 
Goodbye Jeremy

Steve Horner

Copyright. Steve Horner 2017

Steve Horner has asserted his right to be identified as the

author of the work in accordance with Copyright, Design and

Patents Act 1988.

All characters and situations in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

With thanks to Sue Williams for her editing assistance.

# Contents

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Part 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

# Part 1

#

# 

# Chapter 1

'Maybe' said the Inspector pointedly, 'he wasn't worth your worrying about, how long do you think your money would have kept him happy Mr Clay?'

'Although that maybe so Inspector, doesn't help me come to terms with what has happened and what I could have done to change it,' replied Stuart standing near the exit of the rapidly emptying room. He stood transfixed on the raised bench area from where the Coroner had called an end to the two-day inquiry, with the verdict – Death by misadventure, drowning. The reporters, who just recently had sat bored by the slow progress were now a frenzy of activity, desperate to meet editorial deadlines with this story.

'Story', thought Stuart Clay, 'a week from now no one will remember or care; it's a page filler, soon to be drowned out by the latest political mess or sex story.' His thoughts moved from the bench to the face in front of him, the skin stretched tightly across the high cheekbones, the long thin nose, dull eyes revealing no expression...

'Well let me buy you a drink,' interrupted the Inspector, 'I know just the place.'

'Thanks, I could do with one.' Clay allowed the Inspector to catch his arm and move him through the open doors towards the darkening street, with lights just beginning to glow, casting eerie shadows on the hurrying forms making their way homewards or to their next appointment.

A brisk fifteen-minute walk saw them at the dingy door of the Anchor Inn. It was nearly an hour since the inquest had finished. Inspector Barrett pulled the dull, brass door handle and stood aside for Stuart Clay to enter. He was met by the beery fug, familiar to many London pubs and a waft of thick curling tobacco smoke. He was surprised by the number of drinkers contained in its cavernous space at that time. The clock above the bar showed seventeen minutes past five. Inspector Barrett, followed him, scanned each corner of the room as they entered, and spotting a small unoccupied table, removed his trilby and headed towards it. Safely secured he turned towards the crowded bar and ordered two pints of bitter, and managed to return to the table with only a small amount spilt onto the already amply soiled carpet.

'Cheers' he said taking a large swig from the glass which encouraged Clay to do likewise.

'I often come here at this time of day,' the Inspector continued, lighting his pipe in a cloud of match flame and smoke. 'It's livelier than later with office workers having a drink or two, postponing their return home to a reheated meal and an evening sleeping in front of the telly. The exception is that bloke at the end of the bar.'

Clay looked up from his pint in the direction the Inspector was nodding. 'Talking to the one in the bowler, comes in every night, works in life assurance and never stops banging on about you never know when the grim reaper will come knocking and the need it ensure you have enough life cover. Bet that's what his talking about right now.'

'Alright Inspector cut the small talk, what do you really want with me?' Clay asked.

'Why don't you refill these pints, then I'll come clean.' Clay considered this for a moment, then headed for the bar.

'I'm worried about you,' began the Inspector. 'I'm sure you have in mind to take it upon yourself to prove Jeremy Palmer was murdered. You know some of his so called friends were unsavoury to say the least. If you go poking your nose too far into their business we may be pulling you out of the Thames one chilly morning.'

Clay jumped on this. 'Why do you say that Inspector, surely you accept the Coroner's verdict and Jeremy's death had nothing to do with the company he kept.'

'No, there was nothing suspicious about it, there wasn't a single mark of violence on the body, the medical examination found nothing unusual and confirmed the cause of death was drowning. But, we both know his lifestyle was precarious and volatile, and I'm concerned you don't accept the verdict.'

Clay was about to respond when the pub door opened and a small non-descript man in a heavy blue overcoat entered, carrying copies of the Evening Standard. The Inspector bought a copy and quickly scanned the pages, then took a sharp intake of breath. The paper lay open and Clay guessed what had caused the Inspector's reaction.

'They've headlined your outburst,' the Inspector said, reading aloud. 'IT WAS MURDER.'

He handed the paper to Clay who read slowly through the whole report. Inspector Barrett watched him closely, allowing small puffs of smoke from his pipe to drift towards the yellow ceiling, as if sending smoke signals to the other end of the bar. When Clay looked up, the Inspector did too, following the last puff of smoke until it spread and settled into the ceiling.

Stuart Clay allowed the silence between them to continue, contemplating his glass and avoiding the Inspector's gaze. Jeremy had been a very close friend, despite being a confirmed drug addict with a continuing need for money to fund his habit; which Stuart had, on occasions, provided. These requests later became demands and the last one on the evening of 23rd August 1963, Stuart had refused. He couldn't now remember why, money wasn't the issue but, at 6pm on the following day, Jeremy's body had been found in the mud at Greenwich. He felt responsible, he'd failed his fallible friend; he'd not recognised how desperate Jeremy was. He recalled the many arguments they'd had when he encouraged Jeremy to seek help, all to no avail.

During the course of searching Jeremy's flat the police had found a note addressed to Stuart Clay. The note was short but to the point - Sorry Stuart, but I can't live without it. The writing was virtually illegible but, when the police showed it to him, he confirmed it was similar to Jeremy's begging letters he had received over recent years.

The Standard gave more details from the inquest. Pathologist Robert Loughlan confirmed that Palmer had died from drowning, there were traces of oil in his lungs which fitted with having taken in water from the Thames. However, it had not been possible to identify where the deceased had entered the water, owing to the tidal nature of the river. He'd certainly been in the water for at least twelve hours before washing up at Greenwich. There were no discernible signs of violence but a multitude of needle marks and bruises on his arms and upper legs, confirmed the deceased's insatiable drugs habit. Stuart Clay stated that Palmer had called at his house at 7.30pm on 23rd August and asked for money, which had been refused. They had argued and soon after Jeremy Palmer had walked out in a rage, slamming the door behind him.

Although Stuart recognised Jeremy was very angry, he didn't seem any more depressed than he could become when the drug highs began to pass. Certainly not suicidal. Perhaps recognising this, the coroner had given the death by misadventure verdict. However, to Stuart, that had opened the door to another possibility. Although he recognised that over the years Jeremy had changed, the drugs affected every aspect of his life, hardly noticeable at first but, over time, had become much worse. Erratic, charming, unpredictable, polite, aggressive, you just never knew what to expect until he turned up, usually late, although still enjoyable company on a good day. Stuart's eyes glazed over as those of a drunk might do, the memories drifting across his mind, the striking blue eyes and clear whites alert, as he reflected on the possible explanations for Jeremy's death.

'Tell me,' the Inspector broke the silence between them. 'Why do you think it was murder?'

Stuart mumbled, 'it's a possibility, at least I think it is, maybe I'm feeling too responsible for Jeremy's death and looking for a different answer.' He sensed the Inspector wanted to continue this conversation, he didn't.

'Do you know that fellow sitting at the table over by the wall, no, the one on his left, that's right, I seem to know his face but can't put a name to him,' Stuart asked.

'Ah, his name's Henderson, nice chap works around the corner in an accountant's office. Chatted to him occasionally, you know we spent most of the war in the same part of the world, didn't know him then but came to light when we were introduced, suppose that must be a year or so ago now. How do you know him?'

'I think we worked on a job together for a while, small takeover of an office cleaning company, must have been a couple of months ago now.'

They walked over to join Henderson who recognised Inspector Barrett and showed feint recognition of Clay. The next hour was spent reminiscing how they knew each other, but mainly wartime in northern Italy, where Barrett and Henderson had served. An hour later this seemed to have run its course and the two older men rose to leave. Stuart shook hands, remaining in his seat.

'I see you are determined to check the landlord doesn't close early,' Inspector Barrett remarked as he drifted towards the door, then added, 'look after yourself, stay out of trouble, see you soon.'

Stuart wondered if the last comment was a throwaway line or whether the Inspector really did intend to meet again, soon. He contemplated this whilst listening mindlessly to the various topics emanating from the bar – horse racing, cars, football, women.

He was twenty- six years old having qualified as a solicitor just two years ago and was now working for one of the larger London practices, where he presumed the aim was a partnership one day. He had a degree in economics from Cambridge, although God knows how, most of the 3 years had been spent playing rugby or any other sport that would have him, lots of beer and the occasional woman had occupied most of his time, studying very little. Indeed, he couldn't understand how he had achieved a degree at all and a first at that, he considered he was far more qualified in the social and sports 'subjects'. He was athletically built, over 6 feet tall and continued with the judo he'd started at Cambridge, working for his black belt.

Clay reflected on these various aspects of his life, then his thoughts turned again to Jeremy, his main companion throughout University. Jeremy had introduced him to Paula Jackson, the model he'd known for about six months, wow what a six months that had been, long may it continue. He lingered on the image of her photograph in pride of place on his bedside table, yes quite a girl, quite a girl. He blinked self-consciously, aware he probably had an inane grin on his face at the thoughts he was having about Paula.

Damn it he was going to find the truth of Jeremy's death. If his refusal of that last request for money really had triggered suicide, he would have to learn to live with it but right now he didn't accept that was the case. He would even give up work if necessary, after all he had some income from his grandmother's trust, enough to keep him going for a while. His thoughts began to accelerate, racing through a turmoil of questions, who saw Jeremy last, who was his contact with the drugs world, who supplied the drugs, where did they come from, had he been murdered, if so by whom, why? It was turning into a long list and Stuart realised he had no idea where to start.

Deciding he needed fresh air, he rose, somewhat unsteadily, and headed for the door. Passing through the pub door he was hit by the coolness of the night, breathing in deeply through his open mouth, the crisp night air made his teeth tingle. He hailed a passing cab and climbed quickly into it.

# Chapter 2

The Taxi arrived outside Del Mario's club by sweeping across two lanes of oncoming traffic, their headlights temporarily illuminating the driver's face. It was the face of someone proud of a recent achievement, grinning to itself, celebrating the successful conclusion of yet another suicide run through London's congested traffic. Even at this hour, cars, buses and taxis formed a snake like line through the streets, some wide and traffic flowing nose to tail, some narrow and teeming with life. Jay walkers creating mobile chicanes, keeping drivers alert, frustratingly not allowing long enough to study the nude photographs arrayed outside the strip clubs or linger on the attractive form of the young girls wandering scintillatingly across the road, without a care in the world.

Clay stepped out, looking around while searching for the three shilling pieces which he was certain had been given to him by way of change in the pub, one... two, yes three, he hesitated briefly considering two shillings sufficient for the brief ride and driver's constant chatter, then thrust all three into the waiting hand.

'Thank you, guv, be lucky', the driver said as he pulled away from the kerb towards another waiting fare. Turning towards the club entrance, Stuart studied the photographs of the cabaret artistes displayed on the wall, he'd not heard of any of them, which didn't surprise him. He reached for the door which swung open in front of him to reveal a well-built man in evening suit.

'Good evening sir, are you a member?'

'Afraid not, but I'd like to join' Stuart Clay replied.

'Certainly sir, please step this way, pointing towards a door bearing the words - Reception and Manager. He knocked and opened the door to allow Clay to enter and announced, 'this gentleman would like to join, Joe.'

'Come in, take a seat please.' The manager was small with a chubby face and thin moustache.

'I'm Joe Bradshaw the assistant manager; tell me has the club been recommended by one of our existing members?'

'As a matter of fact,' Stuart hesitated, wondering whether or not to mention Jeremy's name, 'an acquaintance of mine, Jeremy Palmer told me of your club', he paused there was no reaction to Jeremy's name, the chubby face continued to smile.

'Ah good, we prefer all new members to know at least one current member before joining. Normally the manager and part owner Mr. Townsend would want to meet all new members but he's currently abroad. Would you kindly fill in this application form...Mr. er?'

'Clay, Stuart Clay' he said, taking the form and scanning it quickly. Having only ten pounds on him and noting the subscription was five, 'do you mind if I pay by cheque?'

'By all means, make it payable to Del Mario's Clubs Ltd please. I'll give you a temporary membership card, the full one will be sent in due course... after we've had time to ask Mr. Palmer to support your application.' Bradshaw smiled.

Stuart smiled in return but didn't comment. If Bradshaw knew Jeremy was dead, he was making a damned good job of hiding it.

'Come, I'll show you to the bar.'

Stuart stepped into the corridor and saw a door off it, revealing no indication of its contents or use.

'Junk room,' Bradshaw said as if reading his mind, 'Mainly old musical instruments, pianos and the like, this way.' He gestured right and led the way.

The club was much larger than would be guessed from the street entrance and narrow corridor which led to the main area. Towards one end, a willowy blonde was sighing rather than singing but she certainly held everyone's attention, even the few women present seemed to be focused on her every movement. It was not difficult to imagine what the men were thinking as a couple of spotlights played over her body, expertly lingering on her figure to emphasise the words of the barely detectable song.

'The bar is on the left, first drink is on the house.' Bradshaw spoke quietly and smiled. Stuart glanced at him and nodded by way of thanks but did not move.

He was conscious of Bradshaw moving away from him, stopping briefly to greet a few of those sitting at tables, as he retreated towards the narrow corridor.

The blonde had finished the song so Clay moved towards the bar, whilst others chose to applaud the performance. He ordered a gin and tonic and turned to face the room, the blonde was heading towards the bar, skilfully avoiding the clumsy embraces of a few enthusiastic admirers, but she did pause long enough for a tall, balding man to bend and kiss her shoulder. As she gazed at the man, it was difficult to gauge her feelings, love, admiration, fear, over too quickly to know as she continued towards Stuart and the bar. He became a little unnerved, was she heading for him, if so why, had his connection with Jeremy been realised already, was she the door into a trap?

He took a sip from his drink to steady his nerves and as he replaced it on the bar, a glass of white wine appeared beside it. At the same time a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.

'Excuse me sir but that's Miss Sonia's seat, would you move along the bar a little.'

Stuart turned to look at the source of the thick Irish accent, his eyes seeing only the man's chest as he did so. He was huge, Stuart tilted his head to look up at the large, thick set face.

'Oh, don't drive him away Eddie,' Sonia spoke and touched his arm. 'He looks harmless enough; please take a seat next to me.'

The man mountain smiled or grimaced, Stuart wasn't sure which but he was grateful to be sitting down.

'You're new to the club, aren't you?' Sonia inquired. 'At least I don't recall seeing you before and I don't usually forget a handsome face.'

Stuart blushed slightly, 'you're right this is my first time and I've applied to join.'

He returned her gaze, she was older than he'd first thought and her face, although relaxed was hard. Whoever did her makeup was very good, to keep her looking so attractive under the glare of those spotlights. Her eyes were bright and alert as if trying to look into his mind.

'Do you know any of the other members?' Sonia asked.

Stuart hesitated again but decided there was no point in hiding the fact he knew Jeremy. 'Yes, I went to university with Jeremy Palmer, he mentioned this place as somewhere to enjoy an evening, forget about your troubles and so on. Do you know him?'

Sonia's eyes narrowed as if she was reluctant to acknowledge any connection, or perhaps it was just his imagination. 'No his name doesn't mean anything to me; describe him, tall, good looking, dark hair, beard, what?' She was almost laughing at him now and the crow's feet around her eyes began to show.

'Well, women might find him attractive, he's about 6' 3'' tall, skinny, mass of light brown hair and a winning smile.'

'Tell me about his nose, I can usually remember noses,' Sonia replied.

'His nose, let me see, not something I usually notice but think it's long in keeping with his skinny looks, slightly upturned at the end, covered in skin and has two holes at the end. That's about it.'

Sonia laughed and cupped her face in her hands to cover her girlish giggle. Stuart examined her arms while her eyes were partly hidden. No tell-tale pin pricks anywhere as far as he could see, nothing. Maybe I need to examine her legs and thighs more closely he mused.

'Penny for them' Sonia interrupted his thoughts.

'I was just thinking, I've told you about Jeremy but I've not introduced myself; Stuart, Stuart Clay and you are Sonia....?'

'Just Sonia,' her eyes narrowed again. 'Club rules not to get too friendly with customers, just keep them happy,' she lowered her head to hide her expression.

'What about the chap who kissed you on the way to the bar'

'Ah, he's not a customer you see.' Sonia left the words hanging but continued, 'he's something special. Well if you'll excuse me, I have to change, my next number is due in fifteen minutes.'

