A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (12 page)

Harry had left the group to the bar, snacks and cards. He walked out onto a balcony. Looking out over the dim lights of the town, he shuddered. Just a short time before he had thought of this part of the country as home. His life and future had seemed set in stone. The army had been his life and now he was about to break every rule and regulation in the book. He swallowed hard. For the briefest moment, he felt unsure of himself and then he remembered the betrayal, the lies and all he had been put through. He, Harry Royle had signed his name and taken the King's shilling and done his best, given his all and they'd stabbed him in the back and twisted the knife for good measure.

He turned his back on the view, as he realised that as a criminal and a wanted killer, the town and its people would most certainly turn its back on him, as the army had already done. He strode to the bar and pushed money across, money he hated, but knew inside he would enjoy the result of its power. He drank and this time it was for the classic reason of forgetting. The whisky tasted raw and burned both his throat and his stomach, but he cared little for comfort and only longed for oblivion. The morning came too early for the group of men. The breakfast gong being struck sounded like thunder to hung-over ears. It was a very civilised affair, the gangsters passing around the marmalade bowl and sipping tea and coffee. Royle was able to look at it with amusement. He had managed to shake off his blue funk from the night before and found himself able to smile at the foolishness of it all.

It was eleven o'clock when Harry noticed Alan Parry striding across the hotel foyer. They shook hands, and the reporter told Royle all he had discovered, since their last meeting. Over the conversation, coffee and cigarettes, Captain Mandell was exposed as not just a thug and bully, but according to Parry as a white slaver with his hooks in a large number of imported Fifi's. Fifi was not a term Harry liked. It made these girls sound like naughty seaside postcard French maids, being chased around by ageing Casanova's.

The reality was horrible. Young innocent girls lured by lies and promises of bright lights and even brighter cities. Kidnapped, abused and put to work on the streets of foreign cities, to enable their keepers to live rich lives off the backs of their misery. Mandell, Harry now realised, was a monster. He was a hired man and in this for the money and the fringe benefits. If Harry had hated the man before, he realised that he now despised him and made a silent promise to break the man and kill him with his bare hands, or else see him hang.

Alan Parry, Royle found out, spoke fluent French. Over the course of the last three months, Parry had found a small number of girls who were willing to speak out. This, he told Harry, had been the breakthrough and had enabled him to glimpse that first chink in Mandell's armour. Parry now had a dossier locked in a city newspaper office and with a duplicate in a police station's locked evidence room, which would blow the whole shameful business out of the foul, putrid water in which it swam.

Alan Parry explained that he had his principles and even they were being stretched a great deal by Johnny's ideas, but his life also meant something and the gangster had a far reach. As much as Parry disliked gangsters, he hated people like Mandell and as he finished his coffee with the last gulp, explained.

"It is better to live with the devil you know".

Harry nodded in full agreement. It wasn't necessary or even prudent for the reporter to meet the boys, or even that they should know he was involved in the venture. So Alan Parry melted away and finding a waiting taxi, headed to the station and the next London train. The day seemed endless to Harry, the men had become uneasy and fretful but had behaved themselves well enough and the day had passed without incident. With a word passed with a desk clerk on the subject of the best place to pick up girls, the men set off in search of taxi-cabs. The hotel staff were unaware that the suitcases had all been taken out through the back of the building during the previous night. It was easy for men used to breaking into houses, to simply sneak things out of a quiet sleepy hotel. The group left in taxis and asked to be dropped on the outskirts of the city, an area frequented by prostitutes and full of dingy clubs and rundown Victorian warehouses. The cabbies greedily pocketed their good size tips, before driving into the city in search of further trade. The men waited until the cabs were out of sight and then headed towards a dark building.

The sign above the warehouse doors offered fancy goods. But the paintwork was crumbling and the sign had been painted fifty years before. Royle walked up to the double doors and gave two sharp knocks, followed by a single knock and then followed by a last three sharp raps. A voice inside informed the men that they had been heard. The doors creaked their slow way open and the men piled into the large open interior, closing the doors once again behind them.

Two men had had been in the warehouse since the previous night, guarding the luggage. They had gone at the same time as the cases. Who would miss two from such a large group of nondescript men? Behind the men stood two vehicles, one a Bedford truck painted in dark green and beside that a Hillman Minx decked out as an army staff car. After a few words of merry banter had been exchanged and nerves settled, the men changed into military uniforms. A man called Curtis had been chosen for the big job because of his ability to become anyone. He was an actor by trade, but a conman by choice. He now adjusted the tie and checked his general's uniform in a large mirror, held by another man, in a private's uniform. Harry felt strange being back in his old uniform. He reasoned that if he were spotted by anyone he knew, they would be unsure for at least an instant and he would be able to make use of that moment's hesitation. It was dark when the doors were pushed open again and the vehicles started their engines. Within ten minutes, the mini convoy was on the road and heading towards the camp.

Harry pressed his lips together tightly, as he tried not to pay attention to the huge knot which was now growing in his stomach. The thought of passing through those gates filled him with dread. Worse still was the possibility of seeing Ginger again. The man had been like a brother and Harry had hoped to make contact with him, at some future time. However, even good old Ginger, the best friend Royle had ever known, would never understand this crime. All he would see would be Harry Royle stealing from his old regiment, from his former comrades, from his country. He swallowed and closed his eyes, as he took a number of slow deep breaths, to calm his jangling raw nerves. With any luck, they would be in and out before anyone knew they were there. The odds of Ginger turning up would be slim. Chances were the man had been posted elsewhere and would be long gone.

