Blackest of Lies (21 page)

Anne looked at him for a second and knew that matters were serious.  “Stay right there while I sort out transportation.”

“My very thoughts.”

Giving him an old-fashioned up-and-down look, she bustled off.

Five minutes later, on their way to the Station, Hubert gave her the main headings of everything that had happened since they last met while she attended to the visible bruises and cuts he had sustained courtesy of Boissier and Pickup.  His clumsy descent down the scaffolding had done nothing to help, either.

“I cannot believe it,” she said when Hubert outlined Kell’s plans for the
Hampshire
.
  “
No, I know it
must
be true if you say it is but how can any man contemplate such a crime?”

Hubert grimaced for a moment while the cab swayed across a tram line junction.  “To be honest, I think it has hit the old man fairly hard to come to this pass.”

She looked at him aghast.  “Are you seriously condoning this?”

“Of course not!  Henry is my closest friend.  All I’m trying to say is that, for Kell, he did the arithmetic and, while the answer appalled him, he believed the logic of it all to be unanswerable.  He sees it as his
duty
to make the decision that will send Henry and 700-odd sailors to the bottom.  It’s that or the loss of the War – and, remember, he
could
have let me just go down with the ship.”  He sat still for a moment, looking at Anne.  The real Kitchener was already dead but now, to create a more acceptable story, his friend would follow him. His eyes blazed.  “Thank God it’s not
my
job to take decisions like that but I’m damned if I’ll let Henry die without a fight.”

Anne sat back and smiled archly.  “You believe you’re – what was it – ‘fit to fight’?”

“Fine, fine – mock the afflicted.  Just patch me up, get me to the train and I’ll wish you
adieu
.”

She chuckled.  “Not a chance. 
One
blunt instrument in this enterprise is more than enough.”

**********

“You were told to remain with Hubert.  Have I misunderstood my own orders?”  Kell’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Boissier bristled.  “We were only just across the road, sir.”

“In a public house, was it not?”

“Yes, sir.  But we could see the windows of his flat.”

“But
not
the back.”  Kell sat back in his chair and looked over steepled fingers at the two men standing, shame-faced, in front of his desk.  “We now have some serious damage limitation to handle because of you two.  God knows what Hubert is going to do but we can be sure it will be connected, in some way or other, with pulling Colonel Farmer out of the soup.  If he reaches the
Hampshire
and rescues him, the entire story will reach the ears of the Press.  Certain as Christmas.  It will make Repington’s day.”

Pickup made a snort of derision.  “There’s no chance he’s ever going to reach the ship before it sails.  And, even if he did, they would never let him on board.  They’ll just arrest him.”

“You really are as foolish as you look.”  Kell was icy cold.  “What do you think he’ll be saying while they detain him?  Do you think he’ll sit there in silence while Farmer goes off to meet his Maker?  He’ll be shouting everything at the top of his voice to prevent the ship putting to sea.  When it gets to Colonel Farmer’s ears, he’ll own up to the whole affair!”

Pickup looked at the carpet for a moment to allow Kell’s anger to wash over him.

“And there’s another complication – while you two were heading back here, I had a word with Sir Basil.  He tells me that Miss Banfield has also ‘disappeared’ herself.  It takes no great leap of the imagination to assume that she is assisting Hubert.  She already had concerns about Kitchener and, if they are in league with one another, our problems go up by an entire order of magnitude.”

“She’ll give us no problem,” sneered Pickup.  “We had a quiet word with her.  She’s probably taking a day or two off to recover.”  He giggled at Boissier, who remained stony-faced and silent.

“Be quiet,” said Kell in a monotone.  It was perfectly clear that, although Hubert was in a bad way physically, he had the sheer bloody-mindedness to reach Farmer somehow.   Banfield’s involvement would help to mitigate some of Hubert’s physical weakness.  They had to be stopped and, unfortunately, that meant bringing in Thompson. 

“The Station Master at Kings Cross informs me that O’Beirne and Duquesne have reserved a special train to take them up to Thurso.  Hubert will undoubtedly start at Kings Cross and he’ll find out about the special.  Once he learns that O’Beirne is on board, he’ll do his best to expose Duquesne and we cannot allow that to happen under any circumstance.  This is what the two of you are going to do – get over to Kings Cross before that train leaves and secure them both. Stay with them on the train and head for Orkney.  Thompson will arrange for the Scottish police to take custody of your guests at Thurso and escort them back down to me.  That should keep Hubert out of mischief for a couple of days at least. After the ship goes down, prevent anyone on the main island making successful rescue attempts.  If Farmer were to be found alive we’d have serious questions to answer.  The same goes for any sailor coming ashore with tales of an MI5 officer running loose around the ship, just in case you don’t manage to lay hands on our Canadian. Thompson will also alert Police Forces up and down the line of travel with some story of a foreign agent, intent on sabotage at Scapa, heading their way.”