'Of course,' Stuart said more graciously then he felt. He watched her finish her wine and move towards the side of the small stage. He remained standing as his eyes followed her but paused to take in the dancers gyrating to the rock beat. He wasn't sure if it was dancing or an exhibition, allowing the scantily dressed girls to display their wares for later purchase perhaps. Or maybe they were merely dancing; he recognised that his mind was trying to find something unsavoury about the club, so far nothing seemed any different from similar clubs he'd visited over the years. He took another sip from his gin and over the rim noticed Eddie staring at him. He raised his glass in acknowledgement, then turned to watch the dancers again.

'You know who that was you were chatting to at the bar.' Bradshaw was agitated.

'His name is Stuart Clay, at least that's what he told me,' Sonia replied calmly. 'Should it mean something to me?'

'Perhaps it will,' Bradshaw retorted. 'Read this,' and pushed a copy of the evening paper in front of her.

Sonia frowned and slowly straightened the paper. 'Precisely what to you want me to read?' she asked sarcastically.

'The bloody headline will do for starters,' snapped Bradshaw.

'IT WAS MURDER,' Sonia read aloud, 'cries witness at inquest. Jeremy Palmer, a confirmed drug addict...' Sonia's voice dried up.

'Exactly,' muttered Bradshaw, 'and Stuart Clay's the bloody witness, so what's made him come round here so damn quick?'

'Shut up till I've finished reading this, will you,' snapped Sonia.

Bradshaw fell silent but constantly chewed his bottom lip, giving his thin moustache a dance routine the girls would have been proud of.

Sonia lowered the paper, 'he's guessing,' she said slowly. 'I bet he's found a membership card, along with various other addresses and decided to take a look-see on his own.'

'But you can't be sure of that, can you? The inquest only finished six hours ago, perhaps Palmer told him.' Bradshaw stammered, his mind trying to grasp a multitude of possibilities for Clay's visit.

'You're not thinking straight Joe, if he had anything to go on he would have told the police, in which case they would have visited us long ago as part of their investigation into Palmer's death. No, Clay's playing out hunches, he's nothing to go on, amateur, we've nothing to worry about.' Sonia sounded more confident than she felt. Bradshaw was clearly uneasy about this development.

'I'm not happy, think we should discourage his inquisitive nose. Eddie could......'

'And achieve exactly the opposite.' Sonia finished the sentence for him. 'We may have to put up with several visits from Mr. Clay over the next few weeks but as long as we do nothing stupid he'll get fed up with hearing me sing, unless he falls in love with me,' she added mischievously.

Bradshaw shuffled his feet, 'don't think that would be very wise Sonia, best keep out of his way just in case you let something slip.'

'You're probably right.' Sonia turned towards the mirror and added the finishing touches to her makeup.' Time to go', she punched Bradshaw light heartedly and headed for the stage.

Bradshaw watched her go, then headed back towards the office.

Boy that girl moves in all the right places, thought Stuart as Sonia walked into the spotlights. She started to sing and although he continued to watch her, he sensed everyone else in the room was doing the same. Suddenly he remembered the tall, balding man and scoured the room for him. Blast looks like he's gone, why didn't I keep my mind on the job in hand, remember why I came here and not get distracted, he reprimanded himself. Then as Sonia finished the song, he saw the man again, the spotlight just catching his head, seated in readiness for her next number.

When Sonia finished her routine, she seemed to be making her way to the bar again. But as she reached the balding man he stood up, kissed her lightly and escorted her away behind the stage, as the dancing girls reappeared.

Stuart was about to follow the departing couple but then remembered Eddie. Perhaps best to wait until they left the club and then follow. He took time over finishing his drink then rose to leave, nodded to the barman and headed for the exit.

'Leaving us already Mr. Clay?' Bradshaw was smiling again.

'Tomorrow's a working day and lots to do, so calling it a night,' Stuart replied lamely.

'Good night then, hope to see you again soon.'

'Yes, goodnight,' returned Stuart and walked out into the street.

\------------------------

Blimey its turned cold, thought Stuart and turned up his collar. It was eleven thirty and London's lights still flashed gaudily in the night, trying to entice the ever-present crowds to spend their time and money on every conceivable form of entertainment. Entertainment, Stuart mused, in half the sleazy clubs which made up the majority of night life, you'd get more entertainment in summer watching the girls walk by in their skimpy clothes than you would watching the ladies who make up the strip club circuit, taking their clothes off mechanically for the tenth time that evening.

For a moment, his thoughts stayed with summer, happy days spent by the river with Paula, or a lake, the sea but always water, Paula loved it. Suddenly he was brought back to reality, the cold November night bit into him, people bumped into him as he stood rather aimlessly in the middle of the pavement. He moved towards the side street running alongside Del Mario's which should lead to a back entrance.

He was tired, five minutes later he found there were two back entrances, so three potential exit points including the front door. He decided to exclude the front and try to cover the two at the rear. Neither had direct access to the street where a car could be parked, therefore anyone leaving by these would have to walk, albeit a short one, down a little used alleyway to the main street. That would help, he could rely on hearing as well as seeing anyone using the alleyway.

His watch showed 11.45pm, he'd been out of Del Mario's for fifteen minutes already; perhaps Sonia and friend had already left. If they'd walked straight out of the building when Sonia finished her performance, they could be far away by now. Stuart discounted this, why would they rush, Sonia would want to remove her stage makeup and reapply something more appropriate. She didn't look like a lady who would be rushed.

Stuart stamped his feet to keep the blood moving. It was just after 12.30am. He'd walked between the two exits more than a couple of hundred times and run probably twenty on hearing footsteps in the alley. They didn't belong to Sonia and friend but the run was welcome and helped to warm him up. The crowds were thin now so to anyone watching he'd stand out like a sore thumb, pacing up and down the same patch of pavement trying to cover both exits. Perhaps he'd call it a night; well just a few more minutes.

At 12.45am he did call it a night. He was frozen, mind numb, barely able to feel his fingers as he hailed a passing cab.

'Lucky to catch me guv, just on me way home.'

Stuart gave his address and a mental note that probably a big tip was expected – on me way home eh. He turned to the night's events. They must have come out straight away he decided. They couldn't still be in there, could they? Perhaps Sonia lived there, her friend too. He didn't know, he didn't know anything, he felt pathetic, playing amateur detective. The police had access to all available information and they were satisfied, why couldn't he be? Well he wasn't, and remained determined to carry on until he found out one way or the other.

\-------------------

'Where the hell have you been?' Paula's voice came from the depths of the bed. 'I began to think you'd followed your friend Jeremy into the Thames.'

'Well I haven't', Stuart replied sharply. 'I've been trying to find out more about his death.'

Paula propped herself on her elbows and stared at him. 'Leave it to the police Stuart, please, if there's something wrong they'll find out.'

'But they won't,' Stuart interjected. 'You saw the verdict in the evening papers, the inquest has finished, the police files are closed.'

'Well the authorities must be satisfied,' responded Paula. 'You're wasting your time and causing me unnecessary worry.'

Stuart softened, 'but there is something wrong, I can feel it, I know it and must find out.'

'Suppose there is, how are you going to handle people who are prepared to commit murder to achieve their ends, to buy silence. It's a different world Stuart and it's not yours.' Paula was pleading now and she knew it, so added sarcastically, 'you may be involved with the law but that's mainly from behind a desk, stick to presenting other people's evidence or advising on the legalities of some deal or other, for your sake and mine.'

'Sorry Paula, but I have to satisfy myself that the coroner was right. Maybe I'll discover nothing but I have to try.'

Paula sensed his determination. 'Ok, where have you been tonight Sherlock?'

Stuart grinned, 'to a club called Del Mario's. Jeremy was a member there and he mentioned it on a few occasions, particularly when he was tapping me for more money. It's just the sort of club where you can imagine drugs changing hands.'

'Really Stuart, you go to some sleazy club and think all sorts of crime takes place there. You're letting your imagination run riot and seeing things you want to believe are true. I'll bet you even if you are proved right about Jeremy, Del Mario's has nothing to do with it.'

'You're on, how much do you bet me.'

'Oh, how about a new E-Type.' Paula said light heartedly, confident she'd win. 'What do I get if, I'm right?'

'I'll let you choose something in the unlikely event that proves to be the case.' Stuart replied dismissively

\---------------------------------

The telephone rang on Stuart's desk, his red rimmed eyes blinked wearily trying to focus as he lifted the receiver. 'Clay.' He droned into the mouthpiece.

'Mr. Turnbull to see you,' came the bright response.

'Oh Christ, I'd forgotten all about him, give him some coffee Penny and Sarah will collect him in a while. Thanks.'

Stuart felt very rough. He had hardly slept at all and had started the day arguing with Paula over his investigation of Jeremy's death.

He'd intended to sit quietly in the office for most of the morning, drinking coffee and planning his next move. Whether to go back to Del Mario's or try some other contacts Jeremy had mentioned over the past few months. He still hadn't decided and had forgotten all about Mr. Turnbull.

The file containing particulars of the case had been placed on his desk by Sarah, as soon as she'd checked the diary on arrival that morning. It lay where she'd put it, unopened but now Stuart was reading quickly to absorb the contents and form something to discuss with Turnbull. His eyes still had difficulty focusing and his mind was absorbing little. He hadn't a clue what would be the best, let alone the most logical way forward but recognised Turnbull had been waiting long enough, so rang through to Sarah.

An hour and a half later Turnbull left, he wasn't pleased with progress and Stuart was exhausted. The telephone rang again. 'Inspector Barrett to speak to you.' Penny announced.

'What the hell does he want' Stuart muttered.

'Do you want me to ask him?' Came the cheery response.

'No, no thank you Penny, put him through.'

'Good morning Inspector, what can I do for you?'

'It's what I've done for you that I want to talk about.' Retorted Barrett.

'Sorry I'm not with you,' stammered Stuart.

'Last night you were observed walking up and down outside the rear entrance of Del Mario's club.' Explained the Inspector. 'Not just once or twice but for about an hour.'

'What of it?' Stuart responded.

'I'll have you know you were nearly arrested for loitering with intent. Fortunately, the young bobby watching recognised you from the picture in the paper and called to check first. Consequently, I was hauled from my bed to decide what action should be taken, if any. I take it you are conducting your own investigation into Jeremy Palmer's death despite our talk last evening. Well I'm telling you again to forget it, there's nothing suspicious or out of order. I've been through the files again this morning.'

'Are you warning me off Inspector?' Stuart's mind was still dull and he realised this probably was not the best reply he could have made.

'Warning you off, cheeky bugger!' Exploded the Inspector. 'I knew I should have let them pull you in last night. The way you're going you are more likely to commit a crime than solve one.'

'Which means there is a crime to be solved?' Stuart was warming to the discussion now.

'No, I do not mean there is a crime to solved sir,' Barrett was trying to control his rising temper. 'I mean if you carry on as you did last night, next it will be breaking and entering or some such and we will arrest you, as much for your own protection as anything else.'

'Are you implying I need protection Inspector?'

'Only from yourself and your theories,' came the quick response.

'Funny that, I was mulling over my next options when your call came through.'

'Well don't! I've already told you several times there is nothing to this unfortunate death, its time you faced up to it.'

'Okay Inspector thanks for the advice, goodbye.' Stuart moved to replace the receiver but could hear the Inspector still talking as he did so.

Allowing a few minutes, he called through to Sarah, 'more coffee please, I need to think.'

'Turnbull?' She inquired.

'Not exactly, but something that needs a clear head and a bit of time.'

# Chapter 3

'Are you staying in tonight? Stuart asked.

'Yes, and so are you,' replied Paula, 'You promised we would sort out the Christmas arrangements, cards, presents, who we're seeing, staying with. Remember?'

'Oh, that can wait, I've spent most of today trying to remember the places Jeremy told me he went to regularly, as a result I've a few I intend to visit.'

'What, given up on Del Mario's already?' Teased Paula.

'No, just following up other lines of inquiry, as the police would say.'

'Really Stuart, do you think all this is sensible let alone necessary? Please give it rest for a few days and then consider whether it does make sense to charge about all over London on some wild goose chase. You haven't got over the shock of his death yet, it all happened so quickly. Jeremy came to see you and the next day he's found dead. Then it's all resurrected again at the inquest. Give yourself a bit of time, reflect on what the police found and Jeremy's lifestyle, he wasn't exactly stable, changed a lot from the man we once knew.' Paula was beginning to plead with him again. If he took no notice, anger would be her next reaction.

'I've spent most of the day going over the last few months and it just doesn't make sense to me. I have too many unanswered questions, things that don't add up. I feel there's more to all this than the police have discovered or, if they have, they've buried it for some reason.'

'That's exactly what I mean,' the anger showing in Paula's voice. 'You're not thinking logically for some reason, shock, guilt, I don't know what, you just don't want to accept Jeremy could commit suicide. The few actual facts you know are being confused with what you imagine may have happened, and leading you up the garden path. Give a rest for a few days. Please.'

'I hear what you say Paula, but I can't rest until I've checked out a few more things. If they come to nothing, I promise I'll leave it alone; unless something more concrete comes to light.'

'I take it you're going out then.?'

'Yes,' Stuart replied trying to avoid her gaze.

'Well at least tell me where you're going and what time you might be back.' Paula said tersely.

'My first port of call is a club called – The European Export Club, in Victoria Street. I don't know how long I'll be there and if it will lead me somewhere else, but I promise to be back by midnight.'

'You had better be or I'll turn you into pumpkin.' Paula softened, recognising his determination to carry on, she decided to let it drop for the time being. Perhaps he'd get fed up with traipsing round London clubs on chilly November nights. Couldn't be much fun and when he discovers nothing new, he would forget about it and things would return to normal.

'Nice stew.' Stuart interrupted her thoughts.

'Stew!' Paula's voice rose. 'Stew, this is Beef Bourguignon I'll have you know, suppose now you are not going to eat it.'

'You bet I am, and may follow it up with a bit of cheese before venturing out.'

'I'm sure Sherlock Holmes didn't wait to finish his stew before following up important cases.' Paula teased.

'That's just where you're wrong, he dined in exquisite style taking advantage of the time to mull over the circumstances and facts to get them into logical order, discussing with Watson to clarify his thinking.'

'So why don't you discuss the facts with me while we eat.' Paula suggested, keen to see if he really had any facts or whether it was all circumstantial.

'The problem I have is finding the logical place to start mulling over the facts.' Stuart replied dully 'but I'll give you a resume of how it looks to me.'

Paula listened, learnt little and spoke even less.

Having finished the meal, Stuart kissed her lightly on the cheek, said goodbye and left.

'Bye, bloody bye to you too,' muttered Paula.

\--------------

It was 7.30 as Stuart edged the Jaguar XK140 out of the mews garage, heading into London across the stream of traffic still pouring out towards the A4. Christ, at times I think I'm stupid but you lot must be mad. Belting home, at this time of night for something to eat, sleep, just to get up at the crack of dawn and do it all over again. He recalled the few times he'd stayed Sunday night with his parents and joined the near static traffic on a Monday morning, always wishing he'd left in the evening as he'd planned. What makes people do it, can the money really be worth all this hassle, feels like you've done a day's work before you get to the office. The only response he ever got from those in his office was the standard, 'yeah but who wants to live in London?'

Stuart dismissed these thoughts, he was now in Victoria Street looking for number 24. He spotted it a little further on his right, turned left at the next junction and slotted into an empty parking bay. He locked the car and headed back to Victoria Street.

Number 24 was an attractive example of Victorian architecture. The door and hallway beyond were well lit. The porter's office on the right was spacious and contained a large comfortable looking, but empty armchair, behind an equally empty desk. Stuart stepped forward when an unseen voice surprised him.

'Good evening sir,' the porter advanced towards him, smiling. 'Unless my memory is failing me, I don't recall you being a member here.'

'No, I'm not but a believe a business contact of mine is.' Stuart had regained his composure.

'And his name sir?' The porter was still smiling.

'Jeremy Palmer, I run an import/export agency dealing mainly with countries in Eastern Europe and beyond. I have dealings with Mr. Palmer on an irregular basis. I've rung his flat and a few other numbers without success and just wondered if he was here tonight?'

'I don't recall seeing him, but if you hold on a minute sir, I'll check the register, your name is?'

Stuart paused, perhaps continuing to use his real name was unwise owing to the newspaper headlines. 'John, John Morrison,' he said.

The porter returned to the office and examined the register lying open on the desk. He flicked over a few pages.

Meanwhile Stuart looked around him. The fittings matched the exterior of the building, a large chandelier hung further down the hall, illuminating an ornate staircase with a well-polished brass handrail leading upwards.

'Sorry sir, Mr. Palmer doesn't seem to have visited us for several months. The last date I have him signing in is way back in June.'

'That long ago, seems he's being a bit elusive,' replied Stuart. 'I don't suppose you know if any of the members were friendly with him and might know where I can find him.'

