month. I wasn’t really looking so I was quite happy waiting until the right one came along.’

‘Didn’t you want children?’

‘Yes, I wanted to settle down and have the standard two and a half children but I never made it a priority.’

‘So how did you meet Jacquie?’

‘As I said, Doc, I had been minding my own business for a few years and I was making enough money to be comfortable. I even took on a couple of staff. One of them, Gary, was a real help and he ran the business for me when I was doing jobs. One day I got this phone call.’

‘Is this going to take long?’

‘Yes, Doc.’

‘I’ll book a double session. Keep this up, George and I’ll get that world cruise.’

‘Does the NHS pay that much?’

 ***

CHAPTER 15

George put his tea tray down on the coffee table and looked directly at Suki, his mixed black and Siamese cat who had one green eye and one blue. ‘Don’t even think about it, pal. You’ve had yours.’ Keeping one eye on the cat he nipped smartly over to the sideboard and picked up the phone… ‘Garden Aspects.’

A voice from the past crackled in his ear. ‘I hear the Feathers is a good pub.’

The hairs on his neck prickled. This could mean only one thing. ‘The Swan is better,’ he replied and the phone went dead.

He glanced at the clock. ‘A bit early for a drink,’ he thought, ‘but what the hell?’

Hastily finishing his tea he sliced up the remaining half a sausage and put it in the cat’s bowl. Suki sniffed at it and looked at him malevolently before turning away and stalking back into the living room.

George laughed and called after him. ‘Not good enough, huh. You’re getting picky.’

He gave the cat-flap a flick to see if it was working okay before he slipped a navy crew neck sweater over his lumberjack shirt, laced up his desert boots, checked his hair in the hall mirror and made his way up the lane to his local—The Swan.

—

‘Hi, George,’ the familiar greeting from the landlord. ‘The usual?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

He picked up his pint and wandered into the extension of the ‘L’, shaped room where tucked away in a corner he spotted, Brian Warren.

They shook hands. ‘It’s been a long time, George, and you’ve not changed much. Still using boot polish on the hair then?’

George’s reply was succinct and to the point. ‘If you’ve come all this way to insult me this is going to be a short reunion and what brings you to this neck of the woods anyway? I’m damned sure it’s not pleasure and why the secrecy?’

He sat down opposite his friend and took a long swallow.

‘It’s business, George. I’m ‘C’ now and I have to tell you the SIS is overworked. I want you to help me on a nice little number in the northwest.’ He held his hand up as George was about to speak. ‘Hear me out. I know you said no more but we’ve taken on more responsibilities since you retired and we’re stretched to the limit. I want you to do me a big favour and consider one small job for me.’

‘I can’t say I don’t miss the excitement the work gave me, Brian, but you know my reasons.’

‘Yes I do and I thought it very unfair that life could be cut short in someone so young. Everyone in the organisation was affected by it and after the James incident we understood why you quit.’

‘I know,’ said George, ‘and I’m happy now...’ His voice tailed off, not wanting to carry on a conversation that would bring back memories.

The muted ringing of a mobile phone broke the silence that had come between them and Brian reached into his inside pocket. He gave George a sideways glance and noticed his obvious distaste at this modern interruption. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘won’t keep you a moment—Hello!’

George could hear the muted sound of a female voice and Brian smiled. I’m talking to him now. I’ll call you when we’ve finished.’

He closed the phone and returned his attention to George. ‘That was your number two if you take on the job. She was trained by the SAS for undercover work in Northern Ireland. When she’s in her Irish disguise her accent makes Paisley easy to understand by comparison. After all that she manages to keep an air of femininity.’

‘Brian, I’ve had a little think and the gardening business is a bit slack at the moment so provided this is a one off easy job I’ll help a mate out of a hole but that’s all, and no killing.’

Warren took a sheet of A4 from his briefcase. ‘Here are three names and last known addresses all in the northwest. They are ex-SAS personnel who mislaid this type of weapon after the Gulf conflict.’ He gave George a second piece of paper upon which was the description of the weapon in question. ‘Developed for clandestine and special services operations during the last War it is a nasty toy in the wrong hands. Your brief George is to recover these weapons and if you are successful it could become a permanent job to recover other ‘mislaid’ souvenirs.’

George spent a moment perusing the documents before saying, ‘Welrod 9mm, aye. I’m familiar with this weapon. Used it a couple of times. Why were they issued for that conflict? That apart, it sounds pretty straight forward to me. Where does my assistant come into the equation?’

‘As a matter of course now, George, operations are covered by two people and this lady is more than capable of looking after herself, and you I suspect.’

He paused long enough to take an envelope and a file from his briefcase and give them to George. ‘This is your I.D. and firearms licence and disposable mobile phone. The file, which I want you to familiarise yourself with, is the reason for this operation. It is not our usual type of enquiry.’

The file heading was enough to tell George that this was no ordinary assignment—‘English Rose.’

‘Good title,’ he commented. ‘Right up my street.’

He flicked open the flyleaf and his eyebrows raised when he saw the photo of a well-known TV personality. ‘Brian, this case is already closed. I don’t get it. Surely this is Police work.’

‘That was my first reaction but apparently the tip came from someone well connected. Ex- SAS, he has written about assassination and other clandestine operations. As you say the case is closed and a man behind bars but there is still doubt in some quarters. Note the comment about the weapon. World War Two SOE, silenced, 9mm, single shot. Give it some thought, George. The lack of anybody reporting the sound of a gun and the expertise to doctor ammunition. No witness came forward who saw anyone looking as if they may have anything hidden on their person so there may be something which has been overlooked. Because of our background we have been asked to look into it. George, I apologise for coming to you like this. We were not sure how badly Anna’s passing had affected you after so long.’

‘Apology accepted, now stop rambling.’ He stood up and enquired as he turned away. ‘Would you like another drink? It’s like a damned desert in here.’

George returned a few moments later and placed the drinks on the table. ‘Where are you staying, Brian?’

‘The Rowton Hall Hotel,’ and noting George’s raised eyebrows, ‘It was the first one I came to on the way into Chester.’

‘Nice one. Now tell me. How do I recognise wonder-woman?’

‘Believe me, George, you’ll know her as soon as you lay eyes on her. There is only one Jacqueline Riccardi, and don’t ever call her that. Acknowledge in the usual way.’

They passed an hour going over old times before Brian called it a day. George escorted him to the door, said his cheerio’s and returned to the bar.

‘Same again, Bob.’

Like all traditional landlords, Bob, inquisitive to know all about the goings on in his establishment placed George’s pint in front of him and sensing that he was not about to be forthcoming enquired, ‘Business or pleasure, George.’

George took a sip and replied without commitment, ‘A job interview.’ Jerking suddenly upright and grinning from ear to ear he added, ‘Bob old man, I got the job and all of a sudden I’m looking forward to it—Cheers!’

It was late when he arrived home and he noted with satisfaction the empty cat bowl.

‘Thinks he can fool me, huh.’ He checked the doors and windows and went to bed but before he went to sleep he had a little smile to himself as he felt the comforting weight of Suki settle down in the crook of his knees. There would be some feline complaining later when George turned over but they had been companions for a year now and it had become a nightly ritual between consenting males.

 ***

CHAPTER 16

 George Hunter?’

George turned towards the enquiry and the first consonant froze on his lips. Fearing the worst he had waited with trepidation but the vision before him took his breath away. Piercing green eyes under a mass of unruly highlighted curly hair kept in place with a red headscarf held him mesmerized. She was dressed in black from her Gucci leather jacket down to her high heeled boots which peeked out below fitted trousers.

She gave him a blank address card and he replied in similar fashion and asked, ‘Do you want all that biblical bull?’

‘No. Are you going to gawp all afternoon?’

‘Ooh, ah, sorry… Yes, I mean, no. I’m George Hunter.’

‘Jacquie Riccardi.’

He couldn’t make out her accent. Northern Irish and the home counties mixed maybe and as he pondered he shook her outstretched leather encased hand. Her grip was firm but he was surprised by the tingle he felt with the contact.

‘George, before we get down to business I need to go to the Bank.’

‘Ergh… Aye, okay.’

He fell in beside her as they crossed the road and walked the short distance to the Bank on corner of the next street. He glanced sideways at her and instinctively pulled his stomach in and his shoulders back.

Inside the Bank George waited to one side and idled the time looking at the leaflets lying around while Jacquie removed her gloves and joined the queue at the end of the barrier erected to keep everyone in single file.

The queue moved forward until Jacquie was next in line when the entrance doors burst open and two hooded figures barged in shouting and waving guns.

‘Everyone freeze and you won’t get hurt.’

The one who appeared to be the leader ran to the barrier, pointed his gun and shouted to the first cashier.

‘Empty your cash draw and shove the money under the glass.’ To emphasise his words he made jabbing motions with the gun. ‘NOW!’

The attention of the second one who had stopped alongside George was momentarily diverted watching these actions. George’s right arm came up in a backward chop and he slashed across the man’s throat. The would be bank robber immediately dropped his weapon and fell to the floor—hor de combat.

The disturbance distracted the gunman by the till momentarily but long enough for Jacquie to swing her handbag and hit him on the side of the head. She dropped the bag and transferred her grip to his gun arm and slammed it down on the rail. He wrenched free and ran for the door and was sent sprawling by George’s outstretched foot.

He immediately straddled the gunman and placed his right hand on the back of his head. With his left hand he took hold of robber’s chin and lifted the man’s head slightly. He was about to twist and jerk when Jacquie shouted.

‘Hunter! No!’

The mist lifted from George’s eyes and he bashed the man’s head forcibly into the floor, stood up, and as he stepped away he delivered a sharp kick into the kidneys.

Jacquie ran over and grabbed George’s arm and steered him out of the door as two Police cars with sirens clamouring pulled up outside.

She pulled George to the left and arm in arm they mingled with the crowd and she was surprised to feel through his coat that he was shaking. For a minute nothing was said until she could hold back no longer.

‘George? Would you have killed that guy back there?’

They stopped and he paused thoughtfully for a moment before replying, ‘Yes.’

Showing no emotion she reflected on his file and did a swift reappraisal of this mild mannered man in front of her. It was now apparent why his nickname was GBH as well as his initials.

George glanced up and noticed they were stood under the sign of the ‘Queens Head Hotel.’

Appropriate he thought. He took hold of her hand and was again surprised by the sensual thrill as their fingers touched.

‘I think it’s time we opened the expense account Jacquie. Fancy a drink?’

She looked at him her eyes laughing directly into his. ‘Yes.’

He led her into the hotel lounge and they chose a secluded table and George went to the bar. He looked back at her at the precise moment she untied her headscarf and shook her hair loose.

Recognition flashed into his mind and his thoughts went back to South Armagh in 1983. He knew her face was familiar but had never been able to place it until now and he couldn’t help but smile when he heard the cool tones of Roberta Flack singing—The first time ever I saw your face—circulating the 17th Century hostelry.

Jacquie was immediately taken by the way he moved. Erect and deceptively slow with a slight trace of a limp, his eyes subconsciously making a note of other occupants and exits. She remembered from his notes the wound in his knee the result of a ricochet received during an unscheduled skirmish in Northern Ireland.

George returned from the bar, slipped off his wax jacket, hung it on the back of a chair and sat opposite her. He took a quick drink and retrieved several postage notes and a roadmap from his coat.

‘Hunter, what are you doing? You’re not going to be boring and start talking about work are you? Here I am a defenceless woman sitting with an almost total stranger. I want to know more about the predator sat before me and when we’ve finished with the social graces we can go on to the more mundane things like what it is we are actually here for. While the cat’s away seems to fit the bill.’

George visibly relaxed, smiled, looked Jacquie straight in the eye and replied flippantly. ‘Having spent some considerable time no doubt looking through my file you probably know more about me than I do.’ He realised that far from averting her gaze Jacquie was actually responding. Her glistening eyes looked unnervingly directly into his. ‘And as we are in a fact finding mood please be forthcoming with your personal details right down to your shoe size.’

‘Size seven, five foot nine and over twenty-one. I was born in Bedford to an Italian brickie and an Irish mother from the Bogside. Full name Jacqueline Riccardi but only mother calls me by my full name and if you want to remain friends you won’t—Ever.’

‘That’s fine by me, young lady.’

‘George Hunter, twenty-one is only a reference point, I’m actually quite a bit past it but keep it up you make a girl feel good. Would you like another?’

‘Ergh… No thanks, I’m driving. Where are you shacked up?’

‘The Westminster Hotel.’

‘I want to do Liverpool first thing in the morning and then travel up to Preston so I’m wondering if you would mind staying at my place. It’s quite decent but I warn you, you’ll be sharing with a stroppy cat.’

Jacquie unconsciously reached over and touched his hand. ‘Relax, I like cats and of course I don’t mind.’ Her smile immediately dispelled George’s discomfort. ‘Besides, Brian will only be too pleased he’s saving money on expenses.’

There was a pause and neither made any effort to move their hand before George broke the spell.

‘Okay, let’s swap mobile numbers. I’ll walk with you to your Hotel to get your stuff and we can catch a cab out to the Park & Ride.’

George helped her with her jacket and she enjoyed the feeling of his closeness even though they had known each other for a short time. He stood aside and let Jacquie precede him not unaware of the attention she was attracting from a couple of travelling salesmen. He nodded in their direction with the mental acknowledgement. ‘Eat your heart out,’ a familiar phrase he had used before.

—

George shook his head as he threw Jacquie’s two holdalls and a large suitcase into the boot, ‘Christ, how long’s she coming for,’ he muttered.

Meanwhile, Jacquie strolled around admiring his choice of car. ‘Not bad, Hunter, a fearsome looking beast.’

‘The best kept secret on the road. A SAAB 9000—2.3 Turbo. You can drive us home if you want.’

She spent a few moments adjusting mirrors and seat and drove off. ‘Mmm… nice,’ she said, as they accelerated out of the car-park.

George could do nothing but sit back and admire and muttered something about fuel consumption and why was it that today’s women took no notice of speed limits.

 ***

CHAPTER 17

 The following morning he suggested she drive again.

‘You trust a woman,’ she said.

‘No, I’m feeling lucky, besides, I’ve never met a woman who could read a map.’

She glared at him through narrowed eyes and he retreated to the other side of the vehicle.

—

They approached Liverpool from the south and passed the old airport buildings on the left. George studied the map and after a few moments he said, ‘There’s a couple of miles to go, Jacquie. It’s somewhere on the right as we approach town.’

He let a few minutes elapse before he warned her, ‘Take it easy, lass, we should be almost there. There it is, on the other side and would you believe it there’s no bloody right turn.’

‘No problem.’ Jacquie pointed. ‘Traffic lights ahead.’ She immediately moved across into the right hand lane and pulled up. When the lights changed to green she ignored the warning traffic sign and gunned the throttle. The turbo engine pulled the car effortlessly into a ‘U’ turn with the merest squeal from the tyres.

‘Where now, Hunter?’

He shook his head as three points loomed on his licence.

‘Around the bend and first on the left. No! Pull up outside the shops here and we’ll walk.’

Jacquie slipped the car into a space and he joined her on the footpath.

‘This way, Jacquie.’ He took her arm and linked it through his and smiled which didn’t go unnoticed.

‘What’s that smirk for,’ she enquired. ‘Do I amuse you?’

‘I was comparing you with another more famous Jacquie and I think I came off best.’

‘Keep your mind on the job, Hunter.’

They wandered off side by side chatting aimlessly and when they passed a couple of teenage lads lounging outside the off-licence one said, ‘Momma, buy me that,’ and added as an afterthought to his mates, ‘Who’s she?’

‘Dun know, too good for this bleeding dump.’

Turning into Ermine Road, a street of Victorian terraced houses renovated and modernised they made a mental note of the house numbers. Even on their right, odd on the left.

‘There’s number twelve, Jacquie. Someone’s sticking to the old traditions around here, see the polished front steps. Come on, we’ll call at number sixteen first.’

They wandered past their intended target to assess the lie of the land and intent on their mission neither of them paid any attention to the Mercedes saloon parked opposite.

Crossing over they knocked on the door of number sixteen and stepped back. Soon a shuffling pace could be heard on the other side of the door, ‘I’m coming,’ called a high pitched voice.

The door opened a crack and was held firm by a security chain. A frail elderly face peered through the gap. ‘Yes, what is it?’

Jacquie stepped forward, ‘We’re sorry to bother you.’ She took a slip of paper from George and pretended to read from it. ‘Does a Duncan Williams live here?’

‘Ooh, no.’

Old fashioned manners dictated the need to be of help and overrode thoughts of her own safety as the chain came off and she stepped out and pointed down the street. ‘Duncan lives with his Mum at number twelve, although I haven’t seen him of late. He travels a lot you see but I think his Mum’s got visitors today.’

‘Is that so,’ said George quietly. ‘What makes you think that.’

The old lady took a step back. ‘He’s not in any trouble is he?’

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ George continued in the same soft voice. ‘I’m an old Army pal and we were in the area so I thought we would give the bugger a visit. I don’t want to impose though. Is there someone there?’

‘Ooh, yes. Quite smart gentlemen they are too. Two have gone into the house and there’s one in the car over there. Bit fishy I think.’

George looked across to where she indicated and noticed for the first time the Mercedes parked neatly on the opposite side of the street with the driver still at the wheel.

‘Shit!’ George exclaimed under his breath. ‘I must be getting senile.’ He returned his attention back to the old lady, ‘Thank you very much,’ he said, ‘we’ll be getting along then. We’re sorry to bother you. Number twelve you said. I expect she’d like a bit of company if they’re officials of any sort.’

‘No bother at all. My name’s Lily and tell Joan I sent you. It’s been nice talking to someone. I don’t get many visitors.’

George smiled and said, ‘Thanks again.’

As they turned to make their way towards number twelve Jacquie said, ‘We slipped up there.’

‘Sure did. What do you reckon’s going on?’

‘I don’t know, Hunter. Let’s find out.’

They walked arm in arm casually down the street and ignored the Mercedes until they reached the Williams house. Pausing long enough to make an imaginary check of George’s piece of paper he rattled the brass knocker. The door moved slightly under the pressure of the knock which momentarily caught George off his guard. ‘Unusual,’ he thought. ‘No one leaves the front door on the latch these days.’

He glanced at Jacquie who gave a barely noticeable nod and he pushed the door open and shouted, ‘Hello, anyone in,’ at the same time he hurried down the narrow hallway. Ignoring the first door, the parlour, he went onto the second, the living room, and that’s when he heard someone talking in a language from his past—Russian.

‘What do we do now?’

‘Don’t worry, secure them, finish looking around and then leave.’

George pushed the door and entered. ‘A little bit off our usual stomping ground aren’t we, comrad.’

‘Come in,’ said the man who George took to be the man in charge. There were two men in the room standing either side of an elderly lady in an armchair and George noted signs of bruising on her face, although she had a look of fierce determination which said she was not going to be intimidated too easily. Both men were holding automatic pistols in a manner which said they knew which end the action came from.

George stepped further into the room and said, ‘Beating up on old ladies are we.’

Menacing George with his gun, number one said, ‘Be quiet and move over here,’ and pointing to Jacquie, ‘and you, over there.’

Jacquie smiled as if not comprehending the instruction.

Number two spoke for the first time and menaced Jacquie with his pistol. ‘Over here, please.’

She did as requested at the same time allowing her bag to slip from her shoulder until she was holding it by shortened straps.

There was a rumpus in the hall and the driver of the Mercedes burst into the room.

The diversion was enough for George and Jacquie. They moved in unison. George made a feinting motion to his left and then twisted right, his left arm came across his body quicker than the eye could follow and he delivered a stiff arm blow at an angle behind the man’s left ear and across the side of his neck and he slumped to the floor.

George deftly caught the man’s gun, checked the cocking action and was instantly covering the driver who was reaching into his jacket.

‘Don’t even think about it, comrad,’ he said, with enough menace in his voice to stop any further movement.

On the other side of the room Jacquie was also busy. Dropping her left shoulder in a feint her right arm came up in a long swinging arc and her handbag struck her opponent on the side of the head.

He dropped his gun, clutched at his head and slumped semi-conscious to the floor. She flicked the gun out of harms way with the toe of an expensively shod foot.

‘Jesus Christ woman,’ George exclaimed, ‘What do you carry in your bloody handbag.’

‘Not a lot, but this does help,’ replied Jacquie lifting out the offending item to show him a .38 medium-barrelled Smith & Wesson.

George gave a short laugh, ‘If you can’t shoot ‘em, beat them to death.’

He sensed a movement out of the corner of his eye. The driver was making a move with his right hand towards his armpit. ‘Freeze, Ivan.’ George took two steps forwards and grabbed the lapels of the man’s jacket. With a quick up and down movement he pinned his arms to his side and deftly confiscated a gun from an under arm holster.

George nodded towards the prostrate number one and gestured with the captured gun, ‘Get over there with your friend.’

When the Russian turned to comply, George kicked him behind the right knee and the man cried out when his coccyx took his body weight as he crashed to the floor alongside his compatriot.

Number two meanwhile was recovering from the blow Jacquie had given him and made a desperate lunge towards her. She stepped aside and he landed on his hands and knees in front of her with the cold muzzle of the S &W behind his left ear.

‘Oh dear,’ said Jacquie, ‘What are you doing?’ Bending closer to him she said menacingly, ‘If you understand English nod your head.’

The man nodded vigorously. ‘Good. Now undo your belt and take it off nice and easy and crawl over to your friends.’

As he undid his belt buckle, Jacquie reached swiftly down and grabbed the waist band of his trousers and with a swift jerk pulled them down around his knees. ‘Nice,’ she commented as a pair of multi-coloured underpants was revealed. ‘Keep moving,’ she urged, as the man hesitated and thinking better of it he joined his companions and sat down moodily.

‘Ooh… You two are clever. It’s just like watching the telly.’

George and Jacquie glanced across at each other and laughed simultaneously. In the few minutes while their attention had been taken with the kerfuffle they had forgotten the elderly onlooker in the armchair.

‘Mrs Williams I presume?’ George enquired whimsically at the same time bowing slightly.

‘Yes, young man, I am, and who are you?’

Jacquie went to her side. ‘Ooh, Mrs Williams, we’re sorry. We forgot all about you. Are you alright?’

‘Oh, yes. Got a bit of a headache but it’ll take more than a couple of bully boys to bother me. It is exciting though. I’ve not had so much fun since Dad died.’

‘He did this sort of thing often then?’ George enquired with a raised eyebrow.

‘No, but we had lots of fun, Jack and I.’ She smiled as memories of a much loved husband came back to her. ‘He was a good man.’

‘Joan, we are ex-army pals of Duncan’s looking him up to see if he is coping with Civvy Street. But before we start, are you up to making a cup of tea while we look after these three coves.’

‘Yes, are you both with or without?’

‘Without, thank you. Do you keep any clothes line handy or electrical ties?’

‘Those tie things. Are they plastic stringy things? I’m sure Duncan kept some of those under the sink.’

‘Okay, Joan, lets go get ‘em.’ He nodded towards the three intruders. ‘And when they’re safe we’ll find out what this is all about.’

George followed Joan into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a handful of plastic ties. He gave some to Jacquie and bent down by the first in the line.

‘I’ll do this one, you look after him.’

‘George?’

‘Yes, Jac.’

‘This guy you dumped first. He hasn’t moved a muscle since you hit him.’

‘I’ll check him over, I’m finished here.’ With a quick jerk he secured the legs of the middle one and reaching across to the comatose figure lying in the corner he checked for a pulse in the man’s neck.

‘You needn’t worry about him. He’s still alive but they’ll have fun trying to bring him round later.’

‘Why’s that?’ Jacquie enquired, dreading the answer. ‘What did you do?’

‘Well, Jacquie, when I was a young man.’

‘I don’t go back that far,’ quipped Jacquie, ‘Was that before the War or after?’

‘Watch it, young lady. Like I said, before I was interrupted.’ He was careful not to leave another opening. ‘I was taught some self defence and judo and one of the moves was that one. The trouble is I never had time to learn the release move so it’s going to take a Judo Master to bring him back.’

Jacquie looked across at the laid back butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth character and shook her head.

Joan came in with the tea. ‘Anyone like something to eat,’ she said.

‘Wouldn’t mind,’ said George, ‘what have you got?’

‘Sausage rolls and cold potato cakes.’

‘That’ll do fine. I loved cold potato cakes when I was a lad,’ and quickly wagged a finger at Jacquie as she was about to speak.

She laughed in disbelief. ‘How could you eat at a time like this, Hunter?’

‘I dunno. I need to that’s all.’

Joan returned and they sat down around the coffee table ignoring the three intruders tied up behind them. After the initial mouthfuls George turned to Joan.

‘Tell us, Joan, what’s all this about?’

‘I don’t know. I answered the door and these bozos here pushed me inside and started roughing me up. They were demanding to know where Duncan was. I told them I didn’t know as he never tells me anything. I said he just comes and goes and brings me some nice pressies. They hit me and said it would get worse and a couple of minutes later you burst in.’

‘Jacquie, give these three a going over while I have a poke round to see what I can find. Joan, can you show me Duncan’s room.’

‘Ooh, is it som’at secret? This way.’

George followed Joan out of the room and up the stairs.

On the landing she pointed. ‘This is my room and over the way is Duncan’s. The one next to mine is the spare room.’

‘Thanks. Go down stairs now. I want to go through Duncan’s room alone. I know what I’m looking for and if I need anything I’ll call.’

Joan nodded with a troubled look in her eye but made no fuss. He entered Duncan’s room and what he saw when he entered was no less than he expected of an ex-serviceman. Everything tidy and in its correct place. His eyes alighted on a metal ammunition box under the bed and that’s where he started.

‘My, my. Haven’t seen one of those for a long time,’ George muttered.

He pulled it out and lifting the lid he found it neat and tightly packed.

Going through the box it was not long before he found what he was looking for wrapped in an oil cloth. A single shot, close range pistol. Further digging revealed four passports with different names but with Duncan’s photograph.

‘Oh dear, what have you been up to, son? Now let’s see if we can find out what these guys were after.’

The bedside table revealed a yearbook, cheque book, a paying-in book and a bundle of bank statements. A quick check revealed that regular payments were being made into the account starting with modest amounts and growing steadily larger with each transaction before suddenly ending the month previous.

Opening the year book George found the entry for the Wednesday previous and it contained one word—Cyprus. Further checks revealed that Cyprus was a frequent destination and in the fly was written the name of a hotel—Hotel Veronia, Paphos.

George stabbed his finger down on the page. ‘That’s where me laddo is.’

He gave the room another quick going over but found nothing more and returned downstairs.

‘Find anything, Jacquie?’

‘Yes. Diplomatic passports on these two and on sleeping beauty—this.’ She handed George an ID card. ‘It’s written in a foreign language. Can you make head or tail of it?’

A cursory glance told him all he needed to know. ‘My, my, I think we have a Russian policeman on the loose with a gun. Nothing else, a UK firearms licence for instance?’

‘Only a wallet.’

‘Joan, it looks like your lad has got himself in deep trouble but that doesn’t give this lot the right to run amok in this country. Here’s what we’ll do. Jacquie, you go back to the car and wait for me.’ He gave her the car keys, the confiscated gun from Duncan’s box, the diary and bank details.

When she had left he said to Joan. ‘Go and have a cup of tea with your friend at number sixteen. I’ll stay here until the Police arrive. When you see them leave, come home. Can you manage that?’

‘Oh yes, young man, I’m okay. Will you be looking for my son?’

‘We surely will, Joan, but it might take some time. Run along while I call the Old Bill. One moment! Where are we and where’s the nearest pub?’

‘Aigburth,’ she replied, ‘and there’s a nice pub called the Red Lion by the river. Turn left at the lights. Duncan takes me there. It’s about a mile.’

‘Thanks.’ He helped her on with her coat and showed her out.

He collected the guns together, gave them a wipe and placed them on the table although he was tempted to keep one as the Czech manufactured weapons were known for their reliability. He looked around to see if he had missed anything and when he was satisfied he dialled—999.

—

Ten minutes later he met the Police at the door and briefly explained the circumstances. He made as if to follow the last one in but ducked to one side and ran to the bottom of the street to join Jacquie in the car.

‘Lets get out of here. Do a U-turn at the first chance and turn left when you get back to the lights.’

—

They arrived at the Red Lion by the side of the River Mersey a few minutes later and went in.

‘What’ll you have, Jacquie?’

‘White wine, please.’

‘Pint of Stella Artois, a white wine and a packet of ready salted crisps, please.’

They took possession of their order and found themselves a corner seat overlooking the river.

‘Right, Jacquie, lass, what do you make of this lot?’ He spread the diary, bank material and passports on the table.

She studied them, frowned and rested her chin on her hand for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I know but those regular payments suggest he’s doing a steady job. It’s not money-laundering, too small.’

‘Unless he’s depositing large amounts somewhere else and this is his cut,’ interjected George. ‘The Russian connection bothers me. Russian mafia maybe, but Cyprus? I don’t see the link.’

‘He’s in some kind of trouble, George. What warrants Russian police action? Do you think we should have questioned those gentlemen further before we left?’

‘Possibly. We’ll finish here and ring it in when we get home. I don’t think we’ve heard the end of this little lot.’ He grimaced and pointed to the promenade which ran alongside the Mersey at this point and Jacquie was sure she saw him shiver. ‘The tide’s in. It won’t take much to come over the parapet, about three feet I reckon, lets go.’

He downed the last of his pint and they made their way towards the door. A scream outside caught their attention and instinctively they ran for the exit and towards the commotion where a young woman was pointing and yelling, ‘My Baby! My Baby!’

When they arrived they saw a little girl face down in the water three metres from the edge. George removed his jacket and shoes, climbed the rail and shouted to Jacquie, ‘Find a life-belt!’

‘Can you swim, Hunter?’

As he dived into the river he replied, ‘Not very well.’

‘Damn! What’s he doing?’

Looking right and left she spotted a life-belt, dashed over, unhooked it and grabbed hold of the nearest young man. ‘Here, throw that as near to that child as you can.’

George reached the girl and was holding her up with one hand and doing a doggie paddle with the other but making no progress towards the bank.

‘He’s right he can’t bloody swim. Oh hell, here goes the hair do.’ Without further ado she pulled off her boots and jacket and over the rail she went in a graceful curving dive.

Swimming alongside she shouted, ‘Get hold of the life belt Hunter and leave the girl to me.’

Taking hold of the child she swam strongly to the nearby steps and left him clinging to the life-belt for dear life choking as he swallowed a mouthful of the murky Mersey water.

A couple of willing helpers took the child from Jacquie and she anxiously looked around for George. She saw that he was coping with one arm looped over the belt and making slow progress towards the steps. She breathed an anxious sigh of relief and returned to help him.

‘You okay, Hunter?’

He coughed and spat out a measure of muddy water and spluttered through chattering teeth, ‘I’m alright, Jac. It’s bloody cold though.’

Grabbing the lifebelt she towed him to safety. At the top of the steps the landlord was standing with two towels. ‘Get your self dried and come in for a stiff one. It’s a good job it’s slack tide otherwise you’d have been down by the Pierhead by now. You deserve a medal.’

There was a spattering of, ‘Hear, hear,’ from the onlookers.

George searched around for a few moments before asking, ‘Where’s my jacket, has anyone seen my jacket and shoes?’

‘Here’s some shoes and the girl’s stuff but no jacket, matey.’ A clean shaven man stepped forward. ‘Was it a brown leather one, blouson type?’

‘Yes.’

‘I saw a young lad run off in that direction.’ He pointed along the promenade towards Liverpool City centre and then flashed a Warrant card. ‘I’m an off duty policeman. Have you got a car?’

‘Yep, sure have. Jacquie grab your stuff, we’re going on a manhunt. Some young bugger has nicked my jacket.’

They ran to the car and set off in the direction of Liverpool with the policeman guiding them.

George explained to their passenger that it was imperative to retrieve the jacket because it contained his ID and other important papers. He didn’t bother to elaborate on their real mission.

Three-quarters of a mile down the road the policeman yelled. ‘Stop here! There’s your thief at the top of those steps.’

To their right there was a staircase leading up to the town level and on the top flight they could see a young man in a grey hoodie. Over his arm was what appeared to be George’s jacket.

‘One of you follow him. I’ll guide the car around. If we get a move on we can get to the main road first.’

‘I’ll follow him,’ said Jacquie.

She jumped out and set off in pursuit.

‘Straight on, driver,’ said their guide pointing,’ and take the first right after the next round-about.’

With a slight squeal from the front wheels they set off in pursuit. The turbo cut in and George gunned the engine into the red zone before changing gear and barely lifting his foot they swept around the round-about.

‘This is some motor,’ muttered the bobby, ‘I wish we had a few like it.’

‘Yes, she’s a bit special. Never get much chance to use it though.’

‘Talking about special, pal, that’s some lady you have there.’

‘Isn’t she just,’ George replied with a wink.

‘Yeah, sure, but how do you keep your mind on the job.’

George laughed, ‘Have you seen her elbows?’

‘Ease through these lights and turn right at the next set into the main road and slow down. There’s a maze of streets behind these shop fronts. With luck he’ll think he’s safe and take the direct route.’

They slowed to a crawl taking a close look at every likely teenager and they didn’t have long to wait.

‘There he is. I was right, he thinks he’s safe.’

George pulled over. ‘Stay here, he’s mine.’

He climbed out, ran across the road and walked casually towards the thief.

Two metres separated them before George stepped deliberately in front of him.

‘Aye, what’s your game?’ said the unsuspecting itinerant swerving to go around George.