He toyed with his paper knife again for a moment.  “This is the last chance you have to redeem yourselves but …” He pointed the tip of the knife towards them, “... bear something in mind.  Should you fail in this, I
promise
you shall find yourselves in uniform and heading for Flanders within twenty-four hours.  Make no mistake about that.”

Boissier blanched.

“Report to Major Haldane and sort out warrants, cover story and all the rest of it.”

Boissier and Pickup looked at each other.  Clearly, they had questions to ask but Kell was in no mood to prolong the interview.  He had already picked up his pen.

“Get out of my office."

**********

Anne scampered back into the space behind an abandoned gaggle of luggage bogies in the arches between Platforms 1 and 2.  Hubert was sitting mournfully on the ground, clutching his ribs.  She smiled sympathetically at him.  “How’re things with you, Lieutenant?”

Hubert knew – just
knew
– that this was ‘the’ girl.  She just didn’t know it yet, poor thing.  “I thought we had sorted out the ‘Lieutenant’ business?”

“We’ve no time for all that nonsense, you idiot, so pay attention.  I flashed my Special Branch warrant card and administered a one-way interview to the Station Master.  Colonel Farmer left as planned but there was the problem with O’Beirne and this Rix man you told me about.  They arranged a special to take them after the main party.  It’s leaving in forty minutes from Platform 9 and because it will make no stops apart from water and coal, it’ll get into Thurso only an hour or so after them.  I put the fear of God into the man and he’s sworn to secrecy but he’s in on something, I’m sure.  If I’d had more time, I’d have dragged it out of him.”

Catching sight of Hubert staring at her, she stopped.  “What?”

“You’re a bit frightening sometimes – did you know that?”

“As I say, shut up and listen.  From what he said – and more from what he
didn’t
say – there are dirty tricks afoot.  I take it that’s something to do with
your
brethren.  He was
told
not to give ‘Kitchener’ cover in any of the waiting rooms so that the great unwashed could stare at him.”

Hubert leaned back against the brick archway.  “It’s Kell and Thompson.  They want him exposed and vulnerable.”  He coughed wretchedly and then added, “It also gives yet another lie to the IRB if they decide to announce his murder.  Half the British Army and their families will have seen him today waiting for a train.”

Anne leaned down to help Hubert, groaning, to his feet.  “Well, we’re getting on that train – baggage carriage sounds the best bet – and then we can start thinking about what we’re going to do once we reach Scapa because I just don’t see myself making any serious dent in the Royal Navy.”

“You underestimate yourself,” he gasped, as he tried to move into a more comfortable position.  “It’s all part of your charm.”

Sunday, 4 June 1916 2050 hours – Monday, 5 June 1916 1645 hours

Anne’s warrant card worked its magic again – this time on the guard checking the luggage van.  “Where can I get one of those?” whined Hubert dramatically.  Commanding him – once again – to shut up, she helped him into the most comfortable spot she could find among the trunks and suitcases.  That done, she disappeared for a moment back into the station to forage for things edible.  He was getting worried the train would leave without her when she made a re-appearance, loaded with food and drink.

“Sorry.  One of our friends up front kept sticking his head out of the window.  I’m not sure why but I didn’t like the idea of his seeing me get on board so I had to hide a couple of times.”

The guard looked round the door, “Right, miss, we’re off.  Shall I let the party in First Class know you’re here?”

Anne was about to agree when she felt the hidden pressure of Hubert’s hand on her back.  “No”, she said, “Best not.  Let’s just leave it for the moment.”

“Right-o.  Oh, by the way, my name is …”

She held up her hand, “Really grateful for your help but it’s better if we keep names out of it.”

The guard tapped the side of his nose, as though he understood what was going on.  “A nod’s as good as a wink.”

When the door had closed, she rounded on Hubert.  “What was
that
in aid of?”

“I’m like you, only more so – I’m not sure it’s a great idea letting
anyone
know we’re on the train.  God knows the people Kell’s got in the palm of his hand.  It seems clear as day that we should get ourselves into O’Beirne’s compartment and give him the SP on his ‘MI5’ companion but I’m starting to think it might be best to let Duquesne relax – let his guard down a little.  We can always get the Royal Navy to bounce up and down on him when we get to Thurso.  Let's just lay low and figure out exactly what we’re going to do once we get there.  I had some time to think when you abandoned me and if you can come up with any other way to reach Henry except on board the
Hampshire
, then you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.  He’ll have transferred over there from the flagship by the time we arrive.  The good thing is that it won’t set sail until that lot up front gets there – so it looks like
I’ll
have to convince the Captain of the
Hampshire
that he and his men have been sold to the Hun by MI5.”  He smiled ruefully at Anne.  “Won’t be an easy sell.”