'Mr. Palmer wasn't a regular and usually brought someone with him as I recall, if you'll give me a minute I'll have a think.'

Stuart smiled by way of response and wandered towards the staircase, looking at the pictures adorning the wall.

The porter called out to him, 'if I remember correctly sir, Mr. Palmer and his guest sometimes left with either Mr Harrison or Mr. Manley, can't recall any other members he knew bar those.'

'Tell me,' Stuart asked as casually as he could muster, 'were Mr. Palmer's guests English or foreign, as a rule?'

'I don't rightly remember, but I do recall he came in with some rum types, if you'll pardon the expression. Didn't seem the sort of person to be coming to a club like this. I know it's aimed at Europe, exports and all that but we do expect a certain standard and some of his guests didn't fit the bill, if you catch my drift. Most of our members get on well with me, even share a joke or two but some of Mr. Palmer's guests treated me like dirt, letting me know they think they're so much better and all.' The porter paused as if suddenly reminded of his position, 'forgive me sir, got a bit carried away there, I'd be obliged if you'd not repeat this conversation, must mind me p's and q's.'

'I see,' Stuart said, but he didn't actually see, had he learned anything new at all from this conversation?

'I wonder if either Mr. Harrison or Mr. Manley are in the club tonight and if so, could they spare me a few minutes to help locate Mr. Palmer.'

'They're both in the club, I saw them earlier, I'll make enquiries for you.' The porter lifted the receiver on the desk and waited for a response. He explained the position to whoever was on the line. 'Please take a seat down the corridor sir,' he said gesturing to a small antique table with leather armchairs either side. 'There's today's papers and magazines, and someone will come out to you as soon as one of the gentlemen is free.'

Stuart thanked the porter for his trouble, unsure whether to tip or not but decided against as the man gave no indication it was expected, just part of the service. He selected the armchair which gave the best view of the staircase as well as the door leading onto the street.

He had been waiting for twenty minutes and was very conscious of the regular beat of the grandfather clock which stood against the opposite wall. It was beginning to annoy him by reminding him of the passing time, yet he still looked at his watch every few minutes just to check how long he had been waiting.

He heard footsteps descending the stairs, although muffled by the thick carpet. As the footsteps turned the corner of the stairs they revealed a tall erect figure who Stuart mused from his bearing and manner must be called Jeeves. 'Mr. Morrison?' Jeeves asked as he reached the seating area.

Stuart hesitated, then remembering the name he'd given confirmed this and rose, tipping the paper he'd been reading onto the floor, sheet by sheet. He stooped to retrieve the pages.

'Please leave them sir, we'll sort it out later.' Jeeves said with a meaningful look in the porter's direction. 'Mr. Harrison will see you now, please come this way.'

Stuart followed him to the foot of the stairs and turned to look back towards the porter who gave him a reassuring smile. The top of the stairs opened out onto a long corridor, the extent of which would not be imagined from the street below. They passed several doors on the side away from the street, paused before one where Jeeves knocked and stood aside for Stuart to enter. 'Mr. Morrison, sir,'

'Good evening Mr. Morrison, I'm Victor Harrison.' Stuart shook the outstretched hand and noted the unexpected firmness of the grip. Victor Harrison was above average height, thin and carried himself with a degree of authority. His dark grey suit was immaculate, cut in double breasted style. Stuart was impressed, the man was self-assured yet friendly, offering a sincere smile in addition to the handshake.

'Good evening, I'm John Morrison,' Stuart began. 'Thank you for seeing me like this.'

'Not at all, please forgive me for keeping you waiting so long, but your message arrived in the middle of dinner. How can I help, tell me how you know Jeremy Palmer?'

Stuart felt a small bead of sweat forming on his upper lip, realising he hadn't thought this part through. 'Well,' he began cautiously. 'We were at Cambridge together, on the same degree course and although our careers took us along different paths, we met up regularly and sometimes did a bit of business together. I run a small import/export agency, very dependent on contacts, so like to keep in touch whenever the opportunity arises. In fact, Jeremy had suggested more than once that he'd get me enrolled as a member here, as he knew several members did business in my neck of the woods – Eastern Europe and beyond. I've just returned from a trip and thought this would be a good time to look him up, he'd said to be sure to make contact next time I'm in London, so here I am but can't track him down, so wonder if you can help?'

'What business did you do with Jeremy?' Victor Harrison looked a little tense not as self- assured as he had when they first met.

'Antiques and paintings mainly, it was more a who you know type arrangement, he'd introduce someone who was interested in the things I deal in, and I'd do the same for him every now and again, nothing of any size or regularity but useful.'

Harrison seemed to relax. 'Apologies, didn't mean to quiz you but I'm sorry to inform you Jeremy died a little while ago.'

Stuart feigned shock, 'how, he seemed perfectly well when we last met, what happened?'

'Please sit Mr. Morrison. You obviously have heard nothing of this tragedy, so you must have only just returned to this country after some time abroad; it made quite a splash in the papers. The result of the inquest was death by misadventure – drowned in the Thames. Everything points to suicide but the coroner did not specifically state this - drowning was confirmed as the cause of death.'

'This is all a bit of a shock; you just don't expect someone of our age to die. Was there anything unusual; why did the papers report it?'

'Ah, that centres around an outburst at the inquest. A close friend of his, whose name I don't recall, claimed it was murder, so this made for a bit of a minor headline. By the way did you know Jeremy was into drugs?'

Stuart's mind raced, should he admit or deny he knew Jeremy was addicted to drugs. He hedged his bets, 'I suspected it,' he replied. 'Jeremy was always very keen to know where I was going on my trips abroad and on occasions showed the symptoms I've seen in junkies in places like Turkey.'

Harrison's eyes widened slightly but he said nothing.

'Please Mr. Harrison would you tell me more about Jeremy's death, as I'm still struggling to accept it.'

Harrison began recounting the story of Jeremy Palmer's drowning. As he spoke Stuart racked his brains to see if any of the detail differed or added to what he already knew. If he did know more, Harrison was being cautious, nothing he said added to what had already been printed in the newspapers.

When he finished Harrison stood quite still, gazing through rather than at Stuart, who began to feel uncomfortable but resisted the urge to leave.

'You mentioned Jeremy took drugs,' Stuart mumbled. 'Do you think this in any way contributed to his death?'

'Other than the effect on his state of mind when he drowned, I doubt it. The police carried out a thorough investigation, the coroner held an inquiry and nothing suspicious was found. I imagine the needle marks would have led them to consider this aspect, but the cause of death was confirmed as drowning, as I said earlier, so it all seems pretty clear cut, an open and shut case as they say.'

'How did you know Jeremy was into drugs?' Stuart asked.

Harrison smiled easily, 'unfortunately Jeremy used to drink rather more than was good for him on his visits to this club and become somewhat indiscrete. Nothing serious normally but one night he did tell me about his drug taking. Seemed he was desperate for a fix, wanted to borrow money, I refused and he left in a bit of a temper. Doubt he really remembered this, as the next time I met him, he was charm itself and the topic never arose again. I did wonder if I should have raised it with him, try to help him quit, that sort of thing but the right opportunity never presented itself. Is there anything else I can help you with?' Harrison clearly wanted to bring their meeting to a close.

'Well yes, I hope you won't consider this inappropriate in the circumstances but I'd like to join this club, that was one of the reasons why I wanted to catch up with Jeremy, I don't know anything about the process, perhaps you would enlighten me?'

'Of course, it's pretty informal, you just need two existing members to sponsor you, that goes forward to the membership committee and you're as good as in. The members' sponsoring you must have known you for at least a year, which might be difficult for you. You don't know any members other than Jeremy I assume?'

Stuart nodded agreement.

'Thought so, but if you give me your card, I'll see what I can do.'

'Err...' Stuart groped into his jacket pockets. 'I don't seem to have any with me. I'll give you my name, address and phone number.' Stuart wrote down his real address and phone number under the name of John Morrison. 'Well thank you Mr. Harrison, I won't take up any more of your evening.'

Harrison pressed a small button on the window sill and shook Stuart's hand. 'Sorry to have been the bearer of bad news and I will be in touch about membership, goodnight Mr. Morrison.' The door opened and Jeeves was waiting outside.

'This way sir.' Jeeves wafted an arm in the direction of the stairs.

As they began to descend, the door to the room Stuart had just left swung open, Leonard Manley filled the doorway. 'What did our Mr. Clay have to say for himself?' He asked, moving quickly into the room and closing the door.

'Not very much, I don't know how good a solicitor he is but don't think he'll make much of a detective.' Harrison replied.

'Perhaps not, but he spent a good part of last night in and around Del Mario's and tonight he turns up here! The sooner he gets fed up with these nights out, the happier I'll be.'

'Probably get fed up once he's explored a few more of Palmer's regular haunts.' Harrison added.

\----------------------

Stuart unlocked the driver's door of the XK. The interior light came on as he stooped to lower himself into the seat. He stopped and stood up quickly as he realised the passenger seat wasn't empty.

Whoever it was did not move but spoke. 'Get into the car Mr. Clay.'

Stuart, remained outside with the door open. 'Who are you, how did you get into my car.?'

'My name doesn't matter, now please get into the car. I have some information you may be interested in, concerning Jeremy Palmer.'

Stuart reluctantly got into the car, closed the door and switched the interior light on. The man in the passenger seat wore an old, scruffy Harris Tweed overcoat with a corduroy cap pulled well down over his eyes. He didn't turn towards Stuart just remained sitting quite still.

'Well what have you got to tell me?' Stuart sounded, and was, impatient.

'Don't be in such a hurry Mr. Clay, we've a little bargaining to do first if you want to hear what I have to say.'

'How much do you want?'

'I reckon it's worth a hundred quid to a wealthy young man like you.'

'That's as maybe, but until you tell me what it is I don't know if it's worth anything to me, perhaps I already know what you think is so valuable.'

'Already know, don't make me laugh, you don't know anything. What I tell you will be the first facts you've heard, aside from what's already in the papers.'

'Okay, but I've only got fifty on me so that's all its worth.'

'Nah, fifty's not enough, I'll take the fifty and collect the rest later. I know where you live, where you work, so I'll collect it, believe me.'

'Alright cut the amateur dramatics, here's the fifty, now tell me what you know.'

'You're interested to know more about Jeremy Palmer's death, right?'

'Right' confirmed Stuart.

'Now, why are you so interested?'

'He's an old friend, had his problems but I don't think he was suicidal.'

'So the newspapers tell me and maybe you're right and maybe you're not.'

'Thought the information was going to be of interest to me, all you're doing is winding me up. I'll have my fifty back.'

'Hold your horses, I'm coming to that. Jeremy Palmer was on drugs, right. But he wasn't just a user he was pushing them around as well.'

'You're joking; Jeremy wasn't the sort...'

The man cut Stuart off. 'Listen Mr. Clay, when people get into drugs, some days all they can think about is where the next fix is coming from and they'll do almost anything to get it. One minute they're normal people going about their business as usual, next thing they're grovelling in the gutter, prepared to slit their own mother's throat for the price of a fix.'

Stuart shuddered. He remembered how violent Jeremy had become when he'd refused to give him money to purchase drugs. But it didn't ring true, if Jeremy was a pusher why did he need money for his own habit, must have had a ready source of supply he could've tapped into. Perhaps he'd been keeping the sale proceeds; that wouldn't have gone down well with his source. Various wild thoughts were bouncing in his brain, interrupted by the man continuing.

'Anyway, as I say, Jeremy Palmer was not only taking drugs but pushing them and the rumour on the street was he was about to spill the beans, gain himself some leverage.'

'Rumour? Rumours are no use to me. You said you had some real facts, things I don't know.' Stuart said, exasperated by how this whole conversation was going.

'And so, I have, I know some of the people high up in this drugs ring and how they operate.'

'How do you know them, what proof have you got?'

'That's my business and it'll be up to you to prove what I tell you. But believe me, if you look into Leonard Manley, you might find a few things of interest.'

'Are you saying Manley is involved in drugs?'

'Well put it this way. You're not happy with the police investigation of Palmer's death, are you? I know Manley is one of the reasons you're right to be unhappy.'

'What about Victor Harrison, is he involved in some way?'

'Not sure about that. He's something fancy at the foreign office, meets people from areas where drugs are part of the economy, if you get my drift.'

'I get your drift but it's hardly helpful.' Stuart responded. 'What else do you know?'

'Plenty but that's all a hundred quid gets you. I've given you a starter for ten, now you can follow up on Manley. 1953 is the first interesting date in Manley's career. I'll call round your place tomorrow evening to collect the balance, make sure you're in, hate to fallout at this early stage in our relationship.'

With that the man clicked open the passenger door and slipped out into the night.

Stuart shivered involuntarily, perhaps he was getting into something too big, a world he knew nothing about; maybe he should drop it. He looked at his watch, 10.15, turned the ignition key and the 6 cylinders fired into life. Better head for home, I'll have a busy day tomorrow looking into Leonard Manley. He eased the gear lever forward into first and accelerated away from the kerb.

\------------------

Paula was in bed when he got home but not asleep.

'Stuart is that you?' She called as his key turned the lock.

'No, it's the bogey man,' he replied cheerfully, taking off his coat and tossed it over an armchair as he walked towards the bedroom.

'Well Sherlock, how did it go tonight?' Paula asked.

Stuart ignored the question, asking instead. 'Do you have any journalist friends?'

'One or two, why do you ask?'

'I need to look at some old newspaper reports and then perhaps talk to someone in the business who might know more about the stories I'm interested in.'

'And what stories would they be, have you found something of relevance?' Paula sat up in bed wide awake now and interested. Stuart related the main events of his evening.

'Out of all that, the only fact is some stranger who you know nothing about, will call here tomorrow evening and get £50 for his trouble.' Paula didn't sound, nor was she pleased. 'I'll make sure I'm out, so it's down to you to deal with your shabby friend.'

'Fine at least it's a lead, something and someone I know nothing about, I intend to find out more about Manley.'

'Probably reveal nothing,' retorted Paula, 'but I'll make a few calls in the morning to see if anyone knows something relevant about him. Now are you coming to bed?'

'How could I refuse an offer like that.' Stuart said and began undoing his tie.

# Chapter 4

Paula had arranged for Stuart to meet Paul Simmons for lunch, a journalist she knew as he'd covered some of her modelling work. He was early for his appointment but decided against having a drink, so parked the XK a few yards away from the pub and remained in the driver's seat. He wanted to ensure he was fully alert and attentive for the meeting. He gazed out of the window, watching the passing pedestrians, seeing if he could spot someone of Paul Simmons's description in the lunchtime throng. He was so absorbed with the pedestrians, he failed to notice the large Wolseley which had pulled up about twenty yards away on the opposite side of the street. The two occupants held newspapers against the dashboard but their eyes seldom looked at the print.

It was 12.30 pm, time to meet Paul Simmons. Stuart locked the car and headed for the pub entrance. He didn't notice the passenger in the Wolseley open the door and step tentatively onto the pavement. He watched Stuart for a few moments, looked around him and as Stuart entered the pub strode towards it, quickening his pace so that the door had barely closed behind Stuart as the man entered. The driver remained in the car still pretending to read the newspaper.

Stuart approached the bar and ordered a soft drink. He was about to pay when a man touched his arm. 'Stuart Clay?' He inquired, Stuart turned in surprise, then relaxed as he recognised Paul Simmons from Paula's description.

Paul was very much as Paula had described, quite small with tight black curly hair, a ready smile but the largest ears Stuart had ever seen. He smiled because he remembered Paula's description of him, if you see someone about the size of a large penguin, with a shock of black hair instead of feathers and very, very large ears, you've seen Paul.

'Allow me to introduce Tony Venner, a colleague of mine, I've brought him along because he recognised the name Manley; Tony's our crime reporter and has been around a long time.'

Stuart reckoned Tony's nose substantiated the fact he'd been around a long time, mainly in pubs.

'What can I get you both to drink, anything to eat?' he offered. 'It's my shout as you've been kind enough to meet me.'

With drinks and food ordered, they found a table large enough to accommodate the three of them. The man from the Wolseley continued to watch from behind his newspaper.

'Well what can we do for you Stuart?' It was Tony Venner who spoke.

'I want to find out as much as possible about Leonard Manley.'

'Any particular reason? Us journos like to be ahead of a potential story'

'Just curious to see if it throws any light on a particular matter I'm interested in.'

'Jeremy Palmer's death presumably,' Paul interposed. 'Following up your outburst at the inquest by any chance?'

Stuart forced a laughed, 'I suppose that was pretty obvious to you two, yes its connected to that.'

