Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (19 page)

Putting the cup down, he walked over to the door, but stopped and looked back.

‘Oh sarge. Thanks for dropping me in the shit with Angela, it cheered things up nicely, so let me know if I can shit on you sometime, and have a nice day.’

The sergeant felt a hot sticky sweat come over his skin, and sitting quietly at his desk, pulled out the drawer of his filing cabinet and took out a bottle of Grouse whisky, and taking a swig, sat back and tried to figure out what could have caused this investigation because things had been normal at Thornley Manor for years.

Well, as normal as anything can be at an X Station - and everything had been just fine until a year ago, then Hillsdown, Anderton and Miss Goodwin had all turned up at the same time, and it wasn’t long before all the rumours had started about the secret shagging that seemed to be going on everywhere.

Thinking back, he remembered something that had been bothering him for quite a while, because right after those terrorists had managed to fly aircraft into the twin towers, the government security advisors had ordered full audits at all of the six X Stations, but that hadn’t come as a surprise because just about every security system you could think of was getting a thorough shake up, and everything seemed just fine until they got to Thornley, and he never did find out why two audits were made, one after the other.

And it was after the second audit that all those high ranking people who had arrived with the swagger of their own importance, had later driven away with nervous, haunted eyes and straight, solemn faces.

As Monty’s official car cruised up to the security lodge, he looked at it all from a jaundiced eye and thought what stupid games humans played, the grandeur of their secrets so contrived, so pathetic, so ridiculous - and just so incredibly dangerous.

Watching the car come to a halt, Frank opened the door and stepped inside, but when he saw Monty, he thought he was nothing more than a dead man breathing.

Driving down the avenue, the old fallen tree came into view and Frank told the driver to stop, and carrying him in a piggyback, sat Monty down and brought him up to date with all the events he’d missed yesterday.

Monty listened intently, and when he heard the Sanderson file had been blocked by a password and Dudley’s swipe had been recorded going into the computer section, his eyes began to sparkle once more, ‘So Mr Dudley could be our man on the inside.’

‘It’s beginning to look that way, and Angela wants the password as soon as possible because the file was obviously blocked for a reason, and probably because it names the one who recruited Sanderson, and then poor old Dudley has a date with a Tarantula.’

Monty half smiled, his eyes thoughtful, ‘…Yes, she certainly is.’

Sitting quietly, Monty studied the old manor house in the distance, and quite suddenly, the computer in his head clawed him back to reality.

‘Frank, there’s something wrong here.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well some of the information given to us, makes no sense at all.’

Frank sat down beside him, ‘Go on.’

Lifting his arm, Monty drew his hand across the vast, seemingly never ending scene.

‘Well look at it all. This huge manor house, the buffer area, the estate, no-fly zone, armed guards, super security, advanced technology, and of course, Merlin, it just goes on, and quite simply, it’s far too much.’

‘Yeah, I thought it was a bit over the top, even for secret files.’

‘But that’s the whole point. Why have all of this just for the storage of secret files, and why a huge computer staff of this magnitude working on continuous shift rotations? And why Friday?’

He gave him a blank look, ‘What about Friday?’

Monty watched a squirrel dashing across the grass, and without effort, it disappeared up into the lofty branches of an ancient tree. It was still there, everyone knew it was there, it just couldn’t be seen.

‘Frank, if you remember, Miss Goodwin said both Mr Dudley and Mrs Carthwaite usually stayed over in their private apartments on Thursday night, because Friday was the busiest day of the week. But why should Friday be the busiest?’

He rubbed his jaw, ‘I see what you mean. In fact, why should any day be the busiest if the files are only kept in storage.’

‘Exactly, and apart from necessary maintenance and the odd piece of updating, what could there be for all these highly skilled computer technicians, to do?’

‘Well it sure doesn’t make any sense to me.’

Monty began to smile, ‘But maybe it begins to, if one considers the Sanderson file.’

‘You’ve lost me again.’

‘Well think about it. We are told that Mr Dudley, and against all common sense, has blocked the file with a password. But how was he able to do that?’

Frank thought back, ‘Well he is head of station, so I guess he told the technician to take a break, swiped himself into the computer room and got into the file.’

‘Quite so, but the question is, why was her file stored here in the first place?’

‘Good point. But she did work in a very sensitive area, so maybe when she died, it was brought here for security reasons.’

Monty looked up to the high branches of the ancient tree, but saw no squirrel.

‘I rather fancy you’ve just put your finger on the correct answer, because you said,
brought here
.’

‘So what about it?’

He smiled, ‘Well what if it hadn’t been brought here at all, because it was already here along with thousands of others, and all it needed was to be updated by our busy little team of computer technicians. Are you with me now?’