George followed his move and standing face to face, he said, ‘You have something that belongs to me, young man, and I want it back. That’s my jacket you have over your arm.’

‘Fuck off, you old bastard. Move, before I kick you out of the fucking way.’

‘Listen up, thief. Give me that jacket or do you want me to take it off you.’

‘You wan’ it, come and get it, you old git, but you’ll have to get past this first,’ he said brandishing a previously concealed flick knife.

George sighed. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, lad, just give me the jacket.’

‘And I said—Come and get it.’

He lunged forward his right arm thrusting upwards towards George’s abdomen.

Witnesses would say that they never saw him move but George knocked the knife to one side with his left hand, grabbed hold of the wrist, spun inwards on the ball of his left foot, looping his right arm over the boy’s right arm and under the elbow. A sharp upward jerk and downward pressure on the wrist and the elbow dislocated. The scream could be heard the other side of the Mersey.

The knife dropped to the floor. George quickly released the arm and retrieved his jacket. Scooping up the knife he grabbed the youth by the scruff of the neck and marched him towards the car.

‘Who the fuck are you,’ whimpered the miscreant, ‘bloody Spiderman.’

‘I’m a refuse collector. Let me introduce you to the Fuzz.’

The policeman came around the car to meet them and George pushed the boy towards him, ‘Take this away. He needs some medical attention.’

He saw Jacquie coming around the corner. Acknowledging their helper he said, ‘I can’t stay, thanks for everything.’

‘Nice to have met you. I’ll sort this little shit for you but he’ll be back on the streets in no time.’

George nodded in quick salute. ‘Thanks again, which way to the Mersey tunnel?’

‘Do a U-turn and follow the signs.’

Jacquie joined him as he slid behind the wheel and executing a squealing U-turn they disappeared into the traffic.

As the car fish-tailed away under power the disgruntled youth piped up. ‘I’m going to sue that bastard. GBH that was.’

‘You know him then?’

—

‘Let’s get these wet clothes off.’

They pulled into the drive of George’s bungalow built around 1936. It had stepped front gardens and as he quickly pointed out it was only a few hundred yards from his local.

‘You were lucky getting a place like this and I notice your neighbours are keen gardeners too.’

‘I inherited it and they should be—I do ‘em. Trouble is, because they’re neighbours they expect lower rates. How can a man make a living?’

He opened the door to a warm welcoming hall.

‘Thank goodness for central heating.’ He led the way into the T-shaped hallway. ‘You use the bathroom first, Jacquie, while I put the kettle on. How’s about a Chinese takeaway when we’re done.’

‘Sounds fine to me. Uh, where’s the cat?’

‘He’s probably sulking next door.’

An hour later all bathed and changed and sitting relaxed in the old fashioned sitting room George gave Jacquie the menu from the local takeaway. ‘I fancy 170 and 84 with fried rice, how about you?’

‘Chicken ginger and pineapple and sweet chilli king prawns, can I buy some wine?’

‘Nope. I have some Shiraz which is waiting for an occasion like this. Give me a few minutes while I phone this order through and inform Brian of what’s gone on. We need some direction here. I fancy we ought to take a closer look into Williams affairs.’

‘I like this suite George,’ Jacquie observed as she sprawled out on the leather sofa while George settled himself into an armchair, ‘Did you choose it yourself?’

‘Yes. A couple of years ago I decided that I had to stop mourning so I changed a few things and I put the en-suite in at the same time.’

Jacquie pointed to a photograph on top of the television, ‘Is that Anna?’

‘Yes. She wa...’

The insistent ringing of the doorbell interrupted him. The delivery boy had arrived with their order.

They flopped down in front of the television to enjoy their meal while listening to the national news followed by the local news.

Although not paying full attention they both looked up when it was announced…

 Liverpool Police would be interested in interviewing the couple who rescued a three year old girl from the river Mersey at Aigburth. They would also like to speak to them about an assault on a teenager in the Toxteth area. This was a serious assault and a local youth had to receive hospital treatment. Anyone with any information please call 0151...’

 ‘Let’s give ourselves up Jacquie. I can’t live with this hanging over my head.’

Her response was equally unfeeling. ‘I hope the little thug has learnt his lesson. Maybe he’ll think twice before he does it again. Pour me another glass of wine, GBH. You really lived up to your nickname there, didn’t you?’

‘I tell you what Jacquie. Save the wine. Let’s go drown our sorrows. Sorry! His sorrows, at the Swan.’

‘My hair, George, it’s not dry yet.’

‘Can’t you put a scarf over it?’

Jacquie went to her room and minutes later came back with the red head-square over her head and fastened under her hair at the back with the help of a couple of hairclips, knee high boots, a pencil skirt and her Gucci jacket.

‘How do I look?’

‘A sight for sore eyes, lass. That bugger up there will be raising his prices because his clientele is improving.’

‘Flatterer,’ Jacquie said as she left the room.

George grabbed his coat and followed. As they walked up the lane Jacquie glanced sideways and liked what she saw.

—

When they entered the Swan a young man slid off the end stool and stood to one side. George patted him on the shoulder, spoke a few words to reassure him and chose a small settee opposite the bar alongside Jacquie.

He enjoyed the closeness of Jacquie and the attention of the regulars all trying to get a glimpse of the woman who had prised him from his habitual location in the establishment.

While they were exchanging small talk Jacquie spotted a small plaque screwed on the front of the bar. It read—This plaque is in honour of George Hunter the man who saved his pint when all seemed lost.

Jacquie smiled to herself but didn’t mention it. ‘Local hero also. My, my.’

George excused himself a few minutes later and while he was away Jacquie asked one of the men near her what the plaque was all about.

‘One evening, miss, George was stood at the bar and turned to talk to someone. In doing so he caught his glass with his elbow. He didn’t knock it over, you understand. It slid sideways off the bar and dropped bottom first. Within the bat of an eyelid he swooped and caught it before it reached the floor and hardly spilt a raindrop. Reactions like that deserve some sort of recognition. If you can repeat that feat you get free drinks all night. A few have tried but no one has succeeded which pleases that skinflint,’ he said, nodding towards the landlord.

George returned as Bob called time and they walked unhurriedly down the lane. She resisted the urge to put her arm through his although it seemed the natural thing to do.

When they got home she refused the offer of a nightcap saying that she was tired after a long day.

‘Jacquie, one thing before you go. Thanks for this afternoon, that was a brave thing you did.’

‘George, do me a favour. Stay away from water—Goodnight.’

Snuggled under the duvet later she thought to herself, ‘You’ve only known him forty-eight hours and he’s getting to you—madness.’

George was reciprocating those feelings and went to bed with his mind spinning in confusion but reassured when he felt a familiar weight on the bed.

 ***

CHAPTER 18

They were on their second cup of coffee when the telephone rang. George answered it.

‘Garden Aspects.’

‘Hunter! What were you doing? Two Diplomatic staff and a Moscow Police Inspector done over plus a juvenile in A & E. The Home Secretary is going ape-shit.’

‘Brian! They were beating up an old lady like gangsters. I don’t care how they do it in Moscow—they don’t do it here. Why are they here anyway? As for that little shit I smacked, serves him bloody well right. He’ll think twice before he nicks another jacket.’

‘Probably so, meanwhile until the atmosphere cools a little get yourself up to Preston and sort the next one out. And try not to damage anyone.’

Jacquie smiled as George did a mock salute and clicked his heels. ‘Yes sir!’

At the other end Brian Warren put the phone down and shook his head in dismay. ‘Why do I bother?’

—

The following morning after passing through Preston they were journeying westward along the Blackpool Road when George asked Jacquie to pull over. ‘I’ll pop into that sub-post office and ask directions. It must be around here somewhere.’

The proprietor was eager to please and with his arms waving like manic semaphores gave George the directions he needed.

That’s easy, sir, it’s on the estate behind the shop. In fact, they are one of our customers. Nice couple, he’s a diver or something to do with oil rigs.’

George made a note of the unsolicited information. ‘If you go up this road alongside the shop, turn left at the top, past the big green on your left and it’s the next road on the left. You can’t miss it, they’re the modern houses in the middle of all the fifties houses. Not in any trouble are they?’

Seeing George’s raised eyebrow he continued, ‘You can’t be too careful you know. We allow credit on the newspapers we deliver.’

Leaning over the counter and holding a hand to the side of his mouth, George said in a voice a little above a whisper, ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I would treat this guy with a bit of respect in future. I’m following up an old will and we think he could have a title as well as all the benefits that go with it.’

With a knowing wink he left the shop and fairly danced across the road to Jacquie waiting patiently in the car.

‘Oh, yes, and what’s got into you then? You look like the cat who’s got the cream.’

‘Turn right up this road Jacquie and I’ll tell you about it as we go along.’

Following the Post-master’s instructions they quickly located the street in question.

Easing the car a few yards past the end of the road Jacquie pulled up. George waited patiently while a footwear change took place and they walked casually into the short avenue.

‘This is the one,’ said George, turning up a small path made up of two long concrete steps. He pressed the doorbell. ‘Looks well kept and tidy, always a good sign.’

While they waited for someone to answer he stepped back a few paces to take a peek around the corner into the back garden at the same time observing windows for tell tale movement.

They hadn’t too long to wait before an attractive woman in her mid-thirties answered the door.

‘Good morning.’ George held up his ID card and before she could reply he said, ‘My name is George Hunter and this is Jacquie Riccardi. We’re from the Armed Forces Resettlement Program and we would like to speak to Dennis Holding. We’re checking to see how soldiers who served in the Gulf are getting along. It’s merely a precaution, you may have heard of Gulf War syndrome. Is he home?’

‘No, he’s popped down to the corner shop. He won’t be too long. I suppose you’d better come in.’

They followed her into a spacious hall and into the lounge which was brightly decorated with a large mirror over the mantle and the right amount of family photographs and dried flowers dotted around to make the place homely.

‘Can I get you a drink of anything, coffee or tea?’

‘Tea would be lovely,’ replied George, ‘what about you Jacquie?’

‘Tea would be fine, no sugar, please.’

‘What about you, Mr… I’m dreadfully sorry I don’t remember your name. Do you take sugar?’

‘No thanks and only a splash of milk.’

‘Take a seat, I won’t keep you a minute.’

George chose an easy chair where both doors into the room were visible while Jacquie preferred the sofa.

A few minutes later, Mrs Holding popped her head around the door, ‘Do you mind mugs?’

‘Mugs will be fine,’ he nodded.

She disappeared once more and a few seconds later they heard backdoor rattle and a man’s voice say with a laugh, ‘Hi Julie.’ The sound of a kiss. ‘That old sod down at the post-office is finally going off his rocker.’

‘Dennis, go on through, love, you have visitors. It’s someone from the Army Social Department, or something like that.’

‘I thought we might have. Scrooge said something about people asking about us.’

They heard his footsteps cross the kitchen and George and Jacquie stood up as he entered. Of medium build, stocky, with broad shoulders he looked every inch a diver.

‘How do you do.’ Holding came forward to shake hands.

George did the introductions using the same excuse he had given earlier.

‘Hunter, I’ve heard that name somewhere.’ Dennis shook his head while scratching his brow. ‘I can’t place it but I’m sure it’ll come to me. Please, sit down.’

‘Probably a coincidence,’ George continued. ‘We won’t keep you long. The reason we’re here is not just your well-being, which appears to very good as far as I can see, but a little recap of events on your return from the Gulf.’

Julie entered the room with a tray of tea and a plate of chocolate digestives. ‘I took the liberty,’ she said, ‘help yourselves.’

She put the tray down on a side table and George said, ‘I wonder if you could leave us for a little while, Mrs Holding. What we are about to discuss is a little sensitive and the least you know is probably better. It will, I promise, only be a few minutes. It’s only dull soldier stuff.’

‘That won’t be a problem. I hear it every time he gets with his mates, besides I have a pile of ironing. All the stuff he brings back with him from the rig you wouldn’t believe they had washing machines on board. You’re not married are you miss? No, you look too sensible. Slaves that’s what we are.’ She grimaced at her husband, turned and left the room.

For a few seconds there was silence and both George and Jacquie looked at Dennis waiting for a response.

‘Guilty as charged,’ he said, ‘but I wouldn’t swap her, not for a million gold clocks. She stood by me through thick and thin and believe you me I wasn’t the easiest of people to live with after I left the forces. This diving makes up for a lot of what you miss from Army life. Enough, what do you want to know?’

‘Dennis, we won’t beat about the bush. Events over the last few months have made it necessary to recover certain items that went missing, and I use the term loosely, during the Gulf conflict.’ He handed Dennis a copy of a ‘Stores Return’ form filled in on his return to Sterling Barracks. ‘Item number three is the one we’re interested in.’

Dennis studied the form for a few moments and said, ‘Why that particular one?’

Jacquie spoke for the first time. ‘Dennis, you have heard about the murder of a well known and much loved celebrity, haven’t you?’ She gave him a photograph to refresh his memory.

‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with me?’

‘Let’s recap a little,’ continued Jacquie. ‘A professional hit with a weapon designed for the job. Silenced and a single shot to the head. Ring a bell, does it? Anyone caught with one of these puts himself in the frame. We’re looking after your interests so if you can you tell us any more about the loss of this weapon and what were you doing on 26th April 1999?’

‘Hey! Are you suggesting,’ said Dennis angrily, ‘that I may have had something to do with it?’

George jumped in. ‘Calm down, no such thing. Army Social Department. Bullshit! We are SIS, a branch of MI6, and like Jacquie said, we are looking after your interests. If, as we believe, you have retained a souvenir you could return it to us with no questions asked or you could leave yourself open to deeper investigation later on.’

Dennis smoothed his hair back and looking thoughtful, said, ‘Didn’t I hear that they detained someone for that crime? That takes me out of the frame doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, they have jailed someone but that doesn’t make him completely guilty or alter the fact that someone like you could have passed on or sold the murder weapon to him or anyone else for that matter. Now have you, or have you not, got anything for us?’

‘Aye, alright,’ Dennis said with a shake of the head. ‘I don’t believe this. Give us a minute will you.’

He stood up and left the room returning a few moments later with a log book and a bundle wrapped in oilcloth which he handed to George. ‘It’s all there and half a dozen pills to go with it. My diving log book will tell anyone where I was on that date.’ He showed George the book with the correct entry. ‘Now you’re sure I won’t get any comebacks?’

‘Absolutely,’ replied George, ‘you’ll hear no more from us. Thanks for your help and the tea, we’ll be on our way now.’

They stood up and shook hands. ‘Say goodbye to your wife for us.’

 ***

CHAPTER 19

 George had just returned from the local store with the morning’s paper and before he could take off his coat Jacquie called him from the living room.

‘George! I have Brian on the phone, he wants to speak to you.’

He hung his jacket up and walked through and mouthed a silent, ‘What does he want?’

Jacquie shrugged and gave him the phone.

‘Hello playmate, what can we do for you?’

‘George, get your bags packed. You’re going to Cyprus to find Williams. It would appear he’s got himself into some sort of trouble that requires our attention. I’ve spoken to the Minister this morning and we decided he meets the criteria for MI6 intervention but overworked as we are he asked if you could do it. Drive down here and stop by at Jacquie’s so that she can pick up some things and then call by here. I’ll have you booked in at Gatwick Airport Hotel and you fly out with British Airways tomorrow. Anything you would like to take with you?’

‘Yes, two Heckler & Kock VP70’s in the Diplomatic bag to be picked up when we arrive plus an introduction to the Cypriot Police and see if you can book us in at the Hotel Veronia, Paphos.’

‘George, a question. One room or two?’

‘Hang on.’ He looked across at Jacquie. ‘Would you mind sharing a room with me in the line of duty.’

She pondered the thought and playfully winked at him. ‘I don’t know… A girl’s got to think of her reputation.’ Following a few second’s deliberation and a long, ‘Hmm,’ she finally said, ‘No!’

‘Did you hear that, Brian?’

‘Okay. See you tomorrow.’

George replaced the phone. ‘We’re off to Cyprus, lass. I’ve got a couple of things in the business I need to tidy up with Gary before we get going and a cat to organise.’

A couple of telephone calls later and bags packed the two of them set off on the journey down to London.

Four hours later, notwithstanding a few broken speed limits, found them parked outside Jacquie’s apartment in the Canary Wharf area of London.

‘A sumptuous pad you have here lass. They’re paying you too much or was it the lottery.’

‘I’m lucky, I have a rich Aunt. She lets me borrow it,’ replied Jacquie, ‘You coming in for coffee?’

‘No thanks. If you don’t mind I’ll sit here and play some music and finish my crossword while you collect your stuff.’

‘That won’t take long. Eleven across, another word for chauvinist. Three letters, one syllable and the vowel is—I’

Half an hour later and they were on their way to Admiralty Arch.

—

They stood before Brian like errant schoolchildren patiently listening to a lecture about using too much force and checking who they were dealing with before getting into more trouble.

‘And lucky for you,’ Brian continued, ‘your Russian policeman has revived none the worse for your attention. He is, by the way, investigating the underworld in Moscow who are into weapons, drugs and people smuggling, and he and the other two, who we think are FSB, were following up on a lead.’

‘Who or what is the FSB, Brian?’

‘The FSB is Mr Putin’s KGB. Our boy Williams is just a leg man but he may lead to greater things. They know there’s a Cyprus connection. What? I don’t know.’

George looked at Jacquie quizzically. ‘I didn’t know the Russians could travel to Cyprus, come to think of it, I didn’t know they could afford to travel at all,’ he said.

Brian ignored the interruption and continued. ‘Apparently they can so I want you and Jacquie to find our Mr Williams before they do—the good guys or the bad guys. Pick your tickets up at the airport, and Jacquie.’

‘Yes, Brian,’ she smiled sweetly.

‘Keep him out of trouble. While I remember, your parcel will be delivered by one of the Embassy staff and here’s your letter of introduction. The Cyprus Police will be informed of your presence.’

‘That’s it, we’ll see you when we land.’

George gave a mock salute, did a smart about turn and left.

Brian eyed them thoughtfully and listened to the laughter coming from the corridor.

‘Those two are getting along too well.’

***

CHAPTER 20

Room 239, sir, it’s in the annex. You go up in the lift, turn right and down to the end. You will find all necessary instructions in the room along with coffee and tea, mini-bar, and TV. If you need anything dial 0. There is someone here twenty four hours, if you could just sign here.’

George dithered a little when he signed as if he was unsure what to do while sneaking a quick look at the other names on the page. That‘s when Jacquie realised he was left handed. ‘You learn something everyday. It’s funny I never noticed before.’

He picked up the keys. ‘Thanks. Come on, Mrs Hunter, let’s go and enjoy ourselves.’

She gave him the facial equivalent of the finger by sticking her tongue out before following him to the lift.

—

The room was long with the en-suite immediately on the left as they went in.

‘Twin beds, that’s handy,’ said Jacquie.

George was non-committal but thought it was probably for the best. The large French window overlooked a path around the end of the building before it passed through a small garden and onto the swimming pool area. Although it was late afternoon Cyprus time, there were people still playing and lazing around.

‘George Hunter, practice your coffee making skills while I unpack. This one’s mine.’ She plonked her suitcase on the first bed.

George grimaced but duly made the coffee before they finished unpacking and retired to the balcony where they sat exchanging small talk and watching the swallows dipping low over the pool as the midges gathered now that the sun had begun dropping towards the horizon.

—

They worked out a system where one was dressing while the other was showering and at seven-thirty they went down for dinner.

Dinner was buffet style with a variety of international dishes. They filled their plates and with a glass of red wine to help it down they chose a table where they could observe the entrance and eat their meal while studying the comings and goings of other guests.

When they had completed their meal and Williams failed to show they retired to the bar.

‘Happy hour eight ‘til nine,’ said George rubbing his hands. ‘Let’s make the most of it we may not get another chance. What’s it to be, Jacquie?’

‘Red wine for me, thanks.’

George went to the bar while Jacquie chose a table with a wide vision of the area and sat down. He rejoined her ready to enjoy a night of indulgence determined to drink as much lager in the allotted hour as he could.

The pleasure of such a venture never occurred because as he was about to start on his second pint there was loud laughter and chattering coming from the dining room. The noise became louder and a party of five women entered. They spread themselves along the bar and ordered in broken English while continuing a gabbled conversation.

‘George, what language is that? It sounds familiar.’

‘It should Jacquie, you last heard it in the Williams’ living room. It’s Russian.’

‘Now we know they can travel outside of Russia but I don’t admire their dress sense. Not the sort of thing you wear on holiday.’

George laughed, ‘Meow! I like a bit of leather, leave her alone. She’s got a good figure and I bet she’s never on her own on a night out with the girls.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘You’re right, and do Russian girls make enough money to holiday in Cyprus? My, my, look what the cat’s dragged in.’

Duncan Williams, five foot seven and solidly built with a low centre of gravity, dark complexion and Che Guevara black hair and moustache, walked into the bar and went directly to the leather clad girl who had been the subject of their conversation. ‘Hi, Tanya, where’s Tarzan? Took a night off has he?’

Suddenly aware they had company he looked around the room. His gaze rested on George and Jacquie for a moment and then passed on.

‘He’s down at the big house, Duncan. We’re going out, come with us.’

‘No thanks, early night tonight, another time.’

‘I look forward to it.’

She slid from her stool. With her high heels she was taller than Duncan and she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Good night, lover boy, see you tomorrow.’

Chattering amongst themselves they left and Duncan turned back towards the bar. He was about to order when he looked in the mirror and saw George stood behind him.

George leaned forward and said quietly, ‘I’ll get these, what is it?’ Williams made to protest when George said to him. ‘It’s okay, we’re friendly, give your order and act like you know me.’

‘Two Carlsberg please.’ He turned to face George and said, ‘How the bloody hell are you mate, haven’t seen you in years. Hereford was it?’

‘Must be,’ replied George. He spoke to the barman. ‘And a fresh orange, please. Come and join us, I didn’t come on holiday expecting to meet an old pal.’

George paid and they rejoined Jacquie.

‘Duncan, this is Jacquie and I’m George Hunter. Between us we’re here to look after your health.’

‘My health is alright, thank you, and why is your name familiar?’

George ignored the question. ‘Duncan, we are SIS and we were sent here to sort out your problem with the law.’

‘What do you mean, trouble with the law? I’m not in any trouble with the law. Why the bloody hell have you followed me to Cyprus anyway. Come to think of it, how did you know I was here?’

‘To cut a long story short we found a Russian policeman interrogating your mother.’

‘Jesus! She’s okay isn’t she?’

‘Yes, your Mum’s fine, and to answer your first question. We were looking for lost WD equipment which we have already confiscated, namely a Welrod 9mm, and it was just coincidence that we arrived at the same time as the Eastern plod. So we looked into why they might be interested in you. Can you explain four passports, a healthy bank balance and enough flying miles to pay for a trip to the moon? Your diary told us the rest. Take your time.’

‘Will I get into trouble about the gun?’

‘Not unless you can’t provide an alibi for 26th April 1999.

‘Look in the diary that should tell you. I’ve been making a record of my movements ever since I started on this malarkey.’

‘And what would that malarkey be exactly?’

‘I was money laundering for the Russians.’

‘That’s interesting, and just how did you get into that?’

‘I came on holiday a couple of years ago, to this hotel as it happens. I spotted it on the telly. I was pissed off, not much success with work, keeping a job was difficult, and so I said, bollocks, have a holiday and this is where I landed. Now Cyprus is not a place to come on your own and one night when I was just starting to get drunk again I was approached by Tanya. I think you would call it a honey-trap. She chatted me up and shacked up with me. That was an experience I can tell you, but I won’t go into detail with the lady present. I learnt things that night and I thought I’d been around. The following morning at breakfast she asked me if I would like to earn some extra money. I didn’t ask too many questions and later that day I was introduced to her friend and to money laundering. At the time it seemed harmless. Pick up cases of money, take it home and distribute it into different bank accounts and deduct a percentage for myself. Easy, and with the bonus of girls every trip, and they are a bonus, believe me. What they can do for a guy.’

‘Ahem,’ George cleared his throat and nodded towards Jacquie.

‘Sorry miss.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jacquie, ‘I don’t shock easy, beside a girl might learn something.’

‘Hey pal, where did you find this one?’

‘Don’t get taken in lad. Beneath that lovely exterior is one tough lady. Carry on, no, it’s too public here, get a round in and we’ll go upstairs. Are you staying here?’

‘No, I’m lodging down in Kato Paphos, this trip is not business. What’ll it be? He bought the drinks and they retreated upstairs. When they entered the room Duncan noticed both beds were occupied and he looked at George in a new light.

‘Some guys have all the luck,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘What was that?

‘Nothing, I said some guys are lucky and get the best rooms, I never got one like this.’

Jacquie threw herself on the bed, ‘Oh, I’m glad to get my feet up.’

George and Duncan sat either side of the coffee table and sat silent for a moment savouring the cold lager before George broke the spell.

‘Okay, Duncan, what’s this got to do with the Russian Police? They’re not merely chasing a few banknotes are they?’

‘You’re right of course,’ Duncan replied with a nod. ‘I’d been doing my thing for quite awhile when one day they took me for a ride out to the big house. It turns out that these guys are the heavies for the Russian Mafia.’

‘And what did they want you to do?’

‘It went something like this. If you don’t do what we want we’ll bubble you to the authorities. Go on, I said, money laundering isn’t much of a rap. That’s when they dropped the biggie on me. You’ve been smuggling drugs as well, they said. I uttered a few choice ones there I can tell you, and said, ‘How is that possible?’ That was when they showed me one of the briefcases proper. They are double lined you see, drugs in the outer layer and money in the middle. When I removed the money I passed the case on to someone else for disposal without knowing the real reason.’

‘Why all the passports,’ Jacquie chipped in.

‘I have five bank accounts in different banks, standing orders from each one to a business account every month. I used a different one for each trip abroad. That way I only travelled every five months so if you checked airline passenger lists it looked like I was going on holiday twice a year. They, by the way, supplied all the passports, I provided the photo’s. As you may gather they smuggle people as well, mainly for the sex industry.’

They paused long enough to take a drink before George continued. ‘All this from Cyprus.’

‘You better believe it, mate.’

‘That doesn’t explain Russki plod.’

‘I listened to what they had to say and it transpired that they now wanted me to smuggle arms. Only the arms were destined for Northern Ireland to an organisation which I didn’t recognise. That’s where I drew the line. I wasn’t going to do anything that might mean more trouble for our boys over there. I didn’t let on and I mumbled, ‘Okay.’ I made my mind up to play along to get out of the place and as soon as I was able I packed me bags and cleared off. The money stopped, so now they owe me, and that’s when the threatening phone calls started.’

‘What sort of phone calls?’

‘Blackmail, you know, do this, or we will expose you, and then they threatened my family.’

‘How?’

‘It went along the lines—If you don’t play ball we’ll get your family.’

‘Okay,’ said George, ‘It’s obvious they carried out the first part of the threat, the second is more serious. How big is your family?’

‘Mum, plus my sister and two nieces who are in Australia.’

‘We can safely assume your sister is alright for now but your Mum is in real danger. That’s how the Russian Mafia works and if you don’t play ball it usually ends in murder. We have to work quickly. It’s ten o’clock in the UK. We’ll catch Mr Warren before his beauty sleep.’

George made a couple of calls and then gave the phone to Duncan. ‘Call your Mum and tell her to pack as many suitcases as she needs. The Police will be round shortly to pick her up and take her to a safe house. It’s my sister’s place on the Wirral. It’ll do temporarily while they organise something better. Soothe her Duncan, assure her you’re safe and this is just to make sure that she comes to no further harm. Tell her she is in no danger and that you’re working with the nice people who rescued her last week.’

‘I thought you said she wasn’t harmed.’

‘She wasn’t, we got there in the nick of time. Now do as you’re asked, quickly, we have no time to lose.’

Duncan made his call and when he finished he said to George and Jacquie, ‘Mum’s alright, caught her having a cup of Milo before going to bed. She was quite exited and said it was like the last time, straight off the telly. Then she rambled on about that nice Mr George being quick with his hands. What did she mean by that?’

‘I’ve no idea lad. Let’s hope we were quick enough and keep your fingers crossed the phones aren’t tapped. It’s bed time, Duncan. You can fill the rest in tomorrow. Where, or how, can we reach you?’

‘I’ve got a small apartment in Iosonas Street. Here’s the number, plus my mobile number. You will find it a great help if you change your mobiles to the local system. That way you’ll bypass the hotel switchboard. Are your phones unlocked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, it’s cheap. I’ll be off then.’

‘We’re expecting a delivery tomorrow so stay there until we contact you. Goodnight.’

Duncan emptied his glass and left.

‘Shower in the morning, Jac. You brush your teeth and I’ll change out here.’

‘I’ll change in there, George. I promise I won’t be long.’

‘Where have I heard that before?’

When Jacquie returned from the bathroom George was already in his pyjamas.

‘My, my, Paisley,’ she chided.

‘It’s my Mum’s fault, she liked it and I carried on the tradition.’

—

Habitually, George awoke at sunrise. He stretched and looked across at Jacquie still asleep. She was lying in the foetal position with her back towards him. He could see the curves of her under the single sheet and thought to himself, ‘She’s something else. What’s she doing in an outfit like this and what was she doing in the forces, undercover at that.’

He got out of bed and made himself coffee. It was already warm outside and he went out onto the balcony.

A few minutes later Jacquie rolled over and said sleepily, ‘Do I smell coffee?’

‘Dead right girl, do you want some?’

‘Yes, please.’

She stretched languidly, got up and strolled over to the bathroom dressed in a short T-shirt nightdress as if it was the natural thing to do. George crossed his legs and looked away ashamed at his thoughts.

Refreshed, she put on a dressing gown and joined George on the balcony.

He noticed that she enjoyed the feminine things in life, cuddly robe and fluffy slippers and even with sleepy tousled hair George thought she looked—he couldn’t think of an appropriate word but stunning seemed to fit.

After breakfast they made ready for some serious sun-bathing and on the way to the pool they called in at reception and told the desk clerk they were expecting a visitor and where they could be found.

Outside they gave the pool area a once-over before George said, ‘Up at the top end I think, Jacquie, are you sunny or shade?’

‘Oh, definitely sunny.’

She followed him as they weaved between sun beds until he finally threw his towel down. ‘German efficiency must be slipping, here will do, you out there and me under the brolly. Let’s settle down and see what develops.’

He had chosen a position to give them an uninterrupted view of the pool and paved area and the hotel side entrance.

Jacquie kicked off her gold mules and removed her T-shirt and shorts, which were on the tight side of being decent, to reveal a black and gold halter-necked, hi-leg swimming costume.

George’s eyes were immediately drawn to Jacquie’s birthmark perfectly placed centrally at the top of her cleavage. He admired her figure and noticed the exercise regime she followed had not overcome the feminine curves and he wondered how he was going to concentrate on the job.

‘Like the cossie, lass.’

‘Do you, Marks and Spencer sale. A snip at twenty-pounds.’

She giggled quietly to herself. His legs, compared to the rest of him were skinny.

They had been sun-bathing for a short while when George, bored with the inactivity, turned towards her. ‘Jacquie, I know this sounds like a cliché, but how does a nice girl like you get into this racket?’

Jacquie rolled and leaned on an elbow. He could do nothing but admire the symmetry of her hips and his heart went into overdrive.

‘It’s a long story, George. My Dad, typically Italian, was very strict and as soon as I was seventeen and a half I asked for his permission to join the Wrens, or go to University. He refused naturally and on my eighteenth birthday I signed on. I had four ‘A’ levels, spoke fluent Italian and it wasn’t long before they singled me out for Officer training. They helped me through Uni but immediately after the passing-out parade I was called to the Commander’s Office where I was interviewed by a man in civvies. I accepted their offer of a special assignment with the rank of Lieutenant and the rest is history.’

‘Why were you trained by the SAS and not the SBS?’

‘The SAS do land based activities, anti-terrorist and all that jazz. I was never short of an escort.’

‘I can believe that.’ It annoyed him that he felt jealous at this revelation. ‘Are you okay with your Dad now?’

‘Yes, my actions shook him up a bit but he softened. He disapproves of what I do though.’

They were disturbed by laughing and shouting and the Russian girls from the previous evening, plus a male companion, made themselves at home at the other end of the pool.

‘Oh my, would you look at the poser,’ muttered Jacquie.

The Russian escort had obviously modelled himself on a character in the film ‘From Russia with Love.’ He was tall, crew-cut blond, with muscles not unlike Charles Atlas and suntanned. The party set themselves in such a way that anyone going to the pool bar would have to go through them or around them and any semblance of peace was shattered.

A waiter approached and spoke to George. ‘Mr Hunter, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a gentleman in Reception to see you.’

‘Thank you, I’ll be right along. Are you coming, Jacquie?’

‘Yes, I fancy a cup of coffee.’

Jacquie put her shorts on and they manoeuvred around their high-spirited Eastern European counterparts and went to Reception where a suntanned Zorba uncoiled himself from an armchair and approached them.

‘Hi, I’m Paul Samuels from the British Embassy, your contact should you need anything. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Hi,’ they said in unison, and George continued, ‘two filter coffees, please. Black with no additives.’

Paul looked at Jacquie and raised an eyebrow.

‘We have the same taste,’ Jacquie responded to the un-asked query.

Catching the waiter’s eye Paul ordered coffee.

‘Did it take you long to learn the language, Paul,’ enquired Jacquie, ‘I can’t seem to follow it at all.’

