Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (30 page)

Angela glared at him, ‘So the high and mighty, Mr Frank Lewis, is getting pissed off. Well what about me, I’m the poor sod who has to explain it to the CoS, and what do I say? Sorry gentlemen, but as you may have noticed, we’re killing off the staff one by one, and unfortunately, we haven’t discovered the frigging password yet.’

He sighed, and turning to her, thought she seemed drawn and her eyes looked tired.

‘Well I guess one thing’s true, I did help Anderton and Hillsdown to do the decent thing, but it wasn’t all for nothing, I did get the password for you.’

Christiana tiptoed across the gravel, her mind bursting with the insanity of the farm.

‘So how could people be like that?’

Unlocking the car, she slipped inside and softly pulled the door closed beside her.

‘Those people ought to be locked up somewhere.’

But as she drove the Ferrari, quietly up to the main road, another thought came to her.

‘My god. Those crazy bastards have got me on video making a porn movie.’

She smacked the steering wheel, ‘Oh great, that’s all I need.’

Speeding away she turned north onto a minor road and looked for a quiet country pub, and after a few miles, saw just what she’d been hoping for. Turning into the leafy car park of a quaint old pub, she checked her purse for money, and collecting the papers from the boot, walked over and pushed the door open.

It was quiet and cosy inside with just a handful of couples sat chattering along the bar. Buying a glass of dry red wine, Christiana ignored the barmaid’s sniffy glance at her T shirt and walked over to a table in the furthest bay window.

Laying the papers out, she took a sip of wine as she thought back to the priest hole, because although she’d photocopied all the used portion of the pad, the small leather diary only contained the three longish messages, and as the pad pages were all without dates, it seemed almost impossible to match them up.

In the end she settled for the six most recently used pad pages, and concentrating on the first long message in the diary, carefully transcribed the blocks of figures using non carrying arithmetic until hopefully something would emerge that made sense.

She tried for over half an hour without success, but when using the fourth of the pad pages and hastily scribbling out an answer, her pulse quickened and her eyes widened in surprised relief when a long message finally appeared.

Attn DC.

Confirmation.

C agrees special dispensation.

RS temp secondment to C for your divorce requirements.

Target date 24 March 2001. Target area, Frankfurt, Germany.

Best wishes for the future.

A.

29

Christiana read the message over and over again, but it still didn’t make any sense.

It was for the attention of DC, whoever that was, and reading it through again, it looked as though RS, who was almost certainly, Robin Sheverill, had been deliberately seconded to Cardinal on a temporary basis as a dispensation to someone as a target for divorce.

So what the hell did that mean?

Sipping her wine, she looked at the message again, and it seemed to read as if Robin Sheverill was the intended target, but that was crazy, so why would he be his own target and noted down in his own diary?

Nothing made any sense.

After reading the message again, she still ended up with the same conclusion.

Someone known as DC had been given dispensation by C to get a divorce from RS.

So if C meant Cardinal, and RS meant Robin Sheverill, could
divorce
be a Cardinal expression for a hit, and if it was taken literally, RS had been seconded to Cardinal so that DC could kill him in Germany, and of course, that’s exactly what happened.

Christiana gazed out through the bay window, and while she looked at the countryside, the obvious reality of it all suddenly flooded into her mind.

Robin Sheverill hadn’t been named in his own diary at all, because this wasn’t his diary, and if divorce was meant literally, DC could only be one person.

So that horrible priest hole wasn’t Robin Sheverill’s communication room after all.

It belonged to Lucinda, and if that were true, it was the perfect murder.

Robin Sheverill had been seconded to Cardinal, so would have ceased to officially exist and his death would be recorded as
missing in action - presumed dead,
which meant, not only had Lucinda arranged for the murder of her own husband, but she’d gone to Germany and buried an ice pick into the back of his head.

My god. And if she ever discovered she knew this, she would end up the same way.

So, Lucinda was not only half mad but a Cardinal assassin, and the sooner she decoded the other messages and got out, the better.

Finding the blocks on the fifth page, she transcribed and scribbled out the answer, her eyes sparkling as the message revealed itself.

Attn DC.

Target name, Patrick Cleary.

Target date, 12 September 2001.

Target area, Dublin - Ireland.

Best wishes,

A.

Reading the message through, its intention couldn’t be clearer, well, except for those initials again. So what did DC stand for? And who the hell is A?

