A Woman Involved. John Davis Gordon
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walked away angrily. Morgan followed equally angrily. She turned to him: ‘So it’s the bloody British who want me!’
He gripped her arm and whispered:
‘Anna, at least we’re not on the aircraft carrier! You couldn’t have swum off! Now those two security guys aren’t stage props! We’ve got to go with them and figure it out from there!’ He seized her elbow and led her back to the car.
She got in, furiously. Morgan got in beside her, Thompson beside him.
The consul started the car. He said airily: ‘We’re going to my residence.’ He drove off across the grass. ‘I dare say you could use a hot bath and a decent meal?’
They drove out of the airport, through security gates without stopping, onto the highway. Anna seethed, her hand clammy in Morgan’s, her face averted. They drove through tropical island countryside. Then through seashore suburbs. The car swung into a gateway.
A Union Jack hung from a pole. The iron gates opened electronically. They drove through, and stopped outside the front door. The garden was beautiful. The consul’s wife opened the door, beaming.
She bustled out, and took charge of Anna. The consul led Morgan straight into his study. He closed the door and faced him. He was a nice, bookish man.
‘Now we can speak. Thompson and Edwards are utterly reliable, of course, but we don’t know much about the cloak-and-dagger business here. Now, then, you’ll be perfectly safe, the house is well secured. And comfortable, I hope. Please make yourselves at home. You needn’t worry about being seen, because I was given strict instructions to give the servants the day off –’
‘How long are we here for?’
Mr Gillespie said busily, ‘An RAF plane is coming to fetch you. It arrives after midnight, for reasons of secrecy.’
‘To take us where?’
The consul lifted a white hand. ‘One of your people will be coming here shortly and he’ll answer –’
‘Who?’
‘One of your people. I’ve no idea where the plane’s coming from or going to. Mine not to reason why. All I know is that I am to look after you till then.’
‘I’d like some civilian kit.’
‘Indeed. I have already bought some for you, they knew your size. I was authorized to buy Mrs Hapsburg a change of dress and – er … underwear, but if it doesn’t fit my daughter’s clothing may do so. Oh, and you’re to stay indoors, please. And you’re not to use the telephone.’ He added: ‘All calls go through our central switchboard.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Now, then, business over, what can I get you to drink?’
‘I’m allowed to drink, am I? A beer, please. But I’ll take it upstairs and drink it while I bath.’
‘Of course. My wife will serve luncheon shortly.’
Morgan said firmly: ‘Thank you, but we’ll skip lunch. We’re both exhausted. I think we’ll just have a bath, a drink and a sleep.’
‘Of course,’ Mr Gillespie said, apparently relieved. ‘Would you like my wife to bring a tray to your respective rooms?’
‘That would be a better idea, thank you.’ He added firmly: ‘Mr Gillespie, I don’t know how much head office has told you, but Mrs Hapsburg and I will be sleeping in the same room.’
Mr Gillespie blinked. ‘You mean, for security reasons? …’
‘Both.’
‘Oh …’ Mr Gillespie touched his spectacles. ‘Well, of course.’ He added with a rush of joviality: ‘Beer …’ He bustled for the door. Then stopped. ‘Oh, I’m told to relieve you of your weapons. Evidently they’re not Her Majesty’s.’
Morgan would have liked to toss the gun at the man, like they do in the movies, except it would have alarmed Mr Gillespie. He placed his machine gun on the desk. Just then there was a smart knock, and the door opened:
‘Ah …’ the consul said, even more relieved.
‘Good morning,’ Christopher Carrington said, with his crooked grin. He was carrying a briefcase.
Morgan stared at him.
Carrington propped himself against the bookshelves, pipe in hand, a picture of masculine elegance. In civilian clothes. ‘Arrived yesterday,’ he said – ‘thought the Yanks might spring you from jolly old G.H. yesterday, but no such luck. They made a bit of a mess of it, if you ask me. All that sweat just to’ disperse a few fuzzy-wuzzies? After all, they’re not exactly Zulus, are they? We could have done it with one hand tied behind our backs. Still, I must congratulate you, most sincerely, Jack.’
‘What the hell are you here for, Carrington?’
Carrington lit his pipe.
‘Officially, I’m a naval observer of what the Yanks are up to. Officially Maggie Thatcher’s as sore as a gumboil with Ronnie. Unofficially, I’m here to hold your hand.’
‘You, of all people?’
‘Why not? We’re old shipmates.’
Jesus. ‘Well, I don’t need you to hold my hand. Or Anna’s.’
‘Delighted to hear it. As I say, congratulations, Jack.’ He wagged his eyebrows, gave his jolly smirk: ‘I hope it wasn’t all work and no play?’
Jesus, he could hit the bastard. ‘Meaning?’
Carrington took his pipe from his mouth, and examined it.
‘Meaning how are you and Mrs Hapsburg getting along, Jack?’
‘Mind your own bloody business!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Carrington said. He meant it. ‘I’ve offended you, I’m truly sorry, but what I really mean is, it is my business you see. How Mrs Hapsburg has taken to you coming back into her life is most important to us. That’s why we sent you. May I ask – are you two – er – close?’
Morgan glared at him. ‘Very. Now go to hell.’
‘Excellent. I will presently, but excellent. And? What has she told you, Jack?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Carrington moved to the consul’s desk, and sat down. He opened his briefcase. ‘Sit down, we’ll start the debriefing.’
‘We will not! I’m going to sleep. And so is Anna.’
‘She has told you nothing at all? I don’t believe you.’
‘Gee, that’s tough, Carrington. What I want to know is what you plan for Anna Hapsburg.’
Carrington put a match to his pipe. He puffed out smoke.
‘We fly tonight in an RAF jet to England. You and Anna will be comfortably accommodated in a safe house. She’ll be debriefed. And you.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, she’s free to do what she likes.’
Morgan resisted saying: She’s free to do what she likes right now! Carrington went on: ‘What we need to know is, is she going to give trouble?’
‘Trouble?’ Morgan said dangerously.
‘Is she going to cooperate?’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
Carrington sighed. ‘That’s the tricky part.’
Oh Jesus … He had to bite his tongue.
‘She’ll cooperate. She’s glad to be off the island. She very much wants to go to England with me.’
‘Good,’ Carrington said with relief ‘– we’re so pleased. We’re relying on you to reassure her –