‘I did Greek ‘A’-levels at school and then went on to study Greco/Roman Art at University. After attaining my Degree I was approached by the Foreign Office to join the Diplomatic Corp. They offered me Greece or Cyprus. There was no contest really.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so,’ said Jacquie, ‘You look Greek.’

‘Looks can be very deceptive, but it helps in this game. The surname gives you a hint of my ancestry.’

Their coffee arrived and when they were settled Paul opened a briefcase and placed two packages on the table wrapped in birthday paper.

‘Happy Birthday! I hope it’s what you’re wanting.’ He gave George his business card. ‘This has all the contact details necessary. Get your mobiles adapted to Cyprus.’

‘You’re the second person to tell us that,’ remarked George, ‘we’d better do it.’

‘You require a vehicle to go anywhere on this island so we’ve organised a hire vehicle. Avis will deliver it here. When you leave, ring me and then leave it at the airport. The police have been informed of your presence on the island and their telephone number is on that card. Make yourself known to them a.s.a.p. Is there anything else?’

‘Yes,’ George said emphatically, ‘we have tracked an international crime syndicate to the Island. We believe it’s Russian controlled and we have a undercover man working with them. His welfare is the reason we’re here and his name is Williams. Relay this to the Police, it may save us a lot of trouble later on.’

‘I’ll do that. Has this Williams got a first name?’

‘Yes, Duncan, and not unlike yourself he looks Cypriot. He is of medium height with a dark complexion with long black curly hair, and by the way, was there any mention of readies?’

‘Yes, I almost forgot.’ Paul took an envelope from his briefcase and gave it to George. ‘Make it last. That’s not my instructions, it came from London.’

Jacquie giggled, ‘Brian’s paying out of his own pocket.’

‘Not quite, Jacquie.’ George wagged a finger. ‘It’s in his nature and he’s as tight as your proverbial ducks arse.’

‘If that’s all, I’ll be going,’ interjected Paul, ‘I have a chopper waiting at the airport.’

They stood up, shook hands, and he left.

‘Jacquie, you go and finish tanning while I take these parcels to the room and get us some phone cards and hopefully Avis might show up shortly. Then it’s lunch, my stomach thinks my throats cut.’

—

George returned from the mini-market next door to the hotel and the Avis rep was waiting for him.

‘Here you are, sir, you have a Mitsubishi 4 x 4. It’s an open hire, you just ring in and let us know your requirements and we bill Nicosia. Have you driven over here before?’

‘No, I haven’t, but it shouldn’t be too hard. They drive on the left.’

‘Yes they do, the right, and the middle. They are the world’s worst drivers. Cypriot cars come with two pedals. Brake and accelerator but no indicators. By that I mean they don’t use them for the right purpose. The drivers have no road sense or discipline. You have been warned. I have two names on the docket, a Miss Riccardi? Is that right?’

‘Yes, she’s out the back cooking.’

‘Okay sir, I’d like to see your licence.’ George proffered the requested item. ‘Thanks, and here’s your keys, happy motoring.’

‘Thank you, can I give you a lift anywhere?’

‘No, someone is picking me up but thanks for the offer.’

George picked up the keys and made his way out to the pool and rejoined Jacquie.

‘Hi, Jacquie, everything okay?’

‘Yes, fine. I think Tarzan fancies me. He keeps swimming to this end of the pool and posing on the side.’

‘We have things to do without fending off suitors. Give me your phone and I’ll swap them over, then it’s lunch.’

‘Is that all you think about, food and lager.’ She gave him her mobile.

‘No, there’s one other thing but we won’t go there.’

It took him a few minutes to swap the Sim cards over to the Cyprus ‘So-Easy’ network.

‘There you are and I’ve put an extra ten pounds on each.’

‘Thank you, kind sir. I’ll give David a ring to inform him of the number change.’

George cocked an eyebrow. ‘Who’s David?’

‘My fella back home.’

‘Oh…’ George sat silently with a lump in his throat all through Jacquie’s call, jealous of a man two-thousand miles away. He silently berated himself. ‘You have no right you stupid bastard. She’s your colleague,’ and he busied himself informing London of the number change.

Calls over, George ordered lunch at the pool-bar and returned to Jacquie.

‘We’ll chase up Williams this afternoon. There’s more to his story than meets the eye. Have you got his contact number with you?’

Jacquie began rummaging in her bag. ‘Here it is.’ She handed George a slip of paper.

‘I’ll ring him and tell him we’ll be over in about an hour. Will that be long enough for you to change into street clothes, madam?’

She looked George in the eyes and saw the laughter behind them but sensed a change in his demeanour towards her. ‘Hunter, you’re treading on thin ice.’

George tried the number and there was no reply.

‘No answer, Jacquie, here’s lunch, make it quick and we’ll go a looking for our errant Mr Williams.’

Forty five minutes later an enquiry at the desk told them where to find Iosonas Street and they went to look for their vehicle.

It took them only a minute and George stood for a moment admiring it. ‘I like this. I’m sorry Jacquie, bags I first go.’

‘Boys and their toys,’ Jacquie’s retorted.

Five minutes down the road in the residential area of Kato Paphos they found the street and turned into it.

‘Williams said it was a couple of hundred metres down. There’s the complex, George, his place is the end one.’

They turned in, did a U-turn and pulled up at the side entrance to the property.

‘Stay there, Jacquie. I’ll see if he’s in.’

George alighted went to the door and rang the bell. No answer, he wandered around to the back and peered in before trying the bell again with the same result.

George muttered to himself. ‘Now where the hell has he got to, I told him to stay put.’

A broad Scots accent assailed Georges ears. ‘Helloo! Can I help you?’

He turned towards the voice and was met by an ample blonde lady with a broad smile.

‘I’m Dorothy, I live next door.’

‘Have you seen, Duncan?’

‘Oh, he went out with two gentlemen about an hour ago.’

‘Did he say where?’

‘I’m afraid not. He doesn’t say much anyway. I think he’s a bit shy.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Och, it’s no trouble, do you live here?’

‘No, no, we’re friends of his on holiday. He wasn’t expecting us. We’ll have a coffee down town. He may be back shortly, thanks again.’

He returned to the 4 x 4. ‘Well Jacquie, it appears we’re to late. The lady tells me he left with two men an hour ago. I think we should go back to the hotel and try chatting up his girl friend. We have to find this big house he was on about. Sounds like some sort of HQ.’

At the hotel they ascertained that the party of Russian girls were still sporting themselves by the pool accompanied by Tarzan.

‘Strip off Jacquie, it’s time for you to distract Muscles. Hopefully long enough to get the information we require.’

They found a couple of sun beds with an umbrella for George. Jacquie posed on the side of the pool before gracefully diving in, doing a couple of lengths swift crawl and then made a show of sporting herself provocatively on the side.

She rolled over on one elbow and looked at George. ‘Don’t you go in the sun at all?’

‘I burn easily. Two years in the far east and I came back looking like a pot of cream instead of coffee coloured. In the jungle the guys in the troop used to send me on ahead. They said that being so white I would deflect attention away from them.’

‘I’m lucky,’ replied Jacquie, ‘I suppose it’s having Italian blood, I never burn.’

‘And very healthy you look too, if I might say so.’

‘You may say so.’

A little later the Russian girls decided to cool off in the pool while Tarzan disappeared in the direction of the toilets.

‘Here we go, Jacquie, wish me luck, I’m going for a swim.’

‘Are you sure? Do I have to get my hair wet this time?’

‘Aye, I’m not that bad and I can see the bottom.’

He dived in and surfaced some fifteen metres down the pool in proximity to Tanya. He stopped, shook the water from his eyes, looked straight at her and gave her his best smile and said, ‘Great weather, are you here on holiday.’

In halting English she replied, ‘Yes, we stay here, and I like weather very much.’

Taking a quick look around he said, ‘Duncan, your friend, has gone missing, can you help me find him? Where is the big house you spoke of last night?’

Tarzan reappeared at that moment.

A look of alarm came into Tanya’s eyes and she said hurriedly, ‘I cannot speak now. You go to ‘Wicked Sisters Club’ tonight. Ask me to dance.’

George laughed and said aloud, ‘I’m sorry. I must be more careful,’ and he swam to the end of the pool and climbed out.

Tarzan immediately dived in and went straight to Tanya and spoke to her in a tone which suggested he wasn’t pleased. She laughed, waved her hands, made a sign of two people bumping together, shrugged her shoulders and carried on swimming.

George watched this display before saying to Jacquie. ‘I have a date tonight and now we have to wait.’

‘You be careful there, George, she looks a bit of a man-eater.’

‘Oh, goody.’

He winked and laughed when she stuck her tongue out.

—

George left Jacquie in the lounge reading while he took the short walk to the ‘Wicked Sisters.’ He went directly to the Disco area, found himself a stool at the end of the bar and ordered a pint while trying to look disinterested as he surveyed the room.

He spent the better part of an hour fending off the attentions from a party of single women and he was about to give up when the Russian girls arrived without their minder. Tanya was dressed in her favourite leather outfit which was bordering on the erotic and he was undecided whether that was all she had to wear or she was touting for business.

The girls knew how to party and in no time at all the dance floor was buzzing. He watched them over the top of his pint and noticed Tanya beckoning and quickly responded by joining her and although his gyrations were no match for the younger girl he wasn’t a total disgrace.

‘Good evening, Mr. You have a name?’

‘Hi, Tanya, my name’s George. Duncan’s gone missing. Can you help me find him? He mentioned a big house.’

‘Oh, the silly boy, I told him not to come back. Here, take my hand.’

As they twirled around she pressed a piece of paper into his hand and they continued dancing until there was a pause in the music. Before they parted, George said, ‘Why did you tell him not to come back?’

‘He would not do more work for them which is foolish. They never let go. They kill you first.’

‘Who are they, Tanya?’

‘Never mind, I look after me. Besides, you might be one of them.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Maybe not. Boris was called to the house this afternoon. Watch him, he’s dangerous. He is bully boy, he like hurting people.’

‘Tanya! Did Duncan come back for you?’

‘You’re clever. Yes, and to collect his money. Goodnight, Mr George. You find him and make him safe, please.’

‘Goodnight, I’ll try.’

Tanya returned to her friends and he finished his pint and rejoined Jacquie who was still dutifully reading with one eye on the bar looking out for Duncan.

Jacquie made light of George’s absence but inside she had an unexplained emotional feeling. ‘The wanderer returns.’ She slipped a book-mark onto the page. ‘And how did the evening with Miss Moscow go? I trust you escaped her clutches untouched.’

George laughed. ‘Very enjoyable. A man can see the attraction there and boy does she show it off when she dances in that outfit, very arousing.’

‘I don’t want to know, lover boy. Did you find anything out?’

‘Yes.’ He gave Jacquie the piece of paper. ‘And on top of that Duncan is fixing it to take the girl back home. He came back for her, and Boris, that’s Tarzan to you, is the minder, and right now he’s probably working over our boy. We’re working tonight Jacquie. It’s time to unwrap our parcels and get changed into something more suitable. I know black suits you. We’re going out!’

 ***

CHAPTER 21

 They stopped to ask the way in the resort of Coral Bay and were directed along the coast road towards Agios Georgios. Five kilometres further on they came to the property and four other smaller villas in a complex surrounded by banana plantations. The front of the villa was illuminated and a half circular staircase flanked by Doric columns led up to the front door.

George slowed as they passed before driving a further couple of kilometres, turning around and driving back the way they had come. Short of the complex they stopped and reversed into the banana plantation.

George took a canvas bag from the back seat and they walked between the first rows of bananas to the rear of the villa and found there was only a low picket fence separating them from the garden.

Crouching low they watched and listened. George was conscious of the proximity of Jacquie and the smell of her and he tried to push this to the back of his mind while concentrating on the job but there was no disguising the fact that this woman had an effect on him the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Ten minutes passed before they went over the fence and ran quickly, skirting a swimming pool, to the back wall of the house. Working their way along and over a low veranda balustrade they came to the patio doors. George made a quick study of the locking mechanism and whispered. ‘The crime rate is on our side, Jacquie, there’s no security locks.’

Removing a slim jemmy from the toolkit he motioned Jacquie to support one door while he inserted the jemmy in the runner. He exerted enough pressure to lift the door and worked towards the outer edge. When the whole of the door was raised he gently eased the bottom out while Jacquie supported the top. They lowered the door to the ground and the top swung out clear of the runners. They gently lifted it to one side and leaned it against the wall.

‘I’m checking your credentials when we get back, Hunter, you did that too easily. Gardening you said?’

George grinned in the dark. ‘Wait until you see me with a real lock. Come on.’

They stepped over the threshold and entered a large living area. Using pencil torches he checked down one side of the room while she did the other and they met by a door at the far end. George nodded and Jacquie leaned against it, pushed it tight into the jamb and slowly turned the handle.

It led onto an entrance hall. They waited and listened but apart from an occasional car on the road it was quiet. Jacquie tip-toed across to the bottom of the staircase, listened, and signalled George to follow. They paused briefly before mounting the stairs to a landing which ran the length of the house. There were doors to six bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms leading off it.

George did an imaginary coin toss, shrugged his shoulders, and crept across to the first one. As a precaution he drew his gun and Jacquie did the same. Using the same technique he pulled the door tight into the jamb before turning the handle and eased himself into the room closely followed by Jacquie. Accustomed to the dark they found the room empty but the bed was rumpled.

‘I wonder where they are?’ George muttered.

He gave a quick nod and they withdrew onto the landing and crossed over to the room opposite. The door was slightly ajar and they could hear steady nasal breathing. Jacquie could feel the warmth of George behind her and she unconsciously snuggled back into him.

‘Jacquie, what are you doing?’ she said mentally. Looking over her shoulder she smiled at him and they stepped into the room closing the door behind them.

They went to opposite sides of the bed and pressing his pistol behind the left ear of the occupant George reached over and tickled the man’s nose with his free hand.

The unsuspecting sleeper snuffled, made to scratch his nose, and then something in his subconscious mind stirred. His eyes opened and he was instantly aware of someone leaning over him. Before he could move George clamped a hand over his mouth and guessing the guy was Russian he jiggled his gun and whispered menacingly, ‘Quiet Ivan, I’m jumpy so behave and you have nothing to fear. Nod your head if you understand.’

The man complied and George continued. ‘Our friend, Duncan Williams, where is he?’ He eased his hand covering the man’s mouth. ‘One wrong sound and you’re pig fodder. Savvy?’

The Russian nodded and said, ‘This Duncan, who is he?’

‘Cover him, Jacquie.’

Retightening his hold over the man’s mouth George put his gun to one side and took hold of the Russian’s ear. He pressed his thumbnail into the fleshy part of the lobe and twisted, at the same time grinding his nail into the flesh.

‘If you know the answer, Ivan, nod your head.’

The beads of sweat were standing out on the Russian’s forehead and his face was screwed up in pain. George squeezed harder. Ivan nodded his head vigorously.

George relaxed his grip, he leaned forward and whispered, ‘Speak up, but quietly, please’

‘Okay, you stop hurting.’ George nodded. ‘I am visitor. I don’t know any Duncan. There is a man in the pool pump room, maybe he is your friend.’

‘Thank you, Ivan, I’m going to restrain you and gag you but you’ll be able to sleep without harm.’

They finished securing the Russian and Jacquie first backed slowly out of the room. George closed the door behind them, turned, and bumped into her.

‘Come on, lass, move.’

‘George, look.’

Coming towards them was a man and in a broad Northern Irish accent he shouted, ‘Hey, what’s going on here? Help! Help! We have a break in. Anyone there? Help! Hey you,’ he said, pointing at Jacquie, ‘don’t I know you?’

‘Run, Jacquie.’

They turned and ran for the stairs and went down them two at a time, across the hall, through the living room and out of the window they had come in by. Skirting round the pool they ran until they came to the pump room. A quick examination showed it was locked.

‘No time for niceties, stand clear Jacquie.’

George took aim and with one shot blew off the padlock.

‘Thank goodness for Chinese locks.’

He opened the door to find a battered and bruised Duncan tied securely to a sun bed with electrical ties.

‘Are you two welcome,’ Duncan uttered through bruised lips.

‘We may be too late lad. We’ve just stirred up a hornets nest in there. Shit! Where’s my bloody knife? Ah, got it.’

George opened the knife and severed the bindings holding Duncan.

‘Right lad, over the wall and go to your left. You’ll find a 4 x 4 in the end row. The keys are behind the sun visor. No heroics, savvy.’

‘Sure, but what are you going to do?’

‘Never mind, I’ll think of something.’

As they bundled Duncan out, George thrust his pistol into his hand. ‘Here take this and wait for us, but if they get there first, go, and then call the police.’

 Duncan disappeared around the corner of the pump house as the first of the Russians arrived. Jacquie held him up at gun point, but within seconds he was joined by the Irishman and another Russian with a woman in her late twenties still rubbing sleep from her eyes bringing up the rear.

They stopped at the sight of a 9 mm automatic when George realised they weren’t looking at them but over their shoulder. He glanced backward to find Boris with a handful of Uzi Machine pistol aimed at them in a manner which suggested he was capable of using it.

George groaned, touched Jacquie’s arm and nodded towards Boris who didn’t waste any time. ‘Put your gun down—Now!’

‘Do as he says, Jacquie.’

She lowered her weapon and let it drop to the floor.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them and go into the house.’

Jacquie and George looked at each other and shrugged before complying with the Russian’s instructions. Boris scooped up Jacquie’s pistol as he walked behind them and they retraced their steps into the house until they stood in the middle of the main room.

Boris menaced them again. ‘Walk backwards to the wall.’

They stepped slowly back until their heels touched the wall behind them.

‘Now let’s see who we have?’

Boris went to Jacquie first and pushed the sub-machine gun into her neck and with a salacious leer on his face began to frisk her. There was little she could do as he fondled her breasts and slid his hand down to her genital area.

He looked across at George and laughed at his discomfort then he roughly turned Jacquie around and thrust a hand between her legs his fingers searching fiendishly in her private regions.

Fed up with the sport he came over to George with a smirk on his face. He shoved the gun into George’s neck and pushed his face up close.

‘Mean something does she?’

‘Your breath smells you Russian peasant.’

Boris stepped back. ‘I kill you for that.’

He swung his left fist in a wide arc but George’s reflexes were quicker. His right hand caught the fist in flight. With his left he did a finger and thumb jab to the Adams apple and rendered Boris hor de combat.

The Uzi fell to the floor alongside Boris who was choking, clutching his throat and writhing in agony. George swooped, swept up the gun, checked the cocking action and swung round in one movement to cover the other occupants of the room.

‘Freeze—the bloody lot of you!’

The command was unnecessary as they stood like rabbits in a headlight.

‘Jacquie! Your weapon.’ She was already moving and recovered her pistol from Boris’s pocket and jumped to George’s side.

The Irishmen shouted angrily and pointed. ‘It’s Siobhan Milligan, I remember you—The Bogside.’ He looked hard at Jacquie. ‘Working for the other side now or have you always been one of them? That explains a lot.’

‘To be sure, Tim O’Reilly, a girl’s got to make a living. And what would you be doing here, selling your soul is it. The Russians of all people. What would you be doing mixing with the likes o’ them. Guns is it, or drugs? Don’t you think you’ve caused enough problems to the young people of Ireland?’

O’Reilly looked sheepish at the admonishment but the look of admiration on George’s face said it all and he shook his head in amazement. This was Belfast at it’s best. Jacquie looked across at George and shrugged.

He turned his attention back to the assembled group and recognised one of them and was about to say something when the man gave a slight shake of the head and mouthed—‘No!’

George obliged, although he was not sure why. Instinct told him it was the right thing to do. One Moscow policeman was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

‘Jesus, this is one complicated mess,’ was his silent admission. He pointed to the policeman. ‘Jacquie herd this lot upstairs except that one. Lock them in the same room as sleeping beauty. Here swap weapons. One blink—Waste ‘em.’

Emphasising her words with the Uzi, Jacquie said, ‘Alright, move along guys and you gal. You heard the man, upstairs nice and easy.’

There was sudden gurgling and strangled heavy choking from Boris on the floor which distracted Jacquie momentarily. O’Reilly jumped forward and grabbed her by the hair from behind.

‘Right, you double crossing bitch, you’re for it.’

Her reaction was swift and instant. She dropped the gun, clamped both hands on top of the Irishman’s hands holding them pressed to her head. She twisted inwards and at the same time ducked under his arms. The twisting movement eased her hair from his grip and as it came free her hands transferred to his right wrist. She ducked inside again under his arm and in one continuous movement twisted the arm forward and up making the Irishman lean forward. As she finished her turn, her right leg swung out like a pendulum and sliced his legs from under him. He crashed to the floor while Jacquie, still holding the wrist, jerked upwards. His scream was blood curdling as the shoulder dislocated. For good measure she kicked him in the groin.

George grimaced in sympathy, and said, ‘Ooh… Nasty,’ and gestured with his gun for the rest of them to hurry upstairs and they didn’t need any second bidding. These were businessmen, not fighters.

He turned his attention to the writhing Boris. A check of his pulse, breathing, and colour were enough to confirm that he was choking to death. The bruising in his neck was swelling and closing his airway.

George spoke to the Russian policeman. ‘We have to move quickly. What’s your name?’

‘Inspector Alexei Savitsky, Moscow Central Police.’

‘Okay, Alex, we’ll talk later. Right now go out to any car and bring me some tubing off the screen washers. Quickly.’ He threw his mobile to him. ‘And on the way call an ambulance, one with a paramedic or surgeon and then the Police, although they should be coming already.’

Jacquie re-entered the room at that moment.

‘Jacquie, we’ve got to act quickly if we’re to save Boris here. Get me some tissues plus a clean sheet.’

She hurried off. George went to the drinks cabinet and withdrew a bottle of whisky and a tumbler before going across to the groaning, O’Reilly. ‘Keep quiet and lie still, we’ll sort you out in a few minutes.’

Hurrying to the kitchen he put the kettle on and while he was waiting he salvaged a couple of biscuits. The kettle clicked off and he poured some of the boiling water into a basin and dropped his Swiss Army knife into it. Next he half filled a tumbler with cold water and took them both back into the main room where Jacquie and Alexei were waiting.

‘Right, get him on the table.’

‘Alex, lean over his legs when I say so. Jacquie, I want you to hold his head and tilt it back.’

He topped up the cold water with whisky, removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves up and went back to the kitchen to wash his hands. When he returned he stood alongside Boris and took a swig of the whisky before he plucked the knife gingerly out of the boiling water and replaced it with a length of plastic tube.

‘Right Alex, lie over his upper legs and keep him still. Jacquie, hold his head. Now tilt it back. Not too far.’

He soaked a tissue in whisky and washed around the neck area. He ran his finger down to the Adams apple below the bruised area. Holding the tip of the knife at forty-five degrees he took a deep breath and exhaled before the first incision. He made a two-inch cut following the line of the windpipe only going deep enough to avoid any organs beneath. Dabbing the blood away and using two fingers to open the cut and locate the trachea he made another incision.

Immediately there was a loud hissing noise followed by gurgling as Boris’s starved lungs pulled air in through the orifice.

‘Tilt his head a little more, Jacquie.’

Removing the length of tube from the hot water he cut off four inches. The hot water had made the tube pliable and he carefully fed one end into the incision and down into the open windpipe leaving a couple of inches poking out. Tearing off a strip of the sheet he bound the wound and secured the tube. Boris was now breathing easily, albeit noisily, through his new windpipe.

‘That’s it.’ George stepped back, took another swig of whisky and offered the tumbler to Alexei, ‘Here, you deserve it, do you want one, Jacquie?’

Jacquie stood looking at him in wonderment and shook her head before walking around and putting her arms around his neck. She sobbed unashamedly, her shoulders heaving gently.

They could hear the sound of sirens approaching and a couple of minutes later the Police burst into the room led by Duncan.

‘Are you guys alright. I was having guilt attacks the whole time.’

‘You did fine, Dunc,’ said George, ‘it got a bit hairy but we managed.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Duncan was pointing at Alexei who was calming Boris. ‘And what’s the matter with that ape?’

George hooked a thumb at Boris. ‘He’s had an accident with his neck and this, Duncan, is Inspector Savitsky of the Moscow Police.’

An ambulance arrived closely followed by a Doctor from the local clinic who showed obvious distaste at being disturbed from his evening meal.

‘Why am I here,’ he enquired, ‘I’m not to be called unless it’s a real emergency.’

George led him over to Boris and explained to him what he had done.

‘You have saved his life. There is nothing I can do now until we get him to hospital, and that fellow over there?’

‘He’s dislocated his shoulder, shall we pop it back in for him.’

They went over to the Irishman who was leaning sulkily against the wall.

‘We’ve come to do your arm.’

His eyes bulged and he recoiled in fear. ‘You keep away from me, the hospital can do it and if I see that snitch again—She’s dead.’

Duncan introduced the Cypriot Police Sergeant. George wasted no time and gave him their letter of introduction and waited while he read it.

The Sergeant studied it for a few moments and reluctantly said, ‘It’s too big for me.’

Alexei stepped forward, ‘Allow me.’ He spoke to the Sergeant in Greek. ‘I am Inspector Alexei Savitsky of the Moscow Police. Myself, Mr Hunter & his partner are investigating the same case and if we move quickly we can catch a shipment of drugs and small arms tonight. The rest of the organisation we can get tomorrow. This is urgent. Call your Superior to meet us in Paphos Police Station in half an hour. Meanwhile take the others who are upstairs, plus the two hospital cases into custody.’

He turned to George and Jacquie. ‘I apologise for that, I have told him basically the problem and now he must contact his Superiors and maybe a consignment of drugs and small arms can be apprehended tonight. As we drive to town I will fill you in so far. Is that okay?’

Jacquie spoke for the first time. ‘Our undercover man, Williams. Can you make sure no harm comes to him?’

‘I had no knowledge he was undercover. I do apologise young lady. We’ve never been properly introduced.’

He proffered a hand which Jacquie accepted. ‘Alexei Savitsky.’

‘Jacquie Riccardi.’

He bowed slightly from the hips and kissed her outstretched hand. ‘A beautiful English Rose amongst so much mayhem.’

She blushed and stammered, ‘A… Apology accepted. Hunter! Take note.’

They both laughed at George’s discomfort.

The injured were put into the ambulance including Duncan, who needed some remedial work done on his bruised face. As he was about to climb into the ambulance George stopped him.

‘Williams! As soon as you’re sorted get hold of Tanya and everything she owns and move her into your house. There’ll be a round-up after this and deportations are likely, so get her out of the way. Here’s some cash which will help. I’ll contact you later. Oh, and while I think of it, give me back my piece.’

‘Thanks George, I’ll make it up. Do you really want this back? I mean, I could look after it for you.’

‘Gimme,’ said George holding out his hand, ‘on your way, lad.’

The rest were herded into police vehicles while George, Jacquie and Alexei travelled in the 4 x 4 at the rear of the convoy to Paphos Police Headquarters. During the journey George told Alexei how they had become involved and Alexei explained that their intervention had prematurely broken up an Interpol investigation.

At the police station, George took Alexei to one side. ‘Alexei, I want to apologise for our first meeting, spur of the moment, you know how it is.’

Alexei rubbed his neck ruefully. ‘Apology accepted, I slept well after it though. You’ll have to show me how to do that and I should never have used Moscow tactics on the old lady. I’ll make amends to her. I also know that your Williams is not officially on the case. However, I respect your wish to protect him. Tell him off for being a silly boy. Can we shake on that?’

‘We can.’ The handshake was both firm and genuine.

They followed the others into the station where they were shown into an inner office and offered coffee, which they accepted gratefully.

A short while later they were joined by a bleary eyed Chief Superintendent Charalambous of the Cypriot Police who had been dragged out of bed.

They stood up to greet him and he shook hands all round before he announced. ‘It is unusual to call me outside of office hours so I am expecting something spectacular. The Inspector said it was an international incident, so could you please explain? We will speak English.’

George waved Alexei forward. ‘Alexei, you tell him, you have more details than we do.’

Alexei gave a run down of events leading up to that moment and added. ‘A shipment of arms and drugs is due to be landed anytime. If you move quickly you will be able to apprehend it. The local organisation we can close down tomorrow.’

‘You say landed. What do you mean and where?’

Alexei continued. ‘A fishing boat based in Latchi is making a pick-up outside your twelve mile limit.’ He took a swift glance at his watch. ‘And it’s probably on its way back to port now. Money, people, drugs and arms are brought in the same way.’

The Super picked up his phone and spoke in Greek. ‘Get me Polis, please.’ Turning to Alexei he continued, ‘How do we not detect it with our patrols.’

‘They go inshore on the Turkish side and slip along close to the land. The Turks are slack and sleep all night.’

The Super’s phone rang. ‘Hallo, Who is that? This is Superintendent Charalambous. Get a squad of men down to Latchi and arrest the fishing vessel, one moment.’ He turned to Alexei, ‘Do you know the registration number of the boat?’

‘2296.’

‘It’s 2296,’ he continued down the phone. ‘Impound it and arrest anyone on it and then guard it until someone from HQ arrives. It is due to land anytime, so move, there will be a reception party on land to arrest also but be careful you don’t alert them, we want to catch them all. Better get the Coastguard involved.’ He put the phone down and turned towards them. ‘Would anyone like more coffee?’

Opening the office door he bellowed the order for coffee before he spoke to Alexei. ‘Inspector Savitsky, you mentioned visas, passports and money laundering, tell me more.’

Alexei cleared his throat. ‘You did not include asylum seekers, those travelling on to the UK and those stopping here in Cyprus. You have a system here for selling duty free cars which have visitors registration.’

‘Yes,’ said the Super, ‘what has this to do with asylum seekers?’

‘Visitors, people buying holiday homes or permanent residence, purchase a car from a dealer who is very obliging and offers to do all the paperwork for them. He takes their passport, Alien card, if they have one, and makes a photo-copy of their driving licence. Thank you, he says, I will send these to Nicosia for you to get Registration and yellow paper and I will phone you when to collect them. The customer goes away pleased everything is being taken care of and the dealer has everything they need to make false UK identities or Alien visas for Cyprus. They do register the car and return the genuine passports to the unsuspecting buyer. The purchase is legal but by abusing your system they send ten asylum seekers to Britain and Europe every week. If the asylum seeker acts as a mule and carries money or drugs for them they pay less as do those staying in Cyprus with the false Alien card.’

‘You know the car dealer doing this?

‘No I don’t. I was undercover until tonight. I’m sure you will find more information at the house. Unfortunately, I am no longer in a position to find the ringleaders. It is some consolation to close one arm of the outfit but they will not be pleased.’

The Super stood up. ‘Thank you gentlemen and lady.’ He nodded towards Jacquie. ‘I will set the wheels in motion. You may go now. I may need you, Inspector, later on.’

He turned to George and Jacquie. ‘Your involvement appears to be over in Cyprus. This undercover man, Williams—What does he know?’

‘Very little,’ replied George. ‘We blundered in before he could gain any information other than those who you arrested tonight. As for the Irish connection that is something new. It sounds like a private venture and we will inform MI6 on our return.’

George spoke to the Russian. ‘Thanks for everything, Alexei. No hard feelings? I’m sorry about the damage we did to your case and we will send some flowers to Mrs Williams. Cheerio, comrad.’

Alexei took George’s proffered hand and shook it vigorously in a two handed clasp. ‘You’re welcome, but I don’t think we’re finished yet, you and I.’

‘How do you mean, Alexei? We have closed this little lot down and rescued Williams, which was our brief. I can’t see what else there is to do.’

A mobile phone rang. They looked at each other momentarily and all moved to check their phones. It was George’s.

‘Hello.’

‘George, it’s me, Duncan. She’s gone.’

‘Duncan, slow down. I take it you mean, Tanya?’

‘Yes.’

‘I shouldn’t worry too much, she’s probably done a runner on her own. She told me you had come back for her. Check your place first.’

‘No George. Two heavies came for her. The other girls don’t know them and they think they may be shipping her back home. It think they’re on to us.’

‘Duncan! Get a taxi back to the police station. I will see if I can get any answers.’

The police Super came dashing back into the room. ‘Mr Hunter, we have a problem. That boat has gone missing.’

‘Alexei! First an abduction and now no boat. Is there an alterative rendezvous?’

‘I don’t know for certain. There was talk of a place, it’s on the Akamas Peninsula. A beach called Larka or something.’

The Super interceded. ‘Lara, the Turtle beach.’

‘Have you got a map, Super?’

‘On the wall behind you.’

They huddled in a group in front of the map.

‘Point out this Lara, Super, and then Latchi.’

‘Here is Latchi,’ pointing to it on the map, ‘and here is Lara on the west coast.’

‘And for them to get from Latchi,’ said George, ‘they would come straight from the pick-up. Let’s see. Twelve miles off Cape Kormakiti westwards would also be in international waters north of Manssoura, yes?’

‘Yes,’ the Super nodded his head in agreement. ‘I see what you mean. From there to Mazaki Island and down here to Lara Beach, by-passing Latchi.’

‘That would take another two hours. Super, we have time. Get an armed squad, we’ll follow.’

The Superintendent picked up his telephone and at the same time they were disturbed by an uproar in the foyer and Duncan burst into the room with a constable trying to restrain him.

‘Hey, George, tell him who I am. Have you sorted anything yet?’

‘Duncan, calm down.’ George interceded on his behalf. ‘Thank you, officer, we’ll look after him now.’

The constable mumbled his apologies, nodded to the Super and withdrew.

The Super put the phone down after a brief conversation and said, ‘I have a squad ready and a Coastal Patrol is leaving Paphos Harbour to try and intercept. Follow me in your vehicle.’