Sipping her wine, she realised the 12th of September confirmed Lucinda once again because Robin Sheverill had been dead for ages by that time, and Lucinda had been away, and when she’d returned, said she’d had to cover another article for her publisher.

So she’d been chasing shadows in the mirror all the time, but having come this far, wondered if the last long message in the diary might prove anything else.

Buying another glass of wine, she lit a cigarette and flipped through the diary to the last long message, but if it didn’t have a reference to Area 57 she’d wasted a hell of a lot of time at Sheverill’s farm. Oh well, she might as well find out now.

The blocks were on the most recently used page, and that was a big surprise, because the date in the diary was yesterday.

Thinking back, she remembered Martha slipping the diary to her in the early afternoon, and reading it in the summer house, found the confusing blocks of figures, and later, Lucinda received that call from her publisher and threw the phone across the garden.

So this must have been received in the morning, and scribbling blocks under blocks, she transcribed the answer to the alphabet and suddenly it was there.

Attn DC.

Be aware.

Projected Target. Female (Sorry). Name, Tara Goodwin.

Target date, 17 September 2001.

Target area. Thornley Manor.

Possible need to discuss, if so, meet 16 September.

Usual place, the dress shop by the park, Queen Square, Bath, 3’ish.

Will confirm by phone if paramount.

Best wishes,

A.

Lucinda showered away the memories of Arthur, and dressing in a full length bathrobe, collected the camcorder from under the bed and took it down to the lounge.

Placing the cassette by the television, she went down the hall to the kitchen and found Martha, but she was staring out of the window, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

‘Martha. What on earth is wrong with you?’

She tried to smile, ‘I’m alright, ma’am, it’s just the onions.’

‘Oh, is that all. Well a glass of wine should make you feel better, you look hideous.’

Pouring two large glasses of red wine, she handed one to Martha, ‘Here.’

‘Thank you, ma’am, you’re very kind.’

Looking around, Lucinda stood quite still as she listened to the sombre old house.

‘Where’s Chrissy?’

Martha shrank back, ‘I think she must have popped out, ma’am.’

‘Popped out?’

‘Yes ma’am, Arthur said her car’s gone.’

Lucinda stared at her from wild eyes, ‘Gone?’

Even holding her glass tightly, Martha couldn’t stop her shoulders from trembling.

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘But I wanted to show her my new movie …’

‘Sorry ma’am.’

‘Oh, you’re sorry, are you? Well that’s no fucking use, now is it, you useless old fart.’

‘No ma’am.’

‘So why didn’t you stop her?’

‘I didn’t know she’d gone, ma’am, I thought she was upstairs with you.’

‘Don’t you dare blame me, you disgusting piece of horse shit.’

Raising her glass, Lucinda was about to hurl it at her when her eyes brightened.

‘Presents. Presents, Martha. She’s gone to buy me presents.’

Martha felt dizzy
. Holy Mary, Mother of God, grant me this day.

Frank stood in the shower, and as the icy watery needles cooled him, knew Angela was waiting for a de-briefing and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Three innocent people were involved with this days, ugly work, and somehow he had to find a way of protecting them.

First Julian, who’d provided the password, then Tara who’d now been inserted into an escape route, and finally Evelyn, who’s only future now lay in the hands of Cardinal, and all he could do was try to keep Angela happy and hope it all worked out.

Wrapping a towel around him, he stepped out onto the landing and wondered what kind of mood she would be in now, but as he padded along to the guestroom he heard her calling to him from her bedroom, ‘Oh darling. I’m in here …’

He called back, ‘I’m not dressed.’

She laughed, ‘Good. Neither am I.’

With a sigh he walked back up along the hall, pushed open the bedroom door and saw the bedside tables were laden with chilled wine and bottles of cold beer, the bed covered with trays of food, and sat in the middle of it all was Angela.

She licked mayonnaise from her fingertips, ‘Hungry?’

He nodded, and as he walked to the bed, she cleared a space for him.

‘I thought it might be nice if we talked in comfort. And so, went the day well?’

He chose his words, ‘It was okay, but quite busy.’

‘Yes, I did get that impression. So go on then, tell me all about it.’

‘Well I’m not quite sure where to start.’

Reaching over, she kissed him full on the lips, ‘Why not try the beginning?’

‘Okay, but it wasn't the best start I’ve had to a day, finding poor old Dudley swinging by his neck at the end of a curtain rope.’