She leaned back against a rather damp and peeling bulkhead.  “Yes but when I’m able to back your story …”

He snorted inelegantly, “Use your head.  When was the last time a woman seen on a British warship at sea – apart from being stuck on the prow?”

“Ah ... hadn’t thought of that ... you may conceivably have a point.”

“Has Special Branch any resources we can use in the frozen north?”

She paused for a moment.  “Well ... yes.  There’s a trawler we keep at Wick for all sorts of sneaky-beaky stuff, mostly to do with Irish Nationalists, recently.”

He glanced up at her, hearing the evasion in her tone.  “You’re prevaricating, Special, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing – drop it.”  She looked down at him.  “You still look pretty rubbish.  How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be fine in a little while.  I just have to take a long run at breathing easily these days.”  He beamed at her, “But my curiosity is unimpaired.”

“I
could
help you have a relapse.”

**********

“I’m very sorry, Mr O’Beirne, but I was inserted into this operation at very short notice.  Colonel Datchett needed to brief me at the last possible moment at Paddington,” Duquesne said soothingly.

O’Beirne remained ruffled.  “I was made to look a fool in front of Lord Kitchener himself.  Whoever is responsible for this nonsense will be hearing from the Foreign Office the moment we reach St Petersburg.  I was only informed early this morning that you were to substitute for Rix and …” He peered myopically across at Duquesne.  “Your accent – you’re South African, are you not?”

Duquesne cursed inwardly.  He
had
been trying to sound English.  “I am,” he said, curtly.  “I was born there and lived in Durban until I was a young man.  Does that bother you?”

The train, at that moment, entered the first of the series of tunnels leading the track away from King’s Cross.  The carriage had been hastily prepared for the unexpected group and the window had been left ajar by someone to air the long-unused carriage.  Billows of sooty smoke flooded in.  O’Beirne stood sharply up, snapped the window shut and looked down at his uninvited travelling companion.  He appeared to be about forty years old, compactly-built and dark complexioned.  A casual glance at that clean-shaven face would put him down as a terror with the ladies but anything closer would have to involve those sunken eyes; they shifted deceitfully in the shadows cast beneath prominent brow ridges – the eyes of a liar.

“Of course not.  That particular disagreement is thousands of miles away and a long time ago, now.”  He sat down and adjusted his thick-lensed pince-nez.  “But, since we are to work together, we need to straighten a few things out.  For example, may I have the honour of your
real
name – or is that not permitted?”

“Certainly.  It’s Captain Claude Stoughton.”  He reached over to receive a reluctant handshake from O’Beirne.  “Of the
British
Army,” he added, just for spice.

“Really?”

“Actually, the Western Australian Light Horse.”

“I see.  Well, Captain, we will be in the company of the great and the good in a few hours and I have been given only the most elementary idea of the reasons for your appearance here.  Before we make a complete shambles of the whole thing, is there any chance that you might enlighten me concerning the whys and the wherefores?”

Duquesne squirmed a little for effect and glanced across from under his eyebrows at the little bookworm.  “As you might imagine, I am constrained by matters of security but I think I would be excused, given the circumstances, if I were to give you a general idea.”  He smiled at the other man, wondering how it would feel to throttle him.  Right now.  No – he had to be professional and concentrate on the big picture.  Perhaps O’Beirne could be a sort of ‘perk’ of the job – something to be saved up and savoured at the right moment.

“Well?”

Duquesne trembled a little at the other man’s irritation – one of your typical “milords” of the bastard English race.  “Your time’s coming
very
soon,” he thought. 

“Your pardon,” he murmured, “I was miles away.”

**********

In a compartment of the second class carriage just in front of the guard's van, Pickup snickered as he collapsed onto the bench seat.  “That was a lucky break, your spotting our boy Duquesne!”

Boissier finished stowing his luggage in the overhead rack and smiled frostily at the other man. “If he had, it would have messed up the whole Colonel Datchett story.  Better that he plays his part and, hopefully, goes down with the ship.”

“And if he escapes?”

“Colonel Datchett,” he gestured, self-deprecatingly at himself, “is here to rescue him.  Kell has plans to sort out the
real
Rix so that the story never gets out. 
Our
Rix, as an individual, is due for a watery grave, I fear.  We are supposed to extract Duquesne if we can and a grateful government will give the real Mr Rix, formerly resident of the Lake District, a new life – better than being a shorthand clerk and valet.”

“And then we dispose of Duquesne.”  Pickup sighed contentedly.

Boissier looked at his reflection in the window to check that his tie was still immaculately centred.  “That’s the odd thing,” he said.  “Kell wants him released and I couldn’t draw him on it.  He has something up his sleeve with respect to our little Boer.”