It was already becoming light when they set off from the police station at break-neck speed ignoring traffic signals. They went down the hill out of town to join the coast road at the Tomb of the Kings resort with George trying his utmost to stay close.

‘Jacquie, it’s been a long night. Are you alright? I know you’ve been mollycoddled in that plush office of yours.’

‘Don’t patronise, Hunter. You’ll fall over before me. You’re right about one thing though. I’m knackered.’

‘Duncan, you don’t have a weapon so take it easy, don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want any fatalities, at least not on our side.’

Alexei broke into the conversation. ‘George, we do have a weapon for Duncan. I put the Uzi behind the back seat with three bundled magazines.’

‘Are you trained with one of those things, Duncan? Be honest.’

‘Yep, darn right I am.’

‘Okay, you take that but keep it on single shot. I don’t want any heroics, you understand. Use your own judgement, you know the drill.’

‘You’re the boss.’

Twenty minutes brought them to the end of the highway and on to the un-metalled track up the Akamas Peninsular. Ten more minutes and they arrived at Lara Beach in time to see a fishing vessel out at sea, heading north. On the beach there was a Jeep 4 x 4 with a boat trailer attached and a large high speed inflatable still in the water.

Three men were busy transferring boxes from the inflatable into the back of the Jeep. One man made a run for it as soon as he saw them approaching and tried to gain cover on the foreshore while the other two dived behind the Jeep with automatic weapons at the ready.

The Police party de-trained and fanned out and after a few warning shots, the would be smugglers thought better of the one sided affair and gave up. A couple of policemen were instantly detailed to pursue the runaway.

George, meanwhile, sized up the situation and ignoring the action on the beach made up his mind on the next move.

‘The boat, get into the boat,’ he shouted. ‘Who’s the whiz on outboard motors?’

‘That’s me,’ Duncan responded. ‘Thank goodness for all those courses that we thought were a total waste of time.’

Between them they manhandled the boat into deeper water and scrambled aboard, plus a police sergeant and a constable for good measure.

‘It’s a carbon copy of the landing craft the Marines use, lets go,’ yelled Duncan as he fired up the twin engines.

The warm engines jumped into life and with a loud, ‘Yee—Haa,’ he thrust the throttle lever forward. There was a deep roar from the powerful twin engines and the bow came up. Duncan put the wheel hard over and in a cloud of spray they set off in pursuit of the fishing boat.

It was daylight now and the Coastguard boat was visible approaching from the South but still too far away to be of any assistance.

The Master of the fishing vessel realising his predicament, put the wheel over to port and set course in a straight line from the shore in his attempt to get outside the twelve mile limit. The patrol boat altered course to cut him off and coming up fast astern was the inflatable. He had to do something to slow them down.

‘Get that woman on deck.’

Two crew members dragged Tanya on deck. ‘Hold her there. If they get too close throw her over the side and leave her hands tied.’

Duncan maintained the pursuit at forty knots gaining every second as they bounced from wave to wave. The others hung on to anything they could to stop themselves being tossed over the side. He didn’t spare a thought for their comfort, willing the damned thing to go faster. He could see Tanya being held at the rear of the boat and he guessed what they were up to.

‘Come on you, bastard, bloody move.’ He banged the throttle lever in frustration with the heel of his hand trying to pinch another knot or two.

They were two hundred metres from the fishing vessel when the inevitable happened. The crewmen picked up a struggling Tanya and pitched her over the side.

‘George get back here,’ Duncan shouted over the roar of the engines. ‘Take the wheel. This is the throttle, steer towards Tanya. Ease back as we get close. Alexei, grab this.’

He tossed the Uzi to Alexei who said, ‘I’m not familiar with this,’ and he gave it to Jacquie.

In quick time Duncan stripped off and perched himself on the side of the craft facing inwards. George found out very quickly what a demanding role it was being the pilot of a high speed power boat. With every muscle and bone braced, each bounce on a wave shook his fifty year old frame to the core. He never liked funfair rides as a child so this was no adrenaline high.

He eased the throttle as they came close to Tanya, and on a shout from, Duncan, who rolled off the side in text book fashion, he slammed the throttles open once more and continued the pursuit of the fishing vessel. It didn’t take long before they were ten metres off the beam.

‘Alexei, give him a hail and tell him to stop or we’ll blow him out of the water.’

Alexei cupped his hands to his mouth and hailed the fishing boat in Greek. ‘Heave to and cut your engine. We have authority to open fire.’

The Master of the vessel appeared with an automatic shotgun and made preparations to shoot.

George reacted quickly. ‘Jacquie! Take the lid off that wheelhouse. One magazine should do it.’

She released the safety catch, pushed the switch to automatic and aiming just below the wheelhouse roof pulled the trigger and kept on firing until the magazine was spent. Wood splinters, glass, smoke and other debris showered the Captain and crew who dived for cover below the bulwark.

‘Stop, stop, we’ve had enough,’ they shouted above the noise. One had the sense to wave a not too clean handkerchief and the Captain threw the shotgun over the side.

Jacquie changed the magazine but it was unnecessary. They put their arms in the air showing their obvious discomfort at being dispossessed by this harridan with a machine pistol. The Captain scrambled into the wreckage of the wheelhouse and cut the engine while George manoeuvred alongside.

‘Sergeant, throw them a rope.’ And to the fishing boats crew he shouted, ‘Ahoy there! Catch this rope and make fast.’

They understood even though he had called in English. The Sergeant accompanied by the constable scrambled aboard followed by Alexei. With a menacing movement of their weapons they rounded the crew up and made them sit at the stern of the vessel.

A quick search revealed a couple of automatic pistols while the fish hold showed that it had recently been occupied by a human cargo.

George was standing on the side of the powerboat holding on to the side of the fishing boat flexing his knees with the movement when a large wave smashed into them. The boats corkscrewed, George lost his footing, banged his head against the side of the fishing boat and disappeared between the two vessels. He reappeared face down at the rear and drifted away.

‘Hunter! Hunter!’ Jacquie shouted. ‘OH! Shit!’

She kicked her shoes off, stripped down to her underwear and dived over the back of the boat.

The current had swept George some twenty metres but Jacquie’s strong over-arm crawl soon had her up with him. She turned him over and slapped his face. ‘Hunter, wake up. Come on, this is no time to mess around. Wake up!’

It was then that she noticed blood. She turned his head to one side and breathed a sigh of relief to see that, although bleeding profusely, it was not a deep wound. She shook him again with no response.

‘Hunter, you bastard, don’t do this to me.’ She grabbed him under the chin and towed him towards the boat.

Alexei who was looking on, muttered, ‘What is it with these English? The first sight of water they want to swim.’

He untied the inflatable from the fishing vessel, jumped in, and let it drift back towards Jacquie. When they were alongside he leaned over and dragged George inboard and then gave Jacquie a hand to scramble in. Ignoring the fact that she was wearing the briefest of wet underwear she went straight to George who was lying in the bottom of the boat.

She checked his pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it was okay and kneeling beside him continued to rub his hands and face. Alexei, who was trying hard to ignore Jacquie’s curvaceous rump which was pointed directly towards him had fathomed out how to start the engines. He gingerly pushed the throttles forward, swung the wheel and ran the boat towards Duncan and Tanya.

Duncan had released Tanya’s wrists and they were in no difficulty and as the boat came alongside they grabbed the dangling hand loops and clung on until Alexei was able to help them in.

Dragging his eyes away from Jacquie’s assets Duncan looked down at George, and said, ‘What happened to him?’

Jacquie turned her head and smiled, unconcerned about the effect her near naked body must be causing. ‘Nothing dramatic, he just fell off the bloody boat. Water and Hunter don’t mix.’

‘Will you stop talking behind my back,’ came a garbled voice from the bottom of the boat. ‘Jesus, I‘ve got one hellu‘va headache.’

Jacquie almost cried with relief. ‘Hunter, you fool. Lie still, you’ve got a large cut on the back of your head. No, you won’t bleed to death. Do you feel sick?’

‘No,’ replied George.

‘Move all your limbs one at a time and then wiggle your toes.’

George complied and made to struggle up. ‘No you don’t, Hunter, lie still. Can you feel this?’

She removed one of his shoes and ran her fingers along the sole of his foot.

‘Yes! Now will you stop asking so many bloody questions woman and give me a drink.’

The crew had left a couple of bottles of water handy and unscrewing one she said, ‘Sorry we’ve nothing stronger.’ She lifted his head a little and helped him to drink.

‘George, do you really feel alright? You frightened me.’

George recognised the concern in Jacquie’s voice and although she was almost naked she was more worried with his well-being than her own state of undress.

‘Jacquie, honestly I’m okay.’ He gave her hand a squeeze, and smiled. ‘And you my beauty are doing wonders for me. Get some clothes on, there are some things a man can’t hide.’

Jacquie smiled back. ‘Hunter, you have a one track mind. Wait ’til you’re better. Lie still!’

‘Okay, boss.’

They were close to the shore by now and as soon as she was dressed Jacquie returned to George’s side and held his hand until they beached.

Onshore Duncan and Tanya volunteered to wait for the police to take them while Jacquie and Alexei took George to the nearest medical facility. Making sure George was comfortable in the backseat Jacquie drove the 4 x 4 as quick as she could without causing him any discomfort regardless of his complaints that he was alright.

She was having none of it. ‘Shut-up Hunter, you’re going and that’s the end of it.’

‘Alexei, speak to her, tell her I’m okay.’

‘This is not my party, George, besides I know what she’s capable of. I like my arms where they are, thank you.’

‘I knew she was trouble from the moment I set eyes on her. I said to myself, watch out, Hunter, this one’s trouble. Mustn’t complain though.’

Jacquie kept her eyes on the road trying to hide the blush. ‘Hunter, you’re maudlin, delirious in fact. Alexei you have my permission to smack him if he shows one inkling of moving from there.’

The smile on her face showed her relief that George was more of his old self and not too badly hurt.

They were passing the Russian Villa, which now had a police guard outside, when Alexei touched her on the arm. ‘Jacquie, drop me here. My suitcases and car are still here. I’ll book into the nearest hotel and, George, and the beautiful Jacquie, if you’re up to it, it would be my pleasure if you join me for dinner tonight, let’s say seven-thirty at Andrea’s Restaurant in Coral Bay where we can discuss things better. I do think there’s something we ought to consider before your case is closed. It’s a good excuse for a night out anyway and I think you will enjoy the cuisine.’

George looked at Jacquie who spoke for both of them, ‘We would be honoured. We have your number and if there’s any change we’ll let you know. Good night, I mean morning, Alexei, and thanks.’

A visit to the Green Cross Clinic on the edge of Kato Paphos confirmed the injury to George’s head wasn’t serious. They cleaned him up and inserted a couple of stitches and advised him to return if he showed any signs of dizziness or sickness.

Jacquie thanked the medical staff and said, ‘Hunter, this girl’s past knackered, let’s go home.’

—

‘Kalamera!’ They were greeted on the door by Angelo who shook George’s hand. Openly flirting he took a firm grip of Jacquie’s hand and kissed it but refused to let go. ‘Table for two?’ Angelo was well known for his fondness of the ladies in Coral Bay but it was done with such charm they didn’t mind.

‘We are expected,’ said George, spotting Alexei in a secluded corner. ‘We’re dining with that gentleman there.’

‘Of course, sir.’ He dropped Jacquie’s hand and showed them over to the table where he took her jacket and helped her into her seat before he handed them each a menu. ‘Enjoy your meal.’ He bowed to Jacquie and returned to his position on the door.

Alexei, who had stood up when they joined him, shook George’s hand before he kissed Jacquie’s.

‘Oh… There’s only so much a girl can take. They ought to bring a few Englishmen out here. They might learn a few things about treating a lady.’ She looked directly at George. ‘I hope you’re taking notes, Hunter, for future reference.’

The remark made George sit up. The familiar use of his surname with the vague reference to the future accompanied by the smile which turned him to jelly raised inside him a feeling of? He didn’t know. It was disturbing, but it was nice, and he began to wonder.

Hiding his true feelings, he said, ‘Don’t get carried away, young lady, they’re only checking to see if they can nick your jewellery.’

Alexei laughed. ‘Wine anyone? I took the liberty of ordering the Cabernet Sauvignon. I like this one. It’s a little overpriced but drinkable.’

Jacquie took a sip. ‘I’m not a wine expert. I like it. Now can we eat? I’ll pass on starters and have the grilled salmon.’

The two men looked at each other, shrugged and opted for the Chef’s Special Steak and the meal was eaten in silence while they concentrated on the excellent food.

The rest of the evening lent itself to a happy occasion and the men ordered beer. Jacquie pulled a face and stuck to wine. An hour later George broke the well-being of the occasion by re-opening the conversation on the issue of the previous night.

‘Alexei, what did you mean by there might be something else we should consider in this case? On the surface it appears all done. The Cypriot authorities will close this end, won’t your people shut the other end?’

‘George,’ Alexei replied. ‘If only it was that easy. The Russian underworld rules, sorry, owns the police and the Town Hall. There’ll be someone to replace those who go missing. The only hope is that not all of us are that way inclined and that one day the real strength of the Russian people will come through. Even soldiers are selling their weapons to secure a decent meal. Meanwhile, we have to consider Duncan’s mother. She is still at risk, as is he.’

Jacquie interrupted. ‘Duncan’s mother. Why? He’s only a bit player.’

‘He’s classified as a traitor and they want their pound of flesh. If they can’t get him they’ll go for his mother. It’s a type of emotional blackmail. If we can’t have you, we’ll get your family.’

‘Duncan mentioned that. We have to move fast,’ George said, ‘time for that modern convenience, Jacquie. Have you got the card belonging to our man from the Ministry.’

‘Yes.’ She retrieved it from her handbag and handed it to George.

He dialled the number on the card and waited patiently before a sleepy voice answered. ‘Samuels, who wants help at this time of night?’

‘It’s George Hunter, Paul. Listen closely. We have a problem which needs immediate attention. I want four seats on the first flight out in the morning.’ He reeled off the four names.

‘That last one, have you a surname?’

George gave him the only Russian name he could think of. ‘Khornikova!’

There was a moments silence before Samuels spoke, ‘Did I hear right? Khornikova.’

‘It’s close enough. Are we going to take all night and, yes, I also want an entry visa. Think of a good reason but it might help if you knew that she is a key witness and she’s also going to marry one of our operatives. We also require the Diplomatic bag. Can you get it on the same flight? This case is ongoing when we get back.’

‘You leave things late don’t you, Hunter? This is Cyprus. Everything shuts after five and the Civil Service at one thirty. If you believe in miracles get your prayer mat out, you’re going to need it. Be at the airport at eight-thirty. Larnaca that is, the flight’s at ten thirty.’

‘Good lad, you’re going far. See you at eight-thirty. Bye.’

‘Jacquie, you got Duncan’s number?’

Jacquie began rummaging in her bag again. George grimaced. ‘This could take some time, Alexei. You want another beer? That bloody handbag’s like a Tardis. Bigger on the inside than the outside.’

‘Tardis, George. What is a Tardis? As for the beer, yes.’

‘A Tardis is a telephone box from a TV science fiction show, Alexei. The next time you visit I’ll show you a video.’

‘George, you know we invented everything. So now you have things bigger inside than outside. I think a few more agents go to Siberia. We do not know this one.’

He let out a hearty laugh. George and Jacquie joined in and raised their glasses in honour of the depreciating witticism.

Jacquie gave George a piece of paper and playfully slapped his hand as he took it. ‘A woman’s handbag contains her world, Hunter. The most powerful woman in the world was famous for her handbags. Medium height, blonde. Her husband used to love a dram or three.’

‘I stand admonished. She was a hard act to follow, depending on your politics.’

‘I know who you mean Jacquie,’ remarked Alexei, ‘A good enemy she was. Everyone in Russia admired her. We respect great courage in Russia. We might not like them but we respect them.’

George interrupted. ‘Sorry to break this up. Talk amongst yourselves while I call Duncan.’

George told Duncan about the next mornings movements and what they expected. ‘Be ready at six thirty, the two of you, prompt,’

‘What about Tanya, is she going to be alright?’

‘I’ve spoken to the Embassy, Duncan, and they’re doing what they can to give her an easy passage, that is all I know. Just be ready. We’ll know more at the airport. Goodnight.’

When he had finished Jacquie stood up. ‘Excuse me, I have to powder my nose.’

The men stood while she left the table and in the same vane Jacquie dipped in a slight curtsey. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’

When she was out of earshot Alexei leaned over the table. ‘George, look after that one, she loves you. Her eyes follow you everywhere.’

‘Don’t talk drivel man she has a fella at home.’

Alexei tapped the side of his nose. ‘Listen to an old Casanova, George. I tell you. The weather is pretty good for this time of year.’

He had immediately changed the subject as Jacquie returned to the table and all too quickly it was time for a final toast with the complimentary drinks from the management. They made their farewells with the promise they would get together in the future.

Jacquie volunteered to drive and as she was about to pull away, Alexei leaned in. ‘Remember what I said, George. Goodnight.’ He tapped his nose again to emphasize his meaning.

Jacquie let the clutch in and turned to George ‘What was all that about?’

‘Ignore it, Jacquie, he’s had too much to drink,’ was all George could think of to hide his discomfort and the pleasure at what Alexei had imparted to him.

During the drive back to the hotel George rang Brian to inform him of their movements and to check on the security of his sisters house where Duncan’s mum was being hidden.

‘Brian, as soon as possible I want to move her to North Wales. The place in Cilcain I used before. Williams can stay with her. He’ll be able to introduce his young lady to his Mum. It’ll be like a holiday for them. Auntie Delphine will spoil them. Arrange a travel warrant for them and the police can move Mum. I’ll speak to Del in the morning.’

‘Consider it done. Is the address still the same after five years? I’m working off the file here seeing as you’re jaunting around the Med with the secretary.’

‘Nothing’s changed, Brian, only you looking older. Did I see a few grey hairs. I’ll lend you some of mine.’

‘No deal, pal. I don’t want any of your self-tinted fallout. I prefer mine real.’

George laughed. ‘Ha, ha, get off the line you old faggot, you’re only jealous.’

George’s hair colour was a standing joke. Brian knew it was naturally dark but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him.

—

Headlines in the Cyprus Mail a week later.

Three people, two Russian businessmen and a woman were found murdered yesterday at a house in the Coastal region of Pegia, Pafos. Police were alerted by the lawyer of the men when they did not turn up for a scheduled meeting. The woman is believed to have been an interpreter.

—

Paul Samuels was better than his word. They travelled ‘First Class’ with BA and a temporary asylum visa for Tanya meant she could stay while her case was investigated. The ‘Diplomatic’ parcel travelled with the pilot. Samuel’s parting words to George as they were going through the gate were. ‘I don’t know who you work for. I’ve never had so many doors open so quickly. One phone call to London and the Genie jumped. It was like Christmas shopping. What’s your Department?’

‘I can’t tell you, son,’ George said solemnly, ‘Nice meeting you, young man. Enjoy Cyprus.’

 ***

CHAPTER 22

The flight home was uneventful and when they collected their baggage an airport policeman approached.

‘Mr Hunter?’

‘I am he.’ answered George.

‘Your Diplomatic bag, sir.’

‘Thank you, sergeant, prompt service indeed.’

‘We aim to please, sir.’

He withdrew and George went to look for his car. Half an hour later he pulled up to the front of the airport building to pick up the others.

Jacquie raised an eyebrow. ‘What took so long, Hunter?’

‘No money. No English money that is, and to top that there was excess parking to pay. I sure hope the budget runs to that.’

A swift drive up the M3 saw them arrive in the office at four o’clock where Brian welcomed them.

‘Good afternoon travellers. Williams! Here’s a travel warrant for you and your young lady and a little cash for expenses. You will travel by the overnight train to Chester where you’re expected. Your mother is already there. Stay there, and I mean stay. Your lives may be at risk. The trail is broken for now but we cannot be lax. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir, and thank you.’ He turned to George and Jacquie. ‘And thank you for all you did.’

He ushered Tanya out of the room and down the corridor and ignored the medium built unshaven man who squeezed past them.

When they had left Brian continued speaking to George and Jacquie. ‘I’ve had a word with Russian Interpol. It would appear we inadvertently interrupted their investigation. A tentacle has been severed but it will grow again because the lead players are still intact. It’s approaching time for Cyprus to join the EU and we may have curtailed money laundering. The trade in human cargo, however, especially women for the sex trade will carry on as will the drugs. It is not our problem. Yet! That is up to the police and Customs. Meanwhile, we have to look after Mr Williams and family who are our problem. Have you any ideas you two, because I haven’t. This is normally down to the police. On that note I think we can go home for the night. George, I have been instructed to take you back with me. Pat says you’ve been missing too long. Get your bags and make sure there’s nothing showing in your car when you lock it. I’ll be with you shortly.’

‘Brian, I can’t. My stuff’s a mess. It’s been in a suitcase for too long.’

‘Enough. If I didn’t take you home I’ll be sleeping in the garage and having just bought an expensive bed there is no way that I’m going to miss a night in it, besides, Patricia is preparing your favourite Cornish pasties?’

‘Okay, you’ve got me, just don’t expect black tie,’ George replied.

 ‘Go get your bags! Jacquie! We’ll see you in the morning around tennish.’

She gave him a mock salute. ‘Right on, sir, boss. Goodnight, George.’

With a rueful glance in George’s direction she left, feeling a little ambivalent about her emotions.

—

The journey from London to Horley didn’t take long considering the time of day but it didn’t change George’s attitude towards life in the Home Counties. It was not for him.

The reception from Patricia Warren when they met at the station was well worth the trip. As tall as Brian, she was a natural honey blonde with Monroesque curves. The smile and the hug she gave George told him she saw beyond the travel weary clothes and was overjoyed to meet an old friend.

‘George Turner! I swear not a day older. You’re a sight for sore eyes and look at this, no grey hair yet.’ Her soft Devonian burr George had always found attractive and he smiled when she grabbed an arm and swept him towards the car.

Brian coughed. ‘Ahem! Remember me?’

‘Is he with you, George?’ Patricia said teasingly.

‘Yep, met him in town,’ said George. ‘He’s been carrying my bags for me. Shall we give him dinner?’

‘I’ve made enough for three. Okay, let’s. Do come along, Brian, and put George’s bags in the boot. George you sit in the front, I want to know what you’ve been up to these past five years.’

A lesser man would have been jealous but Brian knew of the relationship between these two from the early days when they first served together. They had been married six months when George helped in a man’s way to tidy up the married quarters they were moving into and the pair of them had ‘clicked.’

After that they had gone around as a threesome and as Brian couldn’t dance, George danced for the two of them. He would be the first person to admit that he fancied Patricia and flirted with her outrageously but never crossed the line. A good friendship is worth more than that.

It was a relationship frowned on by the military establishment and Mess do’s aside they moved in circles outside the establishment when they could. Things became easier when they both transferred to the Special Services.

They piled into Patricia’s SAAB Convertible for the short drive to the farmhouse at Burscough and as they turned into the drive George commented, ‘I always thought you pair would go back to Devon, but you’re still here?’

‘Yes, George, the children love the place and while Brian’s working in London and Louise is at Oxford it’s so handy. Besides, I’ve been here so long now it’s home. The Manor house next door has been renovated and the new owners rent the farmland off us. I think he’s a pop star or something. We don’t see them often. Brian, be a love and put the car away, please. I’ll show this tramp his room. A Scotch before dinner either of you?’

‘Yes, please!’

Dinner was a three course affair of George’s favourites. Home made tomato soup followed by traditional Cornish fayre—Pasties—washed down with an Australian Shiraz. To finish there was blackcurrant cheesecake with clotted cream.

George pushed his chair back. ‘Pat, that was wonderful, you haven’t lost your touch. Marry me!’

‘Thank you, George, but, no. I’ve only just got him trained. Shall we retire to the lounge for coffee?’

The three of them went through to the next room and they were about to be seated when Brian excused himself leaving Pat to entertain their guest.

‘George, you appeared to be a little pre-occupied during dinner. Something or someone on your mind?’

‘You always could see through me, Pat. Yes there is. I think I’m in love with a woman many years my junior. I have never felt like this before, not even with Anna. Whenever she’s near me I go weak at the knees. I sound like some lovesick kid. Just the smell of her does things to me. From the minute I first saw her—Wow! I’m being silly.’

‘George, you’re not the first man to fall in love with Jacquie. We are talking about Jacquie?’

George nodded and went silent when Brian returned. For the rest of the evening the conversation flowed around his adventures in Cyprus.

—

Jacquie’s fiancée, David, arrived at seven thirty and left the taxi on hold while he went up to collect her. They kissed in the hallway when she opened the door. It was not the lingering kiss of lovers but the perfunctory act between friends. With a puzzled look on his face he helped her on with her wrap and escorted her to the cab for the short drive to their favourite restaurant, a cosy family run Italian hideaway.

They were greeted by Leonardo the owner and he treated Jacquie like one of the family and being a typical Italian male he flirted with her outrageously.

‘Mama Mia, Where have you been, I have missed you. This old man has been heart broken, I thought there was another.’

‘Another restaurant you mean, Papa,’ she teased as she kissed him on top of his balding head, ‘Could I find better pasta anywhere else?’

‘Not in the whole of Europe, Come ,come, sit down.’ He fussed about them making sure everything was just right for his favourite lady while David listened bemused at this conversation in Italian.

Dinner passed almost in silence interrupted only by the occasional comment like two strangers passing the time of day. Over coffee David leaned forward and took Jacquie’s hand.

‘Jacquie, this evening is not the cheerful occasion I expected it to be. There’s something wrong. Is it something I said?’

‘David, it’s nothing you said or did. I’m preoccupied with my job at the moment and it is disturbing the way it’s turning out. I have discovered I want to follow this job above all else and, David, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish I know, but I no longer want our relationship to continue.’

‘Jacquie, I… I… What are you doing? You can’t throw eighteen months away for a job. I was going to ask you tonight if would marry me. I don’t like you getting involved in these dangerous games.’

‘David, you’re the nicest person but it’s in my blood and I don’t want the heartache to land on anyone if anything should happen to me. This last couple of weeks has shown me what I really want. I’ve had a lovely time with you, David, and I’m dreadfully sorry.’ She pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped away a tear. ‘Take me home, David.’

When David called for the bill Leonardo hurried over. ‘What is it my bambina, you no like my food tonight that you leave so early.’

Jacquie stood, gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Leonardo it is nothing but a chill I picked up while abroad. I’ll soon be better.’

He grabbed David’s arm, ‘Take her home and wrap her up. You come back soon.’

On the doorstep of her apartment Jacquie kissed him. ‘Goodbye David, you gave me a wonderful time. Mind how you go and look after yourself.’

She turned slowly away and closed the door without looking back.

Fitful sleep came eventually but it wasn’t David she was thinking of when she finally drifted off.

—

By fate or circumstance Jacquie and George met in the corridor the following morning. He came out of the washroom as Jacquie arrived at the top of the stairs.

They looked at each other momentarily before walking toward each other. Their smiles became broader as they got nearer. They stopped face to face.

George took Jacquie’s hands in his and said, ‘I’ve missed you, lass. Last night was a little bit empty. I’ve got used to having you around. Aw, heck, I feel silly. How did we do it when we were young? Am I being silly? Tell this old man to take a running jump if you like.’

The sincerity in his voice and the humble way the words were spoken was a side of George she had never seen. With a lump in her throat she replied, ‘George! You’re not being silly and you’re not an old man. It will please you to know that this female is also stuck for words.’

With the broadest of smiles he chipped in, ‘There’s always time for a first.’

She laughed and still holding hands she replied, ‘Hunter! I missed you like hell last night. I had a terrible time and I was beastly to David.’

George’s face dropped. ‘I forgot about him.’

‘I finished our relationship, George. It was going cold anyway. Circumstances just forced the issue.’

‘Jacquie! Can I see more of you besides work?’

‘Hunter, I would have been very upset if you hadn’t asked. Besides you need someone to look after you. How do you manage to take a bath without getting into trouble?’

He was about to answer when Brian’s voice came from the office door. ‘Are you two coming to work today or are you going to stay out there like star crossed lovers?’

They giggled like a couple of teenagers caught out on their first date. George squeezed Jacquie’s hands, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek and whispered, ‘I take showers.’

She punched him on the shoulder and they were both laughing when they entered the office. Brian noticed that Jacquie was flushed and George had a twinkle in his eye and guessed the relationship had become a more personal one but knowing the two of them he was sure it wouldn’t affect operations in the field.

‘Morning, Jacquie.’ Brian said cheerfully, ‘are you feeling refreshed?’

‘Yes, I really am, never felt better.’

‘I could fall in love with her myself,’ he thought, before he got down to the serious business. ‘While you two have been swanning around this morning I’ve been talking to a Chief Inspector of the Serious Crime Squad. There is unfortunately not a lot we can do. They’re putting a watch on all ports of entry but there are so many ways of entering the country these days it will be difficult. However, he had a couple of suggestions. We’ve done the right thing by putting Mum Williams in a safe house but we should do something to draw the Russki’s out. He suggested we send Williams back home under watch.’

He picked a H & K automatic from the top draw and placed it on his desk. ‘For that reason I’m putting Duncan on the staff and George, you can take this gun and give it to him. I’ve issued the same model as yours plus his carrying licence and ID. I’ll inform him today and he can take up residence at home tomorrow. Jacquie! You carry on as George’s bodyguard, as if I could stop you. You both will join Duncan but until then your time’s your own. Best of luck. Oh! By the way. Russian Interpol have been on and say thanks for your assistance. They’ll be working from their end at the same time.’

‘Thanks, Brian,’ said Jacquie, ‘I need to extend my wardrobe so we’ll be on our way. Duncan’s lady friend will stay put I take it?’

‘Yes, for the time being.’

George scooped up Duncan’s weapon and passes, turned and followed Jacquie out of the room.

‘Right lass, coffee at your place and then up North.’

‘George, can we call home for a couple of hours on the way up. I haven’t seen my family for a long time.’

‘You heard the man, time’s our own. You lead and I’ll follow to your place. We’ll leave your car there and use mine from then on.’

—

Jacquie wasted little time packing the extras and the journey to the village of Stewartby just outside Bedford took a little over an hour. They drove through the village and turned into a large brickworks and parked in the main office car park.

‘Come on, Hunter, meet the family. The male side anyway.’

She took him by the hand and they walked into the office block to a cheery welcome from the Receptionist. ‘Good morning Miss Jacquie. Long time no see?’

‘Morning, Susie. Business.’

George was puzzled. ‘She said her Dad was a brickie. Why are we going through the office chatting to the staff.’

Keeping a firm hold of his hand she led him up the stairs and along a corridor greeting people as they went until they came to an imposing door at the end with initials MD in gold lettering on it. They entered the outer office and were greeted by Jenny, the secretary.

‘Morning Jacquie, long time no see.’

‘Morning, Jenny, meet George, you may be seeing a lot of him.’ She nodded towards the inner office. ‘Is he free?’

‘Yes, go right in.’

‘Come on, George, let’s meet Dad.’

‘Hey! You said your Dad was a brickie, not the owner of the bloody brick works. I don’t think I’m ready for this.’

‘You’ll be alright. He likes talking to the common man so you’ll do just fine.’ The laughter in her voice took the sting out of the barb. ‘Besides, I’m over eighteen and can do what I like now.’

On that note she dragged him through the connecting door while mimicking her Mother’s Irish accent. ‘Hello Da. How are you this fine morning,’

A grey haired heavily built man with a Mediterranean complexion looked up from his desk of paperwork.

‘Bon giorno, la mia bambina. Who is this?’

‘Papa, meet George. You’ll be seeing a lot of him. George meet Papa.’

They shook hands each sizing the other up.

Antonio Riccardi noted the handgrip and the man behind it. ‘She’s got herself a real man at last,’ was his assessment. He kept hold of George’s hand a little longer than necessary. ‘Welcome, George, I hope you’re going to settle her down now instead of all this secret stuff. Can you two stay for dinner tonight?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re currently in the middle of an investigation. As soon as it’s over I promise I’ll bring her home and take up your offer.’

‘Don’t apologise. Business is business no matter what it is.’ He spoke in turn to Jacquie. ‘What have you been doing during your absence?’

They passed a pleasant half an hour before Antonio chased them off and on the way out Jacquie told her father they were going to visit Mum before travelling North.

It was a short drive to Biddenham and George swung the car up the drive of a country house standing in its own grounds where the greeting as before was warm and friendly. Jacquie’s Mum, Brigid also expressed the desire to see her daughter settle down and after a huge lunch and a couple of hours social chit-chat they said their goodbyes and made their way northwest back to George’s place.

—

‘Jacquie, get your stuff in and I’ll prepare dinner.’

‘Ooh… No, Hunter. Our first night is not going to be in your old bed. We’re booking into a hotel.’

George, in his naivety he had imagined cosy separate rooms. He blushed and covered his tracks quickly. ‘I’m sorry Jacquie. I wasn’t thinking. This courting thing’s tricky.’

‘You’re darned right and while you’re packing, think of somewhere to sleep tonight.’

George quickly refreshed his wardrobe and having made arrangements with Mrs Jones to look after the cat he threw his stuff alongside Jacquie’s.

Ignoring the malevolent stare of Suki as he backed down the drive he drove them to an olde worlde hotel in the village of Pulford.

 ***

CHAPTER 23

 The moment they stepped into the room the atmosphere was electric. They circled around putting stuff in drawers, clothes in the wardrobe and toiletries in the bathroom.