‘I think so, but if I understand you correctly, that would make Thornley Manor some kind of an enormous intelligence gathering station. So is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes, I rather think it could be, in fact, I’m fairly confident of it now.’

Monty gestured to the house, ‘I believe this to be a central intelligence gathering station that would make MI5’s records look like a policeman’s notebook.’

‘Well it all sounds good to me. So the official name of this place, Thornley Manor, The Ministry of Defence Depository for Works of National Treasure, is nothing more than a cover name for a government gathering and recording station.’

Monty smiled cynically, ‘Not exactly, because I doubt if this particular establishment has got anything remotely to do with the government.’

‘What? But you just said it’s a central intelligence gathering station.’

‘Correct, but not necessarily for the government. Don’t you see?’

‘Oh, come on Monty, give me a break! What the hell are you getting at?’

As Frank lit yet another cigarette, Monty smiled to the high branches of the old tree.

‘Alright. Well there are many clues to its true identity, all around.’

‘Monty for god’s sake stop playing games.’

‘Sorry, old friend, I couldn’t resist it, but don’t you see. All around.’

Frank threw the cigarette away, ‘No, I bloody well don’t. And you know fine well I’ve never finished a damned crossword in my life, but you design the bloody things, so either tell me or you’ll have to crawl back to the fucking car.’

Monty frowned, knowing he’d gone too far, and it just wasn’t fair.

‘Sorry. Well let’s start with the name, Thornley Manor, The MoD Depository For Works of National Treasure, and the name is historically correct, because at the start of the last world war, the threat of bombing caused all the treasures to be moved out of the museums to sites all over the country, and mine workings and stately homes were a first choice, and when the war was over, the government presumably saw the benefit of having the privacy of this remote manor, and kept it.’

‘Yeah, I can see that. So go on.’

‘Well it’s still here and working, so they obviously kept it going for a good reason, and I suspect for the storage of their more sensitive files, but the real clue is as I said, all around, and the buffer zone is the clue, all around.’

Frank leant forward, and when it dawned on him, a bright sparkle came to his eyes.

‘Yeah. I’m beginning to see what you mean, because the buffer zone is Cardinal.’

‘Exactly. So why would Cardinal have a protective zone all around an old Manor?’

He sat up, ‘Because they’ve got something important inside it.’

‘Splendid. But whatever their secret is, it cannot be Leonardo da Vinci, Merlin, or even the corrupted file.’

‘I don’t understand, why the hell not?’

‘Because we are here officially, and our secondment came through the recognised NSA channels and directly from the official office of the Chiefs of Staff.’

‘That’s right, it was an official secondment. So in that case, what are we left with?’

‘A great many technicians, and if they’re not required for the maintenance of stored files, they can only be here, and working in this incredible fortress to do something else, in fact I believe Cardinal has placed its nerve centre here where no-one can reach it, and just as we know there’s a squirrel in that tree, neither us or anyone else can see or reach it.’

1
8

Frank stared blankly out into space as he tried to make sense of everything.

‘Monty? If all that is true, why the hell are we here?’

Thinking through the games their masters were playing, Monty smiled sadly.

‘Oh, it’s quite simple really. You see, Thornley Manor really is a depository of secret files and someone has managed to tampered with one of them, that’s why we are here officially, to find them and prosecute their downfall, but Cardinal never wanted us here as there was always the chance we would discover their beautiful Matrioshka.’

Frank sighed, ‘You’re doing it again, and if you can’t speak in plain English I’ll have to get a bloody phrase book, so what the hell are you talking about now?’

‘Matrioshka, those beautiful wooden Russian dolls, all hiding, one inside the other.’

‘Right, so that’s why Cardinal were taking a chance, just letting us in here.’

‘They had no choice, as the corrupted file was in the official part of Thornley.’

‘Yeah. So that file must be pretty important.’

Monty looked up sharply, his watery eyes suddenly coming alive with a fierce stare.

‘Important? Frank, didn’t the names on those doors mean anything to you?’

‘No, not really. Why, should they?’

Monty sighed, ‘You seem to have forgotten your Bible teaching, my old friend.’

Frank looked away, his expression now bitter with the anger of embarrassment.

‘And you seem to forget, where I came from, books like that weren’t on the shelf …’

Monty inwardly sank when he remembered, ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot.’

Frank took a deep breath as old memories appeared and then dissolved again.

‘Oh, that’s okay, don’t worry about it. Well, go on then. So what do they mean?’

Monty looked away, there was no joy anymore in being clever.

‘Well those particular names, White Bow - Red Sword - Black Scales and Pale Death all come from the Bible - The Book of Revelation, Chapter 6, and they refer directly to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.’