'Look, just to be clear,' Tony Venner spoke, 'if there is a story we want to be ahead of the game in return for any information we have or can get.'

'Understood.'

'Good, now so as we can put things in context why don't you tell us what you know or at least suspect.'

As Stuart began to tell his story the man from the Wolseley had moved closer and was now unobtrusively within hearing distance. His back was turned towards them but ears wide open.

After he'd finished, Paul Simmons looked expectantly at Tony Venner, who paused before speaking.

'Well, I dimly recall the name Leonard Manley as a disgraced police officer, if it's the same one. It was some time ago so I could be wrong, perhaps it was around 1953, I'll have to look into it. The two clubs you mentioned ring a bell too, although can't recall why at the moment.'

Stuart was disappointed, 'but you'll ask around, look back in files and such?'

'Sure, that's something we're used to, takes a while though.'

'How long?' Stuart asked.

'Difficult to give a time frame with these sort of enquiries, have to ask contacts discretely in case it alerts others into thinking it's something they should take a look at, nosey competitive lot us journos. Even if people know something they may be reluctant to share it. Could be a while before we have anything of real interest, assuming there's something to find. If it helps, I'll give you an update in a few days or so, depending on what's turned up.'

'More drinks?' Tony asked and headed to the bar.

Paul tugged Stuart's sleeve under the table, pulling him towards him. Stuart stooped and Paul whispered, 'move over to the far corner where that empty table is, I want to see what our friend there does.'

'What friend?' Stuart started to say but Paul was already on his feet and moving quickly, so he followed.

The man, aware the talking behind him had stopped, allowed himself a quick peek over his shoulder and then turned fully round. 'They've gone, where the hell?' He muttered to himself, as he saw the empty space behind him. Then he saw Tony walking towards the far corner and relaxed, carefully adjusting his position to retain them in sight but still intent on his paper.

'Did you see that?' Paul asked.

'See what?'

'The bloke in the middle of the room, reading a paper. He is definitely watching us, he looked worried when we moved and he's changed his position so he can see us if he wants to, just to be sure we're still here.'

'Why would anyone be watching us?'

'You tell me Stuart, you're the one who's playing the guessing games.'

'Hey, why have you moved? Couldn't see you for a moment.' Tony had returned with the drinks; Paul explained.

'Well, if Paul's right, then maybe we are on to something and we will get our story. If so, the game is already in play. For Christ's sake be careful, a professional drugs gang won't have any qualms about bumping you off, if you start to annoy them.' Tony was speaking directly to Stuart, 'seriously mate, this could get very rough.'

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Stuart gave an involuntary shiver. 'I'll be alright,' but he neither felt nor sounded very convinced.'

'How involved in this is Paula?' Paul asked.

'I tell her what I find out. She thinks I'm mad, doesn't believe a word of it, I'm surprised she actually put me in touch with you.'

'Any chance you could get her away for a bit. Encourage her to take one of those swimsuit photo assignments in the Bahamas or somewhere far away. It's the time of year when they'll be preparing next summer's advertising work.' Paul sounded concerned.

'I'll see what I can do, but she'll probably smell a rat and refuse to go away at all.'

'I'd feel a lot happier if you can persuade her.'

Stuart began to feel a bit uneasy at the suggestion Paula could be in danger, he would certainly try to encourage her to work away for a while.

'Well anything else we can do for you? I ought to be going.' Tony finished his drink and made to get up.

'Let's all leave separately and see if our friend over there tries to follow any of us.' Paul suggested.

'I'll be in touch as soon as I have something,' Tony said and turned towards the door.

Paul and Stuart remained seated, as did the man in the middle of the room.

'I need the loo.' Stuart announced. 'Thanks for your help Paul, look forward to hearing from you or Tony as soon as you have anything.' When he returned both Paul and the man had left.

Probable Paul's got a more vivid imagination than me or he's the one being followed, thought Stuart as he walked out towards the XK. As he started the engine so did the Wolseley that once again had two people inside. The driver spoke, 'well how much does he know?'

\----------------------

Tony Venner didn't ring that afternoon, although Stuart hadn't really expected him to, he realised the whole thing was taking over his life. His work was suffering, so decided he had to knuckle down and shift some of the dross from his in-tray. Consequently, he was later leaving the office than he'd planned.

As he unlocked the front door to the flat, he could hear the phone ringing, he dropped everything to reach the phone before it stopped. But it wasn't Tony Venner. 'Remember me,' the voice at the other end began. 'Just checking you're in before I call round for my fifty quid.'

'Yes, I hadn't forgotten, I have it here.' Stuart replied.

'Well, I've decided not to collect; you're going to deliver it.'

Stuart remained silent, glad Paula had gone out, maybe delivering it would lead him a step further.

'Hello, you still there?' The voice inquired.

'Yes,' came the reluctant reply.

'Well, listen, there's a phone box about a hundred yards from your place. Know it?'

'Yes, of course.'

'I'm in there now, but I won't be when you put the fifty quid inside the directory, A-D section.'

'When do you want me to deliver?'

'Now, I'll be watching you and the box, but you won't see me.'

'Why the dramatics, we have already met' Stuart asked.

'Just amuse me,' he laughed and then the line clicked into silence.

Stuart replaced the receiver. He looked out of the upper floor window and saw it had started drizzling with an accompanying mist swirling in the November air, restricting visibility. As he couldn't see anyone, he pulled on his coat and left the flat, touching the envelope containing the money in his inside pocket.

The street was well lit, the drizzle and mist added to the chill of the night, Stuart lowered his head and set off. He could just about make out the light from the telephone box down the road which grew brighter as he walked nearer. He knew the Voice would be watching to ensure he did deliver the money and although there didn't appear to be many hiding places, couldn't see him.

A car drove past him quite slowly, a little spray reaching the pavement. It was a Wolseley and the silhouettes of two heads showed clearly through the rear window as it passed under a street light. Stuart did not look up as the car continued down the road and turned into a side street.

He reached the telephone box and found the A-D directory, a bit battered but still substantial. He was about to put the money in the directory when a shadow fell across him, he looked up to see a woman standing outside, waiting to make a call. He picked up the receiver and dialled, listened briefly, replaced it, then pushed open the door.

'My numbers engaged, perhaps you'll have better luck.' He held the door open for the woman and stood outside in the increasing rain. After five minutes the woman finished her call, nodded to Stuart and walked away into the miserable night, quickly disappearing from view.

Stuart stepped into the box, pulled out the directory and glanced up to ensure no one was about. Satisfied he pushed the money into the flimsy pages, replaced the directory in its correct slot and left.

The Wolseley passed him again as he headed home but he didn't notice it. He was thinking of doubling back to see if he could get a better look at the man he'd met the night before, as he picked up the money, but decided against it. Whoever he was knew him, where he lived and worked, if he had any more useful information no doubt he'd be in touch, demanding more money. He reached his front door, paused before going inside, gazing towards the telephone box but it was already lost in the rain and mist.

\-----------------

Tony Venner rang at eleven thirty the following morning. Stuart was at home trying to clear the backlog of work and being fully engrossed was surprised to hear his voice.

'Care to buy me lunch?' Tony asked cheerfully.

'I take it you've found something?' Stuart was all ears now.

'Well it's certainly a start and more than I expected to find, I admit.'

'Alright, where do you want to meet?'

'I was thinking of the Italian Bistro in Beauchamp Place; do you know it? Its small but the tables are well spaced, so pretty easy to see if we are being watched.'

'I'll find it, what time?' Stuart was eager to get going now.

'Say an hour from now, 12.30, see you there.' Tony rang off.

Paula came into the room, 'who was that?'

'Tony Venner I'm meeting him for lunch.'

'Can I come?'

'Look love, we talked about this earlier. I think Paul is right, the less you're involved the better. Are you sure you can't get an assignment abroad?'

'And I told you, I'm not going anywhere while you keep up this charade, so take me with you, please.'

'No, I reluctantly accept you're not prepared to go away but I'm not prepared to involve you further.'

'I take it Dr. Watson just got the sack then Sherlock.'

'For the time being, yes.'

Paula walked across the room and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Off you go then, but please take care.'

Stuart pulled her closer, hugging her briefly. 'Bye love, be good, I'll be back as soon as possible,' and with that was gone.

Paula watched through the upper window as the XK exited the garage, into the street and drove away. At the same time the engine of the Wolseley started, she didn't notice.

\-----------------------

Stuart was driving fast, too fast, and the Wolseley was struggling to keep up. In the light London traffic, the occupants of the Wolseley considered this an advantage as he was unlikely to concentrate on the rear- view mirrors long enough to notice them.

'Christ he's in a hell of a hurry,' the passenger spoke jamming his feet against the bulkhead as the Wolseley lurched round a sharp left-hand bend. 'Reckon you'll be able to keep up?'

The driver nodded. 'Looks like he's heading towards the West End, the shopping traffic will slow him down. Blimey, he nearly knocked that old geezer over!'

Stuart was sweating through the effort of braking hard, he glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror, then smiled weakly at the old man still staring at him down the long bonnet of the XK. Stuart thought about getting out to apologise, but as he reached for the door handle the old man shuffled away. As he engaged first gear, other pedestrians were still looking at him, some pointing and mouthing their opinion of him. He knew he'd been driving too fast, his mind wandering, not concentrating sufficiently, hardly noticing the traffic was heavier and the pavements crammed with people. He'd been going over his meeting with Harrison again, trying to recall anything which could mean he knew more than he'd let on about Jeremy's death.

It still struck him as odd that someone had broken into his car and offered information for money immediately after that meeting. There must be a link. The XK edged forward again and Stuart glanced in the rear mirror but didn't register the big Wolseley which filled it.

He drove more slowly, still churning over the meeting with Harrison, although with more awareness of other road users. He now tended to give way whenever London's traffic threatened to impede his progress, better safe than sorry he decided, despite other drivers' seeming to challenge him to a duel at each junction.

As he turned into Beauchamp Place, he gave up trying to find any link between Harrison and Jeremy's death. Nothing the man had said indicated he knew anything other than had been reported in the papers. His concentration was now on trying to find a parking place. He drove down Beauchamp Place, turned right into Walton Street and found a couple of vacant meter spaces. Sodding things, he never had enough change, oh well, an hour would have to do. While searching for change he noticed a car behind him had stopped, but not at a meter, it was hovering in the middle of the road. As Stuart got out, the car reversed, somewhat hurriedly back towards a side street. Perhaps he'd just missed his turning, Stuart mused.

'Do you think he saw us?' it was the passenger who spoke.

'We'll know soon enough when he reaches the end of this road.' came the reply.

A few moments passed and Stuart hurried across the junction; looking from side to side to ensure it was clear, then strode on.

'Don't think you need to worry Sid, our Mr. Clay appears to have something else on his mind and isn't the slightest bit interested in us.'

'All the same think we ought to change this car as soon as possible.' Sid said by way of reply.

'You're probably right, but first you better nip out and see what he's up to.'

Sid hurried from the car and looked around anxiously as he reached the junction. He relaxed as he spotted Clay further down on the right-hand side. He gave the driver of the Wolseley the thumbs up and followed Clay towards Beauchamp Place.

Stuart paused outside the Italian Bistro, appearing to look at the menu but trying to see if he could spot Tony Venner inside. He couldn't, so he proceeded through the door, a waiter greeted him. 'Good afternoon sir, have you a table booked?'

'I haven't, although perhaps my friend, Tony Venner has?'

'Ah yes, Mr. Venner is already here'. The waiter led him towards the back of the restaurant. Tony Venner stood up as they approached, allowing the waiter to take Stuart's coat and their drinks order before settling down again at the table. This was ideally situated at the back with a good view of the entrance and most of the other tables.

'Well, what have you got?' Stuart started impatiently.

'Hold your horses, all in good time. First I want to see if you were followed.' Tony stood up and moved towards the small bar where the view along the street was at its best. He studied the pedestrians ambling along the pavement, soon spotting Sid walking slowly on the other side of the street. He waited a few moments and watched as Sid turned to retrace his steps, satisfied he'd spotted the tail, he returned to the table.

'Our friend from yesterday lunchtime is outside.'

Stuart looked surprised. 'Umm I did notice a large black car stop and reverse rather quickly into a side street as I parked. Thinking about it I'm sure I saw it several times behind me on the way here, didn't pay much attention to it.'

'Probably best to keep it that way, so they don't know we're on to them.' Tony advised. 'For now we have a slight advantage in knowing they're interested in you, although no idea why - yet. If they do clock we know they're keeping tabs, they may well swap the car and ring the changes, so we won't know who we're looking for.'

Stuart nodded, accepting this logic and dismissed his first thought of challenging the man when leaving the bistro later.

The waiter brought drinks and menus. Tony sipped his Campari and soda, 'suggest we order first then we can talk in peace. I'll have prawn cocktail followed by veal. I always do here, it's very good.'

Stuart smiled, 'with such a high recommendation, I'll have the same. Makes deciding easy.' The waiter took their order, leaving them alone. 'Now what have you discovered.'

Tony took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. 'Well, it seems our Leonard Manley has had rather a chequered career both inside and outside the police. Your informant seems to know his dates, because 1953 proved a very interesting year for our man.'

Tony explained how he'd traced a first reference to Manley in the Liverpool Echo dated 18 February 1953. Apparently, at that time he was a Detective Constable with the Mersey River Police and was part of a small team investigating a smuggling racket operating in the docks. Nothing too unusual in that. The Echo also reported that just after Christmas 1952, Manley had taken part in a raid on a house in Liverpool, which resulted in the arrest of five men and a woman. The woman was released on bail, the men kept in custody until into the New Year, when they were allowed to go with no charges made. However, all five complained they had been beaten up while in custody and all named the same officer, DC Manley no less. The paper later reported that an internal inquiry by the police found no substantiating evidence and the complaint was dismissed.

'That just sounds like sour grapes from five men who were probably as guilty as hell.' Said Stuart.

'Possibly,' replied Tony, 'but it gets worse, listen.'

The waiter brought their prawn cocktails and whilst Stuart ate his, Tony recounted a report in the same Liverpool paper, dated 7 June 1953. DC Manley had been suspended on an alleged rape charge. The girl was 18 years old and had never been in any sort of trouble with the police.

'More interesting,' agreed Stuart, 'but it could still be a fix, what was the eventual outcome?'

'A fairly sordid trial and Manley was found guilty, given a two year suspended sentence and dismissed from the police.'

'What!' Exclaimed Stuart, 'that seems a remarkably light sentence; just because he was in the police?'

'That's as maybe,' Tony replied, 'but we haven't finished with his early history yet. In 1954, he was arrested for possession of marijuana, convicted and given two years. In the trial report, it states Manley was pushing the drug amongst youngsters attending a variety of clubs. He pleaded not guilty, but from the trial summary, he had no answer to the evidence provided to the court, an open and shut case. He was quizzed on his source of supply, but Manley refused to give any information on this, probably more scared of what might happen to him if he did, than the sentence British justice would hand out.'

'Did it provide any information on how he made a living, apart from drug pushing that is?' Stuart asked.

'Seems he did some casual work in and around the docks but not much else.'

They both finished their starter, no sooner were their plates cleared away than the veal arrrived. Once the waiter left the table, Stuart asked. 'What else have you got?'

'What else!' Tony said somewhat louder than he intended. 'That's not bad for one day's work all for the price of lunch.' He softened and grinned at Stuart.

'I take it you're continuing to investigate Manley?' Stuart asked, although imagined he could answer his own question.

'You betcha, on the face of it you appear to have stirred up a bit of a hornets' nest. What do you intend to do next?'

'To be honest with you I don't really know, everything I've found out so far has a certain smell to it but I don't think I've anything concrete to go on. Any suggestions?'

'Apart from eating more of your veal before it gets cold, I think you're probably best to wait until I've done a bit more digging. Your mystery informant may provide more leads but if not, perhaps all you can do is look up a few more of Palmer's friends and acquaintances. If he was in some drug supply chain, I imagine other contacts of his must have had some inkling, maybe even involvement. Are you aware of any places he visited regularly?'

'Yes, I have a list of half a dozen or so I thought of checking. As you know I've been to two so far, Del Mario's and the European Export Club. On paper, they seemed the most promising.'

'Well as that gave us something, suggest you start checking the others and it will stop you agitating, while I try to find more on Manley.'

'Makes sense.' Stuart called for the bill and paid.

The two men made for the door, Tony pulled it open and indicated for Stuart to leave in front of him. As he did so, Tony whispered, 'your shadow is waiting for you over on the right, try not to show you know he's there.'