It was a sensual ballet each one waiting for the other. They met at the side of the bed. Neither made a move to let the other past. Time stood still until they were inexorably drawn together.

The first kiss was long and passionate. Their hands felt for each other and gradually their ardour increased. Mutual undressing began with first a shirt followed by a blouse, slacks fell to the floor around their ankles. Frivolous underwear and his vest were no obstacle. With their bodies touching they stood in silence momentarily before they both began to giggle nervously.

George took the initiative and guided her gently backwards to the bed until the back of her legs touched. As she began to fall he held her and gently lowered her.

Smiling down at her he said in a whisper. ‘Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’ He rolled away and removed his socks.

Leaning over her on one elbow he traced the contours of her body. His fingers danced like wind blown feathers on her skin.

Weaving patterns up her inner thigh and lightly brushing the hairs as he crossed the bridge he felt her body stiffen and shiver awakened by tingling nerve ends before he caressed the inside of her other thigh and tantalisingly back again.

He kissed her as he teased and her lips responded. She put an arm behind his head to fondle the hair on his neck while his fingers explored her. She sighed and her body began to stir in expectation.

With the tip of his tongue he lightly licked around her ear and down her neck before he transferred his teasing to her breasts. Jacquie’s breathing came in tiny gasps and her body began to undulate as her brain responded to the sensual massage.

George knelt between her knees and began to massage her slavishly with his tongue. Her reaction was instantaneous. She groaned, her arm came across her face and her hips thrust upwards. His erotic massage became urgent and her body jerked as an exotic maelstrom sucked her into the eye of a sexual tornado and she cried out with pleasure followed by a low sensual moan.

George let the storm subside before he lowered himself towards her. She pulled him down impatiently and guided him into her. He played with her. Teasing little thrusts followed by long slow ones made her mew with pleasure. She hugged him to her and kissed him hard as his volcano erupted.

‘Aah…!’ George screamed and grabbed for the back of his leg. ‘Bloody cramp, Aaah…’

She wriggled out from under him, stood up, and rolled George onto his back. Grabbing his toes she pushed them upwards towards his knee and with her other hand she pulled down on his heel until the tension in his leg began to ease.

The pair of them collapsed in a naked heap helpless with laughter only interrupted when Jacquie enquired, ‘Hunter, now we’ve consummated our partnership could you tell me where the Barrington comes from?’

He lay silent for a moment and then made a momentous decision. ‘Why not,’ he said. ‘The story goes I was born in wedlock but consummated out of wedlock. My father volunteered to stay behind at Dunkirk and help the wounded and my mother had an affair while he was a prisoner of war. Dad adopted me when he came home in ‘45. Barrington is surname of my biological father. I’ve never told anyone before.’

She pulled him to her and they slept until it was time for dinner.

—

Jacquie, still in her underwear, took more time than usual with her make-up and urged George to wait in the bar. ‘I’ll join you in a few minutes but I’ve got a few things to do. Order a white wine for me will you.’

He kissed her on the shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She gave him a huge smile through the mirror and shooed him away.

George ordered a pint and Jacquie’s wine and began perusing the other occupants of the room while he glossed over the day’s events. Deep in his thoughts the barman interrupted him. ‘Excuse me, sir. Is this your lady coming down the stairs?’

He turned to look and let out a long, ‘Woow… Oh, sorry, yes it is.’

‘Very nice too, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘I don’t mind but nice is not a word I would use. Stunning, maybe.’

Jacquie made the most of her entrance. It was meant to tantalize and it did. She wore tailored black leather trousers over stiletto heeled sandals. A wide patent leather belt accentuated her waist. Her low cut blouse with a frill collar allowed her birth mole to show above her cleavage and the outfit was topped by her Gucci jacket.

She walked slowly up to George, enjoying the stir she was creating. In her high heels she stood eye to eye. ‘You said you liked a bit of leather, will I do?’

He reached around and grasped a leather clad buttock and pulled her towards him. He kissed her and whispered. ‘Can we skip dinner?’

‘Behave yourself, Hunter, this girl’s starving. Besides you couldn’t manage it.’

He withdrew his hand and gave her a playful slap. ‘We’ll see about that later. Meanwhile, let’s eat.’

Trying to hide his rising interest he allowed her to go first and admired the leather-cased symmetry of her figure. He pinched himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

After a relaxed and intimate dinner and a few drinks later they retired to their room a little after ten.

—

As the door closed behind them, she took his hand and led him further into the room and stopped in front of the long winged dressing table mirror where she could watch him from all angles.

She nibbled his ear and whispered, ‘Undress me.’

They fondled and kissed. Disrobing had become an intimate part of their foreplay.

He stood behind her and with shaking fingers tentatively slid her jacket off before, with his arms around her, he undid her blouse buttons becoming bolder with each one. He unclipped her bra, paused and kissed the perfect skin between her shoulder blades and caressed her backbone with his tongue. He felt her shiver as the sensation travelled down her spine and he whispered, ‘I’ve been controlling myself all night, you tease.’

She shimmied and let her blouse and bra fall to the floor. Turning quickly, she grabbed his jacket and almost tore it from his shoulders and then frantically pulled off his tie and shirt.

The mutual undressing continued and when they stood naked he dropped to his knees and kissed her in that most feminine place. His tongue flicked and massaged the tiny lobe that led to heaven while his hands teased, searched and fondled.

Her breath came in short gasps and she pushed her hips forward to meet him and pulled his head into her as passion increased. Her stomach muscles tensed and throwing her head back she dug her fingers into his shoulders and cried out as an intense sexual tsunami overwhelmed her.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed where their first coupling was wild, his lovemaking the rampant urgings of a Stag in heat intent on propagating his harem.

Twice, their ardour was uninhibited before the exhaustion of their lust made them rest.

Later, as they lay curled together like spoons in a cutlery box she felt him rising again and she took control by climbing above him. Her lovemaking was slow and deliberate and she held him at his peak and showed him where to touch her so that their eruption was simultaneous and intense.

Passion spent, he kissed her tenderly on the back of the neck and whispered, ‘I love you,’ before they slept, entwined in a passionate Gordian knot.

 ***

CHAPTER 24

They delayed long enough for a leisurely breakfast before they checked out and returned to George’s place to change into more suitable clothes. He left some treats for Suki, did a swift check on the business, threw a packet of Yorkshire Tea into his bag and when all was ready they set off for Liverpool. A quick phone call assured them that Duncan was on his way and they arranged to meet at the Red Lion.

They arrived there just after one o’clock and Duncan turned up soon after with a surprise in tow. Joan, his Mum.

‘Duncan,’ George began, ‘Brian’s instructions were quite clear and I quote…’

Joan butted in. ‘Now don’t you be scolding him, it’s my fault. Your Auntie’s got a lovely place there but it’s too quiet. Nice for a holiday but now I’m going home. Anyway, she’s not your Auntie is she, George?’

George was a little bit taken aback. He paused and took a quick look at Jacquie before replying. ‘No, she isn’t. We’re very good friends and have been since we were sixteen. More like brother and sister than girl and boy friend. I was very naive in those days and we have remained close ever since.’

‘I knew it. I could tell by the way she talked about you. She loved you, did you know that?’

‘I found out many years later, Joan, but by then we had gone our separate ways.’ He felt a little uncomfortable and changed the subject tactfully. ‘Joan, now you’re going to be at home we must make it look natural. From now on if ever you go anywhere, to the shops, friends or just for a walk, you must go with one of us. Do you understand?’

‘Ooh…Yes, it sounds like fun. I’ve never had so much excitement since I was little but where are we all going to live?’

George admired her stoic attitude to life. ‘That’s something we’re going to have to look at, Joan, because if they see too many of us around it will scare them off. Has anyone any ideas?’

Jacquie stepped in quickly. ‘There’s a spare room and now that we’re an item, George, could we share a room?’

Joan looked from one to the other. ‘Unless you two are at least engaged you’re not sleeping together under my roof.’

‘Joan, that’s what I meant,’ replied Jacquie quickly. ‘We’re engaged now.’

George spluttered into his beer.

Duncan interrupted. ‘Mam, these two have been living together for yonks.’

‘That’s alright then, but I warn you it’s terribly untidy and the mattress has seen better days. I only have sheets and blankets. I don’t keep spare duvets ’cos I have no call for them.’

George put his empty glass on the table. ‘That’s settled, then. All that needs to be done now is to sort out a shift rota. Anyone for another drink? Duncan, while I remember, here’s your ID and carrying permit. I have a package for you in the car. Welcome to the club.’

‘Thanks,’ George, ‘I hope I can live up to it.’

‘You will lad. The uniform’s different but when the flak starts it hurts just the same. From now on you have to be alert. You watch everybody and everything. You learn body language, people’s habits and a face that’s out of place. Bone up on your self-defence and only use your weapon as a last resort. If there are civilians around in the line of fire you hold back. No heroics, savvy?’

‘I read you and I would like to make this an occupation so you have a stalker from now on, or maybe Jacquie, she’s better looking than you.’

George’s right hand moved quickly and he grabbed Duncan by the collar and pulled him forward enough to put him off balance.

‘Word in your ear, matey. The lady is strictly off limits and if you want to remain friends, remember it.’

‘Ooh… You can’t wind me up,’ Duncan uttered jokingly, but deep down he had a feeling that if he took a wrong breath it may be his last.

George let him go and straightened Duncan’s jacket. ‘Sorry, Dunc’ lad. Rush of blood.’

‘Don’t get a rush too often, Commander. It’s not good at your age.’

George laughed, ‘Don’t push your luck.’

Jacquie quickly brought them to their senses. ‘When you two have finished messing around do you think we could get back to the business in hand.’

‘You’re right lass, what are you drinking?’ George disappeared towards the bar.

Duncan leaned forward and said in a low voice to Jacquie. ‘He’s a bit sensitive?’

Jacquie replied wistfully, her mind thinking of the previous night. ‘Yes he is, very. It’s rather odd, he doesn’t look it, does he?’

Bemused by the reply, Duncan left it at that.

They finished their lunch and drinks before George took charge again.

‘Duncan, you and Mum catch a taxi home and make yourself as obvious as possible. Meanwhile, Jacquie and I will hang around a little longer. Leave the back door open. One slight problem, Duncan. Where can I park the car? It has to be available.’

‘No problem, Commander. I’ll fix it. Leave it here for now, we’ll pick it up later. Make sure nothing is visible and lock it. Steering wheel clamp if you have one. One thing in your favour, it’s a SAAB. No one nicks them. Wrong image.’

‘Thanks, now I have the wrong image,’ retorted George. ‘I’ll come with you to the taxi, you can pick up your toolkit. We’ll follow in about an hour. Don’t forget, make sure the street knows you’re there.’

‘I can go one better than that. I have some good mates and relatives living around here. They’ll let me know if any strangers move into the area.’

Duncan left with Joan and George returned to Jacquie to mull over a course of action. ‘What do we do now, Jacquie? That’s a spanner we could do without.’

‘Maybe not, George. They’re more likely to go after her than him to put more leverage on him. It’ll draw them out of the woodwork. Let her go shopping and talking to her friends, take a bus to town, the works. I think she might be a help rather than a hindrance.’

‘Jacquie, my love, I think you might be right. Meanwhile, we have to let the local public see us. We’ll walk home from here.’

‘Hunter, how far is it?’

‘About a mile or so. Half an hour steady stroll should see us there. Come on, no time to waste.’

They paid up and set off in the direction of Aigburth. George unconsciously took Jacquie’s hand and she didn’t resist. For three quarters of an hour they walked like lovers ignoring all around them and forgetting the reason they were there. At the main road they became alert once more as they strolled up and down outside the local shops. George bought a newspaper and was quick to notice there had been a jackpot winning ticket bought there and chatted to the news vendor about chances on the lottery before wandering next door into the off-licence for a four pack.

They purposely stood on the pavement chatting to raise their profile before they wandered off in the direction of the Church. They crossed the end of Ermine Road and continued before turning left two streets later.

The Victorian terraced housing layout assisted them and they turned left behind the first house and into the back street. The backstreets were in the shape of a letter T and they were able to double cross back into the previous street and continue into the backstreet the other side which in turn led into the one behind Ermine.

They reached Joan’s house and breathed a sigh of relief when they found the back gate open. They ducked quickly inside and within moments George was asking for a cup of tea and a biscuit.

—

Duncan arranged with the neighbours to leave a space for ‘his’ new car and took advantage of this to ferry Joan around and she in turn went to the shops and travelled up to the City Centre more times than she could remember. George and Jacquie, when not watching Joan, made themselves part of the community but continued to use the back door.

Over the next ten days tensions eased and they were noticeably less apprehensive and inadvertently lowered their guard. It came as an unexpected surprise when, as George and Jacquie left the local pub a strong Irish voice shouted, ‘It’s that double crossing bitch Siobhan Milligan. I knew it was her. Our Tim saw her a couple of weeks ago in Cyprus and called me. Broke his bloody arm she did. She’s one of them, the bloody traitor. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her swanning around here this last week. Let’s get the two-timing bitch!’

George and Jacquie looked back and saw three men some fifty metres behind pulling hand guns from their jackets and breaking into a run.

‘Friends of yours, Jacquie? They’re not in a good mood, let’s go.’ They set off in a frantic sprint with heavy footsteps close behind. ‘Are you tooled up Jacquie?’

‘Yes, but now’s not the time,’ she replied.

They were both fit and put extra distance between themselves and their pursuers. Running across the end of Ermine Road they did a left into the next street and immediately dodged into the backstreet but this time they did a right into the entry proper instead of going across to the one at the back of Joan’s house. Their intention was to exit at the far end and their quick turn into the entry hid them momentarily and slowed their followers. George and Jacquie had never reconnoitred down this one and were nearing the other end when their way was blocked by a high wall.

‘Shit,’ uttered George. ‘Nothing for it, Jacquie, we’re going to have to jump it. You first.’

He put his back to the wall and cupped his hands at knee level. Jacquie ran back ten paces, looped the strap of her bag over her head and ran towards him. This was routine training. She placed one foot into George’s hands and he heaved her upwards and she reached the top of the wall without difficulty and pulled herself up into a sitting position. She turned in time to see George run back twenty yards.

‘What’s he doing,’ she said to herself before she realised he was preparing to run over the wall. She had seen a PTI do it in training, but he was young and George was fifty.

She grappled with her bag and pulled out her gun, cocked it. Their pursuers were only twenty metres from George when one of them fired a hurried shot at Jacquie and missed.

George heard the shot, muttered a curse and ran towards the wall. Jacquie aimed high and fired two shots. They pulled up undecided, giving George the breathing space he required and he needed no encouragement. Trying hard to remember the technique, a few feet from the wall, he jumped like a hurdler one foot in front as high as it would go. His next foot pushed him a little higher and he stretched upward and grasped the top of the wall with his finger tips. A quick heave to get his palms on the top, then a push to get his elbows on.

Jacquie grabbed him by the collar and heaved as hard as she could, almost too hard. He was propelled forward and landed on his hips. To stop him going completely over he stretched a hand down the wall to stop his momentum and Jacquie grabbed his trousers. He swung a leg up, followed by the other into a sitting position, looked down, and then laughed.

Five feet below them on the other side was a pigeon loft. The pair of them slid down and sat on the roof trying to keep their breathing quiet and listening.

‘Fuck me! How did he do that?’

‘What now? I canna get over that,’ said another.

‘Don’t stand around bleating. We’ll run around and catch up with them at the other end.’

‘Naa! Give up. She’s living local, put the word out. The bitch won’t get far. We’ll make sure she doesn’t stitch anyone else up. She was tooled up so that means she’s still working. I’ll get in touch with Pat back home and he’ll get someone inside to check records and then we’ll have her.’

George and Jacquie heard this and made notes while listening to the Police sirens in the distance.

‘Here comes the cavalry,’ he said quietly, ‘and who’s this Pat?’

‘That’ll be Patrick O’Hearne. One of those characters was Sean O’Reilly, the brother of the guy in Cyprus. They’re obviously still active but lying low over here.’ She changed the subject. ‘I’m proud of the way you got over the wall, George.’ She leaned across and gave him a peck on the cheek.

‘Don’t be soppy, woman. It was fear. I haven’t done that since training. We’ll have to pass this information to Brian. I think there might be a few young bucks not falling into line with the leadership and this search the records thing sounds a bit dodgy.’

Unable to hear a sound from the other side of the wall they eased themselves up and took a peek. The alley was empty.

George went first. He lowered himself down until hanging by his hands and with a quick push off with his feet landed softly parachute style. He made a fuss of catching Jacquie although there was no need but it was another excuse to hold her. She didn’t mind the hug that followed and they walked down the entry holding hands.

At the street end of the lane they were met by a posse. ‘Armed Police! Stop there and stand apart!’

The commands were said in a manner which implied—‘Do as you’re told’—and they complied.

‘Are you armed?’

George shouted back. ‘Yes.’

‘Throw down your weapons. Now! Slowly.’

George gingerly pulled his gun from its holster under his right arm and threw it forward a couple of yards. Jacquie chucked her bag after it.

‘Walk towards us and keep your hands in view.’

They advanced together until told to stop. An Officer approached them with his Heckler and Koch at the ready. ‘Have you any ID?’

‘It’s in my inside pocket,’ replied George.

‘Mine’s in my bag,’ Jacquie answered.

‘Show me yours, sir.’

He took the ID and gun permit from George’s outstretched hand and gave it to his back-up. ‘Remain there while we check it out.’

In the background a policewoman rummaged through Jacquie’s bag, removed the gun, her ID and permit to carry and she in turn gave them to an Inspector.

He perused them and walked across and spoke to the policeman watching over them. ‘Stand down, Sergeant, they’re untouchables.’

The Officer lowered his weapon and stepped back. ‘Sorry, sir, miss. You can’t be too careful.’

The Inspector handed back the confiscated items while another returned Jacquie’s bag.

‘We had some contact from your lot a few weeks ago plus a circular from upstairs to assist in this area. Ermine Road, am I right? Can you tell me what’s going on?’

George answered for them. ‘Inspector, there are three armed men in the vicinity who took shots at us.’ He gave their name and a description. ‘We replied by shooting over their heads.’

Officers were detailed to search the surrounding streets while George gave a quick run-down on what they were doing in Aigburth omitting to tell them that their Irish pursuers had nothing to do with the current case.

Acknowledging George’s explanation the Inspector said, ‘I’ll arrange a patrol to come by at regular intervals. Meanwhile, make your way home and try not to get in any more trouble. I’ve got real crime to look after in this city. Goodnight.’

George was deep in thought as they made their way to Joan’s house. The fact that Jacquie’s cover in Northern Ireland had been blown now made it impossible for her to stay in the vicinity. Although hostilities were over, there were still personal vendettas taking place.

There was nothing for it but to send her away. She wasn’t going to like it but he made his mind up to tell her in the morning although he guessed she already knew her position was untenable.

When they arrived at Joan’s they went straight to bed and a long goodnight kiss.

—

The next morning it was decided that Jacquie would return to George’s place. She would be out of danger but available if required for back-up.

Brian okayed the rental of a car for Jacquie and immediately after breakfast George drove her via the Mersey tunnel over to Sutton. On the way they called in on his sister to introduce Jacquie. He felt sure that Kathleen would approve. It was a typical older sister, younger brother relationship, but they always took their respective suitors for each others’ approval.

The fact that they never heeded each others point of view was neither here nor there. Kathleen, always the Mother hen, would make good company for Jacquie while she was waiting for events to unfold in Liverpool.

Making sure Jacquie was comfortable, and with a long goodbye, he returned to the vigil across the Mersey.

—

He arrived there after lunch and was met by Duncan. ‘Hello, lad, not out shopping?’

‘We’ve only just got back. My cousin phoned to say there are a couple of strangers in the area who have been asking questions and trying to find our address.’

‘Sounds like things might be warming up. Let me organise something to eat before I drop. Where’s Mum?’

Joan wandered in from the hall. ‘Here I am and don’t tell me, you’re starving. You’re always hungry, so’mat wrong with you.’

‘There’s now’t wrong with me but a healthy appetite. How’s about a cold sausage sarny and a cup of tea. What about you, Dunc, lad?’

Duncan, caught off guard shook his head in wonderment. Under his breath he said, ‘You tell him the enemy’s around and all he thinks about is food.’ And aloud. ‘Yes, please, Mum. Can you manage?’

‘Yes. I don’t want you two clodhopping in my kitchen. It’s a pity Jacquie’s not here, she’s nice.’

She disappeared down the hall to her kitchen while George put an arm around Duncan’s shoulder and guided him into the living room.

‘You were saying, Duncan, someone’s trying to find us which probably means they already know our whereabouts and are throwing a smokescreen or it’s the second team. It’s likely to be the first one as the last lot knew where you lived. They’re probably assessing our strength.’ Neither of them heard the click of the front door as George continued, ‘Hopefully they don’t know about me so surprise will be on our side. How many did you say there were?’

The scream followed by car doors slamming and squealing tyres surprised both of them and they jumped up simultaneously.

‘Where’s Mum,’ shouted George. He ran out to the kitchen and quickly noted the fresh sandwiches, mugs laid out and tea made. He opened the fridge door. ‘No bloody milk. Jesus!’ He ran back into the parlour at the same time there was frantic banging on the front door and Duncan answered it.

‘Someone’s grabbed Mum off the street,’ he yelled.

George joined him in the hall. ‘I know. She’s popped out for some milk. Bloody hell! Come on, lad let’s go.’

They dashed out of the front door to the car parked over the street. ‘Ask anyone did they see which way they went, and what car,’ urged George.

Duncan made a quick enquiry of the neighbour who had alerted them before he jumped in beside George.

‘Turn left at the end. It’s a gold Vauxhall Omega we’re after.’

The car was already in gear when the engine started. George flicked the headlights on and with a squeal of tyres they took off in pursuit. Down to the end, a slight lift of the throttle, quick look right. Vehicles were already moving away from the traffic lights when George thrust in front of them and accelerated hard, the turbo power pushing them back into their seats.

George shouted at Duncan over the engine noise. ‘Call the Police, lad. The password is—Auntie Joan. Give them our direction and the details of this vehicle and then describe the Omega. We don’t want to be pulled over by enthusiastic traffic cops.’

He turned the radio on and flicked over to the Police channel. He estimated their quarry had about a minute and a half edge on them. With the more powerful race tuned vehicle they should be gaining on them all the time, ‘Let’s hope the traffic is kind to us,’ he muttered.

Duncan nudged him and said, ‘The phone line is being kept open. They’re sending cars from Speke to meet us.’

‘Okay, lad, keep me informed.’

Their breakneck speed propelled them down Aigburth Road towards Garston and although they had now caught up with the main traffic flow, with the headlights on high beam helped by a couple of air horns, they managed to weave through.

Luck stayed with them as other drivers sensed something was going on and as it was the second vehicle speeding down the road they were more aware of the SAAB than the Omega. The first set of traffic lights had been with them and they were gaining.

The next set were not so obliging and changed to red. ‘Shit,’ George hollered. He stamped on the brakes and with the ABS working overtime he moved into the right-turn lane. As they pulled alongside the leading car George said to Duncan. ‘Flash your ID and give him the thumbs up, he won’t know the difference.’

The other driver responded with a nod. The lights changed and George took a chance on the amber and took off in pursuit once more. He cut across into the outside lane and gave the car it’s head. ‘Thank goodness school’s not out,’ he muttered.

The road changed into the Garston by-pass and the lights at the Dock entrance favoured them. Flashing and waving at a wayward car in the way, the driver gave George the finger. A double blast of the horn George closing on to his bumper. He was about to give them another finger when he noticed Duncan waving his pass and shouting for him to move. He begrudgingly obliged and as they passed Duncan tapped the side of his head with his forefinger.

They sped along the sweeping bend of the by-pass and the lights at the other end were about to change. ‘Keep going, George. These lights have a long delay. There’s nothing coming. Go!’

George eased his foot off and went through the red light cautiously. Accelerating again they passed the old Matchworks.

‘The Gods are smiling on you, George, this road’s usually crowded with buses and container lorries.’

Looking ahead they could see the traffic the other side of the lights at the old Airport entrance was standing still.

‘Take a left, George, through the retail park.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘First right and mind the speed bumps. Take the next right and left at the end and then right up the side of B & Q’s.’

The junction with the main road ahead was still blocked by stationary traffic and George cursed at the delay when a voice on the phone informed Duncan that the Police from Speke had spotted their prey but too late. To avoid capture they had turned up the Airport road.

Duncan weighed up their situation quickly and shouted. ‘Straight over, George, and into the industrial estate opposite, then follow the road to the next roundabout and hang a left.’

George weaved his way through the stationary traffic and followed Duncan’s instructions. As they approached the roundabout a slow moving Airport bus pulled out in front of them. The road left was a single carriageway and hand on horn George swerved around it and cut in front through the narrowing gap narrowly avoiding a car coming in the other direction. George flashed the hazard warning lights a couple of times to try and appease the bus driver who was cursing and waving at them as they sprinted away.

‘Are you sure we’re okay, lad?’

‘This way’s barred to through traffic but it’s quicker, George. We’ll grab some time back.’

‘Shit, look at this burke.’

At the estate exit the Security guard stood in the middle of the road with his hand up. He stood his ground as they got closer and closer.

‘Nothing for it Dunc, we’ve got to go round him.’ Hand on horn he surged on. ‘Wave your card, lad.’

Duncan lowered the window and waved his ID vigorously. The guard sensed something was on but didn’t move until the last moment. George eased his foot on the accelerator and judging the gap before a lorry coming from the right they shot across the roundabout towards the Airport at the same time a Police car tacked on behind them, its sirens blaring and lights flashing.

‘That’ll help,’ said George. ‘They’ll move a bit quicker when they see the cavalry coming.’

They followed the long right hand bend and spotted the Omega ahead doing a left turn into the Speke Housing Estate.

Up to the corner, brake, wheel hard over, gear shift from fourth to second, foot hard down. There was no need for phone contact now as they had a visual on their target and were gaining by the second.

The Omega braked hard and with the back-end sliding did a sharp left that would take them through the centre of the housing estate and up to the main highway once more. George emulated the manoeuvre but without the slide and chased their quarry up the dual carriageway to the traffic lights on Speke Boulevard.

At the lights a Police car blocked the road but the Omega driver smashed into the rear offside wing of it and pushed it out of the way. They fish-tailed over the lights and turned right towards Widnes.

George followed without hindrance as the Police had closed the junction to all traffic and the two cars closely followed by the trailing Police car thundered down the carriageway with only metres separating them. Try as he might George was powerless to overtake as every move brought a corresponding counter move and speeds often reached one-hundred miles per hour as they hurtled towards the Runcorn Bridge.

The Cheshire Police were informed and followed the pursuit from their helicopter, unfortunately, their cars arrived too late to close the bridge but they were able to stop the traffic which allowed the chase to continue unheeded. They crossed the Mersey with George glued to the bumper of the Omega and with tyres squealing they negotiated the 360deg slip-road onto the carriageway leading towards the M56 motorway.

They followed the long sweeping curve, when, at the top of the hill the Omega suddenly swerved off and down a short slip-road and did a violent left turn at the bottom narrowly avoiding a car leaving the chemical factory. The car braked hard and George slipped the SAAB through before the driver recovered. A short spurt and then left at a roundabout and up a slight gradient.

At the top the Omega braked and did a handbrake left turn into a bus depot. With no time to react George slammed the SAAB into the back of it. The Omega fish-tailed first one way and then the other before bouncing off a coach standing on the bus-wash. The car slowed momentarily before turning towards the exit gate at the other end of the yard.

A coach driver unaware of the events taking place reversed his coach off the fence and across the exit. The Omega shuddered to a stop. George slid the SAAB round and stopped twenty metres away. As he wrenched the handbrake on he opened his door and rolled out drawing his gun in one movement. Duncan off-loaded from the other side and leaned on the top of the car with his gun pointing at the Omega.

George advanced slowly with his gun held in the classical two handed position when a voice shouted from the Omega. ‘Stop, or I kill the woman!’

A thick set man wearing sun-glasses stepped from the rear of the car dragging Joan with him. He had a gun pushed into her neck but he was having difficulty holding her as her weight was dragging on his arm. ‘Stay away. Get me a car and I no shoot.’

‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere, Mister,’ George shouted. ‘Lower the lady to the floor, drop the gun and stand clear.’

George took a step forward. The would be kidnapper turned his gun away from Joan and took a snap shot at him.

George staggered, forced back by the power of the 9mm bullet. Clutching his right arm, he cursed, ‘Aargh… You bastard.’

Joan fainted and dropped deadweight which distracted her assailant. With the gun in his left hand George snapped off two shots at the same time as Duncan.

Holes appeared, one in the forehead and one through the right eye and two in the chest of the gangster who was thrown backwards. Duncan ran towards his Mum until a shout from George stopped him. ‘Check out the driver first!’

Duncan swivelled towards the front of the car gun at the ready. He found the driver unconscious with his gun lying on the seat besides him. Leaning in

Duncan scooped it up when a voice behind him said, ‘I’ll take that, son. Ease your weapon and move away from the car.’

Duncan looked up to see an armed policeman. ‘Back off, lad. Go and see to your partner.’

Duncan nodded. ‘Okay.’ He replaced his gun in its holster, turned, and went over to his Mum who was being looked after by a policewoman.

‘How is she, miss?’

‘She’s fine. We’ll keep her comfy here until an ambulance arrives. They sedated her but nothing to worry about.’

‘Thanks, miss. I’ll pop over and see how me mate is.’

Duncan walked over to the SAAB and found George sitting sideways on the driving seat talking into the car phone, ‘Hang on, I’ll just find out for you.’ He took the phone from his ear and called out. ‘Does anyone know where we are?’

‘Wetherhall Farm Road,’ someone shouted.

‘Did you get that,’ George enquired down the phone. ‘Yep, that’s right, midnight blue SAAB, thanks.’ He replaced the phone into its bracket and looked up. ‘Hi, Dunc, lad, how you doing? That was the RAC. They’re coming to pick up Nellie here, she’s loooo kiiingg aa…’ His head drooped forward and he slumped to the ground.

‘Help! Have we got a medic. My mate’s passed out.’

Duncan’s desperate cry brought a response from one of the office staff looking on and she rushed forward. A policeman tried to stop her entering the crime scene but she pushed through yelling her credentials as Company First-Aider as she ran over to George.

She leaned over him and said to Duncan. ‘My name’s Florence. What the trouble?’

Duncan pointed to George. ‘He took a bullet in the right arm, miss. He appeared okay at first and then he passed out.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘George.’

‘Give me a hand lay him down. Oh, Jees! Look at this blood.’ She touched George’s hand.

‘He’s clammy and in shock, probably from loss of blood.’ She shook her head. ‘This is outside my training but we must raise his legs above his heart. Get something under his feet.’

Duncan searched desperately for something to put under George’s legs. There was nothing in the car and he ran over to the crashed coach and grabbed the swab off the front seat. He dashed back and pushed it under George’s feet. ‘Can you do anything, miss?’

‘Not much, but he still has a pulse.’ Emergency sirens wailed as two ambulances turned into the depot. ‘Now we can.’

Florence ran over to the first one. A quick explanation and the Paramedic raced over and quickly gave George the once over before he said, ‘Does anyone know his blood type?’

‘Roll up his sleeve,’ said Duncan.

Quickly following Duncan’s advice the medic uttered. ‘Oh, oh, that’s a bugger.’

Duncan frowned. ‘What’s up?’

‘He’s AB Negative. Let’s get him out of here quick. We’ll call ahead with his blood type, meanwhile, we’ll keep him hydrated with a saline drip.’

In quick time the medics had George wrapped up and loaded into the ambulance and with sirens and lights working overtime they disappeared and Joan and Duncan followed soon after in the next one.

—

A Police Inspector walked around the SAAB. ‘Does anyone know who the occupants of this car were,’ he asked a Police Sergeant.

‘No, sir!

‘Check with the DVLA.’

‘Already done, sir. It’s come back classified. I’ve also checked with Merseyside. They had this very one a few weeks ago.’

‘Who are they and what are they doing on our patch, Sergeant?’

‘No one appears to know, sir. We were just told to give them assistance and now they’ve vanished.’

‘Are you telling me they lead an ethereal life? They don’t exist.’

‘Not in so many words, sir.’

A breakdown lorry arrived to take the SAAB away and the Inspector sensing a breakthrough approached the driver.

‘Excuse me? A quick enquiry for the records. Who do you have this vehicle registered to?’

‘It’s a Mr A.N. Other. Does that help?’

‘Not really,’ replied the Inspector as he turned away.

—

A week after the incident things under Jacquie’s supervision were not as George had planned.

‘George Hunter, if you think for one minute you’re running around organising gardens, you can forget it. I let you out of my sight for a couple of hours and now look at you.’

‘You sound just like me Mam,’ he replied.

‘Worse. Rest and eat to rebuild that’s what the doctor said, and not to use the arm for five weeks. The heaviest work you’re doing, my lad, if you’re a good boy, is raising a pint and walking the cat, if he’ll let you.’

George saw by the look in her eyes she was unrelenting. He smiled, and said, ‘Are you sure I can’t go back to hospital?’

He wandered out to the kitchen and he was gone only a few seconds when he called out. ‘Jacquie, what the hell have you done? I can’t find anything in my own damn kitchen.’