After forty-five minutes. 45 minutes which to Harry seemed to drag on endlessly, they at last reached the camp. Royle remained in the back of the Bedford with most of the men. He had felt the lurch, as the vehicle pulled up and knew that the staff car must have reached the gates. A few moments later and the lorry lurched forward once more. Harry blew out a long held breath, as he took in the fact that the sentry had been dealt with and replaced by one of the gang. The soldier would now be unconscious in the car's boot. Harry felt the vehicle negotiate several turns and knew that the driver was following the map that he, himself had carefully drawn just hours before.

The armoury was slightly off to the left and behind the canteen. The bogus General would by now be in the Co's office and his men would be supposedly on their way to the mess for a well-deserved meal. Anyone seeing the lorry would assume that orders had been given to park it behind the building. Harry was on his feet before they stopped. The feeling was very mixed as he lightly kicked the men into action, echoing other days, with other men in uniform. Royle shrugged off the thought. That was another life and another time, not now, and not here. The tailgate was dropped with a dull thud and the men piled out. Harry jammed down his peaked cap, in Guards style and strutted up to the two men outside the entrance to the armoury. Sensing the authority, both men stiffened and snapped to attention at his approach. Their salutes, however, froze at the sight of the sawn-off shotgun. With hands raised the men backed away from the door. Neither of the them knew what was happening until it was too late. Both collapsed at the feet of the cosh wielding men who had silently walked up behind them.

The door was quickly forced open and then they were inside, taking the two unconscious soldiers with them. Harry quickly issued orders as to what was to be taken and what was to be left. The men formed a bucket brigade and quickly passed the boxes from the building out to the waiting Bedford. Royle was uneasy. He hoped that ‘The General' wouldn't get too excited about his big role and blow the whole thing wide open. Harry knew that if the man made one mistake on military etiquette, the CO would be onto him and the whole thing could blow up in their faces. Within a few minutes, the job was finished and the men piled into the vehicle once more. Now it was time to wait and hope. It was another hour before they heard the sound of the car pulling out of its parking area in front of the main office. The lorry's driver keyed the engine and the Bedford came to life. The men were pushed from side to side as the vehicle picked up speed. The engine thrummed and juddered. The driver was a little more eager on the return journey. Harry cursed under his breath, hoping that going at this speed wouldn't attract the wrong kind of attention.

In a minute they had cleared the main gate and looking back, Harry could see that the sentry post was now empty, so ahead the staff car must be speeding on its merry way. The unconscious sentry had been taken from the car boot and rolled into a ditch. The lorry lurched hard as it picked up speed. All of a sudden the Bedford stopped abruptly and the men were thrown forward. Silence and then the flap was pulled sharply aside and a bright flashlight pierced the darkness. Then the light was gone and nothing for several ominous minutes, just silence. The vehicle started up again and they were on their way once more. It was hours later that Harry found out that it had been a police patrol who had looked in, not a military one. The general had managed to talk of the urgent need for troop mobilisation and a very real need for speed and for services both military and civil to pull together in this time of impending crisis. The general had earned his money ten times over that night. The policeman had not only waved them through with a smile but had even saluted as they'd passed. Harry's old CO had been made to arrange a good quality meal for his guest and provide a decent bottle of wine. The tale of the man tugging the old forelock before the dressed up actor made Harry Royle laugh.

The weapons were stored in a warehouse over at Surrey Docks, Bermondsey way. Harry and the other men were told to bury them deep within the warehouse and then forget them. Johnny had told them that he wanted things to go quiet, before using anything from the job. He said he didn't mind waiting a year or two, as he was just happy to know they were his, safe and sound. The city had become tense since the men had been away. Just a few days and the difference was there for those tuned-in to the capital's energy. Harry had noticed it straight away, a war was looking more likely and the jokes were wearing thin.

War was the only thing on people's minds and each mention of it was to Royle like a bayonet being twisted in his insides. Still thinking like the soldier he had been trained to be, he knew his place was with his men, preparing for what might come, not running and hiding like the thief he now was. He knew his mood had become black and his relationship with Ruth had become strained since his return. She seemed distant and her mood even darker than his own. He felt the need to press her at times, but his own mood always got the better of him and left him feeling morose and sorry for himself. He took to drinking heavily at the flat. He told himself that at least he wasn't upsetting anyone else. The days moved slowly onward like a slow march at a funeral.

The Blackout came as more of an annoyance than anything else. One morning a little man had stood lecturing the inhabitants of the flats on procedure, rules and regulations, to everyone's amusement. Life limped on, few people carried gas masks anymore either, too much talk of the phony war. And then it happened on a Sunday like any other, but a Sunday that none would forget. The months and weeks leading up to the declaration had been largely ignored by Royle and his crowd, just stories in the newspapers, evacuations, blackout, gas drills, all meaningless to those outside and above the law. Johnny had actually clapped his hands and slapped his desk the day he found out about Blackout precautions, knowing the opportunities awaiting his gang in the city's soon to be darkened streets. But the words ‘This country is now at war' claimed the attention of all. Harry had turned off the wireless with such violence that Ruth had thought he'd broken it. She had understood and given him space, keeping her distance for several hours, until his mood had lightened.

They had begun speaking to each other again that first evening of the war. Ruth had said that it had taken a war for them to make up, but they were friends again. They had both laughed at this and the atmosphere had lifted for a few hours. Harry had realised that his moods were nothing short of self-pity and had decided to pull himself out of his lethargy.

By the next morning, he was a little brighter. Ruth, however, though smiling, had a deep sadness in her eyes, and nervousness about her. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on what was different. Something appeared to be frightening Ruth Marker and it wasn't the war. Royle decided to do something about it and set off for The White Cat the following evening. The idea had been to ask Ruth's friends, but this came to nothing. He learned nothing new for his worn shoe leather. Every person he spoke to said the same thing. Each agreed that something was wrong, but none had any idea what it was. He spent the night going from club to club and arrived home tired and drunker than he had intended. He slept on the settee where he fell.