Stuart smiled and started to walk away. Tony called after him, 'be in touch in a day or so.'

Sid folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm allowing Stuart a reasonable distance before he too set off.

\-----------------

When Stuart arrived home, he found Paula had left. Her note said:

Looks like I may be working again, see you soon.

Love, Paula x

He went through to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. He felt in need of coffee, strong black coffee. On the drive back from the bistro, he realised he had drunk too much and slowed the XK accordingly. A bottle of wine at lunchtime is too much, far too much and he was regretting it now. The kettle boiled and he felt some relief as the smell from the brewing coffee reached him.

He slumped into the first chair in the lounge, swearing violently having gulped a large swig of coffee as he walked, the burning sensation of the hot liquid still with him. He leaned back and closed his eyes, reviewing the information Tony Venner had shared with him over lunch. Interesting though it was, it didn't really help much, having happened ten years' ago, perhaps all it indicated was Manley had a somewhat chequered career but as yet provided no link to Jeremy or his death. He turned his mind to a review of Jeremy's contacts and regular haunts. He racked his aching brain, trying to think if Jeremy had ever said anything unusual about the people and places. He took another sip of the coffee, it was cooler now, so he swallowed a few mouthfuls. Christ, he needed that, the caffeine kick was beginning to make him feel more alert again.

There was that rather odd theatrical club Jeremy used to talk about. Now that's a thought, some of those people might be on the fringes of the drug scene. What was it Jeremy used to say about them? Self-deluded amateur actors and actresses hoping to be spotted and change their lives forever. In reality, few of them had ever appeared in a film or stage production where they actually got paid! Stuart remembered he had asked Jeremy why he went to the club if that's what he thought of the people he met there. They amuse me, was the reply, mostly they are a lively bunch and clearly enjoy waiting for their big break, and some of the plays they put on are quite good. Perhaps the real reason was more sinister. Stuart realised he was clutching at straws again, letting his imagination get ahead of itself, looking for something which probably wasn't there. Still, so far it had given some food for thought if not much else. He was struggling to see where Del Mario's fitted into the picture, but he was damned sure Victor Harrison and Leonard Manley knew more about Jeremy's death than they had admitted so far.

He racked his brain trying to recall whereabouts Jeremey had said the theatre club was situated, Hampstead, North London somewhere? No it was south, Clapham, yes definitely Clapham. He recalled Jeremy said it overlooked the common, one of those big old houses on North Side which had been extended at the rear to provide a theatre, seating about fifty people.

Stuart reached for the Yellow Pages directory covering South London, worth a try, surely they'd advertise to attract members and audiences. Yes, there it was, or at least there was a theatrical society with a Clapham Common address – 32 North Side.

He dialled the number, the phone rang for a considerable time before a heavily accentuated woman's voice spoke. 'Good afternoon, South London Theatrical Society, can I help you?'

'Err, yes,' began Stuart, 'I've recently moved into Streatham and I'm interested in joining an amateur theatrical club.'

He immediately regretted saying 'amateur' but this didn't deter the woman from giving a long explanation of their discussion groups, theatre visits, their own productions and children's group. In a short time, Stuart's head was reeling, he moved the receiver a good distance from his ear but could still hear the extensive description being provided.

When it stopped he said, 'thank you for such a detailed explanation, it all sounds very interesting, I'd love to come along, when do you meet?'

'Oh, there will be a few of us here every night of the week, so come along whenever it suits you,' was the helpful reply.

'Thanks, I will,' and he hung up.

Stuart finished his coffee, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

# Chapter 5

Paula returned to find Stuart asleep. She called out gaily as she closed the door behind her. Stuart stirred but didn't open his eyes. She walked across the room and standing in front of him announced. 'Well this is a fine sight to greet my return; the Lord of the Manor fast asleep after his excessive lunch.'

Paula shrieked as Stuart's feet coupled behind her knees, causing her to crumple on top of him. 'What have you been up to my beauty, while I've been resting my eyes?' he inquired.

'My usual agency contacted me to say they had something a little different, but the plus side was it would be a longer assignment than my usual two or three-day gig. Initially, I thought Bermuda here I come. But no, it's a semi dance job at a club called guess.... yes; Del Mario's!'

'What! You're not working there, that's the last place I want you to go.' Stuart said, trying desperately to raise himself from underneath her.

'I dare say it is, but beggars can't be choosers, I need the work. It's basically just like any other modelling assignment I get, just less clothes.'

'I bet and what else are you expected to do?'

'Not what you're thinking. The idea is to glam up the dancers a bit, a few publicity shots as part of a promotion their doing and it's a month's work to show the new punters the publicity shots are of real girls working there. Could be longer if they decide to extend the campaign. For the first week or so, a representative of my agency will be there to make sure everything is running per the contract and besides, if anyone does try any funny business the club has this enormous bouncer called Eddie.'

'Yes, I know, I've met him. Dancing? Really? The girls there can dance, even if they're not all great lookers, and they're used to dealing with the antics of the audience. Surely you don't need the money that desperately?'

'It's not just the money Stuart, I have to keep my name out there. The career's not very long in this business and if you're not seen, people forget you exist. As for the dancing, the regular dancers will still be there and the five models, yes five of us will be taught a few basic steps, to hold the limelight as required.'

'Are you serious that this will keep your name in front of the right people? Del Mario's, working as an amateur dancer?'

'It's the publicity that will do that darling. I knew you'd be unhappy about Del Mario's but be honest, nothing really happened there which links it to Jeremy's death. You'd like it to, but the evidence Sherlock, is thin. Remember, I've not really worked for a couple of months and this is the only offer I've had, so I need it.'

'I admit I haven't found a concrete link, but as far as I'm concerned any contact of Jeremy's remains on the suspect list until proved otherwise. Del Mario's is still unproven. Besides that, it's a bit seedy, are you sure you want to take it Paula?'

'As the agency put it to me, if you don't take this Paula not sure what else we will get you in the foreseeable future and the longer you don't work, makes it more difficult. For better or worse you have to accept the fashion industry is moving away from models with your curves. In other words, take this or Paula Jackson's modelling career is over.'

'Always room for curvy models here,' Stuart said light heartedly, 'Guess you're determined to do this,' he added more sullenly.

'Yes, but look on the bright side, I may discover something which proves the club's involvement one way or the other.'

'That's what bothers me.' Stuart replied glumly.

\-------------------------------

At eight that evening Stuart edged the XK out of the mews garage. He looked both ways for longer than usual searching for the Wolseley. He couldn't see it, the street was almost deserted, except for a couple of cars and a small van about twenty yards down on the right. He pulled away slowly, searching the rear-view mirror and even glancing behind him, as if double checking it was safe to move, his eyes really seeking the Wolseley. The street behind remained empty.

Changing gear and accelerating away, he cursed under his breath. He didn't believe the Wolseley would have stopped following him, so he didn't know where the new watchers were. The cat and mouse game probably was in play and right now he felt like a very small dormouse emerging from hibernation. He passed the van, looked inside but saw nothing in the darkness. In the back of the van a radio transmitter crackled.... 'Looks like he's heading south, coming your way Jim, over.'

'Roger Sid, I see him now. Suggest you stay in position unless we need you, over and out.'

Stuart was driving much slower than usual, glancing frequently in the mirror. He had decided not to drive the direct route to give him chance to spot anyone following. However, as the traffic built up he realised he had little chance of telling whether the car's headlights now behind him, were the same ones before he made the turn. He decided to stop and pulled into the kerb just outside the pool of light thrown down by the street light. He watched for a car to stop some distance behind him. Not one did, several went past but none seemed to pay any attention to him. But the radio crackling in one of the passing vehicles demonstrated otherwise.

After a few minutes, he became restless and set off again. He did a U-turn and set off directly for Clapham. As he drove he worked out his story for the theatrical society. He decided against mentioning Jeremy's name immediately this time, as it seemed to result in dead ends very quickly. He would play it as straight as possible but use a different name and address in Streatham. Anyone connected with Jeremy would be bound to remember the name Stuart Clay, as his outburst at the inquest was widely reported in the papers. They might even recognise him from the photograph, nothing he could do about that. He would act as any new member would, keen to meet people, find out about forthcoming activities and so on.

He reached Clapham an hour later, still no obvious sign of anyone following. He parked the car in North Side and waited before getting out to see if another car also stopped. He saw nothing, so got out and headed for number 32.

In one of the cars parked further down the road, the radio came alive. 'Hello control, looks like he's found the Theatrical Society.'

Stuart pressed the buzzer at number 32 and the same voice he'd spoken to earlier answered, 'South London Theatrical Society, who's there?'

'Mike Anderson, I spoke to you earlier today and you said come round whenever it suited me, so here I am.' Stuart lied.

'Welcome Mike,' the voice replied and the door clicked open, 'you'll see the Secretary's Office immediately on your right, I'm in there.'

The entrance to the building was just as Stuart had imagined, high ceilings, walls painted a deep green and covered in signed photographs of actors and actresses of various ages, talent and appearance. Stuart looked at one or two he recognised, lit by an ornate chandelier with more light bulbs than he could readily count. Most of the ground floor appeared to be in darkness but he could see the nearest door was marked - Secretary's Office. He assumed that the other rooms would be offices used during the day, as the absence of lights indicated they were not living accommodation of any sort.

As he approached the office, the door opened and a tall woman with luxurious auburn hair came out to meet him. 'Hello Mike, I'm Vicky Carter, secretary of the society.'

'Pleased to meet you.' Stuart replied.

'Before I introduce you to a few people, I wonder if I can be a frightful bore and ask you a few questions and if you're interested in joining us, filling out this form in due course.' Vicky smiled encouragingly.

'Not at all, fire away.'

During these formalities, Vicky quizzed Stuart gently on why he was interested in the Society and what previous acting he'd undertaken. Again, he realised his poor preparation could lead him into trouble, he had a plausible story to tell but recognised his knowledge of theatre and film was pretty thin. So he answered her questions in very general terms, nothing specific and even less so when it came to acting he'd done. He realised he would have to rely on meeting people who liked the sound of their own voice if his masquerade was to be successful. People he could ply with questions, but who asked little of him in return.

Vicky appeared happy and asked if he'd like to complete the membership form now and proffered a pen. Stuart took it, grateful to give him a few minutes to compose himself and almost started to complete the form with his own real name. He managed to complete it without further error and signed it with an unreadable signature, he hoped he could replicate.

'Good, thank you Mike, I won't press you for payment tonight in case you change your mind, which I'm sure you won't once I've introduced you to a few of our long standing members. Their knowledge of theatre is extensive and I'm sure you'll find them interesting.'

Stuart was not so sure he would, but as that was the whole idea of coming, grin and bear it. He followed Vicky into a large room with about twenty people standing or seated in small groups. In the centre of the room was a small man, who appeared to be acting a part from what Stuart initially thought was a Shakespearean play. His voice strong and his words reached every corner of the room, demonstrating it clearly was not from Shakespeare...

'Then she reached forward with one hand and pulled at the top of his trousers and with the other proceeded to pour the contents of her gin and tonic into them. She held his surprised gaze for a moment then announced to all and sundry, I trust Mr. Singleton that your cock will enjoy drinking in your company much more than I do, goodnight. Well the room dissolved and poor old Jack Singleton didn't know where to look; everyone guessed he'd been up to his old tricks. Even his wife knew and had stood by Jack in worse moments than this, but wasn't going to see him humiliated by an up and coming young actress. She strode across the room to where Belinda Graham was preparing to leave and said, you're a cheap little tart trying to get some free publicity at my husband's expense, well if you want publicity how about this, and so saying ripped Belinda's dress to the waist exposing her breasts for all to see. Anyway, Belinda fled the room trying to cover herself, and it was a very long time before any theatre would offer her any roles. Such was the power of the Singletons at that time.'

'Excuse me John,' Vicky had waited for completion of the story.

'Of course, Vicky my dear we all have to go every now and again, please...'

Vicky was not at all surprised by his inane response, 'let me introduce Mike Anderson, our latest member.'

'A new member eh,' John Carrington turned, his face positively glowing. Stuart noticed how his audience quietly melted away as the story teller turned to greet him. 'Mike Anderson welcome to our little society.'

'John's one of our founder members,' Vicky explained, 'a tower of strength to us all, particularly those who hope to make a career on the stage.'

'Is that your ambition Mike,' Carrington inquired and shook Stuart's hand very limply. 'You look rugged and handsome enough, can you act?'

Stuart felt his face flush, partly because the name John Carrington seemed familiar to him but couldn't recall why.

'Oh no, I'm very much the amateur, more interested in staying in the background than seeking the limelight.'

Vicky filled in the missing link for him. 'John was in Did It Really Happen by Hennessey, in the West End last year, had quite a run with good reviews, you probably saw it?'

'No, I'm afraid I didn't, been out of the country for some time and haven't seen much for quite a while now.'

'Pity, you missed a good play there,' Carrington interjected, 'I'll tell you a little about it if you wish?'

Stuart nodded and Vicky made her excuses.

After half an hour Carrington was still in full flow, his voice booming throughout the room, although Stuart noticed others seemed able to ignore it, used to it as background noise he assumed. Despite Carrington claiming his full attention he managed to glance around the room, taking in the faces in each small group and trying desperately to catch part of their conversations. The snatches he caught were all about past, present and future theatre productions. Everyone seemed to be very involved in the theatre as either hopeful actors and actresses, authors, production managers, technicians or just enthusiastic attenders.

Stuart was somewhat relieved when Vicky re-entered the room. 'I'm serving tea and coffee in the theatre everyone, while they're taking a break from rehearsals.'

People began to move to the doorway and Stuart turned to follow.

'No rush my boy, they'll be plenty left for us and I'm sure you don't want me to lose my thread now I've got started.'

Stuart smiled agreement, wishing he could join the others to find out more about the Society's members. Eventually Carrington paused, 'well that just about completes it Mike, shall we join the others?'

'Very interesting, thank you very much,' Stuart responded. 'Please lead the way.'

Carrington lead the way down a staircase at the opposite end of the building to where Stuart had entered. At the bottom there were two doors, one either side of the small hallway. Carrington turned right and held the door open for Stuart. The door led into a large hall with a stage at one end, Stuart guessed it would hold nearer a hundred than the fifty he thought Jeremy had mentioned.

'Not a bad little theatre, Carrington boomed, 'lousy acoustics as you can probably hear but serves us quite well. Now which would you prefer, tea or coffee?'

'Coffee please.' Stuart replied as they walked towards a small trolley at the side of the hall. He looked around taking in the many new faces.

'Sugar?' Carrington interrupted his thoughts.

'Oh, no thanks.'

'Wise man,' Carrington said whilst placing three lumps in his own cup. 'Wish I could give it up, save a fortune at the dentist.'

'Do you put on many productions here?' Stuart inquired.

'Yes, most Fridays and Saturdays we have something on. Helps boost the income as well as providing members with an opportunity to perform. We're quite well known with the booking agencies, we normally get a good number of tourists who can't get West End seats at short notice, or won't pay the exorbitant prices the touts want; we have our regulars of course. Costumes and scenery are a bit of a problem but most of our audience are sympathetic to the limitations of a small theatre group like ours and make allowances. Ah, I see you've spotted our leading lady.'

Carrington had followed Stuart's gaze to the stage where a beautiful oriental girl sat.

Stuart flushed again and looked at Carrington. 'She's rather striking, isn't she?'

'Very striking,' Carrington agreed. 'Has the makings of a good actress too but her hearts not in it. Her name's Sylvana D'Estrange, believe she was born in Indonesia of Tamil parents and seems to have moved about the world quite a lot in her short life. Moves in some high places too, knows a lot of the great and the good and a few of the wronguns as far as I can gather. Don't know what her husband did, widowed she says but money doesn't appear to be an issue, so I guess she doesn't feel it's worth making the effort to become a serious actress; something I can't help thinking she'll regret but there it is. There are rumours it's not her inherited money but her own extra marital activities if you see what I mean.'

Stuart nodded and Carrington continued. 'However, that's the rumour mill for you, probably some of our jealous younger ladies, you know how women can be. If the rumours are true, she can show me her price list any time she likes and I'll see what I can afford!'

'I agree she's stunning and you consider could become a good actress?' Stuart replied, although not really interested in continuing that aspect of their conversation.

'Too true my boy, most members think I'm an old has been, passed my sell by date but I've been involved in acting most of my life and I know real talent when I see it, even if it needs some work to bring it out.'

'Who's that talking to her now?' Stuart asked, he looked very similar to the tall, bald man Sonia from Del Mario's seemed to be involved with. Bit of a coincidence if he was one and the same, he mused.