Frank instinctively knew that something really bad was coming.

‘You see, according to The Holy Bible, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse represent the final conclusion of life on earth.

‘My god. Then what the hell have we got ourselves involved with?’

‘I really don’t know, except we seem to be standing in the middle of two minefields. One that belongs to the government who have a file we must secure without even being allowed to know its content, and Two, the minefield that belongs to Cardinal who have their organisation here but of whose existence no-one is allowed to know.’

Frank agreed, ‘But as Angela controls Cardinal, and her buffer zone surrounds Thornley, she must control just about everything. So if that’s right, how powerful is she?’

Monty sagged, ‘Well to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t even bear thinking about, and if my assumptions are correct, she must be a very dangerous lady indeed.’

As Frank thought it through, his plan for Tara seemed an almost impossible game to win.

Monty felt his tension, ‘Frank. Is something bothering you?’

‘Yeah, the Goodwin girl. I reckon she’s as innocent as we are, and not just a pawn in the game, because I think her involvement is ten times worse.’

‘Yes, it is. I know.’

Frank looked up in surprise, ‘You know? But how?’

‘Well I made some private calls from the clinic and called Eddy Staverton at the CIC. I gave him a top priority brief, Sir Freddie Bromsgrove, and to dig into his private life as deep as possible.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well Eddy went to Bromsgrove’s country house and spoke to his housekeeper, Stacey, she’s still there and looking after the place till the estate is wound up. He said she’d been quite difficult, in fact as hard as nails, and he had to lean on her heavily before she talked.’

‘So what did she say?’

Monty wrung his hands, ‘I wish I didn’t have to. It’s horrible …’

Frank stood up, and pushing his fists deep into his trouser pockets, just stood there.

‘Well we’ve come this far, so whatever it is, you’d better finish it.’

‘As you wish, but I’ll keep it as brief as possible, I haven’t got the stomach for it.’

Staring away into the distance, Frank’s eyes became blank as he listened.

‘You see, Freddie Bromsgrove belonged to a group of people who all had the same perversion for schoolgirls and tried to groom the more vulnerable ones from the internet, but the authorities were beginning to crack down and it was becoming too dangerous.’

Monty took a breath, ‘That’s when Miss Goodwin became involved.’

Frank swung round, ‘What? Off the net?’

‘No, because of the fire.’

‘What fire?’

‘It was on the television, some years ago. A hotel in the West Country caught fire and Tara’s parents died, that’s how she came to live with her Uncle Freddie.’

‘Oh, I see now. So how old was she?’

‘Twelve. A difficult age to cope with such a huge loss.’

Frank thought it was difficult to cope at any age.

‘Anyway, Stacey took the opportunity to groom her, and because of her beauty and very small size she was ideal for their needs.’

Frank felt a cold angry sweat coming to his brow.

‘Stacey said Miss Goodwin was kept in solitude and beaten every day until she learned to obey without question, and the only people she ever saw, were Stacey, Bromsgrove and his group of friends.’

Hesitating, Monty half looked up.

‘You see, Stacey had been a teacher at a top private school, so Miss Goodwin was given a classical education at home, along with books, television and the Open University.’

He faltered.

‘But Stacey was cunning and kept a diary of Miss Goodwin’s visitors, an endless list of all the men and women, with names, dates and times. It’s quite amazing, and some of the names are unbelievable, political dynamite, but one particular name is marked with a star, and she’d written,
this man is the personification of evil.
’

Frank was now listening with a part of his mind he would later let fade away.

‘Go on.’

‘Well this gentleman’s interest, was … Oh god. Sorry. I can’t say it.’

Frank’s mind was turning a cloudy red, ‘So what’s the bastard’s name?’

As Monty looked away to the clouds, he knew he was committing this man to death.

‘Sir Marcus Glenndenning.’

Frank stood perfectly still as the name burned itself forever into his memory.

After a moment, Monty looked round, ‘Unfortunately, there’s more.’

‘Okay. So finish it.’

‘Alright. Well as you will have noticed, certain people arrived here at roughly the same time, and each of them was recommended by Sir Freddie Bromsgrove, and I believe it was these people who made the file corruption possible. Hillsdown, the chief of police, Anderton, the clerk of works, and Miss Goodwin, the head of security.’

Frank swung round, ‘But you can’t possibly think she’s involved.’

‘No, of course not, but I believe she was placed here for two very important reasons. One, she could be controlled and manipulated …’

As Monty fell silent, Frank turned, his eyes darkly shining, ‘You said, two reasons.’