She took a prawn from the dish, ‘And you’re quite sure Anderton was responsible?’

‘Absolutely. He and Hillsdown arranged it between them, and I reckon whoever messed with the file, also found a way to pressure Dudley into blocking the Sanderson file, and then had him killed to protect it.’

‘Well the Sanderson file must be the key, and whoever recruited her must have needed her information, and like Dudley, silenced her, but what I don’t understand is the point of reading that Pale 1 file, no-one could possibly remember all that.’

Frank opened a bottle, ‘He doesn’t have to, he’s got a copy of it now.’

Staring, Angela slowly turned to stone, ‘He’s what?’

Letting the shock settle on her, he spooned mayonnaise onto a dish of prawns and began describing the simplicity of the operation, and while he unfolded the story, Angela visualised Anderton sitting in the cradle and photographing the file pages, one by one, as Sheverill held them up to the window.

‘Dear god. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. We’ve got the best security money can buy at this Station, and they still managed to do it.’

‘Yeah, but Robin Sheverill was a damned good soldier, and it’s a pity he’s dead as he’s the only one who could unravel this can of worms.’

As Angela listened, she wished she’d never agreed to the dispensation for Lucinda.

‘Oh well, it’s done now. So what is this damned password?’

‘Not so fast, there’s a few things we need to clear up before we get to that.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well to start with, dealing with the deaths of those two scum.’

‘Yes, but although they obviously had to leave the game, why did you do it yourself when you could have left it to me?’

When Frank stayed silent, she saw his eyes and remembered reading his adolescent file.

Orphanage. Carers. Child abuse. Assault. Violence.

Thinking back, she remembered Sir Freddie Bromsgrove had been discovered as being a member of the Kindergarten Club, but there’d been no reason to check for Anderton and Hillsdown, so was the Kindergarten Club the link to their deaths?

‘Frank. Did you discover something about Anderton and Hillsdown’s private lives?’

He looked down, ‘It was Monty, he found out that Sheverill, Anderton and Hillsdown were all members of some private club.’

‘I see, and was that the reason you decided to use piratical methods against them?’

‘Yeah. Well it seemed like a good idea.’

Angela let out a deep sigh.

There was always an imponderable element to any operation, and now she’d found this.

So she would have to thoroughly check the Kindergarten Register, and although it didn’t matter a damn about those scum, Anderton and Hillsdown, there were other members of that disgusting club who were of great importance to the Matrix Forty, and if Frank was likely to kill them on sight, she would have to be very careful with his duty allocations.

‘Alright. So if I sanction your piratical methods with regard to those two creatures, can we please proceed, because I really do need that damned password.’

‘Fair Enough.’

He watched for her reaction.

‘It’s, GYM SLIP, Dudley said so in a letter. I’ve shredded it now of course, but he wanted to say he was sorry for letting you down, and he wouldn’t have done it if Glenndenning hadn’t forced him.’

Angela sat up with a start, her eyes shining brightly, ‘Glenndenning?’

‘That’s right, and guess what, both Hillsdown and Anderton remembered that Sheverill had always referred to the organiser, as Mister G.’

Angela’s jaw dropped, ‘You wicked man. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

He looked down to her silky stockings, ‘I thought I’d keep you in suspenders.’

Christiana sat quietly in the pub and read the message again, the final proof laying there before her.
Meet 16 September, Bath, 3’ish.

She could see the two women in her mind’s eye as they stood across the road arguing outside the little dress shop.

So Lucinda was definitely the codenamed DC and A was obviously the grey woman, a Cardinal woman, but there was still no mention of Area 57, and that was a great pity.

Packing her things away, she stood up, but stopped and slowly sank back down again, and flipping back through the papers, came to the last long message, and it was a puzzle.

So where or what was Thornley Manor?

She’d never heard of it, but that’s where Lucinda was going to kill someone tomorrow, someone by the name of Tara Goodwin.

It was unusual for Cardinal to issue Direct Action against someone, so that person must have offended them big time, and now she couldn’t help wondering what Tara Goodwin could possibly have done to deserve dying.

Later, as she drove through a village, she saw a corner shop, and as she would be out of Sheverill’s Farm in the morning, decided to just do it.

Pulling over, she bought presents for Lucinda along with stamps and a pack of envelopes, and writing
Valkerie
inside one of them, addressed it, stuck on a first class stamp and dropped it into the mailbox.