'Oh, him that's Robert Tomkins, considers himself quite a ladies' man always trying to get into some girl's knickers. You know the sort and what he doesn't appreciate is, so do most of the ladies.

'Seems to be getting on well with Mrs D'Estrange.'

'Yes, funny that, I think he's a weird bugger, works at the Turkish embassy and those two are often engrossed in some intent conversation or other. There is a rumour he's involved in the drugs world and I'm reliable informed one or two of our members do obtain supplies from him. Doesn't altogether surprise me, some of the oddballs we've had join in the last few years. Some definitely seem as if they are high on something from time to time, appear to be in a sort of dream world, not always fully with it. A few months back a small group of them used to gather in the back room across the corridor, smoking pot or some such. I went bananas when I found out and soon put a stop to it and some of them resigned in protest. Good riddance I say.'

Stuart decided to gamble. 'Drugs do seem to have become more of a problem, or perhaps we just hear more about it these days. There was that bloke in the paper a little while back, can't remember his name but seems he drowned through drugs use, found in the Thames.'

'Jeremy Palmer you mean, he was one of our pot smoking group,' Carrington was indignant. 'Used to spend quite a bit of time with Robert Tomkins, didn't really think much of it at the time but perhaps the rumours are true. Suppose we need to sharpen up and find out what really goes on here, do a bit of snooping to see if people joined because of a real interest in theatre or some other reason.'

Stuart sensed an awkward moment between them and was glad when Sylvana D'Estrange called out. 'Larry, I'm sorry to go now but Robert has reminded me of an engagement we are both supposed to be at, so we really have to leave, sorry. Can you manage without me for the rest of the evening?'

'If you really have to go, Sylvana, we'll rehearse the second act, Joanna will be grateful to get some practice in as understudy, so that's fine.'

'Thanks Larry, goodnight everyone.' Robert Tomkins offered his arm and echoed her goodnight as they made for the door.

On impulse, Stuart decided to follow them. 'Christ is that the time, I'm due elsewhere too. I'm sorry to dash and thanks very much for your time this evening, John. Say goodnight to Vicky for me and thank her, I'll come back soon.'

And with that he headed for the door before Carrington could detain him anymore.

\--------------------------------------

Outside it was raining, the departing couple heading for a waiting car. Stuart ran for the XK, pausing only to remember the make and number of the waiting car and as he reached the XK, the direction it went. He fired up the Jaguar and headed off after the large Rover, as he got nearer he noticed the CD plates, Turkish embassy he guessed from his conversation with Carrington.

The Rover was heading back into London. Stuart relaxed a little, despite the falling rain it was easy to keep the embassy car in view. Suddenly he was aware of traffic lights changing in front of him, amber, red. The Rover had got through, initially going straight on, then turning left. Stuart was impatient for the lights to change; fearful he'd lose the Rover. Eventually the amber light joined the red and the XK lurched forward, despite wheels spinning on the wet surface, accompanied by squealing from the rear tyres as Stuart let the clutch in at high revs. He had to fight the steering wheel as the XK slithered one way and then the other. As he approached the road, where the Rover had turned, a pedestrian stepped off the pavement, Stuart braked hard and slammed the car into second gear, causing the pedestrian to jump back in alarm. The Jaguar swept round the corner, spraying the poor unfortunate man, and lifting his coat into the air as the slipstream hit him. As Stuart changed into 3rd, he could see an angry fist being waved after him. He was doing sixty- five miles an hour, far too fast for the conditions but he had to catch the Rover. He slowed at each side street to ensure the Rover hadn't turned again and was fairly certain it hadn't.

Shortly, he saw the glowing taillights ahead of him, it was travelling sedately, therefore Stuart felt the driver didn't know he was being followed. He slowed accordingly and kept his distance. He felt hot from the excitement so, despite the rain, wound down the window and enjoyed the feeling of the cold water on his face, reviving him. Soon he felt cold and realised his clothing had become very damp, he quickly wound the window up again.

The Rover was travelling along Kensington High Street and was now indicating to turn right. Stuart slowed behind it, waiting for the Rover to turn. As it did, he edged forward and could see the name of the road more clearly, Abingdon Road. By the time traffic had cleared for Stuart to follow, the Rover had parked about two hundred yards away. He drew up to the kerb where he could keep the other car in sight. The chauffeur was out of the Rover, opening the rear door with umbrella in hand. Stuart quickly locked the XK and walked towards it.

Mrs. D'Estrange was getting out of the car, protected by the umbrella, Stuart paused expecting Tomkins to open the other door but he remained seated. So much for a prior engagement Stuart thought. He increased his pace as the chauffeur guided Mrs. D'Estrange towards the entrance to the building, he looked up and was satisfied they were outside a residential block of flats, expensive no doubt.

The chauffeur was returning to the car and once back in the driver's seat, Stuart headed up the stairs just in time to see the lift doors close. He wandered towards it and pressed the call button, the lift had stopped at the sixth floor and was coming back down.

'Excuse me sir.' The soft voice of the porter at his shoulder startled Stuart, 'are you a resident here?'

'No...no I'm not,' stammered Stuart. 'I thought I saw an old friend entering the building and go into the lift, I called out but she didn't hear me. It was Sylvana D'Estrange wasn't it, I saw go into the lift?' The porter nodded, so Stuart continued, 'perhaps you can tell me her flat number and then I'll go up and see her.'

'The lady is not a resident sir, merely calling on one, so now may not be the best time to renew your acquaintance, if you catch my drift. Perhaps I could take your name and give her a message?'

'That's very kind of you, don't suppose you could tell me who she's calling on?'

'I could sir, but I shouldn't.'

Stuart reached for his wallet and pulled out a ten-pound note. 'Well its important I know, to see if it's really worth renewing our friendship.'

'In that case sir, the gentleman concerned is Mr. Richard Anders, a permanent secretary at the foreign office I believe.'

'Ah yes, I dimly remember his name, you wouldn't know his flat number I suppose?' Stuart was reaching for his wallet again.

'Flat 636, sir,' the porter replied, accepting another five pounds. 'The telephone is ex-directory I believe, so I can't help you there, that is if you wanted to know.'

'Thanks very much, I don't suppose it's worth waiting until Mrs D'Estrange comes down, is it?'

'Not if you want to sleep in your own bed tonight, no it isn't sir.'

Stuart smiled, 'well thank you very much and good night.'

'Goodnight to you to sir.'

Stuart turned his collar up against the rain as he started down the steps. He turned to look up at the building, he could just make out the lettering on the front, llchester Mansions, repeating the name and flat number to himself he continued down the steps to the road.

The radio in the grey Austin parked fifty yards in front of the XK, crackled, 'he's just come out of the building and heading towards his car, over.'

# Chapter 6

'What did the great Sherlock Holmes discover last night then?' Paula teased as she brought the tea and morning papers into the bedroom.

'I'm not sure,' came the sleepy reply, 'Nothing concrete I suppose. I met an old actor named John Carrington.'

'Ooh I remember him,' Paula interrupted, 'he was in something in the West End not that long ago. What was it called.... Don't tell me it will come back to me.'

'I don't care whether you remember or not,' came the testy reply from under the bed clothes. 'I'm trying to tell you what John Carrington told me, not give you a rundown on his acting career.'

'Alright, keep your pyjamas on, I'm all ears.'

'Well it appears Jeremy was part of a pot smoking circle at the theatre society and Carrington was instrumental in stopping it.'

'That doesn't exactly seem world breaking news, we knew, in fact half of England must know by now that Jeremy was on drugs and not just the soft ones.'

'Yes, but apparently Jeremy was friendly with Robert Tomkins who is something at the Turkish Embassy and important enough to be chauffeur driven in a car with CD plates. I met, or more correctly saw Tomkins last night, bit of an odd bird who I can imagine dabbling in drugs and, I'm sure he's Sonia's friend from Del Mario's.'

'Are you sure? Not just trying to make connections where they don't exist. Perhaps seeing things, you want to see?'

'Maybe, I'm reading too much into it but Tomkins has a lady friend at the society, a fantastic looking woman and I mean fantastic.'

'Really.' Paula was indignant. 'If you're going to spend your evenings ogling other women, then I'm coming with you in future.'

Stuart smiled but ignored her comment. 'Ah, but the interesting thing is I found out she is the mistress of a Richard Anders, a permanent secretary at the foreign office. So, you see there could be a link between Jeremy's drug habit and those in high places.'

'I've got it,' Paula spoke excitedly. 'Did It Really Happen. The name of the play John Carrington was in!'

'Are you listening to me, I'm trying to find connections to people who may know more about Jeremy's death than has been discovered by the inquest and you're concentrating on plays a broken down old actor may or may not have appeared in.'

'He's not broken down, he was really quite good in that play, so for once get your facts right Sherlock.'

'I don't care if he was quite good, bloody useless or won an Oscar, I'm trying to share my latest findings with you, to see if it helps find out more about Jeremy and his death. Don't you care anymore; he was your friend too?'

'Sorry,' Paula said meekly, 'where did you get to?'

'The possibility of a connection between Jeremy, Robert Tomkins and Richard Anders.'

'Not forgetting the fantastic woman whose name is?'

'Sylvana D'Estrange, she's the link between Tomkins and Anders, maybe they don't actually know each other but I bet they do. I'm assuming Jeremy knew her as she acts in plays at the society.'

'How does she, or they, fit in with Victor Harrison and Leonard Manley'

'They don't. Although on thinking about it, Harrison works in some government department so perhaps he knows Anders, or Tomkins, maybe both'

'Perhaps, maybes, not much to go on is it Stuart? How about Del Mario's, still think it's part of your fanciful concoction?' Paula looked as well as sounded disdainful at progress to date.

'Hmm, the club does seem like a long shot. I have to admit it would be quite a coincidence if the first place I go to on the night of the inquest has some connection with Jeremy's death. But to find Tomkins might be connected to both, may mean there's something in it.'

'Does this mean you might consider it safe for me to work there after all?'

'Quite frankly I'm not sure, as you continue to remind me I haven't come up with anything really positive about any of this so far. Nevertheless, I'd still rather you didn't work there, really I would.' Stuart's eyes were looking directly into Paula's, pleading with her to reconsider.

'In a way, I'm glad you don't want me to work there however, at the same time, I have to for my own sake, to prove I can still do a good job and get my name out there again. I daresay that doesn't sound very rational to you but it's important to me.'

'I understand,' Stuart sounded more sympathetic then he felt. 'When do you start?'

'Tonight, they decided a Wednesday would be a good time to start as they usually get a fair sprinkling of members attending mid-week.'

'First, perhaps I should ring Tony to see if he's come up with anything more on Manley, just to be sure there isn't a link to Del Mario's so far.'

'It's too late for that, I'm committed and pulling out now without some damned good reason would be disastrous for me.'

'But if Tony comes up with something you could always go sick.'

'Yes, maybe if he finds a positive link, which I think is unlikely, so I'll be working there tonight.'

'Okay, reluctantly I accept defeat; the whole thing is beginning to confuse me. Currently nothing seems to fit together.'

'With all due respect darling, despite your superb analytical brain, if the police couldn't find anything suspicious with Jeremy's death, are you really likely to in four days or so. I know you're convinced it wasn't suicide, so if you're determined to carry on you'll have to give it more time.'

'I suppose you have a point, but all along I've had the impression the police investigation wasn't very thorough. I don't precisely know why, it started with that Inspector Barrett, he treated the whole thing as a waste of time, and yet he tried to warn me off after that first night outside Del Mario's. Why? I'm convinced there's more to this than has come to light so far.'

'I assume you're working today,' Paula said glancing towards the alarm clock, you didn't hear it, so I left you for a bit.'

'Christ is that the time, I'd better get a move on. Actually, it might do me good to get stuck into work, give my brain a rest from all this, something might just might drop into place if I don't keep thinking about it.'

'Still intend to ring Tony Venner?'

'Yes, at least it will show him I'm still very keen to hear more about Leonard Manley.'

'Well don't let it distract you. Just listen to what he has to say and file it away for another day. I have to be at Del Mario's for 7pm will you be back by then?'

'Doubt it, once in the office I can see a very busy day ahead. If there's any hint of that club being involved, I'll ring you.'

'Okay, now it's time to rise and shine my boy,' and with that Paula pulled the covers clean off the bed, leaving Stuart to stagger towards the bathroom.

\---------------

Paula had already decided not to go out that day. She was excited by the prospect of working again, strutting on the catwalk, all eyes on her. She also felt excitement because she was going to Del Mario's, if the club was connected to Jeremy's death, she'd show Stuart he wasn't the only one with a detective flair. Paula had a plan and she wanted to rehearse every aspect, so nothing would surprise her, whatever the outcome. As she went over the details for the second time, she realised the palms of her hands were clammy with sweat, despite having just washed them. Her scalp prickled causing her to scratch her head, her whole body felt hot, and not for the first time she realised this wasn't excitement, it was fear. She told herself not to be so silly and tried to concentrate on her plan. But what if Del Mario's was involved, was her plan really that clever, would they see through it and realise she was just a foolish little girl... Stop, she told herself, having spent most of the morning pouring cold water on Stuart's speculation, now she was at it. She had a simple plan, ask a few questions and the answers would demonstrate the club had no involvement. What if it didn't, would they decide she needed shutting up? Perhaps it would be better to forget the whole crazy idea, after all she was no actress.

A bath that's what she needed, a relaxing bath, a leisurely soak in the luxurious foam. She began to run the water. She decided to spend the rest of the day pampering herself.

After the bath and a rest, she decided on a nice, light but expensive lunch. She would ring Gloria and see if she was free. Paula felt better already as she walked towards the telephone, her mouth no longer felt dry, she wasn't hot. Listening to the dialling tone was strangely calming, able to put aside her earlier dilemmas.

'Hello, Gloria Stevenson.'

'Gloria it's Paula, Paula Jackson, I wondered if you fancied lunch today, short notice I know.'

'Fine where were you thinking of?'

'Randolph's in Kensington.'

'Crikey, have you won the pools, it's a bit pricey for a spur of the minute lunch. Assume you'll be washing up afterwards.' Gloria laughed.

'Oh, it's not that bad, particularly if we only have starter portions.'

'Ok, I've a few things to do first, so say 1.30?'

'Perfect, see you there, bye for now.' Paula replaced the receiver slowly, realising how tightly she'd been holding it, the hot flush had returned, aware she'd subconsciously been thinking about Del Mario's again and not in a good way. She decided one last dip in the bath was called for and settled into the cooling water.

As her mind wandered again to her evening at the club, she set about a few long outstanding jobs in the flat before getting ready to meet Gloria.

It was nearly 4pm when Paula returned to the flat, outside it was gloomy as the light was fading. She had enjoyed the lunch, Gloria was as bubbly as ever and the conversation between them had been lively and frivolous, just what she needed. But on the way back she was aware how quickly her mood had changed. She'd lowered the car window a little, feeling warm. Probably the effect of the wine she thought, alcohol does that, it'll soon pass. She noticed how tightly she was gripping the steering wheel, so tightly her arms had begun to ache. Her hands moved constantly on the steering wheel as if she was trying to ring it out like an old dishcloth. She glanced nervously in the rear mirror. How long had that Triumph Herald been following her? Calm down, she told herself, noticing the Triumph had turned off to the left. Visibly relieved she shouted at herself to get a grip. Turning the radio on, the distraction made her feel instantly better at the sound of the familiar presenter's voice. The voice changed to music and Paula began singing along, softly at first and then more loudly as her confidence returned. She continued singing until she had parked the car in the garage and started to walk towards the flat.

She noticed a man twenty yards in front of her, leaning against a low wall reading a newspaper. She stopped singing immediately, took a deep breath and set out in his direction. As she got nearer to him, she looked down at her feet rather than straight in front. As she passed him she felt a desperate urge to run and almost did but merely quickened her pace towards the flat. Nearing the front door, she slowed to retrieve the keys from her handbag. She was aware of approaching footsteps as she struggled to turn the lock, succeeding, she almost fell through the opening door and slammed it shut behind her. Paula lent on the door breathing heavily. This is ridiculous, she told herself, blaming her present state on a mixture of imagination and alcohol. After a few moments she felt sufficiently recovered to move from the supporting door. She walked briskly into the living room, as if she had some particular purpose in mind. She stopped quite suddenly in the middle of the room when she realised she hadn't. Ring Stuart she decided, talk to him about anything or nothing it might help to settle her nerves.

The receptionist had answered, 'Hello its Paula Jackson is Stuart Clay in?'