She joined him, put her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss. ‘The kitchen is not the only place that’s been altered either. As I’m going to be living here, Hunter, I took the opportunity to tidy up a bit. While I make a pot of tea you can take a walk and then over a cuppa I’ll bring you up to date. While I’m on the subject, your sister was a great help. In her words, ‘I’ve been dying to do this for a long while,’ and Suki loves the freedom.’

He groaned, ‘Women,’ and looking directly at Suki he added, ‘Traitor,’ before going to inspect the rest of the house.

When Jacquie finally managed to get George settled with a steaming mug of his favourite Yorkshire tea, she said, ‘Hunter, here is the news according to Riccardi. I’ve had several conversations with Brian. One—He advises me that Special Branch have closed down our little Irish group. Two—A certain Moscow detective sent through enough information to stop any more danger to Duncan and his mum. There’s a couple of bottles of vodka waiting in London for you. Three—Duncan is being kept on and do you remember that scruffy long haired man we saw running around the office?’

‘Yes,’

‘That’s Professor Josef Carbury. He saw Duncan with his gypsy looks and decided he was the man to help on their next mission to Afghanistan. His nibs wants you to grow your hair long and a beard and join them. You will also spend time down at the local tanning shop. I’ve told him you’re going nowhere until you’re one hundred percent fit. Then and only then, will we think about it. He has sent books on the Turkic language, culture and Islam for you to study plus this one.’

She picked up an A4 file and threw it to him. ‘It’s the US Special Forces Field Manual SOP 31/37. Pack animals in support of Special Ops. You’re going to do plenty of walking apparently and training starts tomorrow.

‘Hold on Jacquie, why Afghanistan?’

‘You remember a couple of months ago there was some hoo-hah about an English nurse who had been kidnapped from the UN Compound in Kabul?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, our Mr Carbury, who has spent a lifetime living and studying in Afghanistan, has traced her to an area in the Central Highlands in the Northern Helmand Province. Your three-man party is going to get her out.’

‘What about Duncan’s young lady?’

‘Tanya is in from the cold, so to speak. Joan has relented and is letting her stay in the spare room. She has been added to a list of interpreters by the Police.’

‘We never finished our original assignment, Jacquie. Haven’t we got another weapon to find?’

‘Duncan and I went to look for it. The lad has emigrated and Brian drew the line at Australia. Today you take it easy. Bread and milk for tea.’

‘That’s cat food.’

She laughed, ‘Calm down, Hunter. T- bone steak and plenty of greens. Then we go for a little walk around the block and call at the Swan on the way back.’

‘Jacquie, you’ve got permission to stay. What’s Brian doing for a secretary these days.’

‘He’s hired a young girl called Sheila.’

‘That’ll please Pat, no end. She doesn’t trust other women around him or she doesn’t trust him. One or the other.’

‘He’s quite dishy but he’s not the type to stray. All the time I worked with him he never tried it on once.’

‘That must have been a kick in the ego.’

‘It was in the early days before I realized he was one genuine guy.’

‘Stop, yuck! He makes me sick. You’re right though. Don’t ever tell him but when we served together I fancied Pat like nobody’s business but that marriage was made in heaven. Nothing is ever going to split that pair.’

‘Right, Georgie Porgy. It’s time to prepare dinner.’

She got up and went through to the kitchen. George followed and was almost sent tumbling by a cat sensing food. He aimlessly leant against the door jamb watching her.

‘Jacquie!’

‘Yes!’

‘It’s been a fantastic few weeks. Come here.’

She stopped what she was doing and looked him straight in the eye. He put his good arm around her, kissed her, and said, ‘I’m the luckiest guy in the world.’ He then whispered something in her ear.

Jacquie kissed him on the nose. ‘Hunter, I haven’t got the time and you haven’t got the money. Besides, who’s going to make the dinner. Go and play with the cat.’

‘Some chance of that. The turncoat fancies you.’

He gave her buttock a squeeze, kissed her again, turned and wandered back into the lounge.

—

‘You went through the whole gamut of emotions there, George, and you faced your phobia.’

‘It was nothing really. I didn’t have time to think.’

‘The actual job was not stressful except for the trauma at the end but tell me about Jacquie. How did replacing Anna affect you?’

‘It was almost like it was meant to be. The instant we met I had a message. Anna’s face flashed before me and she said, ‘It’s okay, she’s the one for you.’ I’m not superstitious and I don’t believe in ghosts but the feeling was weird to say the least.’

‘Did the cat accept Jacquie?’

‘I’m not sure. Jacquie greeted me at the door and said she’d been sleeping with someone else while I was away. There’s now three people in my marriage.’

Doctor Hayle smiled. ‘George, there was one interesting bit you let slip during that story. Your childhood. Do you ever wonder about your real father. Finding him may help ease your stress.’

George shuffled his feet and looked down pondering his answer before he looked up and said, ‘I let the cat out of the bag, Doc, so I may as well tell you. He was an American Captain in the USAAF. I was told by Mum that he kept us well provided for until he was shot down and killed in the last few months of the War during an air raid over Hamburg.’

‘What are your feelings about that, George?’

‘Ermm… It affected Dad more than me, I think, although I didn’t know him until mid-1945 as a two-year-old. He adopted me but he was always distant and couldn’t wait for me to join the Army at fifteen. I was out of sight out of mind then.’

‘Oh, dear. Your problems are deeper rooted than I thought. Back to the present, you were saying you had little respite from your Cyprus assignment before you were off again. Afghanistan, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Jacquie was excluded. It was just as well as she was pregnant which we didn’t know at the time. As I recall, I think the cat did. He suddenly started making a fuss of her and followed her everywhere.’

‘You can tell me next week, George. I take it I have to book a double sitting?’

‘Yes. Your cruise is looking a better prospect with every session.’

 ***

CHAPTER 25

 September 1st 2001

The three men with straggly hair and unkempt beards sat in a half circle and Jacquie sat behind as an observer. ‘C’—Major Brian Warren, Director of SIS, shuffled some papers around his desk, cleared his throat and looked up.

‘Are they fully up to speed, Josef?’

Professor Josef Carbury, a short stocky man with a limp, nodded. ‘I believe so.’

‘Good. They look wild enough.’

Warren turned away and with a press of a button lowered a map of Afghanistan down from the ceiling.

‘George, immediately after this briefing you have an appointment with the hypnotherapist for a bit of NLP.’

‘What’s that, for God’s sake?’

‘Neuro-Linguistic Programming. You are about to learn Turkic. Duncan has already done his course and is reasonably fluent. Any questions?’

‘Is Turkic the language of the locals in Afghanistan?’

‘No, I’ll let Josef explain.’

Carbury stood and seated himself on the front of Warren’s desk facing outwards.

‘The majority of Afghans speak Pashtun, George, but we are travelling in disguise as pilgrims returning from Makkah and on our way to pay penance at the Blue Mosque in Mezar-i-Shariff. Myself as Hadji Mollah Reshid, you as Sufi Dervish Hadji Bilal and Duncan as Hadji Ishak. This way I hope we will avoid any direct conversations. I myself speak all dialects of Central Asia and as a Mollah and your spiritual leader I will do all the talking and translation. We must never speak or do anything remotely English in company.’

‘Thanks, Prof. Brian, I take it we won’t be going unprotected?’

‘Not completely, George. Josef here is your guide and will do the intelligence work to find the girl’s actual whereabouts. He will be armed for personal protection. You are the heavy mob if it comes down to a rescue. Give me a list of weapons of your choice but the order of the day is minimal collateral damage. You will have a satellite cell-phone to call in air cover if needed but remember, you’re pilgrims, and will only have three mules and three pack animals and you’ll be wearing Muslim garb.’

‘How close is this air cover, Brian?’

‘Not very. The fleet carrier will be stationed in the Gulf of Arabia and your code name is your usual Orion.’

‘That old cherry. We’ll need two short stock AK47’s, three Sig Saur P229R’s with OS Mags, a shed load of thunder-flashes and some semtex.’

‘Anything else?’

‘One question. What does the nurse ride on?’

Carbury held up his hand to speak. ‘On one of the pack animals, George, or she walks as is the custom out there. She will wear the full Burqha and become my wife. In company she will not be allowed to speak until spoken to and there will be no bodily contact, not even a handshake. Also, in company she will have to do the cooking. It is hoped when we get lower down the valley we can call in our pick-up early. I take it you will teach me about this handgun. I normally carry an ancient Colt .45 six-shooter.’

‘No problem, Prof. Brian, is two of us enough?’

‘We think so. Lydia, that’s the nurse, as far as we know is being held for ransom by local tribesmen not the Taliban. You will carry a cache of dollars and local currency which you will use sparingly. You are supposed to be religious beggars but apart from that, George, it’s a fireman’s brief. Your safety first. Are there any questions?’

‘Yes. How do we get in there?’

‘That’s under discussion.’

—

One month later

‘George, Duncan, Josef, say your goodbyes tonight. 9/11 has screwed up our original plan and the Americans have started a build up in the region. Therefore, plans for your deployment have also changed. You fly out from Brize Norton tomorrow morning for Germany. From there the Yanks will transport you to K2. It’s a secret airbase in the theatre of operations and as yet a little primitive.’

Warren took a sip of water before continuing, ‘They are converting it to a base for Special Forces and are only three weeks into the program. 9/11 was a scenario we didn’t envisage and now that the Yanks are involved in Afghanistan it’s going to make your job difficult. Once there you will be introduced to your animals and after training you will be inserted into Helmand by helicopter.’

‘Why does this Yankee operation make our job harder, Brian?’

‘This is secret information. The Green Berets and our own SAS are about to start covert operations in the north of the country against the Taliban in retaliation for 9/11. The Taliban control the south and there is a large concentration around Kandahar. Their fighting forces and the AQ are mainly centred in the north and east and rarely go into the central mountain villages. We expect them to cross into Pakistan if things get too hot. Take good care of the Prof. He’s not a fighting man. That’s your job. Make the most of today and I’ll see you sometime in the future. Jacquie, you can help around the office while George’s away or you can return home which I assume is Cheshire.’

‘We’re staying at my flat tonight and after our goodbyes I’m going up to my Mum’s for a few days. I’ll be in touch after that.’

‘Okay, off you go and ‘Good luck’ boys.’

 ***

CHAPTER 26

 OCTOBER 2001. K2.

 The jarring bump on the runway and the scream of four Pratt & Whitney engines thrown into reverse thrust came as a welcome relief. Seven hours staring at the verbiage on pallets stacked down the centre of the Boeing C17 Globemaster like—This way up—and—Use NO hooks—had numbed George’s mind to a state of cold chicken soup. The eyes of his travelling companions had glazed over somewhere around the Black Sea.

Five minutes later the ramp went down and the air-conditioned interior was filled with a choking beige smog as the dust storm blown up by the aircraft, invisible in the dark, caught up with them. Groans filled the cabin as the numbed passengers worked life into paralysed limbs before they collected their gear and filed off to be greeted by a ground crew unsympathetic to their plight.

George, Duncan and the Professor alighted and stood to one side unsure of their welcoming committee when the booming voice of a US Green-Beret enquired, ‘Are you guys—Operation Orion?’

George looked up into the face of Sergeant ‘Axeman’ Hopper and immediately adopted the americanese he had learned while in Laos all those years ago. ‘We sure as hell are, man.’

‘You’re kiddin’ me? Is this it?’

‘Yup. We’re missin’ a few mules and donkeys but this is it.’

‘You all better follow me. It ain’t five star but we have good tents laid out for you.’

They fell in beside him and they carried on the conversation as they walked across the concrete apron towards the tent lines on one side of the run down ex-Russian Airforce base.

‘I’m George Hunter and the little guy on your left is Duncan and this here’s Professor Josef Carbury.’

‘You ain’t no fightin’ unit?’

‘No, sur! Not to put too fine a point on it, we’re a rescue mission.’

‘Uh, huh. You goin’ in under-cover. That explains the garb and the animals. Your equipment will be brought over to your tent a.s.a.p. Dump your gear and I’ll take you over to the Mess for chow. I’ll call in tomorrow at eight to begin training with that there menagerie. You read the SOP?’

‘Yep.’

‘Right on, fellas.’

—

‘Mornin’, guys.’ Hopper looked over the trio dressed in Arab garb and nodded with satisfaction. Josef wore the long black robes of a Mollah topped with the largest turban he had ever seen while George and Duncan were in the more scruffy garb of beggar Dervishes. Well worn shalwar kameez topped by a brown woollen waistcoat long enough to hide an AK47. They wore white turbans rather than the felt hat of the mujadin. All three carried a concealed handgun and had religious talismans sewn onto their clothing. Because it was October and the first signs of winter were approaching, they wore well-worn leather boots.

‘You look the part.’ He led them over to a herd of three mules and three donkeys loose in a coral at the end of the tent lines. ‘These are yours. We’ve had the vet check ’em out. In amongst your gear is a Satellite Radio and a GPS.’

They spent several hours packing and un-packing until they could do it blindfold. Hopper called a halt and they trooped off to the mess tent for a welcome coffee and doughnuts while he filled them in on their deployment.

‘First off, here’s the bad news. You’re going in two days early at night so you have less time to get used to ’em.’

‘Why’s that, Sergeant?’

‘Operations have been brought forward and we need the chopper and the re-fuelling air-tanker. The good news is you can use our air cover and you have priority, for now.’

He dug into his briefcase and withdrew a postcard and gave it to George. ‘Here’s your call signs and waveband info. Use Channel 2. I hope you don’t need ’em. One of you guys called, Hunter?’ George nodded. ‘You’re designated Orion-Tango-Tango.’

George laughed. ‘I just hope you guys are ‘over the top’ if we need you.’

‘Nice one, limey. There’s an orange banner folded into your gear for ID if you’re in a tight spot. See you guys later and we’ll go for a trek.’

—

Three a.m. two days later.

The power eased on the rear rotor and the pilot of the MH47 helicopter brought the nose up and felt his way to the ground in a blind landing as the last forty foot was blanked out by the Afghan dust. A gentle bump and the ramp lowered.

George and Duncan assisted by the aircrew unloaded the blind-folded animals and their packs and led them over to one side. Two minutes later the chopper disappeared through the sandy smog and five minutes later the night returned to a dusty quiet.

Josef prepared the animals while George and Duncan set themselves up fifty yards apart listening intently for any signs of detection. Satisfied all was well, they mounted, and in single file and choking on the grit that clung to everything they set off in search of the road which followed the valley of the Helmand River towards the Highlands. An hour later they reached their destination and set up their goats’ hair tent a short distance from it. They hoped to give the impression they had travelled up the main highway and recently turned onto the un-metalled track. They tethered the animals and took it in turn to stay on watch until sunrise.

As dawn crept over the horizon they gorged themselves on the last of the rations supplied by the US Military and scraping a hollow they buried any trace of their European existence.

From now on they would have to live off their wits and the meagre supply of Afghan foodstuff and money. The last thing they did before setting out was have a sand wash to give them the appearance of well travelled people and further disguise their pallor already hidden under hair and beards. It was time to appreciate hours wasted under UV lamps.

—

A chill wind was sweeping down the valley from the north, a stark warning of the bleak winter months ahead in the highlands. George and Duncan as beggar Dervish wrapped heavy blankets around themselves while Josef as a Mollah had a sheepskin chapan to protect himself.

Progress was steady and they settled at a pace dictated by the horses and Josef’s experience. For an hour they met and saw no one until the sound of an engine could be heard approaching from behind. George and Duncan instinctively pulled the trailing end of their turbans around the lower half of their face and loosened their pistols. George released the safety catch sure that Duncan would do the same.

Five minutes later a Toyota pick-up with four armed Taliban on board overtook them. It slowed. Josef raised his right hand in greeting and then held it across his heart and called out in Pashto, ‘As-Salaam Alaikum.’

The occupants in the back responded with, ‘Wa’alaikumus salam,’ and the pick-up drove on leaving the three pilgrims choking in the yellowish dust which covered everything in Afghanistan.

‘We appeared to have passed muster,’ said George, with relief in his voice.

‘Don’t be too sure, George, but travellers are rarely stopped. Our real test is when we call in at a village or town.’

They followed the track by the river until mid-day when they stopped and allowed the animals to graze on the sparse vegetation on the river bank before they continued to the township of Sangin where Josef bartered for some local delicacies at a roadside stall to supplement their evening meal. They decided that discretion was the best course and with bowed heads and scarves pulled up they passed through the town and stopped a couple of miles farther on behind a small copse out of sight of the track.

Josef volunteered to prepare and cook the meal while the others assembled the tent and tethered the animals. Before dinner he advised them to collect some fodder to carry with them as further up the valley they would turn into the hills proper where feed would be more scarce following the long Afghan summer.

Over a meal of pilau rice, mutton and a fried assortment of carrot, raisins and peas George brought up the question of time. ‘How long, Prof, before we get into the area?’

‘George, please call me, Josef. As for time, we are limited to the speed of our animals but if we progress as we have today then I believe we should be there in around a week. It will get harder as we start climbing but away from the main road, such as it is, we will be safer.’

‘What do we do if anyone mentions what the yanks are getting up to?’

‘If stopped we plead ignorance, George. We stick to our plan. We are on a pilgrimage to the Blue Mosque and have travelled from Mecca via Medina, Jerusalem, Syria, Iraq and Iran in reduced circumstances. That is all you need to know.’

‘Josef, did you glean any more information while you were bartering?’

‘About the girl, no. About the Taliban, yes. It’s mainly the AQ who are centred around Kandahar and they rarely bother the tribes up the valley or in the hills which is what I hoped. The main Taliban concentration is stationed up North on the dividing line. As for conversations, George, that is the custom. You spend the first ten minutes passing the time of day before talking business and that’s what we will always do. We drink chai and talk about the weather first.’

‘Chai, that’s tea isn’t it?’

‘Correct. Those lessons weren’t completely wasted. Time to turn in, we have an early start tomorrow.’

It was decided that Josef would take first watch at all times and that Duncan and George would alternate the other two and as a precaution one of the AK47’s was assembled ready for any emergency.

—

George woke them at first light and the dawn heralded a calmer day. The cold northerly wind had ceased which did away with the need for travelling blankets and made their disguise more difficult. After another sand wash and breakfast they packed extra fodder in large wads over their hardware and set off. To keep the animals fresh as long as possible they walked.

They saw no one for the first two hours until further up the valley they spotted a cloud of dust coming in their direction. Instinctively George and Duncan eased their handguns in the holsters and adjusted their unfamiliar clothing for easy access.

Ten minutes later the dust cloud turned out to be the same Toyota and Taliban occupants as the day before. In anticipation of the dust they pulled the trailing turban ends around their faces, stood by the roadside and did the customary salutations as the vehicle passed.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief as the vehicle disappeared into the distance towards Sangin but their composure was disrupted when ten minutes later it returned, braked hard in a cloud of khaki dust, and swung in front of them.

The clamour startled Duncan’s mule and with George’s assistance he had to fight to bring it under control before it startled the other animals.

The Taliban ran towards them shouting in a dialect that George and Duncan didn’t understand and Josef led his animals into the middle of the road and confronted them.

He raised his right hand, ‘As-Salaam Alaikum.’ He then held it across his heart and bowed his head. I am Hadji Mollah Rashid. What is so important that you frighten the animals of Holy pilgrims in such a manner?’

The Taliban stopped their rush and shamefacedly bowed their heads at the words of this Holy man. Their leader stepped forward and extended a hand to Josef who took it before once again holding his right hand across his heart as did the Taliban who reiterated Josef’s earlier greeting.

Josef bowed and replied, ‘Wa’alaikumus.’

Both parties visibly relaxed although George and Duncan kept their faces hidden and the occasional nip behind the ears made sure the animals remained fractious.

Ignoring them, the leading Taliban said to Josef. ‘We check everybody is abiding by Shareeha.’

‘Including pilgrims. One moment.’ Josef felt inside his saddlebag and withdrew a rolled parchment and gave it to the Taliban leader. ‘Read this. I think it will explain. Myself and my companions travel from Makkah to the noble grave at Mezar-i-Shariff.’

The Taliban looked at Josef suspiciously. ‘Why you travel with beggars and why are you on this track. Surely the main road is better?’

‘My friends are from Turkistan and as I know this land I offered to do the pilgrimage with them as their guide. We travel this route as it is the way of the caravan which brought the cask of the venerated Ali Ibn Abi Talib.’

The Taliban studied the parchment before calling one of his companions forward. He in turn read it and entered into deep conversation with his leader alternately gesticulating towards George and Duncan.

After a couple of minutes haggling the leader, albeit disgruntled, returned the scroll to Josef.

‘Ziaret Kabul, Holy man. Wa’alaikumus salam!’

Josef raised his right hand in a Fatihah and uttered, ‘Yarhamukallah!’

The Taliban walked back to their vehicle and Josef whispered sharply to George, ‘Hide behind your mules!’

They waited until the Taliban had turned their vehicle around and departed before they mounted and continued their journey. George was impatient to know what had transpired and rode alongside Josef.

‘What was that about, Josef, and what was that piece of paper you were handing around?’

‘That piece of paper as you call it is our ‘Letter of safe conduct’ from no other than Mollah Mohammad Omar himself. It explains our journey and says we should be offered all possible protection and not inconvenienced by anyone.’

‘This Mollah, Josef. Isn’t he the Foreign Minister of the Taliban?’

‘None other, George.’

‘How did you get that?’

‘He’s an old friend of mine. He thinks I’m of Turkish decent and an Asiatic language scholar, also a genuine Hadji. The first bit’s right, although my mother is English, and I have been to Makkah, but I’m a baptised Christian. Don’t be mistaken, George. I have a high regard for their religion and I love the people of this country but not the Taliban who are extreme and wrong in their interpretation of the Qur’an.’

‘Did they impart any info on our mission?’

‘No. They are suspicious of anyone and insist on pursuing Shareeha Law which explains why they stopped us. Thankfully, they accepted my story, George, but we’ll have to push on into the hills. If they check their history they’ll know we should go via Herat.’

They mounted and for a couple of hours pushed on quickly until they crossed the river and entered the village of Qal’eh-ye Gal where the narrow fertile strip alongside the Helmand River afforded them fresh water and fodder.

At the edge of the village they stopped in the yard of an old caravanserai and set up their tent. In the half light of dusk they strolled around the village and where they smelled cooking. Josef encouraged George and Duncan to hold out their keshkul and shout in their best Dervish, ‘YA HU! YA HAKK!’

This call brought a flurry of activity from the women and before long their begging bowls were full but they declined offers of money.

Josef accepted the invitation to eat with one family and after the customary Fatiha he disappeared inside while George and Duncan returned to the tent and ate. With fingers and rolled up pieces of unleavened bread they scooped out the mixed up fare in their bowls but drew the line at consuming rice soaked in the fat from the tails of the local sheep and discreetly discarded it.

Josef returned a couple of hours later in time to rescue the pair of them from a grilling by the village elders who wanted to entertain the travelling pilgrims. There followed an entertaining hour of chai drinking and discussion where Josef played interpreter to George and Duncan’s made up gobbledy-gook.

By the light of a tallow candle they went to bed. Josef took the first watch but soon fell into a deep slumber. It was a quiet scraping and scratching noise which woke George with a start. Through the gloom he sensed someone by the entrance. He placed a hand over Duncan’s mouth and shook him awake.

Duncan opened his eyes and on George’s signal looked across the tent before reaching under his pillow for matches while George unshipped his handgun and held it two handed at the ready.

These movements went un-noticed until Duncan struck a match and without thinking shouted, ‘What the fuck are you doing!’

What they saw was a boy cleaning their boots only one metre from an AK47 left unguarded by Josef. Startled the boy scrambled out through the entrance and ran off closely followed by Duncan who returned moments later frustrated. Josef had by this time woken up and apologised to George for his blunder.

‘George, I’m dreadfully sorry, I wasn’t aware that I was tired and I just fell asleep.’

‘Don’t worry, Prof, these things happen.’ He turned to Duncan. ‘Any luck, lad?’

‘He was too quick for me. He vanished in the first fifty metres.’

Josef coughed politely and said, ‘Duncan, did I hear in my dreams you shout out in English?’

‘Yep, Prof, you sure did.’

‘Oh, dear… The one thing we must hope for is that no one else heard you. It’s unlikely the lad will have understood you. He wasn’t doing any harm though. He had probably been sent by his father to show the hospitality of the village but I would get prepared for any eventuality.’

George and Duncan both took that to mean get ready to fight their way out and assembled the other AK47 and re-checked their handguns.

‘Get your head down, Josef. We’ll stay on guard for a little while and see what comes. Come with me, Duncan, we’ll take a walk around the tent and wait out there. Bring the other AK.’

He poked his head out and listened before calling Duncan. Using hand signals he directed Duncan to go slowly the opposite way and keep listening. They crossed at the back of the tent and met again at the front where they sat and waited. The moon slowly appeared above the surrounding mountain tops and in the pale glow they could observe the whole village and apart from the stomping and occasional snort from many animals it remained peaceful. George turned in after an hour while Duncan continued the vigil from inside the tent.

They awoke at first light and had a sand wash to further enhance their disguise and began packing for a hasty departure when they saw the village elders and a young boy approaching down the dusty street.

‘You and Duncan carry on packing, George. I’ll handle this. It looks to be a peaceful deputation.’

He walked forwards a few paces to greet them and held his right arm up to give fatihah. ‘As-Sallaam Alaikum. What can I do for you, gentlemen?’

‘Wa’alaikumus salam.’ Their leader replied. ‘We come to apologise for disturbing you last night and have brought food and water to sustain you on your journey. The boy was doing it in good faith and of his own initiative.’

Josef called the boy to him and placed a hand on his head. Bending forward he gently blew nefes on the boy and uttered a Illahie so that only he could hear before pressing a one Afghani coin into his hand.

He stood upright and said, ‘Go my boy,’ before he turned his attention back to the rest of the party and the leader said, ‘Iltimasi Dua?’

Josef sang another Illahie over them, Blessed them, and thanked them for their hospitality.

They replied, ‘Ziaret Kabul.’

Ten minutes later the trio left the village in a slow procession north towards the mountains. Two miles to their right Lake Helmand glinted in the early morning sun and down to the left as they climbed steadily up to a hilltop ridge, the last of the year’s sparse vegetation followed a dried river bed.

Covering their faces against the swirls of dust blown up by the northerly breeze they appeared to all and sundry as the wandering pilgrims they professed to be.

—

They followed the ridge for a little over half an hour when the track dipped suddenly towards a dried up feeder stream. Josef was barely able to stop his mule hurtling headlong five-hundred foot to the bottom. They took a break of a few minutes before they gingerly, one at a time, led their animals to the valley floor. Here they rested and allowed the animals to graze in a small oasis before the steep climb up to the higher ridges of the lower mountains.

Their progress was slow as they weaved around boulders and outcrops clinging to a track barely wide enough for two passing horses but faint tyre tracks amongst the loose stones and sand told them someone had been brave enough to attempt it in a vehicle.

An hour later, they began the tortuous descent to the valley floor. The track followed the contours on the slope in a gentle gradient and they reached the village of Mazar-e-Olya in the early afternoon.

Their approach had been observed for some time and as they dismounted the village elder and his followers, all carrying the ubiquitous prop to Afghan manhood, an AK47, came to greet them.

‘As-Sallaam Alaikum,’ he said.

Josef raised his right hand in the sign of the Fatihah and replied, ‘Wa Alaykumus salaam wa rahmatullaah wa barakaa tuhu.’

‘Aman eszen geldin ghiz. Our humble village welcomes the esteemed Mollah and your companions. Will you join us in a midday meal?’

‘Most certainly. Allow us time to nurture our animals and we will be honoured to join you.’

‘Sallaam aleikum. I will leave the boy to guide you.’

They nodded their acknowledgements and the welcoming committee returned to the village.

When they were out of earshot Josef instructed them on their Islamic manners in case they had forgotten.

‘Wash your hands and never, use your left hand. It will be a communal pot so try and use unleavened bread to scoop a measure, otherwise follow my lead. Do not speak until spoken to and I will apologise and answer for you. I just hope no one speaks Turkish. I don’t think it likely as we are amongst the Hazari tribe now. There’s no need to shake hands with anyone, my handshake as leader is enough. Keep your eyes down and don’t look at the women.’

‘I hope I can remember all that,’ said Duncan.

—

Formalities over, they sat in a circle around a central cooking pot but before eating they drank numerous cups of chai and passed the time in small talk. George and Duncan sat either side of Josef and slightly behind but it didn’t go unnoticed that one of the welcoming committee, a morose and repulsive character, kept glancing in their direction and whispering to his nearest neighbour.

Small talk over, they began eating and talking business. The main course was pillaf (rice and mutton drowned in the fat rendered from the tail of the local fatty tailed sheep). By breaking off pieces of Naan bread they were able to scoop up generous proportions and squeeze the grease out. On the side there were bowls of dried fruit and vegetables to supplement the stew.

During the meal, the curious one addressed George in his native dialect. ‘You are of pale complexion, sir. I believe you to be an Inghiliz Djansiz.’

Josef was quick to step in. ‘I apologise for Hadji Bilal. As you already know he does not understand you for he is a Muslim from Western-Turkey where the continents meet and his paleness is the pure light of Islam shining from his countenance since his penance at Makkah and it is common knowledge that in the time of the Ottoman two cultures intertwined to give us a race of blue-eyed people.’

Josef turned to the village elder. ‘Is it practice amongst Hazari to insult one’s guests, and one so venerable as Hadji Bilal who, for his penance, is travelling as a beggar to the favoured shrines of our religion and not in the way of a modern businessman as he is well able to do in his home city.’

He signalled to George and Duncan to leave as if in disgust at the treatment they had received. As they stood and turned to go the leader jumped to his feet. ‘My apologies for this gross insult in my house.’

He grabbed George by the hand and tried to press money into it. George looked at Josef for guidance and he shook his head and gesticulated that both he and Duncan should leave at once and refuse any offer of penance.

George and Duncan with bowed heads walked steadfastly from the house and made their way back to the animals where they waited over an hour before they were joined by Josef.

‘We were just on the verge of coming for you with guns blazing, Prof. What kept you?’

‘It was quite volatile for a while but I managed to persuade them of your true purpose. It was a bit dodgy when I was asked why we were travelling in the hills instead of following the main highway but I got around that dilemma by saying as Holy men and part of our pilgrimage we were visiting the sick in the outlying villages to bring Makah to the underprivileged who could not afford to travel. Then I blessed them and we sang telkins for a while.’

‘Well done, Prof. Do you think we should stay overnight as it’s getting late and we would only manage a couple of miles?’

‘Yes, but we must be vigilant as we are responsible for your inquisitor losing face. He will try to make amends.’

They pitched the tent in a corner of an ancient caravanserai and kept a low profile until darkness fell. Swearing on his honour not to fall asleep Josef took first watch.

—

First light was pushing its head over the nearby mountains when Duncan shook George and Josef awake. ‘Come on, get up you pair. There’s a surprise waiting for you outside.’

Groggily they shook themselves free of sleep, stood up, and through bleary eyes looked out through the entrance of the tent.

‘Bloody hell. Where did that lot come from,’ uttered George in surprise.

Piled high was a selection of both food and gifts of clothing, felt mats and manufactured local goods and tethered alongside was a malnourished donkey.

‘It is their way of making up for their bad manners yesterday when we were doubted. Pick out what may be useful and I will return the rest. Keep the donkey, it may come in as a bargaining tool later on.’

After a light breakfast of dried fruit and goats’ milk, Josef distributed a large portion of the gifts and Nefes amongst the sick and elderly villagers and gave them fatihah before the trio headed into the interior desolation towards the mountains and the isolated villages above the snow line.

—

The first mile took them down to the floor of a two mile wide flood plain and here, instead of following the track across to the other side, George elected to take the party north along the eastern side and follow the dry gullies running lengthways down the valley. He estimated they would rejoin the track somewhere close to where they had to branch off into the mountains proper and save themselves a long detour.

Before long they were regretting the decision. Every hoof beat raised a puff of fine sand which the playful northerly breeze swirled around them in a fine beige cloak. Their scarves protected them to a degree but it wasn’t long before their teeth were grinding on the particles. The animals faired worse and to alleviate their suffering they put a hundred metre gap between each other to allow the dust to disperse slightly.

The going was slow as the mules sank up to their hocks in the fine sand. They dismounted to make it easier but it took them more than five hours to cover the ten miles to the point where they would branch north-east and start the climb proper into the hills.

They gave a little of their precious water to the animals and brewed some chai to wash the dust from their own mouths before snacking on dried fruit and vegetables.

It was early afternoon before they began the climb up a steep rocky track only wide enough for a single mule.

They cursed many times as they slipped on loose stones and at every pace forward the drop away to their right became more precarious. The sun was going down when they reached the safety of a plateau large enough to set up camp for the night.

Following their now established routine, George and Duncan fed and watered the animals and pitched the tent while Josef cooked the evening meal. He apologised for having nothing more to offer but the usual fare of pilaf but this time without the accompaniment of greasy mutton fat. A quick check of the animals and they turned in to be ready for an early start the next morning.

At dawn, George scanned the route ahead and spotted greenery a mile from their position by the tiny village of Landi Chennar. It was immediately agreed to forgo breakfast until they had reached it and allow the animals time to graze on the sparse growth left after the long Afghan summer. In the village Josef took time to barter for food before they moved on.

The going became easier and they climbed steadily following the right hand side of a narrow valley and in mid-morning they passed the village of Karbolagh. Two miles further on the track divided and to their surprise they came upon a large unoccupied oasis. They immediately chose to stop and led the animals deep inside the undergrowth to graze while the three travellers ate a tasty dried fruit and vegetable salad and drank Chai. It was agreed that they should stop early as they were getting close to their final destination and they set up camp for the night.