“What about Hubert and Farmer ...
and
Fitzgerald?” asked Pickup.  “And there’s MacLaughlin, too, of course.”

Boissier patted his breast pocket.  “I have a writ from Haldane authorising us to invoke martial law if we need to and we’ll have the help of an officer of the Glasgow Police, no less – an Inspector Vance.  We’re supposed to meet up with him at Stromness.  Kell has told him just enough of the story to make him useful.  Then, straight onto the mainland of Orkney while that lot are enjoying their canapés with Jellicoe.  If Duquesne can tell the time and doesn’t blow himself up priming the ghastly thing, the
Hampshire
should have an irritating hole in its side while it’s passing Skaill Bay or the Brough of Birsay.  God, but I hate saying these bloody Scotch names.  They leave a ghastly taste behind in one’s mouth.  Anyway, it’s difficult to tell exactly when they’ll get to the ‘drop-off’ point,” he chuckled.  “It depends on their departure time and weather, I suppose, but it should be sometime mid-evening tomorrow.  We need to get ourselves a motorcar – perhaps Vance will have sorted that out – and patrol the shore road thereabouts to ensure that no-one connected with Kitchener gets rescued by the local ‘heroes’.  Our cover stories for the plebs are that I am
Lieutenant
Boissier of the RMA and you, believe it or not, are a Naval Surgeon.  They really exist, apparently, both of them.  We should look as though we’re there to help but if any of the Broome lot come our way … Now, as for Hubert and that Banfield girl, we'll wait until we're well away from London and pay them a visit.  They must be
so
uncomfortable in the guard's van.”  He closed his eyes and lay back to take a nap but blinked awake again, “One final thing – we’re to remember that Cumming has a couple of his boys on the Hampshire doing sneaky stuff.  One of them is making sure the radios are disabled and the other is dealing with that water-tight door – supposedly a Navy rating and an Army private.  We’re to look after them if they survive.”

Pickup gazed vacantly out of the window as the train left the tunnel.  “And if any of those in the know get ashore?”

“We drown them like puppies.”

**********

Hubert was showing signs of recovering and was able to stand up without too much discomfort, even with the movement of the train.  Anne gave him a professional look up and down.  “I’m not trying to pry but someone told me that you were gassed at Ypres, Lieutenant.  Is that right?”

“'Chris', woman!”

“For goodness’ sake, all right –
Chris!”

Hubert beamed affectionately.

Anne ignored it and persisted. “So why are you still in uniform?  You’re clearly very ill.”

Hubert sat quickly down on one of the trunks as the carriage swayed on a bend and grimaced at her. “The alternative is just too dreadful to contemplate – working for my father.”

Anne’s ‘ah’ said it all.  “But you
are
going to get better, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” he lied.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?” asked Anne, when further details seemed to be unforthcoming.  Hubert made to offer another flippant remark but she held up a hand.  “No, no – don’t.  Don’t deflect the question.  No-one really knows what it’s like over there.  I have relatives who come home on leave and can’t talk about any of it.  All they want to do is to get back to the Front again – back among their friends.  Everyone I meet says the same.  If you can bear to, I’d like to know.”

It dawned on Hubert that this tiny girl somehow
needed
to know, to make all her own efforts matter and –
somehow
– to put the miserable existence enforced, even on her, by the War into some sort of context.  Yet again, he found himself admiring her ‘Head Girl’ attitude. 

“Actually”, he began, “it was all rather fun …”

Anne was finishing off a sandwich.  “What!” she choked, appalled.

“... except for the last bit, of course.”  He chuckled for a moment and then become sombre.  “All that death around me yet, somehow, I never felt so alive.  I suppose it was the excitement of the thing – you know, placing your life in the hands of others and knowing you were responsible for theirs.  It was as if life just sort of ... made sense, you know? It was all so very ... well,
simple
.”  He came back to the moment and laughed self-consciously.  “Sorry, I’m sounding a bit mystical.”

Anne wasn’t laughing.  “Not a bit of it – go on,” she said.

“Well, I was with Princess Pat’s Light Infantry in a trench line on the Ypres Salient that had just been vacated by the French.”  He grunted. “Didn’t clean up after themselves, either, the filthy swine.  Anyway, my platoon was renowned as the best snatch squad on the Front.”

“
Snatch
squad?”

“Yep, snatch squad.  We’d snatch Germans.  Same old route every night – along the trench, turn right at the barbed wire, past the Frog legs and …”

“Frog legs!  What do you mean – ‘Frog legs’?”

“Just what I say – the French had held this trench before us.  They’d had to bury some of their guys in its eastern wall and the rain and shelling had caused it to subside a bit.  The legs of one of the dead Frenchies ended up sticking out of the wall.”