'Hi Paula, yes he's been shut away in his room all day, I'll see if he's free.'

'Hello Paula, how's your day going, as expected I'm up to my eyeballs so have to make it quick.'

'I met Gloria for an impromptu lunch, she was on good form. Have you rung Tony Venner?'

'Tried a couple of times but couldn't get through, he's out on assignment somewhere, left messages for him to ring me but no reply so far. Although to be fair, he did say he would contact me in a day or two if he had any news

'Oh, so nothing new on that front then, not that I was expecting there to be, just thought I'd ask. Do you miss me?'

'Course I do and I'm still worried for you tonight.'

'I'll be fine no need to worry, will you be back before I leave, be nice to see you.'

'I'll try but I've been lumbered with a few briefs Sam Taylor was doing. His father died unexpectedly, so won't be in the office for a week or so. Joe Muggins here seems to be expected to take up the slack. I don't mind too much as I need a busy spell of work to get my head straight.' Paula was laughing. 'What's so funny?'

'Suddenly had this thought of you running around the office naked collecting briefs with all the girls standing and applauding. Silly but it made me laugh.'

'Perhaps I'll try it later and see what response I get.'

'Don't you dare; you stay glued to your desk.'

'Well if there's nothing else I'd better get on. Hope tonight goes ok and be careful, I know we haven't been able to link Del Mario's with Jeremy's death so far, but we can't be sure, so keep your wits about you and don't do anything stupid. Promise, and I'll see you when you're safely home.'

'I promise, see you later.' Paula rang off almost in tears. The dark mood had quickly returned.

It was 4.30, two and a half hours to D-day, I must try and fill every second to stay calm thought Paula, stop my imagination getting the better of me and my nerves. She headed for the kitchen switching the radio and kettle on, made a mug of strong black coffee before tackling the ironing which had been waiting for some time.

Soon after 6pm she decided to get ready for her evening's work, a quick bath, a smattering of makeup, a change of clothes and she'd be ready. As she dressed, she recognised that work was a saviour in many ways, didn't much matter what in small doses, it kept the mind and body occupied, which pampering did not. A reminder, not for the first time to establish a routine for the days when work didn't take her away from the flat, a situation she had found herself in all too frequently over the past few months.

The radio announced it was 6.30 as Paula made for the front door, pausing to look briefly behind, looking for something, she wasn't sure what, so she took a deep breath and strode purposefully into the cold night air. The man with the newspaper was nowhere to be seen and as she turned towards the garage the wind struck her, freezing, biting through her clothes, causing her to shiver, no wonder he'd moved on.

She paused at the entrance to the garage peering into the unlit space, her shadow from the street light dimly lying in front of her, making the route to her car darker still. Her fear returned, anyone could have crept in and be hiding among the few cars. She walked on, quickly unlocking the car, grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, grateful that the interior light came on immediately, like a beacon enticing her into its sanctuary. A turn of the ignition key and the car started instantly, as it did so she realised her heart was racing and continuing to do so as she headed towards the street.

In her haste, she failed to notice the man standing to the side of the garage and the tiny flash from his torch towards the car waiting down the road. As she accelerated away the car followed, the driver giving a brief wave to the man still standing in the garage.

\------------------------------------------

It was nearly 7pm, Paula was standing in the reception of Del Mario's.

'Paula my dear, you're the last to arrive, you know the others I assume.' Paula nodded in recognition as Peter Townsend reached forward to embrace her.

'I'll leave you all with Joe Bradshaw, he'll give you a quick tour and then take you to the dressing rooms, where your clothes await you.'

Paula looked at Joseph Bradshaw, Stuart's description of him had been accurate but limited. He was quite good looking with wavy black hair and brown eyes. She couldn't decide if the moustache suited him or not but gave up and listened to him describing the club, as they walked through the narrow passages.

'I'm afraid the dressing rooms are quite cramped, so we've curtained off more of the backstage area to give you more room.'

'Don't worry, in modelling we are used to changing in pretty cramped spaces, so shouldn't be a problem.' One of the girls offered.

'Talking of problems, I believe you have been fully briefed by the agency on the type of dresses you will be showing, or more correctly showing more of you than the dresses!' Joe Bradshaw said. 'Mr. Townsend has been fully involved in their selection and I understand your agency has signed off on this.'

The girls looked at each other, seeking reassurance that the agency had given some clue as to what to expect.

Sensing some anxiety, Joe Bradshaw added, 'none of the costumes are more revealing then today's bikinis, not as brief as the showgirls and at each show one of you will wear a long evening gown, the idea being to act as a contrast to the rest on show. Oh, and if any punter tries to get fresh don't be afraid to give him a slap, believe me that won't hurt him half as much as when Eddie throws him out.'

They'd now reached the back of the stage and Joe drew a curtain aside, so the girls could see Eddie standing at the bar surveying the mainly empty tables arrayed around the room. He raised his hand in recognition, confirming he knew his role in the evening's performance. Assured by the sheer size of Eddie, the girls were shepherded towards the dressing rooms.

Paula was not so sure, after all Eddie worked at the club and therefore might be one of them, whoever 'them' was that Stuart believed to be involved in Jeremy's death. She paused and pulled the curtain aside again, the room was very much as Stuart had described, so seemed familiar to her.

'Surprised by the empty tables Paula?' Joe Bradshaw called to her. 'Midweek is always quiet which is why you're all here of course, it will get busier towards eight. So be prepared for people moving about during your first show as they settle at tables, get drinks organised and so on. Later in the evening there will be more of them and less of your dresses.'

They were in a corridor running along the back of the stage from which three small dressing rooms led off. The door to the nearest one was closed and just beyond that a heavy curtain had been draped across the corridor. Pulling that aside revealed the other two with doors propped open leading to a tiny space with small washbasin, a mirror above, illuminated by a flickering strip light. The chair in front of it took up most of the available floor space. Joe certainly hadn't exaggerated about the changing area being small, thought Paula, I guess union minded chickens would go on strike if faced with such cramped conditions.

'Sorry, with the curtain drawn across it should just about be enough room, and if it isn't I can only suggest you take it in turns to change. Once the shows are underway, perhaps only one or two max will need to change at the same time.' Bradshaw smiled lamely and only Paula responded. He held her eyes for a little too long then looked away.

'In case you'd rather not come into the club between shows, we've laid on a few drinks,' and gestured to a small table laden with alcoholic and soft drinks. 'Of course, you're welcome to come into the club and mingle, in fact we'd prefer you did and chat to the customers who approach you. Remember the whole objective of the exercise is to attract more members and new ones into the club on our quieter nights, and if word spreads that some attractive girls are on show, that should help and your contract runs for longer. But it's your choice and chat is all that's expected, Eddie will guarantee that.'

All the girls smiled at that.

When Bradshaw left them, they agreed it would be preferable to go into the club between shows than sit in the small space drinking on their own. But Paula was already making other plans.

It was approaching eight when Bradshaw called out, 'Five more minutes before the first show and the club is about a third full.'

The girls had generated some excitement, if mainly amongst themselves. They'd been through the dresses they were to wear and Joe hadn't been exaggerating about the sizes, particularly those set aside for the last show.

'Ah well it will be a giggle but if they think I'm joining the customers after the show in this,' said one of the girls holding up a tiny outfit. The others laughed and prepared themselves in the line required to make an entrance. Paula had drawn the short-straw, she was wearing the long gown for the first show, whereas she's hoped it would be for the last.

As they stepped towards the back of the stage, Sonia was finishing her song and swayed through the curtain towards her dressing room. Stuart's description of her had been a lot more accurate than that of Bradshaw, thought Paula. They heard Peter Townsend announcing.

'Now I'm pleased to present any entirely new addition to the club's regular performers. Please welcome Del Mario's own version of the well know fashion catwalk. The first of our models is Paula!'

And with that Paula entered the spotlight to a polite ripple of applause. The catwalk finished where the tables started, so Paula had a good view of the audience as she proceeded slowly. She looked around nodding toward the occasional customer but, the face she sought didn't appear to be in the audience. There were plenty of bald heads but none seemed to carry the authority or the looks Stuart had described. Perhaps it was silly to expect him to be there so early, or even at all.

As the other girls followed in their more revealing dresses, and more glowing introductions for each of them by Townsend, the applause grew more appreciative.

When they were all back in the dressing area, Townsend threw back the curtain beaming widely. 'That went much better than I expected, it was a good decision to have the most revealing outfit last, thanks for organising yourselves so well. How did it work for you?'

The girls agreed they appeared to be well received and appreciated. Like Paula, most hadn't worked for a few months and had almost forgotten the feeling of being the centre of attention, particularly among a mainly male audience. They were glowing with excitement and ready to mingle in the club to soak up the compliments and no doubt some bawdy suggestions.

They selected a table close to the bar, with Eddie at hand. Soon they were joined by a handful of men of various shapes and sizes. Paula looked around, hoping to see the man Stuart had described.

'Looking for someone in particular love? Well you've found him.'

Paula's attention returned reluctantly to the table and the man who'd spoken. She caught Eddie's eye and smiled briefly. For the first time, she focused on her talkative companion, he was somewhat overweight with a round jolly face, large kind eyes looked at her.

'Sorry, that was rather naff, but it's always difficult to break the ice and I only want to chat.'

Paula noticed that Bradshaw had joined Eddie and after a brief discussion both had gone backstage. This changed Paula's mood, it reminded her of the other reason she was here, apart from the actual work aspect. She realised it was going to be difficult to investigate anything without drawing unnecessary attention to herself. She felt the tension returning, her mouth dry and her body getting hotter.

'Am I boring you, you look sad now?' Paula turned towards the large jolly man.

'Sorry I was miles away.'

'Dreaming of some boyfriend you'd rather be with no doubt,' it sounded harsh but the eyes remained kind and he was still smiling.

'Not really, just something I have to do at some time tonight and I was suddenly reminded of it, nothing of consequence.'

'In that case, let me get you another drink.'

'Thank you and I promise you will have my full attention until it's time to work again.'

The jolly man laughed, 'well I'd better make the most of it then.'

Not long after Townsend appeared to remind them the next show was in fifteen minutes. Sonia was singing in the background, Paula looked again for the man she was expecting, but still no sign of him.

Bradshaw was waiting by the curtain into their dressing area but no sign of Eddie. 'I'm sure you know that all seems to be going great, we've had a chat and think it might not be a good idea to go back into the club after the last session, just in case some of the enthusiasm we've seen leads to one or two punters thinking there's more on offer than a revealing dress. It's up to you of course, maybe at some time in the future, when the word gets around it's a great show but, there are no perks on offer, it would be ok. Anyway, time to change so I'll leave you to it.'

He drew the curtain across cutting off any chance of the girls responding.'

His comments seemed to put a damper of their collective mood, a realisation there was a seedy side to their enjoying the adulation. Paula was the first to speak, remembering she wanted the assignment to last as long as possible.

'Come on, we're here to put on a show not get chatted up so let's give them a show,' and with that picked up her brief dress to howls of laughter.

The call came for them to go on stage with the applause to Sonia's song just ending. The procedure was the same, each girl being introduced by Townsend and Paula was third in line. Her dress was very low cut and she entered to wolf whistles, her eyes slowly surveyed the room. Spotting the large jolly man, she smiled and he raised his glass in acknowledgement, blowing her a kiss. Her eyes moved on, but the man she sought wasn't there.

As she reached the end of the catwalk, she noticed Sonia enter and take a seat at a table near the bar. Followed almost immediately by a tall man with a bald head. Paula nearly stumbled into the nearest table giving its occupants an even better view down her dress. 'Sorry I caught my foot, sorry.'

'No need to apologise love, we ought to pay extra for the privilege.'

Paula smiled and moved to join the other girls backstage. Once the chatter had died down and the girls prepared to go back into the club, Paula announced she needed a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, there was general agreement this was a good idea, but the cold night air soon changed their minds and Paula remained alone outside the back entrance. She quickly reviewed her plan such as it was and, with her mind made up headed back inside towards Townsend's office. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

'Enter.'

On seeing Paula, Peter Townsend stood up. 'Why Paula isn't it, Paula Jackson, what can I do for you, nothing wrong I hope, the evening is going so well, how can I help.'

'It's nothing to do with the evening Mr Townsend.'

'Peter please.'

'Well, Peter, I daresay you'll think I've got a bit of a cheek, particularly as I only met you a couple of hours ago, but I wonder if you can help me.'

'Well I'll certainly try, what is it, a punter getting out of hand.?'

'No not that,' Paula said, taking the seat offered in front of his desk, gazing at her hands resting on her lap for a few moments. 'I don't really know where to begin but I think I'm in terrible trouble and I've no idea how to get out of it.' She tried desperately to produce a tear but failed. 'I'm sorry to burden you with this, but you seem like a man of the world who knows his way around and I certainly don't. I'm just a stupid naïve girl whose been conned into something I don't know how to get out of.'

The flattery seemed to work, Townsend smiled and shifted so he sat taller in his chair.

'Well in this job you meet all sorts, so you get to know a few things that perhaps a lot of people don't, please tell me what trouble you are in.'

Paula again looked at her hands, hesitating unsure whether to go through with her plan or not. 'Nearly three months ago I was on a modelling assignment in East Africa. It went on for a while so we got to know a few people while we were out there. There were a couple of wealthy Egyptians staying at the hotel, they were good company, seemed to know everyone, best places to go for a good time and so on, and I got to know one of them very well if you get the picture.'

Townsend nodded and clasped his hands together under his chin with elbows resting on the desk.

'His name was Ahmed,' Paula continued. 'As time went on I began to suspect he was involved in the drugs scene, probably the source of his wealth because he never did any real work I was aware of, always around the hotel, watching our photoshoots and all evening in some bar or other. As the time drew nearer to our leaving he asked if I'd take something back to England for him. I said yes without really thinking about it, but when I asked him what, he wouldn't tell me and when I said I wouldn't do it unless I knew, he become very threatening. He said he knew my address and bad things would happen if I didn't. So, although I suspected it was some sort of drugs I eventually agreed. He said the package would be collected in person a week or so after my return and gave me a sort of code, so I'd know for sure it was being collected by his contact. I was worried sick all the way back, sure I'd be stopped and my luggage searched at some point, but got home with no problems at all. That was nearly a month ago and the parcel still hasn't been collected. I don't know what to do. If I go to the police and its drugs, I could be arrested for smuggling them. And, if I don't have the parcel when Ahmed or whoever comes to collect it, I hate to think what they'll do to me. Help me Peter I need to find someone who can deal with the parcel and protect me.'

Townsend remained sitting upright his eyes fixed on Paula, at last he spoke, 'Drugs are a dangerous game Paula and I don't like the sound of what you may have got yourself into.'

He paused, Paula's mouth was dry again, her eyes wide in genuine fear.

'Like I said earlier, you meet all sorts in this game so I may be able to help. You're due here again on Sunday so I'll ask around and let you know then, okay?'

'Thanks Peter, sorry to trouble you but I'm scared, can't believe how naïve I've been, I felt Ahmed would hurt me if I didn't do it and now worry he will hurt me anyway.'

'I understand, there are some nasty people in that business. I'll do my best to sort something out for you, try not to worry in the meantime. Now cheer up and put on a happy face for your last show tonight.'

Paula smiled wanly. 'Thanks again, I will. I feel relieved already having shared it with you.' This time she did produce a tear and felt it run gently down her cheek. Townsend offered his handkerchief as she rose to leave the room.

Townsend walked with her to the door, 'I'll have some news on Sunday, promise,' and closed it gently behind her.

Bradshaw was waiting for her beside the curtain. 'Paula where have you been, we're all worried about you. Have you been crying?'

'I'm fine, just needed a bit of time on my own. The cold air made my eyes water, I'm alright now.'

'That's good, you're on in a minute so hurry up and get changed, there's a love.' He pulled the curtain aside and closed it quickly behind her.

The other girls were all ready and staring at her. 'Blimey they're brief,' she announced. 'I've not seen bikinis that revealing!' The mood lightened and Paula changed into her outfit, trying to work out just what it was supposed to cover.

As she waited for her name to be announced, she reflected on what she'd done. She hadn't learned anything so far. Ok, Townsend had offered to help, but how and why. Perhaps that told her something, if everything was above board at Del Mario's, surely he would have told her to go to the police and wash his hands of her. Probably in this business he does know some shady characters, and likely he trusts some of them more than he trusts the police, so he wouldn't recommend she went to the long arm of the law. Didn't mean he knew anything about Jeremy. Damn it seemed so black and white when she'd dreamt all this up. If he'd told her to go the police then Del Mario's was in the clear, if he offered to help then they were as guilty as hell. But now she saw a whole range of possibilities, no longer black and white but a horrible murky grey. On top of that she might have plunged them both into real danger. What if Townsend offered to deal with the package, she hadn't got one, at least not one that contained drugs. Blimey what have I set in motion.