Further investigation of their surroundings revealed an underground spring which bubbled to the surface for a few metres before disappearing once more. Although brackish it was sufficient to water the animals and replenish their water skins. The new addition to their herd revelled in the plentiful fodder and ate ravenously.

They held a short discussion and it was decided that Josef should travel back to Karbolagh and make discreet enquiries about the missing nurse, but before he could leave their peace was disturbed by a lone traveller who introduced himself as Kulkhan. He also was intent on using the oasis as his camp for the night and Josef’s spying mission was immediately cancelled and as is the custom in Afghanistan, Kulkhan was made welcome and offered a share of their evening meal which he accepted gratefully.

Before the meal Josef said the customary, ‘Bismallah,’ and silence followed while they ate. When the meal was over Kulkhan shared with them some goats’ milk and they continued passing the time in idle gossip during which George asked through Josef why there was no settlement close to the oasis.

‘The spirits of the infidel linger. Many red coat Inghiliz soldiers were buried here last century and it is now considered un-holy ground.’

George nodded his satisfaction at the reply but couldn’t help wondering that if the ground was un-holy what was Kulkhan doing there. Deep down he suddenly distrusted this amiable fellow.

They had been talking for half an hour when Kulkhan mentioned the lighter complexion of George and his narrow features. Josef told Kulkhan the same story he had given to the village elders two days previously. He readily accepted this explanation and mentioned the similarity of George’s complexion to that of the frengi woman in a village higher up the valley.

Without showing too much interest Josef delicately enquired, ‘Both Hadji Ishak and myself have never seen a frengi woman. In which village is she as we would like to see a specimen of infidel womanhood?’

‘It is hard day’s ride north from here in a place called Durii. Take the right fork here and follow the ridge and turn left into Kaday. It is the longer route but easier on man and beast. Durii is a few miles further at the top of the valley.’

‘Many thanks, Kulkhan.’ Josef raised his right hand in the position of Fatihas. ‘Salaam aleikum, Kulkhan.

Kulkan responded, ‘Ziaret Kabul,’ and bowed deeply to Josef before backing out of the tent and returning to his own.

George watched their departed guest until he was safely out of earshot and then told the others of his distrust and it was decided to keep close surveillance on their fellow traveller through the night.

—

They arose at dawn but hung around until Kulkhan had departed. They kept a wary eye on him until he was out of sight but he showed no sign of any further interest in them and they began their next leg deeper into the mountains.

The track made up of loose stones and broken rock was narrow with precipitous drops on either side. To avoid any mishaps they put the animals on a loose reign and walked in front and should one slip they could let go instantly. They were fortunate in that the animals chosen by the Green Berets were docile and the new addition released from the penury of village life followed the example set by the others and happily plodded at the rear on a long tether.

The going was slow and they stumbled many times. It wasn’t the first time, although centuries apart, that Anglo-Saxon cursing had been heard bouncing off the hillsides. There was slight relief when another broader track joined from the right and mid-day saw them close to the top of the climb at the crossroads their companion from the night before had mentioned.

They mounted and turned onto this new track which was wide enough for vehicles and closer examination showed that there had been traffic lately which appeared to be the ubiquitous Toyota pick-up.

Kaday was the typical Afghan collection of flat-roofed mud brick long huts haphazardly clinging to the mountainside with an ancient caravanserai on the approaches. They held a brief consultation and decided not to stop but look for a site further up the mountain but unfortunately the village elders had noted their approach and insisted they stay.

After the usual exchange of Fatihah and welcomes they sat around outside one of the huts and drank chai and chatted for ten minutes before Josef showed surprise at the vehicle tracks they had seen.

‘We have Taliban here,’ the village elder explained, ‘but they have been called away.’

Josef raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh… Why is that?’

‘I don’t know but they are not of our tribe and they dictate to us how to run our village. I am the Mollah and a good Muslim and they try to tell me the Qur’an and how to run our daily lives.’

‘You don’t agree with them?’

‘No. We are poor people who scratch a living and wish to live in peace not attract attention and intervention from the outside world.’

‘We heard in Karbolagh there is a frengi woman here. Did the Taliban do that?’

‘She is not here. That was some silly young men from Durii who are friendly with the Taliban and they sought to make money from ransom.’

‘Did they?’

‘No. The frengi will not negotiate. She is still there.’

‘Could they not let her go?’

‘As you know, Hadji Mollah Reshid, that would be losing face. Your Turkish Hadji, the tall skinny one, he has the look of a frengi and you show a lot of interest. Is he a spy?’

‘By all that is Holy,’ uttered Josef. He went on to explain as he had on previous occasions George’s lighter skin and European features and the reason for their travels and ended his indignant diatribe, ‘For this slight we will move on and pray for you in the seclusion of our own company.’

He stood up and signalled George and Duncan to leave. He then held his right arm up and blessed the company present and followed.

As they walked with solemnity back to the caravanserai Josef said, ‘We had better make haste. He was getting inquisitive and I think he saw through my ploy to find out more about the girl. She is by the way still in Durii, but the good thing is, she’s not held by the Taliban.’

‘Then who the hell is holding her, Josef?’

‘The Mollah said it was a ploy by some young bucks to make money, George, but it’s backfired as our Government won’t negotiate.’

‘Let’s hope that means their guard is down.’

‘We’ll talk about it later, George, meanwhile let’s get out of town.’

Half-an-hour out of the village the narrow track to Durii branched off and they took the opportunity to cut some fodder from the sparse undergrowth there before they once more in single file pushed on north. Little used, the way was barely visible amongst the broken rocks and sand but they were able to stay mounted and let the mules pick their own path.

A further mile north of the junction a narrow gorge went off to the left and they followed it until they were out of sight of the main track and pitched the tent. Using a few handfuls of fodder George went back to the entrance of the gorge and walking backwards he disturbed the sand enough to cover their tracks.

After their dinner of pillau and a mixture of dried fruit and vegetables they discussed their plans over chai.

At George’s suggestion they agreed that he and Duncan would do a scouting trip up to Durii and get the lay of the land while Josef looked after the camp.

—

They stripped off their disguise and dressed in Army combat fatigues and vest ammo pouches, George and Duncan carrying their AK47’s at the trail set off into the night leaving Josef with a pistol and a plentiful supply of ammunition, although if anything occurred he hoped to bluff his way out disguised as a Mollah as he had done for the previous twenty years travelling in the middle-east.

They made good time before the track came to a dead-end in a gully. Cursing, they retraced their steps almost back to the entrance of their hideaway before they saw the barely visible Durii track climbing steeply up to the ridge which followed the ravine they had previously been up.

The climb in the thin mountain air made them both breathless and they sat for ten minutes recovering before continuing stealthily along the precarious rocky knife edge. Fortune favoured them. It was a clear moonlit night but they cursed the lack of foresight to wear the long shirt of the national dress under their fatigues.

Despite the demands of the terrain they arrived at the outskirts of a village of little more than a two dozen huts snuggled in a basin between the hills.

‘Duncan, go to the left and make a note of what you see and I’ll do the same this way. Use your blue torch for recognition, see you back here in half-an-hour.’

‘Roger, that.’

Duncan melted away although his crouched figure was visible for fifty metres in the moonlight. George sat for several minutes scouring the village through night glasses and made a scribbled diagram of the layout before he too left the safety of the track leading down into the village. Clinging onto anything he could find to avoid sliding down the slope, he reconnoitred to the right.

He held his breath several times as loose stones disturbed by his feet bounced down the hill like marbles in a tin can. The ground gradually levelled out to an open patch of vegetation when he noticed to his right the beginning of a gully which fell away sharply and appeared to lead down to a narrow valley. He realised at once that it was the gully that ran parallel to the knife-edge they had walked along and drew a thick line on his plan to remind him before making his way to the rendezvous.

He saw a muted flash of blue in the distance and he responded. A few minutes later he joined Duncan.

‘Not much around there, George, but I think I’ve located the girl.’

‘What makes you say that, lad.’

‘Check out those huts down there and then tell me how many you see with bars on the windows?’

‘None. Where is it?’

‘Over there. The one nearest the hill. It’s got a rough plank door on what is usually the stable and store section and the first side window has bars. The others only have a bit of sacking over the main door.’

‘Well done, lad. Let’s get back and we’ll make plans in the morning.’

—

The Morning of 19th October 2001

 Josef was asleep inside the entrance of the tent and they left him there. Taking it in turns to watch they snatched a couple of hours rest and at first light, over breakfast, George told Josef what they were going to do.

‘We think we’ve located the girl, Josef, and we don’t require you to do anymore. Duncan and I are going up that ridge again to look at the area in daylight and I hope we can find a way down without you coming up to the village with us. We’ll be back in an hour.’

From the top of the ridge they could see clearly the gorge leading down from the village and although steep and impassable with animals they thought they could use it as an escape route. They would take Josef into the next valley first and find him somewhere to hide near their proposed route. They returned quickly and outlined the plan to Josef.

‘Here’s what we do, Prof. We’re going to hide you up a gorge on the other side of that ridge. We will then return here and tonight go up to the village and hopefully find our girl.’

He showed Josef the map and drew an outline of their proposed escape route to rejoin him. ‘If we don’t make it back in twenty-four hours make your own way home using your usual disguise. If anyone asks where we are, we were frightened away by the Taliban.’

Half an hour later, with Duncan in the lead as scout, they turned onto the main track and for half a mile retraced their steps towards Kaday before turning east up a dried river bed. They followed this for an hour and came across a small copse. Here they let the animals graze before they crossed a small plateau towards the bottom of the gorge which they planned to come down. A narrow twisting crevice big enough to hide Josef and the animals was chosen as his camp.

They helped him erect the tent and had a warmed up meal of pillau and boiled mutton and vegetables. When they had finished eating, George made a string of small parcels of Semtex and as the sky darkened they left Josef and made their way back to the previous campsite.

They made quick time without the encumbrance of the pack animals but it was dark when they arrived. They decided not to wait but proceed directly to Durii and from a vantage point above the hut where they thought the girl was imprisoned await the opportune moment for the rescue attempt.

The night skies were clear and the temperature dropped quickly and although they had the extra protection of the long shirts under their combat clothes they were still cold. They watched as someone took a pan of food and a jug into the stable area and then lock the improvised door behind them when they left.

‘That’s it, Dunc, she’s in there or at least someone is.’

‘That was a big pan of food for one person, G.’

‘You think so? Maybe it was the light playing tricks.’

‘We’ll soon find out but I hope you’re wrong.’

They waited fifteen minutes before George suddenly said, ‘That’s it. I’m making a recce.’

‘What for?’

‘I’m fed up with hanging around. I’ll set the explosives while I’m down there. Look after my AK and if anything happens create a diversion somehow.’

‘You’re the boss but I think you’re daft.’

George didn’t wait and began a delicate descent towards the hut and silently cursed when his feet slipped on the loose sandy structure of the slope. At the bottom, he paused and listened intently for a couple of minutes before dodging around water troughs and mislaid agricultural implements. He ran across the dusty patch of ground and flung himself against the wall immediately below the barred window.

He eased himself up to the window ledge and in a loud whisper called, ‘Lydia!’

There was no response so he called again louder. This time he heard rustling inside and moments later a voice answered, ‘Who is it?’

‘Are you, Lydia?’

‘Yes, who are you?’

‘Never mind. Listen! Stay away form this window and get dressed for travel. Have you got shoes?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Because you’re going to do a lot of walking, and wear socks. I’m setting explosives around these bars and in about an hour or so we’ll be coming in to rescue you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Never mind—but. Get yourself ready.’

‘Okay.’

Crouching down, he withdrew the small linked parcels of Semtex from his backpack. He had fastened three of the four charges to the base of the window bars when there was loud voices from inside the hut and the curtain over the main door was flung open and a man appeared.

George drew his handgun but the man delayed long enough to answer whoever was remonstrating inside the hut giving George time to dart around to the side of the building leaving the rucksack and the remaining charge dangling from the window clearly visible in the moonlight.

Peering around the corner of the building he watched as the villager crossed the compound to the bottom of the slope and relieved himself in direct line with Duncan.

George smiled and shrank back as the man turned to walk back. Metres from the door, he hesitated and glanced towards the window. He shook his head and went to go inside when he had second thoughts. He took a few wary steps towards the rucksack, squatted and rummaged inside before looking up and fingering the dangling charge. Reality dawned on him but before he could raise the alarm he tumbled senseless to the floor.

George dropped the rock he had used and dragged the inert villager around the corner and using his combat knife he quickly cut strips from the man’s nightshirt to gag and bind him.

After a quick check he attached the last charge and primed them before he unwound the firing cable and detonator switch. With a last look around he returned to the window and called in a hoarse whisper, ‘Lydia! Lydia!’

‘Yes! What?’

‘Get your stuff, we’re going now. Put your fingers in your ears and stand back.’

He nipped smartly around the corner to the switch and crouching low he pressed the plunger.

The four explosions sounded as one. Pulling his necktie around his mouth he ran through the dust to the window and was satisfied to see he had guessed right and all four bars were torn loose from the mud brick mountings. With a final yank he threw them to the ground and shouted, ‘Lydia, throw your stuff out and scramble through.’

There was a scuffle from inside the hut and he quickly grabbed a Thunder-flash from his pack, primed it, and threw it on the ground outside the door as the first person stepped over the threshold. The seven second delay stretched time to its limits and George took aim with his gun when the explosion deafened him, and the occupants, who retreated inside.

Ignoring the ringing in his ears he grabbed a bag thrust through the window and threw it down. When he turned to help her out she shoved another bundle at him.

‘What’s this,’ he called, ‘we’re travelling light.’

The bundle wriggled and whimpered and through the pale light he looked down at the outline of a wrinkled baby face.

‘Bloody Hell! You never said.’

Lydia dropped down beside him and reached back inside the window to help someone else.

‘What’re doin’, woman. We’re not taking the bloody village.’

He didn’t have time to catch her reply as several explosions from different directions and sporadic automatic AK47 fire rent the air. The animals around the village alarmed by the noise added to the cacophony. Duncan did his job well as people ran in all directions seeking the insurgents into their village and finding nothing.

A second smaller woman landed beside George and Lydia said breathlessly. ‘This is Heidi my Philippino nursing assistant. The baby is hers and we go nowhere without her.’

He threw another thunder-flash into the door of the hut and shouted over the noise coming from the other side of the village. ‘Grab the baby and your things and follow me. I warn you, it’s going to be tough from here on.’

‘Don’t worry about us, lead on.’

The nurse took the baby while Lydia scooped up their belongings and keeping low they ran after George to the boundary wall of the property and followed it behind the other buildings. Duncan kept up the barrage of noise and George guessed he must be close to the top of the ravine as well as running out of thunder-flashes.

They turned left at the end of the row and ran towards the ravine, when suddenly, a figure emerged from the end of an alley. George fired and the body spun, reared back and rolled with the impact of the bullet and his gun clattered to the floor.

‘Keep going in that direction and look for a blue light,’ he shouted to Lydia.

George went across to the injured man and struck him on the side of the head with his pistol. He paused long enough to frisk for ammunition, found two magazines, scooped up the AK and ran after the girls.

Thrusting his pistol into its holster he switched on his blue torch and flashed it three times and gave a sigh of relief when he received the answering two flashes.

Within moments they joined Duncan who led them over to the head of the ravine and they started their journey into the unknown.

‘We have extra company, Dunc. Meet Lydia, Heidi and baby.’

Duncan noted they were dressed in the typical Afghan burqha and muttered something unintelligible before he said ‘How do you do. Follow me and no talking.’

The first part of their route was a steep drop zigzagging between rocks and scrub. They had only gone a short way when George told Duncan to use the clear lens on his torch to make their progress quicker. Before they moved off, they listened. Apart from a sporadic shot aimed at ghosts, it was quiet.

Half an hour later George heard voices above them. ‘Stop,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Torch, Dunc.’

They hadn’t gone far but they had descended several hundred feet and were sheltered from the moonlight but in this desolate landscape sound travelled and they could listen to the conversation of their pursuers without difficulty.

‘I wish I knew what they were saying,’ George whispered.

‘They’re discussing which direction we may have gone and the consensus is along the top track as this way is considered impassable, or possibly we came from the next village and have gone north-west.’

George looked at her through different eyes. ‘Your time in capture wasn’t wasted then, Lydia. Anything else?’

The baby whimpered. ‘Quiet,’ urged Duncan but as quick as Heidi was, it was not before the sound echoed off the rocks and travelled up to their followers who stopped and peered over the edge.

After seconds of incoherent gabbling and gesturing two of the party unslung their AK47’s and fired indiscriminately into the gloom.

Bullets whistled around them and ricochets whined into the night. Instinctively they rolled away and hid behind any cover that was available. Unable to move far because of the baby Heidi crouched behind a rock against the side of the ravine and pulled her burqua over both of them in a desperate attempt to shield her offspring. The barrage ceased and George could see them peering down and listening. One of their attackers said something to the others.

George whispered urgently, ‘What did he say, Lydia?’

‘He said that we must be dead as there’s no movement or sound and the others seem to agree.’

Five minutes of heated discussion passed before the villagers turned away in disgust but not before one young man swung his AK offhandedly and fired off a random burst.

George remained still but he was troubled by the sound he had heard. He recognised the muffled gasp from many years before and he knew. He waited five minutes before he spoke quietly. ‘Don’t move yet. I’m going to check, Heidi.’

On his hands and knees he crawled across to Heidi’s position and found her slumped with the baby trapped beneath her. He checked for a pulse in her neck but his worst fears proved to be correct. He gently rolled the lifeless body away and discovered the reason why the baby was quiet. She had been smothered by her Mother.

‘Lydia,’ he called hoarsely, ‘Come here, quick.’

She felt her way in the gloom across to his position and whispered, ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Heidi. She’s dead and the baby’s not breathing either. I’m going to try to resuscitate her. Hold my torch and keep your eyes and ears open.’

‘My God, are you sure you can do this?’

‘I don’t know. Here grab the torch.’

He gently unwrapped the baby and laid it down on the cover. In the dark he searched for the breast bone and pressing with two fingers of each hand he began to massage the baby’s chest. After five presses he leant over and did a mouth to mouth exchange followed by fifteen more presses. He continued this procedure for a couple of minutes and was about to give up when Lydia said, ‘Keep going, I’m sure I saw her chest move.’

George bent down and put his ear to the baby and chuckled. ‘We’ve done it. She’s breathing and I have a faint heartbeat. Give me the torch. Wrap her up and keep her warm. You take my backpack and Dunc and I will carry your bags. Can you do that? One thought. How do we feed the bairn?’

Lydia wiped away a tear and looked at her bearded rescuer through different eyes before she answered, ‘There’s a couple of flasks of goats’ milk in our bags, but what about Heidi?’

‘We’ll cover her with rocks. That’s the best I can offer.’

The two men scrabbled around in the dark for rocks and stones and after ten minutes George announced himself satisfied, and said, ‘Time to go, grab your stuff. Are you sure you can manage, lass?’

‘I’m okay, but can I say a quick prayer for Heidi?’

‘Aye, but no singing.’

Lydia smiled, ‘Fool,’ she said. ‘You can join in the Lords Prayer. Our Father…’

—

George did a quick sweep with his torch to see if they had left any trace and as he turned to follow the others he let out a tortured yell and collapsed to the floor.

Duncan who was leading doused his torch and called back, ‘Are you okay, G?’

Lydia stood wide eyed fearing the worst when through the gloom she could see George climbing to his feet and shaking himself down. She waited until he had caught up with her and whispered, ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah. I caught my foot on a rock as I turned and this fearful pain went right across my hip and groin area and my leg collapsed.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘get it checked out when we get back but I think you’ve got a touch of arthritis.’

‘You what? That’s an old man’s problem.’

‘Not necessarily. How old are you?’

‘Fifty-eight—ish.’

She laughed, ‘Like you said.’

‘Watch it, lass. I can always send you back. How’s the bairn, she sleeps well?’

‘She’s always good but without her mother’s milk things may change. I’ve made a makeshift sling out of Heidi’s burqha which has made things a lot easier.’

‘Good girl. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

The moon had traversed across the sky and the ravine was in total darkness but with the aid of the torches they made slow steady progress. The lower they went the steeper the incline became and with much cursing as one or the other slipped on loose stones and small rocks or scratched themselves on the knife like edges of intertwined rocky edifices they scrambled over, they clawed their way to safety.

Around three in the morning the baby stirred and began crying. They stopped in a narrow clearing to feed her and change the torch batteries.

At first the baby refused to drink the cold goats’ milk and cried harder when Lydia had an idea.

Moving away from the men she uncovered one of her breasts and held the baby to it. She slowly dribbled milk towards the baby’s mouth and the infant, crying, sucking and slurping at the same time gradually resumed her calm demeanour.

Three-quarters of an hour later they resumed the tortuous journey along the narrow crevice. The sun was already above the mountains when three hours later they reached the bottom. There remained only the short climb up to the narrow plateau which George and Duncan had spotted earlier in their recce.

Pausing for a breather they heard a voice calling and they turned simultaneously to see Josef approaching from his hiding place. George waved to him frantically to stay hidden and go back before they wearily trudged across the plateau and down a sandy rampart and into the gully where Josef had a fire going and breakfast cooking ready for their arrival.

He greeted them warmly and George said, ‘We must eat quickly, Josef. Unless they crawl down the ravine to check for bodies it won’t be long before they send a search party out.’

‘Is that what the shooting was all about,’ said Josef, ‘I heard two lots.’

‘Aye, they heard the baby cry and gave us a roasting although they couldn’t see us. Unfortunately Lydia’s friend took a ricochet.’

‘How sad, and the baby?’

‘It was her mother who was killed. Lydia! Is the baby old enough to eat solids?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really, she’s only three months old but we could try and boil some rice in the rest of the goats’ milk and mush it. That would also make it last longer.’

‘Josef, you do that while Dunc and I load everything and get changed into our Afghan gear. Lydia, you can ride on the spare donkey as Josef’s wife. When we move off we’re going north and up the valley where I hope we can call in the Yanks.’

—

20th October 2001

Half an hour later with Duncan at point and George at the rear they set off in single file. With a dried up river bed on their left they began climbing a steep valley at the same time keeping a watchful eye on the tree-lined ridge two miles away on their right.

The mules settled into their plodding gait and grumbled when they were urged to go quicker but obliged with a quick walking pace. The cold northerly wind which had been blowing for several days had eased and visibility was clear.

The valley was criss-crossed with low ridges and dried up streams but by early afternoon George estimated it was safe to stop for a short while to feed the baby and give the animals a rest and a drink from the dwindling water supply.

It was Josef who was tending his mule fifteen minutes later who brought George’s attention to a dust cloud behind them. Screwing his eyes up against the bright sunlight, George watched the disturbance for a few seconds.

‘What do you make of it, George,’ Josef said.

‘Can’t make it out yet, Prof, but it’s moving too quick for them to be on horseback even allowing for the terrain. I think we’ve been sussed.’

‘Oh, dear! What does that mean?’

‘It means, Prof, we have to take cover bloody smartish. Load up guys. Lydia! Get to the bottom of that river bed.’

They grabbed the reins and slithering and sliding on the loosed sandy surface dragged the unwilling animals out of sight down the steep sloping banks.

‘Duncan,’ George shouted. ‘Secure the animals and dig out the Sat radio and the GPS.’ He ran across to Lydia and gave her his pistol. ‘Do you know how to use one of these?’

‘I’ve been given a rudimentary lesson but never fired one.’

He quickly showed her how to cock and fire and change a magazine.

‘One shot at a time. Now make yourself and the baby comfortable behind those rocks and keep your eyes peeled along the river bed. If anyone comes—Shoot first and ask later. Prof!’

‘Yes, George.’

‘Take my AK. I’ll use the one we captured. Do you know how to use it?’

‘Ergh… Not really.’

George loaded it, cocked it and gave Josef a spare magazine. ‘Don’t fire until I say so and then use the open sights. Single shots only as we’re a bit low on ammo. You may scare a few.’

Josef laughed nervously. ‘Birds more like.’

George patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be okay. Up to the top of the bank with you. Duncan and I will be ten metres either side of you.’

Duncan joined him and gave him the Sat radio. ‘Thanks mate. Take the left flank. I’ll take the right in that little dip.’

Josef called down to them. ‘George!’

‘Yes, Prof.’

‘Come quickly, they’re getting closer. They have what appears to be a truck with something mounted on the back.’

‘Sounds bad, Dunc, let’s go.’

They touched knuckles and scrambled to their positions. What they saw did not inspire confidence. Through his binoculars George could clearly see at the head of a dusty column the outline of a Toyota pick-up with a Russian ZU-23-2 twin 23mm AA cannon mounted on the back. Close behind there was another carrying armed men.

‘Oh, Jesus, where the hell did they come from?’

Duncan shouted and pointed across the valley. ‘George! Look!’

George scanned the distant ridge and spotted two dozen Taliban running and sliding down the slope. He quickly scrambled across to Duncan and gave him the binoculars. ‘Take a look at that to the south. They must have a radio in that bloody village. How come we never saw them in Kaday?’

‘They were well hidden. The crafty bastards never let on while they were talking to us.’

‘Or was it our friend from the oasis.’

‘Could be. I fancy it was that guy in Mazar-e Olya and they’ve moved up since.’

‘Keep down. I can see flashes from that bloody cannon.’

‘Stay down, Prof, incoming fire.’

Moments later dust spurts appeared both in front and beyond them wildly off target as the vehicle bounced on the rough terrain.

‘Time to call in the Seventh Cavalry methinks.’

George slid down and scrambled over to his position. He had chosen the dip in the ground as it sheltered him from any marauder who ventured up the riverbed. He looked down at Lydia and gave her the thumbs up. She acknowledged and continued feeding the baby.

‘She’s cool,’ thought George. He switched on the GPS and tuned the radio to Channel 2. ‘Hello Dagger. Hello Dagger. This is Orion-Tango-Tango. Come in, please.’

The radio crackled. ‘Hello Orion. What can I do for you, buddy?’

George could only smile at the lax American radio protocol. ‘Hello Dagger. We’re under attack from Tabbies. Need back-up urgent.’ He glanced down at the GPS. ‘These are our coordinates.’ He quickly read them out.

‘Orion, we have a Navy F/A-14 on deck. He’ll be with you in twenty minutes. Put out your marker, over.’

‘Roger that. Tell him to hurry, they’ve got a bloody cannon. And send a chopper with a Medic and baby food—Over.’

‘Did you say—Baby food?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Okay, bud. Wilco—Out.’

The Toyota stopped eight-hundred metres away and continued pumping cannon shells in their direction and they could hear the crackle of AK47’s being enthusiastically fired but hopelessly out of range.

Josef aimed his weapon. ‘Hold up, Prof. They’re out of range. Nip down and fetch the Orange banner and then stay below the parapet. I’ll give you a shout when you’re needed.’

Josef looked across with a relieved look on his face and slid down the bank. A minute later he was at George’s side. ‘How bad is it, George?’

‘Pretty bad but help’s on its way. They’re being a bit shy coming forward. That damn cannon’s the problem. Here, Prof, roll this banner out and then get down below the edge.’

Keeping low, Josef wriggled sideways unfurling the banner as he did so and then returned to his original position but kept well down from the edge.

George watched as the pick-up with the cannon began to cross the valley at a respectable distance to meet up with the armed Taliban running across the valley floor. The cannon shells were passing over them and thudding into the far bank of the river bed. George judged it wouldn’t be too long before they got the range and mentally urged the US Navy to get a move on.

The advancing Taliban were within seven-hundred metres when something like a roman-candle arching through the air caught Georges attention.

‘Jesus. Heads down! They’re using RPG’s.’

In an attempt to prise them from their hiding place the Taliban were firing them like mortars. The first one slammed into the bank behind them. George looked horrified as earth and rocks showered down on Lydia and breathed a sigh of relief when she waved the okay.

Crump! Crump! Two more RPG’s landed in front of their position showering them with sand and shards of rock and the small arms fire increased. The sharp crackle of AK ammunition was all around them. The AA cannon depressed its barrels and began to pepper the ground in front of them making observation difficult.

George looked across at Duncan and saw the blood running down the side of his face. Josef hiding well down the bank was covered in sand.

The Taliban were getting braver and creeping forward from the right and centre firing as they did so when George heard Lydia shout and two shots were fired from the bottom of the river bed, one an AK47, the other a handgun.

George heard Josef groan at the same time he saw a wounded Taliban trying to crawl back along the gully towards his comrades.

‘Geronimo!’ George slid feet first down the bank firing from the hip as he did so. At the bottom he did a forward roll and came up with the AK at his hip.

Screaming like a banshee he charged towards the Taliban firing on automatic as he did so. He killed the wounded one as he jumped over him and two more approaching up the river bed fell where they were. A third loosed off a round and ran towards safety. George grunted as the bullet struck a spare magazine severely bruising a rib.

‘Shit,’ he yelled, ‘always my bloody ribs.’ He fired an angry parting shot at the fleeing man and watched dispassionately as the man stumbled and fell. Ignoring the pain from his ribs George raised the gun to his shoulder and made sure of his quarry.

He checked to see if there were anymore intruders and clutching his side returned to the trembling Lydia. She was nursing the sobbing baby with one arm while still pointing her weapon along the river bed. He took the gun off her and laid it on a rock. ‘Well done, lass. They’ve gone now. You can relax.’

She nodded her thanks through tears and he scrambled back to his position at the top of the embankment. Glancing across he saw Duncan applying a Field Dressing to Josef’s arm. Moments later the Radio crackled into life. ‘Orion-Tango-Tango the Navy’s here. Where are you?’

Forgetting protocol George responded. ‘Took your bloody time, Navy. Look for the Orange marker—over.’

‘Hello, Orion. I see two Orange. Which one are you?’

George grabbed the banner and quickly bundled it up. ‘How many do you see now, Navy?’

‘One, Orion.’

‘That’s your target, plus anything moving out in the open—over.’

‘Roger that, Orion. I can see plenty in the open. I’m doing a gun run—Out’

At first it was a whisper which changed to a whistle before the roar of jet engines filled the valley and the silver F/A-14 Tomcat swooped down from the north in the first of three low level passes killing and destroying anything that moved. The AA cannon was reduced to a pile of smoking metal as were the other vehicles. Dozens of bodies lay dead or dying. A few were trying to run but the pilot eager to empty his magazines did one more run until nothing moved.

 George called up the pilot. ‘Nice one, Navy. The name’s, Hunter. I owe you a beer—over.’

‘I’ll kee… that, … care… an… Ov…’

George dismissed the broken message as static and he joined Duncan and Josef. They waved as the aircraft did a low level fly-by. As he passed their position he waggled his wings and on full after-burners shot vertically into the sky.

The three of them stood mesmerised by the carnage in front of them and it was some time after the dust had settled and silence reigned before Duncan spoke. ‘One nil to us. What happens now, G?’

‘We wait. Discard the disguise and I’ll call in and check where the chopper is. It’ll take a lot longer than the jet. See the lass is okay first and then start moving our stuff up here. I’ll be with you in a minute?’

‘Okay, boss.’

Duncan gave a mock salute and with a delighted, ‘Yippeee…’ jumped feet first down the bank while Josef, a little more circumspect, cradled his injured arm and slid down on his bottom.

George distractedly blew sand off the radio and depressed the call switch. ‘Dagger, Dagger. This is Orion-Tango-Tango. Come in, please.’

The radio remained stubbornly silent. He called three times without reply before he shook it, gave it a thump with the palm of his hand, held it up to his ear and sent the call sign once more without success.

‘Oh… Bugger!’

Duncan, pulling one of the donkeys with Josef pushing, joined him. ‘What’s up, G?’

‘We’re having an Apollo thirteen moment, Dunc.’

‘What’s that for God’s sake?’

‘We have a problem. The radio’s knackered. A piece of shrapnel probably.’

‘What do we do now?’

George rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. ‘Dunc, nip out there and find the orange strip the Tallies were using. Bring it back here and make a cross with our banner about two-hundred metres out. Have we got a Very pistol?’

‘No, but we have some of those luminescent sticks. The sort you snap and they light up.’

‘They’ll have to do. Let’s hope they come before dark. I’ll give the Prof a hand.’

He turned to Josef. ‘Are you okay, Prof? How’s the arm?’

‘I’m alright, it aches a bit.’

George nodded and knew he was lying. The wound would be giving him hell and they had no morphine. ‘Okay, Prof. You pull and I’ll push and see how many of the animals we can get up here but first I want to speak to the lass.’

They slid down the embankment and George went over to Lydia. She was swaying and cooing to the whimpering baby. ‘That doesn’t sound too good, lass. Is everything okay?’

‘We’re almost out of food, George, but worst of all we’ve run out of nappy cloths and she has a bad rash.’

‘I’m no expert, Lydia. Use material from our turbans for nappies, but while we’re waiting give her a sand bath and leave her bare bottomed. I’d give her the last of the food and then pray. How are you?’

‘I’m alright but I could do with a drink. What about you?’

‘It’s nothing. Just a bruised rib. The bane of my life. I’ll get your water meanwhile you can discard that burqha thing. You don’t need to hide from us or them anymore.’

‘It keeps me warm, George, but I’ll take the hood off.’

With her free hand she pulled the smothering hood from her head and George gasped as a shock of curly blonde hair tumbled out.

George whistled quietly. ‘My, my, why these fanatics want to hide their women’s faces I’ll never understand.’ He turned away and went to fetch the water.