‘Yes, and the second appears to be the fulcrum to the whole disgusting business, because all of them, Glenndenning, Bromsgrove, Sheverill, Hillsdown and Anderton are all on Stacey’s list, they all shared the same perversion, and so Miss Goodwin was placed here for no other reason than to give them recreation.’

Frank saw Tara in his mind’s eye, crying in terror and cowering like a beaten animal.

‘I’m sorry. So sorry. The clothes have all run away.’

He could see her mask of fear even now as she bent double and pleaded with him.

‘Don’t hurt. Please don’t hurt. Please. Beg, beg.’

Recreation? Recreation? The bastards. The lousy fucking bastards.

The Special Dispatch courier arrived at the huge gates of Angela’s security lodge and expected the usual routine of coffee and a laugh and a joke before carrying on to the Bunker, but not this time.

He was treated as if he’d never been here before and the gates remained locked while a phone call was made, and to his surprise, the gamekeeper walked him inside the security compound and he was driven off down the avenue in the back of a Land Rover with an armed and sullen looking gamekeeper on either side of him.

Arriving at the cottage, Angela took the package without even asking him to remove the Star Tape, and when he’d asked for a signature, she’d slammed the door in his face, and that’s when he really started to worry, because when Cardinal gets a case of the jitters, everyone else should start to panic.

Taking the package through to her study, she stood quietly for a moment before stripping off the red and white security tape. Sorting through the contents, she came to the box she wanted, and sitting down at her desk, meticulously logged and coded the DVD against her inventory and recorded all the relevant details.

Target name: Miss Tara Goodwin.

Occupation: MI5. Head of Security, Thornley Manor.

Surveillance source: A permanently located camera, self-activated by any activity in the bedroom of Miss Goodwin’s private apartment.

Date of surveillance: Saturday the fifteenth of September 2001.

Inserting the DVD into the player, she sat back in the armchair and watched as Tara Goodwin’s bedroom appeared on the screen.

Ambrose Dudley was not only known for the consummate pride he had in himself but also for his devotion to Thornley Manor, but as he nervously paced back and forth across the wide carpeted expanse of his office, the tension within him seemed to drown out everything he held dear, and he hardly even noticed the golden beams of sunlight as they danced across the fine mahogany furniture and his priceless porcelain figurines, and the sadness he felt now was so overpowering he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his beloved portrait of Her Majesty The Queen.

He’d not slept well, the knowledge of his guilt making that impossible, and he knew he’d been a fool, but one of his masters had been clever enough to convince him that a crime could be called honourable if the duty of it could be seen as serving a higher purpose, and for Ambrose Dudley there could be no higher purpose than to protect Thornley Manor.

But in the cold light of day he could see what others would only see, a crime was a crime, and because of it his world would crumble around him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his entry into Merlin was discovered, and his placing of the password.

He’d let the Devil purchase his soul, and now would come Cardinal’s retribution.

He looked at the ormolu clock and knew the assassins would already be on their way, they would be here soon and he felt a small terror beginning to grow and swell within him, but what could he do? What could he do now to make amends for his terrible crime?

What could he do that would save his honour, his respect and his beloved career?

Nothing. Nothing at all. It was over.

A lifetime of devoted service was not only at an end but the shame and disgrace would be unbearable beyond all imagination, and then would come the humiliation of a charge of treachery against his beloved Thornley, and that would be too much.

Christiana watched Lucinda slumbering, and as she gazed at her, so came the myriad jostling thoughts of Dmitri, Tomlinson, the MI5 agent, Area 57, Cardinal, the coded diary and Robin Sheverill’s death, and now, just to complete the circle, here she was in a madhouse and sleeping with a dead man’s widow, Lucinda.

Sighing at the tangle of loose ends, she slipped quietly out of bed, and padding through to the bathroom, looked into the full length mirror, and pushing her hair up, pouted sexily to her reflection and wondered if Dimi would still find her desirable.

Having showered, she dressed in the clothes he’d always loved best, but chose to call them the clothes decadent western women wear for sex in the street.

She smiled, and tiptoeing out of the bedroom, softly closed the door, and making her way down to the kitchen, found Martha already busy making bread.

‘Mornin’ miss. You’re up early today. So is ma’am still asleep?’

‘Yes, and I didn’t wake her, because after yesterday, well, the rest might do her good.’

Martha kneaded the dough thoughtfully, her hands slowly working down to a halt.

‘You mustn’t take offence, Miss Christiana. You see, my lady always gets the shivers when she’s given a new article, and I wish she wouldn’t do it, but …’

Christiana poured a cup of coffee, ‘So why does she, if it upsets her so.’

Martha thumped the dough, ‘Animals, miss, she can’t abide the cruelty, so when a report comes in about a place, she goes and does it, but it seems to hurt her mind.’