The sun had dropped below the mountains by the time they had manoeuvred the last of the animals up the bank and with a sigh of relief they flopped down on top of their equipment for the long wait.

The baby was grizzling but George was more concerned about Josef who was putting on a brave face but was in obvious discomfort. He checked the dressing and saw their efforts to drag the animals up the bank had ruptured the wound and although he complained bitterly they used up the last of the water to clean it and replaced the Field dressing.

The light had faded to a grey gloom when in the distance they heard the ‘Whop—whop’ of rotor blades. George and Duncan quickly ran out to the orange cross and broke open the light sticks. Waving them from side to side they hoped an alert observer would spot them.

The noise came closer and then appeared to stop. They continued to wave frantically and were almost bowled over as a Black Hawk helicopter swooped in from the side and gave them the once over. Coughing and choking in the dust George, became aware of another helicopter hovering. It was another Black Hawk standing off as covering fire.

Turning, they waved the weakening glimmer from their light sticks towards it and were relieved when dark figures slid down a rope and ran towards them. The lead figure crouched and pointed his carbine. ‘Lie down and stretch your arms out—NOW!’

George and Duncan looked at each other in the gloom and George nodded as the order came again. This time they didn’t hesitate and dropped instantly.

George called out. ‘We’re friendly. Orion-Tango-Tango.’

‘Why didn’t you answer your call sign, Orion?’

‘Because your bloody useless US crap radio is knackered. We have one man wounded and a female with baby. Stop pissing around and do what you came for.’

There was no reply but he heard a voice say into a radio. ‘Come in on our marker. This is one irate Brit we have here.’

The voice walked over to them. ‘Sorry, pal. You can get up now. Where’s your gear?’

George pointed through the gloom. ‘Two hundred yards over there. There’s pack animals also.’ The reply was indistinguishable as a hovering Chinook MH47 loomed out of the night sky and they were once more choking in a cloud of Afghan dust.

The animals were turned loose and five minutes later the helicopters were airborne. On board Josef and the baby received medical treatment while George, Duncan and Lydia revelled in a cup of real coffee.

Lydia removed the enshrouding burqha and borrowed a combat jacket from one of the crew before she rejoined George. He made room for her and asked casually, ‘What are you going to do now, lass?’

‘I don’t know, George. I’ll go back to the UK first and make arrangements to adopt the baby and then I’ll make my plans from there. I’ll probably drop out of the WHO program and go back to nursing.’

‘That’s big of you. Have you got a name for her?’

‘Yes. I’m going to call her Heidi after her Mum and Georgina after our rescuers. Do you mind?’

George flushed and stammered. ‘Ergh… No. I mean… Eer, I’m flattered.’

She smiled at his diffidence and said. ‘I would have included Duncan but two names are enough and I can’t think of the female equivalent of his name. She’ll know about you both anyway.’

George nudged Duncan. ‘How about that, lad. The baby’s going to be named after me.’

Duncan leaned forward and looked across at Lydia. ‘Are you sure you want to lumber the poor girl with this?’

She laughed. ‘Yes, and I want the both of you to be her Godparents. Will you do that for me?’

The two men looked at each other and nodded simultaneously. ‘We sure will, lass,’ said George, ‘remind us when we get back to give you our details. There’s one thing, Lydia. What about her real father?’

‘I thought you might ask. He was a Doctor and killed in the attack when they kidnapped us.’

‘In that case we definitely will be there. Can I bring my fiancée?’

Duncan gave George a quizzical look. ‘Have you asked her yet, George?’

‘No.’

‘Jumping the gun a bit aren’t you?’

‘It’s only a matter of time, lad. What about you?’

‘Oh… I dunno. Do you think I should?’

‘Why not. She’ll feel safer and she never takes her eyes off you.’

Duncan leaned forward and spoke. ‘What do you reckon, Lydia. Can four of us come?’

‘Of course. Are you pair always this indecisive?’

The men looked at each other and George said, ‘Are we indecisive, Dunc?’

‘Ergh… I dunno. Are we? I can’t make up my mind.’

Lydia laughed and said, ‘How did you lot ever get around to rescuing me?’

‘I tossed a coin. It was you or next door’s cat, and Duncan needed the money.’

‘What about poor Josef. How did he put up with you two?’

George held his finger to his lips. ‘Shhush… He’s our secret weapon. He’s more Afghan than the Afghans. We couldn’t have done it without him and we almost let him down because they suspected we were frengi from the start. The Taliban were tipped off and looking for us.’

‘I must talk to him. Thank you, for everything.’

—

The welcome at Brize Norton by Jacquie and Tanya was worth the trip in George’s opinion and after a quick de-briefing by Warren, Jacquie drove them home.

—

Two days later, George took Jacquie to his favourite Restaurant and when the main course had been cleared he reached across the table and took her hand.

‘Oh… This looks serious,’ she said.

‘Jacquie… I… Will you marry me? I’ll ask your Dad first if you like.’

‘We’ll drive down and ask him tomorrow. Meanwhile, George Barrington Hunter, I have some news for you—I’m pregnant!’

‘Bloody Hell, lass! You pick your moment. I take it that’s a—Yes?’

‘Too true and I want all the trimmings.’

‘Eergh… Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?’

‘No chance, Hunter. Have you brought a ring with you?’

Stunned by the news, George could only pat his pockets and stammer. ‘I… Aye, okay… Ergh… Yes. One moment.’

He finally found what he was looking for and opened a heart shaped ring box to reveal a large ruby in a diamond cluster. ‘It’s my Grandma’s, but I’ve had it altered to fit you.’

‘George, it’s lovely. When did you do that?

‘I took the measurement and Kathleen did the rest.’

‘Sure of yourself, weren’t you?’

‘No, I wasn’t and the Afghans nearly put a stop to it but I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight, Jacquie Riccardi.’ He blushed and a little unsure of himself paused before plucking up the courage to say, ‘I love you.’

She dabbed at a rogue tear and he took the opportunity to call the waiter and ask for the Champagne he had previously ordered.

Glasses full, they raised them before he said, ‘There’s no way I’m letting you go, miss. Here’s to a long and happy one. Cheers!’

This time she let the tears fall. ‘Cheers,’ she said, ‘that’s good to hear. I was wondering how I was going to snare you and you did it for me.’

He gazed into her eyes, captivated, oblivious of the nearby onlookers who had stopped eating to watch the scene unfold

 ***

CHAPTER 27

 They drove down to Bedford that weekend and George became more nervous the closer the confrontation loomed. Jacquie’s protestations that her father was really a pussy cat did not alleviate his depressed anxiety and he wished that Brian would call him and send him off to some far flung destination.

But his mobile remained stubbornly silent and with mixed feelings he entered the study of his prospective father-in-law, Antonio Riccardi, who stood up and stretched out a welcoming hand and enthusiastically ushered him to a seat.

‘Come in, George, come in. Would you like a drink?’

‘George took a deep breath and asked for a whisky which he hoped would settle his nerves. He admonished himself thoughtfully, ‘What’s the matter with you, Hunter, you’ve met the guy before. You only want to marry his daughter. Only! Jeezuz!’

Antonio handed George a tumbler and raised his own. ‘Saluté, at last we meet as men. The last time, you had no time, isn’t that right?’

‘That’s correct, sir. We were in the middle of an investigation of sorts, but today, sir...’

‘George, what is this, sir? Call me Antonio or Toni. Even my workmen call me, Toni.’

‘Yes, sir, I mean Toni.’

They laughed simultaneously and clinked their glasses again.

‘Too business, George. What is it you want to see me about, as if I couldn’t guess?’

George cleared his throat and said mentally, ‘Here goes.’ ‘I would like to ask you for Jacquie’s hand in marriage.’

‘Aah… Bravisimo! Yes, yes, yes, George. This calls for a proper drink, but we must tell, Mama first.’

He took George by the arm and led him into the lounge. ‘Mama, we have a new son-in-law. Break out a bottle of champagne.’

‘Papa, you’re too late. Jacquie told me already and we’re going to be grand-parents. Now go and get your own bubbly, I’m not a servant.’

 ‘George, you see what I have to put up with. How does a man get respect around here?’

‘If she’s anything like her daughter—with great difficulty.’

‘Are you sure you want this, George?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve never been more positive.’

‘Mama Mia, there’s no hope. He’s in love. Wait one moment, I go for champagne.’

He returned a few minutes later with a bottle and four glasses and after a display of bottle opening dexterity they toasted the forthcoming nuptials and their future grand-child.

‘We better move quickly, Mama. Jacquie, my bambina, how long have we?’

‘I’m only six weeks but it wouldn’t do to delay.’

‘Oh, my, why didn’t you come sooner?’

‘George has been working away, Papa. He only returned on Wednesday.’

‘You still doing your secret work, George?’

‘That was my last job, Mr Riccardi.’

Jacquie looked at him with surprise. ‘George, you never told me.’

‘I’ve only just made my mind up. No child of mine is going to have an absent father and besides I’m too old. It’s time some young blood took the strain, that’s if this generation knows what patriotism is. I hear their nicking War Memorials now.’

‘Well said, George. What are you going to do now?’

‘I’m going to build up my business.’

‘Good, good, George. You want to come and work for me?’

‘No, sir, I want to work for myself and my family. I like the outdoors which my job brings me. If you would like to employ a landscape gardener I’m very cheap.’

‘Okay, George, I give in, but the wedding, it stays here—I insist.’

George raised his hand as a sign of resignation. ‘I think you must ask Jacquie, sir, but I warn you that my religion is a little ambiguous and first and foremost, I will not become a Catholic.’

The atmosphere in the room suddenly went chilly. George, with the realisation of hindsight, wished a hole would appear and swallow him up. He could see Jacquie glaring at him and making signs for him to shut up while her father stood open mouthed and her mother dabbed her eyes and fiddled with a handkerchief.

George opened his mouth to speak when Jacquie stopped him and said, ‘Mama, Papa, what George meant is we would have to have a joint ceremony, that’s all. We only got engaged yesterday and we’ve never talked about it. He does have an awkward way of saying things occasionally.’

‘Ergh… Aah… But I…’ George dried up under the forceful stare of Jacquie and said meekly, ‘Can we get a cup of tea around here?’

‘No!’ Papa picked up his glass. ‘We will finish our toast to the happy couple. Salute! Cheers!’

Mama hugged Jacquie and then wagged a finger in disapproval at George before she said, ‘Everyman must follow his own path, George, and you must tolerate the thoughts of others, which includes your wife.’

‘I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean it to sound like it did but I agree with you one-hundred percent and I don’t know who said it first—I may not like what you say but I’ll defend the right for you to say it.’

Mama smiled up at him and Papa clasped his hand. ‘You have defended long enough, George. Have another glass, it’s much better than tea and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. First I will speak to the Pastor about our predicament. Can I persuade you to come with me?’

George laughed and patted him on the back. ‘You devious old bugger. No thanks, but we’ll certainly talk.’

—

Over dinner on Sunday evening Papa interrupted the general chatter. ‘Mama, boys and girls, I have today spoken to my Pastor and this is what he advised. Tomorrow, George, you and Jacquie must speak to the Pastor about dispensation for Jacquie to marry a Protestant and then George you must visit the local Vicar. You will arrange a mutual date when they can attend a wedding here. You must also arrange with the Registrar to carry out a Civil Ceremony on the same date followed by the blessing of both religions. Does that suit you both?’

George looked across at Jacquie to see who was going to speak first and although things had been frosty since the previous afternoon, she visibly relaxed and nodded.

‘Papa, I think that’s an excellent way forward,’ said George, ‘but I must arrange with our cat-sitter to do another couple of days.’

‘There’s one other thing, George.’

George paused with his fork halfway to his mouth waiting for the bad news. ‘If you don’t want Jacquie with a bump you need to apply for a special licence. You don’t have time to wait for the Banns to be read.’

George threw his head back and laughed. ‘Is that all. What do you think, lass, how long have we got?’

‘So long as you don’t put your foot in it again, Hunter, six weeks should be good.’

He looked across at her and mouthed, ‘I love you.’

—

On the drive home George broached the question of cost. ‘Jacquie, I’ve never mentioned it until now but how are we going to pay for all this? I mean a marquee, band, reception, not to mention putting up guests which includes half of Italy and Northern Ireland.’

She rested a hand on his knee. ‘Mum and Dad have hijacked the wedding, George, and it’s all been taken care of.’

‘It has! Does that mean I’m skint?’

‘No, although I haven’t bought a dress yet so you just may be. Apart from that, Dad’s paying for everything.’

‘Jacquie, I must do something.’

‘He can afford it and he loves organising. I can’t imagine what an Irish—Italian wedding is going to be like, but I can guarantee one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It won’t be an early night.’

‘I still feel miffed. Can I landscape the firm’s gardens for free or something?’

‘Speak to him after we’re married, okay?’

—

‘That wasn’t bad, George. In fact it turned out rather well for you.’

‘I suppose you’re right, Doc, but there was no way my agnostic views were going to interfere. I had talks with my local Vicar and the chap who was going to do the honours at the wedding and both were sympathetic with my values caused by the way the world is today and I have to be honest and say they were very helpful and I was satisfied the way things turned out.’

‘What about Jacquie’s ideals?’

‘As you know, Doc, she was brought up a Catholic and although she didn’t agree with all their teachings, she understandably wanted some Catholic involvement. She liked the way her Dad had got around a sticky problem and she deferred in my favour when it came to baptizing our children.’

‘Which was?’

‘We baptized them Presbyterian, which is nearer to my stance, on the understanding they would choose their own path when they were older.’

‘And how are they doing?’

‘We’ve followed that course and they’re well grounded in all Christian religions and Muslim, which, even though they won’t admit it, celebrates the same God. Iain and Lesley are free to choose whenever they want but I think X-box is winning at the moment.’

‘And the wedding?’

‘Over the intervening weeks I was up and down the M6 more times than I care to mention and in the end, after a few dress fittings, we decided that Jacquie should go and live with her parents and I would follow the day before the wedding.’

‘Did you stay in her parent’s house?’

‘There was no chance of that. I stayed in the local pub overnight and the first time I saw her was inside the marquee on the day of the wedding. Everyman and his dog was there apart from the dozen on my side. I never knew she had so many relatives. I must admit to being nervous when the music started and I was dying to look. I knew she was getting closer by the murmurs from the guests but I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me and when I felt her presence alongside of me I took my first peek. Jacquie was absolutely gorgeous. I had to rub my eyes and look again and when she smiled through the veil and I can honestly say I felt the luckiest man in the world. I never understood how she managed to work undercover.’

‘It probably worked to her advantage, George. Because she was so obvious she would be able to move around without suspicion on both sides. What did she pass herself off as?’

‘Her cover was that of a model and she would disappear from time to time supposedly on assignments but in reality she was reporting back. Only one person queried why she wasn’t seen in magazines and she told them some cock and bull story about only doing catalogues and American catwalks. She had all the bumf from an Agency which she used to leave lying around if anyone got curious.’

‘Brave and beautiful. A rare combination. Back to the wedding. Did it go okay?’

‘Like clockwork. It was quite long as we had more or less three ceremonies in one before we got to the reception. I was dying for a beer but all we got was champagne. Her Dad rescued me and we snuck off after the speeches. Me for a pint and him for a crafty cigar. Then we had a couple of hours break before the jollities started again and if I thought there was a lot of guests I never bargained for the numbers in the evening.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Her Dad opened the gates to the whole damn factory. His workforce is mainly Italian orientated. Jacqui and I stood at one end still in our finery greeting everyone as they came in and they literally pinned money onto her dress. I was hugging a living banknote by the end. I won’t say how much but coupled with the envelope her Dad gave me at the reception I could have retired then and there.’

‘So did you, retire, that is?’

‘No, we bought a small Garden Centre and I kept up my Gardening business. I have to work and I was doing something I love.’

‘When did this depression set in if you were so content with life.’

‘It was sometime after we had the children. Years in fact. I thought things were going well. Jacquie and I were still very tactile and Iain and Lesley our daughter were doing well at school when one night around three in the morning, I woke up crying my eyes out.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I thought I was dreaming at first. I was running along a wide flagstone road getting faster and faster. There was nothing at the end and nothing at the sides, just this never ending rolling road and I felt like I was drowning. I was screaming and crying out and no sound came. Jacquie shook me awake and I honestly felt suicidal. Jacquie was cuddling me when the kids ran in. That was a bit embarrassing as we sleep in the nude and she hastily covered us up. I was sobbing and poor Jacquie had to calm the kids and nurse me at the same time. The cat wasn’t happy either.’

‘But you calmed down and were able to go back to sleep?’

‘Yes. After Jacquie had got the kids settled she made a cup of tea and I went back to sleep half an hour or so later.’

‘How long was it before your next nightmare?’

‘I don’t know exactly but there was a gap.’

‘In what way did this manifest itself?’

‘I was dreaming again. It was the same flagstone road but this time there was a coach and four running towards me and the noise of the wheels was getting louder and louder. I was about to fall under it when I awoke shouting.’

‘These nightmares you’re describing appear to have no connection to your past.’

‘That’s right, Doc, but they kept repeating themselves until one night they changed to the apparitions I mentioned earlier which can definitely be ascribed to my life. They have remained constant until the treatment you prescribed.’

‘It’s been a slow building up process and PTS shows itself in many different ways. Although, outwardly you may appear stress free, your sub-conscious is troubling you. In your case it’s an age related concern. The reasons that made you change your lifestyle are now coming to the fore.’

‘How do we sort it out, Doc? I have the best nurse possible but she is worried that this will have some ill effect on me. She thinks the stress could lead to a heart attack or something.’

‘Tell me, George, are you free of this stress during the day. Truly now.’

‘If you mean—do I break down or have any ill effects—No. It worries me but I still feel okay health wise and mentally, I think. Age related creaking and aching joints accepted. My sex life has suffered.’

‘In what way?’

‘I don’t think I need to explain but if you insist. I can’t hold an erection long enough to finish the job.’

‘Don’t worry, George, when we get to the bottom of this your libido will return.’

‘It’s frustrating, especially when Jacquie asks if it’s her fault. Of course it’s not. You met her, Doc, Everyman that meets her gets an involuntary erection and at first it was annoying when men would openly chat her up in front of me. One was a millionaire with a Rolls Royce. He owned a deep freeze company.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yep. Every bloody Thursday evening when we went to the Tudor Rose pub for a drink he was there. He was a member of a Car Club or something.’

‘What did you do?’

‘A couple of times I felt like punching him but I refrained.’

‘I think, George, you may be answering your own problem. You keep things bottled up when you should let it go. Did you ever mention it to Jacquie?’

‘We laughed about it but inside I was seething.’

‘Which is the same as the work you did. You were killing people for various reasons and your inner being actually didn’t like it but you, being you, ever the man, suppressed it instead of talking to someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Anyone. Your mates, Major Warren, someone like me. Did you ever think of going to your Doctor?’

‘Only when I was ill.’

‘This is an illness, George. However, we’re making progress. When did these dreams start. I mean was there any particular event recently where your life was out of your hands?’

‘There was one day when the world went mad.’

‘Stop there, George. Bring Jacquie on your next appointment.’

 ***

CHAPTER 28

Good morning, Jacquie, take a seat. George’s going to tell us what he thinks triggered the start of his nightmares. Let me take your coat.’

Doctor Hayle relieved her of her leather coat and took it out to his receptionist while Jacquie made herself comfortable in a Chesterfield armchair.

On his return, Hayle checked his notes and said, ‘Okay, George, we’re ready, your audience awaits. This is a new experience for you letting it all out.’

‘Ergh… Where should I begin?’

‘I don’t know, George, you choose. This is the day that changed your life.’

George glanced nervously across at Jacquie and then stared blankly at his hands.

‘Come on, Hunter,’ she urged, ‘when was it?’

‘Almost a year ago. You remember, lass? I was late home and we missed Lesley’s Nativity play.’

‘That was the day you went into town saying you wouldn’t be long as I recall.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have been under normal circumstances but the day started badly…’

—

A button had fallen off my coat, my ever-reliable car refused to start and my watch had stopped. I had finished shopping and was standing inside the swing doors of Boot’s the Chemist, when I looked at my watch and sighed. I checked with the clock over the door. It was ten minutes to twelve.

I removed my glasses and cleaned them before I ran through my shopping list against the items in my bag. A bottle of whisky I’d bought earlier from the off-licence and from Boot’s a new Thermos flask, a roll of elastoplast, some plastic tube for my home brewing and a box of man-size tissues. I remember congratulating myself when I got a double box for the price of one. I rummaged around a bit more and located the crepe bandage I needed for my troublesome knee.

All of a sudden—Crash! The swing doors flew open and a middle-aged woman supporting a man fell into the shop.

‘Help! Someone get help,’ she cried, ‘my husband can’t breathe. He’s choking!’

A crowd quickly gathered but somewhere in my head service training and a feeling of déjà vu took over me.

‘I’ve been here before,’ I muttered to no one in particular.

I hurried across and said firmly. ‘I’m a trained Medic, and he’s likely suffering from anaphylactic shock. He’s probably allergic to something he’s eaten. Do as I say, quickly, if you want to save him. Someone call an ambulance.’

I looked around and picked the heaviest man I could find. ‘You lad, lie across him and keep him still,’ and then I said to the victim’s wife. ‘You lie across his legs and don’t look until I say so. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there a nurse in the place,’ I shouted, ‘or someone with medical training. Come on the man’s dying. Is there a nurse here?’

‘Yes,’ a voice answered from the back of the crowd. A girl young enough to be my grand-daughter pushed her way to the front.

‘What’s your name, lass?’

‘Sharon.’

‘Right, Sharon,’ I said, ‘I want you to hold his head. Put a hand either side and tip it back, okay?’

‘Yes.’

I fumbled in my jacket for my Swiss army knife, knelt alongside the dying man, opened the scissor attachment to cut the turtleneck sweater away from his throat. Next, I unscrewed the cup top from the thermos flask and unsealing the bottle of whisky poured a generous measure into it.

I swapped the scissors for the main blade and cut off a six-inch length of the plastic tube, chamfered one end and then dropped it into the whisky along with the knife.

Ripping open the box of tissues I pulled one out and soaked it with whisky before liberally pouring some over my hands. I did the same to the choking man’s neck whose breathing was barely audible and his lips were a definite shade of blue.

‘Are you ready, Sharon?’

‘Yes.’

I took a swig from the bottle for courage and said, ‘Right, let’s do it.’

Taking the sterilised knife from the cup with my free hand, I felt for the pulse in the guys neck to locate the jugular vein. Holding my finger on the spot for reference I chose a point below the Adams apple and with the knife at an angle of forty-five degrees I took a deep breath and made a two inch cut lengthways following the windpipe.

The first incision was deep. Dabbing the blood away with a whisky soaked tissue and using two fingers I opened the cut wide enough to find what I was looking for and this time made another incision into the Trachea.

Immediately there was hissing followed by gurgling as the man’s starved lungs pulled air in through the improvised vent hole.

‘Tilt his head back further, Sharon.’

I took the length of tube from the whisky and carefully fed the chamfered end into the incision and down into the open windpipe and left a couple of inches poking out.

Using the elastoplast I taped the tube firmly into place before securing it with whisky soaked tissues and the crepe bandage.

The man was now breathing easily, if not noisily, and I packed everything away before turning to Sharon and saying, ‘Well done, lass, stay with him and keep him quiet, he’ll be alright now.’

I stood up and was immediately swamped by the man’s wife in a bear hug.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said, ‘who are you?’

I was saved by the doors bursting open and two Paramedics rushed in. During the melee which followed I took the opportunity to disentangle myself and slip away. I distinctly remember somewhere in the distance a clock striking twelve. The whole damn episode had taken just ten minutes.

In the car park later I was sat in the car going over the events of the morning when a helpful young Policeman came over and tapped on the window.

‘Are you alright, sir.’

I nodded and lowered the window. He instantly got a whiff of the whisky on my breath and coat sleeves and leaned closer. When he saw the unsealed whisky bottle poking out of the bloody carrier bag on the passenger’s seat he snatched the keys from the ignition and said, ‘I have reason to believe you’ve been drinking, sir. Step out of the car, please?’

I nodded and said, ‘It’s a funny old day.’

—

‘You never told me about that, George. You only said the Police had stopped you.’

‘I know, lass, I didn’t want to worry you and you’ve seen me do it before.’

Doctor Hayle interrupted with a polite cough. ‘What happened next, George. You said you were late getting home.’

‘The policeman did his job of course and sent for back-up. They arrested me and took me back to the Station and the consequent blood test and breathalyser, not to mention checking out my story, took quite a long time and it was close to seven o’clock before I got away. The Police advised me the main road was blocked because there had been an incident and I decided to take the cross country route home which because of the recent rain was probably not the best decision…

—

I remember groaning and shaking my head as I tried to make sense of the clunk I’d heard in the background. My head was throbbing abominably and my right shoulder hurt like hell as did my left hip. I remember thinking that my damn pain-killers I take for my arthritis weren’t working very well.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand in an effort to rouse myself from the red mist and when I took my hand away I saw blood.

'Shit,' I cursed as my worst fears were realised. Through the groggy mush in my brain I became aware of a cold damp sensation creeping up my legs. I reached down and felt the water seeping insidiously higher around my thighs. In the faint moonlight I became aware of the reflection of water all around me in the car and the mushy beginnings of ice.

The gravity of my situation jerked me into reality and I recalled driving down the lane toward the humpback canal bridge. The car had swerved violently on black ice and lurched upwards as it struck the grass verge, crashed through a five-bar gate and rolled down the slope at the side of the bridge. Fortunately for me I landed in the canal the right way up.

‘Bugger,’ I shouted, ‘why tonight of all nights? I'm going to be well and truly late for Lesley’s Nativity play—Sorry love!’

A peaceful calm swept over me as I recalled Jacquie texting me not to be late.

Then something clicked in my frozen brain. 'Wake up, you idiot,’ I said, comforted by the sound of my own voice, ‘your mobile—Ring someone.’

My melancholy instantly left me and I searched for the phone in my jacket pocket when it occurred to me that the water was up to my waist and the phone would be wet and useless.

Once again my brain was numb when a little voice said, ‘Try a door, George, and get the seat belt off.’

I reached for the seat belt clasp and found it jammed by the passenger seat which had torn loose in the rollover and wedged itself tight against it. I was held fast.

'Oh! Jeez,’ I muttered, ‘you’re in trouble, mate,’ before sense prevailed. ‘I know, cut it.'

The effort to twist and reach underwater into my trouser pocket for my knife made me cry out as the pain from my damaged sternum encircled my body and a lightning bolt shot down my left thigh. Over-riding the discomfort I jiggled the knife out with shaking finger tips, opened it and cut myself free.

All the time this was going on I could sense the car sinking lower and through the windscreen I could only see an inch of night sky as the weight of the engine pulled the front down.

At this point I reached around and tried a door and found it locked. I knew instantly what the clunk had been. The electronic door locking system had shorted out and locked me in.

The picture of Jacquie and the kids flashed before me and I mentally congratulated myself for putting my papers in order. I then realised the deep sorrow she and the children would feel and so close to Christmas.

‘Wake up you maudlin' bastard,' I admonished myself, ‘you ain’t gonna die yet.’

The water was up to my chest and somewhere in the back of my mind I recalled reading about such an emergency. The manual had said—If you can't get the doors open kick out the back window or the windscreen but first let the water pressure equalise.

The back window was the smallest so logic said that would be the easiest but I’d never make it over the back of the seats, it had to be the windscreen.

Getting over the gear stick was an effort and my right shoulder and collar bone were throbbing fiercely but I managed to slide sideways into the passenger seat. Lifting both legs with difficulty above the dash I wedged myself against the back of the seat and waited, forcing myself to breathe steadily, although my body core was pushing the freezing air from my lungs in its attempt to retain heat.

I felt the front wheels bump on the bottom of the canal and I sat waiting for the rear to settle. I took a huge last breath as the water went over my head and then kicked as hard as I could at the top corner of the screen resisting the urge to scream at the pain from my left leg.

I felt the screen give a little and tried again at the bottom corner. With lungs bursting, it popped out on the fourth attempt. Adrenaline overcame my pain as I pushed towards the surface. Once there I clung onto the roof of the car sucking in great gulps of the biting cold air.

After a minute, with my teeth chattering, I threw myself the short distance to the side of the canal but found I couldn't pull myself up the frozen grassy bank. I dragged myself hand over hand until I was under the bridge and found enough grip on the gravel towpath to pull myself up.

I crawled painstakingly up the slope to the road. My tortured limbs complained at every movement and I collapsed in a frozen heap on the grass verge.

The last thing I remember before passing out was a bright light shining in my eyes and the rough tongue of a German Shepherd dog licking my face and all I could utter was, ‘It’s been a funny old day!’

‘George, you’re wrong, darling. Your nightmares started immediately after our holiday incident.’

Doctor Hayle looked up with interest. ‘When was that, Jacquie? George is obviously keeping that quiet.’

‘Eighteen months ago we went on holiday to Cyprus. He doesn’t like to talk about it because he spent time in prison—on remand until the Cypriot Authorities decided there was no case to answer because of mitigating circumstances.’

‘What were they, Jacquie?’

‘Provocation—I was verbally abused and the offender was found to be under the influence of drugs and alcohol. He was a wife beater too.’

George went to speak, ‘Yes, Doc, but…’

Dr Hayle held his hand up. ‘Hold it there, George, let Jacquie tell this one.’

Jacquie gave George a smile of encouragement before she continued, ‘We had borrowed a villa in Cyprus belonging to some friends and had just dropped off the rental car and joined the queue for check-in. We were minding our own business when they opened another desk and called us forward. To cut a long story short this tall fit looking guy behind us took exception to this and started sounding off—Something about jumping the queue and his son. What he had to do with it we don’t know.’

Anyway, George turned to him and said, ‘Okay, mate, your needs appear to be more urgent than ours, go ahead.’

We stood back and let this man and his family through when he turned on us and with a lot of four letter abuse he called us for everything.

We were stunned, as were the checking in staff and other passengers. I can’t remember what I said exactly but this guy turned on me and said, ‘Butt out, Mrs.’

I didn’t heed the warning signs. The next thing I heard a quiet voice say, ‘Would you care to apologise to my wife, sir?’

It was the voice. The way he spoke should have told me.

Our querulous would be fellow passenger thrust his face forward and said to George, ‘What are you going to do about it, Grand-dad?’

I was too late. George’s left hand came up from around his knees palm uppermost and he hit this idiot with the heel of his hand under the nose. In a swift second movement, he jabbed a thumb into the man’s throat and for good measure he did a stiff arm smash down the side of his neck as he slumped to the floor. It couldn’t have taken more than the blink of an eye.

There was something about the way the man fell. As he hit the floor he twitched and his eyes rolled up into his head. I knelt down and felt for a pulse, and then I looked up at George and said, ‘He’s dead!’

Doctor Hayle stopped her and looked at his notes. ‘That’s it, George, the moment your brain said, ‘Enough!’ The moment history repeated itself and you said, and I quote, ‘What do you mean—He’s dead?’

 ***

 POSTSCRIPT

Now the pressure has been removed from the cauldron of his life George Hunter lives quietly in Cheshire with Jacquie and their two children, Iain and Lesley, two cats and Tess, a rescued German Shepherd dog, who, sensing George’s vulnerability never leaves his side.

Because of Jacquie’s inheritance George could well afford to retire and relax but on the advice of his psychiatrist he now works part time as a shelf-stacker at the local supermarket where he has made friends and interacts with the public. He sold his gardening business to his assistant Gary and when he’s not working he helps Jacquie run their small Garden Centre.

On Thursday mornings he attends a ‘Writers Group.’ He is also researching Post Traumatic Stress Disorder which affects many people in our Armed Forces and Security Services and he intends to write a book about it. His favourite writing, however, is for his children and he has written a series of short stories called ‘Henrietta—Tales from the Farmyard’ which they love.

His nightmares are now sporadic and he is able to sleep without the aid of medication and to his relief, his libido has returned. Much to the annoyance of Jacquie his hair oddly defies nature and stress and at sixty-eight years of age he still has his natural dark hair.

 THE END

Acknowledgements.

 Books I found useful:

 The Dervish of Windsor Castle by L Alder & R Dalby

The Feather Men by Ranulph Fiennes

Task Force Dagger by Robin Moore

The Spy who came in from the Cold by John Le Carré

and from the Internet:

Google Maps

Thai Army—How to fly a Helicopter

Cover pictures.

Boeing -MD C17 Globemaster – www.militarywallpapers / www.raniarieli.com

Jungle Scene - The Thrifty Traveller

Oman empty quarter - www.oursurprisingworld.com

About the author

 My name is JB. Woods and I am a retired soldier and fibre optics industrial operative who has turned his hand to writing after researching my wife's family history which I used as the basis of my first book—‘Stolen Birthright’—a historical novel based on fact.

 I then joined the ‘Paphos Writers Group’ and had many short stories published. As a result of lessons learnt with them, and recalled from my school days, I now edit other peoples work.

 My other exploits into the literary world include:

‘A Cry of the Heart’— a ghost-written account of the traumatic life story of a young woman in South Africa.

‘A Sheffield Tyke.’— a ghost-written biography of a wandering Yorkshireman.

I also ventured into the world of children’s books with a series of short stories called ‘Henrietta – Tales from the Farmyard.’—yet to be published.

 A film script (Ellie) inspired by ‘Stolen Birthright’ and written by script-writer Douglas Stewart is currently being considered by Producers and Financiers for production in 2013.

Copyright 2011 JB. Woods