Bradshaw's voice yanked her back to the present, 'you're on now Paula, chin up.'

Although a variety of options were still occupying Paula's mind, she brushed them aside, put on her happy face and headed for the catwalk.

'And now the return of Paula, looking as you've never seen her before.' Townsend announced to loud clapping and more whistles.

Temporarily blinded by the spotlight her confidence sank, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she beamed, looked around and saw most tables were fully occupied. At the bar, she saw her jolly man wave and she smiled in return, glad to see a friendly face. No sign of Sonia or her male friend.

As the show was coming to an end, all the girls returned to the stage to acknowledge the rousing applause and swayed off towards the dressing area. Paula noticed Townsend in the corridor leading towards his office, Sonia and friend chatted behind him. He was waving towards Eddie beckoning him to join them. Her fear returned.

On impulse, she headed for the bar and her jolly man, he saw her coming and held out both arms in welcome. 'Magnificent my dear, absolutely magnificent.'

'Thank you, you're too kind,' holding both his arms to keep him from crushing her against him. 'Can I ask you a favour.' She looked straight into his eyes, aware this could also be a risky gamble.

'Of course, ask away.' He smiled but his face showed concern at what was coming next.

'Please don't take this the wrong way, it's not a come on, you look like someone I could trust. Would you walk me to my car when I've changed? I know it sounds crazy and you don't know me at all but...'

'You don't have to explain or say anything else. It would give me great pleasure to escort you to your car, make a few of the others very jealous I imagine. Where shall I wait for you?'

'Thanks, there's a door at the back of the building leading into the corridor where the dressing rooms are. I'll be about ten minutes,' and with that Paula rushed to join the other girls.

Ten minutes later she pushed the rear door ajar, there was no one outside, she closed it again and stood nervously in the corridor.

Soon she could hear footsteps approaching outside. 'Are you there my dear, lost my way a bit but think this is the right door.'

Paula moved quickly through the door into the dark night and gratefully took his arm. He chatted as they walked towards her Mini but she was a poor listener, her mind racing through the night's events. They reached the Mini and Paula unlocked the door.

'Now are you sure there is nothing more I can do?'

'No, you've been very understanding and I really am grateful,' she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. He beamed again and continued to do so as Paula started the car and drove off. He stood in the middle of the road waving until the Mini disappeared from view, then headed back for the warmth of the club. The doorman nodded. 'Welcome back Mr. Manley.'

As she drove home Paula tried to marshal her thoughts of the night, but was as confused as ever so decided not to tell Stuart anything just yet. See what happens on Sunday.

She drew up outside the flat, parking under a street light, she wasn't going into the dark garage alone again tonight. As she unlocked the front door a torchlight flashed briefly, just the once. She didn't notice.

Stuart was already in bed but woke as she entered the room. 'How did it go?' He asked sleepily.

'The shows went well, good audience, they liked us, can't see it lasting long unless they change the costumes regularly. Once you've seen us it could become a bit repetitive; maybe that's the nature of the club, same singer, same dancers and now the same models. We'll see.'

'Anything to indicate Del Mario's involved in any way?'

'Nothing I saw tonight.' Paula lied, 'just a club, much like many others in London I expect.'

She removed the last of her clothes and snuggled up to Stuart who welcomed her warm body against his.

# Chapter 7

It was Saturday afternoon when Tony Venner rang and asked Stuart to meet him at his office in Fleet Street.

When Stuart arrived, he was shown straight into Tony's office. 'I'm sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but I've had a job finding out much more on Leonard Manley. Seems pretty good at keeping a very low profile, despite a somewhat colourful life style. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First thing I could find after his brief spell in prison was this.'

Stuart scanned the short newspaper clip Tony handed him: divorced from his wife of fifteen years.

'Not much in that.'

'Agreed, the background to it is more interesting though and took some finding. Reference is made to him being a successful businessman but it doesn't say in what. Remember the last thing I found on him was dismissal from the police following allegations of rape, quickly followed by a short spell in prison for minor drug offences. Now in 1959 he clearly has found a pile of gold somewhere.'

'More involvement in drugs?' volunteered Stuart.

'Don't know what just yet, there are some rather juicy facts surrounding the divorce which indicate his business activities were, shall we say, a little out of the ordinary. Apparently, Manley regularly invited business associates to his house in Hampshire for the weekend. You know the sort of thing, bit of riding, but only in the bedroom; bit of hunting but only for the champagne bottle and so on – seems they had a high old time. The place was raided twice by the police with arrests being made of several small-time criminals from London, not much in the press at the time. Appears Mrs. Manley got fed up with the whole scene and sued for divorce soon after the second raid and this was undefended. I've been down to where all this was going on, just outside Basingstoke, must be worth a bob or two.'

'Not bad for an ex-copper who's been to jail. Anything else?'

'Never satisfied are you.' Laughed Tony. 'Manley crops up again a year later when he stood trial with four others for living off immoral earnings. Manley got eighteen months, the others much longer as there was a string of offences they were found guilty of. The interesting bit, from what I've found out is, I'm not sure he spent much time in prison, if any; maybe friends in even higher places than I first thought.'

'Interesting angle on the mixed company he keeps then.'

'Yes, as far as I can ascertain he's been on the fringe of small-time crime ever since and probably since his first spell in prison, judging by his life style. The trouble is, I can't find anything that positively links him to any sort of regular drugs action. It's been tough digging this stuff out, almost as if someone is helping keep it low profile, if so, why? Records department are doing the donkey work, I just feed potential leads for them to investigate. Talking of which have you followed up any of Jeremy's other contacts?'

Stuart told him about the Theatrical Society in Clapham, and his following Mrs. D'Estrange to Richard Anders' flat.

'Know anything about either of them? Also, a bloke called Robert Tomkins, seems he's pretty close to Sylvana D'Estrange.'

'Anders rings a bell, used to be in the press occasionally a few years back, bright boy going places, then divorced his wife, although there wasn't a seedy side to that as I recall, then dropped out of view. I'll feed them into records and see what they turn up. Which reminds me, haven't found anything on Harrison so far; very much a dark horse and keeps his nose clean. Do you intend to go to the Theatrical place again?'

'Tonight, they do their own productions on a Saturday, exposure for writers as well as actors, so thought I'd use it to nose around some more.'

'Let me know if that turns up anything. By the way have you noticed your friendly shadow recently. Did he follow you here?'

'Don't think so, I'd rather forgotten about all that, been working long days to reduce the backlog, so slipped my mind.'

'Perhaps he's been changed for a new model, so keep a watch out. Could find it useful to know what you're up against and how friendly they really are.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' said Stuart and rose to leave. 'Any idea when you might have more for me?'

'Possibly mid-week, but don't count on it, bye for now.'

'Cheerio and thanks for doing this.' They shook hands and parted.

\------------------

That evening Stuart had difficulty persuading Paula he needed to go to the Theatrical Society again; on his own.

'You're only going to leer at that D'Estrange woman again,' she retorted to all his seemingly reasonable arguments.

'Not true, but I am going and on my own. I don't want to expose you to any more potential danger, it's bad enough you are working at Del Mario's.'

If only you knew thought Paula, as Stuart kissed her lightly and left.

\--------------------------

'Hello Mike,' Vicky Carter greeted Stuart with a broad smile, 'nice to see you again so soon. As you may remember, on Saturday we let the paying customers in, so I'll have to ask you to stay clear of the Theatre until we see how many empty seats we have; probably quite a few.'

'That's fine, I would like to see the performance. Who's playing the main roles?'

'Sylvana D'Estrange is playing the leading lady, that usually pulls in more paying customers.'

'I bet it does.' Stuart regretted the comment as soon as he'd said it.

'Quite so,' came the dismissive response, 'Stephen Ross is playing the male lead. He's rather good, could probably make a go of it professionally but prefers a regular income, something in the city I believe. John Carrington is the main support, despite his age or probably because of it, his experience is very valuable to our performances. If anyone falters or forgets their lines, John can be relied on to ad lib totally in context, so it usually passes unnoticed. Gives confidence to those who don't often perform.'

'Do you act, Vicky?'

'Occasionally, can't make up my mind if I really enjoy it. I find the appreciation of an enthusiastic audience exhilarating, but suffer from stage fright which can spoil it. Would you like to go to the member's room while you wait, there's quite a few up there; would you like a coffee?'

'Ah Mike, Mike Anderson I've been looking for you,' John Carrington's voice boomed along the corridor, 'not been upsetting our Vicky I hope.'

'No, she's just offered to make me a coffee.'

'Excellent, would you make that two Vicky please, in the small side room, I want a quiet word with Mike.'

'Okay John, don't let him talk you into a role if you don't want to do it Mike.' Vicky called back.

Carrington ushered Stuart towards the room and opened the door. 'I've talked to some of those who participated in the pot circle, if you take my meaning, and found out quite a bit more, particularly about the mysterious Robert Tomkins.'

Once settled in the comfortable chairs, he continued. 'Most just joined in because it was the sort of arty, farty thing they would do, bit of lark I suppose; didn't really think there would be any repercussions, harmless stuff in a member only club so to speak. Several confirmed that your friend Jeremy Palmer was the initiator, supplying the pot and encouraging them to indulge on a regular basis, which most didn't want but then Robert Tomkins got involved. He tried to tempt some to try other drugs and one or two did. He certainly gave the impression of having contacts in the drugs world and not just for recreational purposes. When Palmer heard about this, he tried to put a stop to Tomkins's involvement but got told in no uncertain terms to keep his nose out of it. This confrontation was becoming unpleasant and that's why one of the group leaked its existence; as you know I put a stop to it. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, a few of the group did take up Tomkins's offer and started using cocaine, heroin and god knows what else, all supplied through his contacts, so I'm reliably informed. Clearly, we need to put a stop to this, we can't have the Society knowingly permitting such behaviour, but thought I'd let you know, in the light of our conversation last time you were in the club. I've asked Vicky to let me know when Tomkins is next in the club and I'll confront him.'

'John, I understand this is a serious matter, but wonder if it's wise to tackle Tomkins at this stage. Assuming your information is correct and you show your hand, Tomkins may well have some very unsavoury friends who might want to - how shall I put it, change your mind on what has been happening. Just consider if you've been misinformed and Tomkins isn't involved, it will create a lot of bad feeling in the club.'

'Nonsense my boy, I know I'm right. Tomkins is just a chancer and whatever he's doing in this club will be of no consequence to anyone but him. If I threaten him with the police he'll run a mile, if he takes umbrage, good riddance!'

'I'm not sure that would be wise Mr. Carrington,' Stuart hesitated as Vicky appeared with the coffee.

'Five minutes to curtain up John,' she announced.

'Good heavens, I'd better rush, got to change and makeup. I'm on ten minutes from the opening. Thanks for the coffee Vicky but I won't have time to drink it.'

'Won't you sit down for a minute Vicky? A coffee awaits you.'

'Thanks Mike, but with only a few minutes to go, perhaps you'd better find a seat and I've few things to check on.' She smiled and left him alone.

Stuart found a seat towards the back of the theatre, it was virtually full, and his view was a bit obscured, but as the curtain rose he found he could see most of the stage. The play was better than he was expecting, Sylvana D'Estrange proved a revelation, the audience following her every gesture, holding their attention with the ease of a seasoned professional. At the interval, he tried to find John Carrington, but all the actors had remained backstage so he decided best not to interrupt them.

The play finished to rousing applause and a couple of encores, during which Stuart headed backstage towards the dressing rooms.

He had to dissuade Carrington from confronting Tomkins, at least until he'd convinced himself he had nothing to do with Jeremy's death. But he was too late, he could hear Carrington's voice booming out accusations becoming clearer as he neared the dressing rooms.

'... it's no good you denying it, I know what your game is and if you don't stop I'll go straight to the police.'

'Don't be more stupid than you can help Carrington. I came here only because Sylvana requested it, I hardly know any of the other members let alone tried to peddle drugs to them. I have a responsible position at the Turkish Embassy with full security clearance from both the British and the Turkish authorities. The police would just laugh at you.'

'Don't you be so sure, our police are very methodical and take drugs seriously, it's becoming a major crime and they are determined to reduce it and its effect on the population. I've contacts too you know and you could find yourself in very hot water.'

'Come Sylvana, I refuse to listen to the babblings of this geriatric has been anymore.' With that he guided her down the corridor, brushing past Stuart in their haste. Carrington hadn't realised Sylvana was clearly within earshot, he bit his lip as a sign of regret but his face continued to demonstrate his feelings.

'There you see Mike, that told him a thing or two, he won't show his miserable face around here again in a hurry, I can tell you.'

Stuart wasn't so sure and wanted to find out what Carrington intended to do next but decided following the vanishing couple was the greater priority.

'Only hope Sylvana continues to come, be a pity to lose that leading lady,' Carrington said, as Stuart hurried after the couple.

By the time he got outside, Tomkins was ushering Sylvana into the waiting car. He raced towards the XK and fired it into life, nearly stalled, then accelerated viciously causing the car to slither off in pursuit. He could see the embassy car in the distance, not noticing the Austin taxi pull away from the side road opposite and fall into line behind him. The taxi's engine did not have the familiar noise of a diesel, only the soft purr of six cylinders surging the vehicle forward.

Soon Stuart had closed in on the embassy car, remaining a discreet distance behind. Not for the first time he recognised an XK was not the ideal pursuit car, too recognisable but not much he could do about that right now. He wasn't too surprised to find they were now in Kensington High Street and even less surprised when the car pulled up outside llchester Mansions. After a few moments, the rear door opened and Sylvana D'Estrange got out and walked quickly up the steps without looking back. So far things had gone as he expected, which made it easy for Stuart to decide it was Tomkins's turn to be followed. He remained parked until the embassy car had made progress down the road. An Austin taxi repeated the wait as the XK set off.

\-----------------

On reaching Richard Anders flat, Sylvana took out her key and gently turned the lock. Anders did not hear her come in and remained seated in an armchair with his back to the door. On the table, beside him, a small table light glowed. The light was sufficient to highlight the malt whisky in Anders' hand; he held a document with the other. He leaned forward to make yet another amendment to the draft report he was reviewing. Satisfied he leant back in the chair and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired just as Sylvana put her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Anders breathed in her perfume and relaxed under her touch.

'Sylvana darling,' he murmured and pulled her head gently towards him, tilting his own backwards allowing their lips to share a brief kiss. He remained seated while she removed the papers from his lap and replaced them with her body, legs dangling over the side of the chair.

'Was the audience as appreciative as ever?' Anders asked

'I think they enjoyed my performance,' she replied modestly.

'Not half as much as I'm going to,' Anders said gently kissing her neck.

'How's your day been, not too tiring I hope?'

Anders relaxed back into the chair. 'Could have been better, the great British public don't realise how hard we civil servants and political masters work on their behalf. It's Saturday, I've had an exhausting day and I have a report to finish to be on the Minister's desk first thing Monday.'

'Is this it?' Sylvana picked up the pile of papers from the side table and briefly looked at them.

'Yes, it's the continuing saga of the drugs affair I told you about. I've spent most of the day with officials from the Pakistan, Afghanistan and Turkish Embassies trying to get just a little co-operation from them, to help tackle this elusive drugs ring, cartel, call it what you will, but it's very slow progress. Unfortunately, drugs are embedded in some parts of their economies and although they profess the need to get to grips with the problem, the reality of practical help is very different. Lack of resources, money all the usual crap, very frustrating. Believe me, I don't think I've met so many people in one day who can say no in so many ways and stay smiling at you. The one bright spot in the day came from our side, as apparently we are much nearer identifying the top men in the ring, which wasn't the case a couple of months ago. We've known about the middlemen for some time, usual suspects, small time criminals, small business men run into financial problems and the like, but now we are much closer to those who pull the strings and make it all happen, we've had our suspicions of course, nothing concrete until now. In fact, I've got the latest report on this to include with my update on progress with the other countries, all to be done this weekend. But hey, enough of this I've probably breached the official secrets act already and I'm sure you've heard enough of my day now.'

'I won't tell if you don't. Seriously I'm interested to hear about your work, it always strikes me as being very important, so I don't want to interfere with it. If you've the time perhaps you'd fix me a drink and then I'll make some supper.'

'Don't worry about that, it's all in hand but I will get you a drink, the usual?'

Sylvana nodded and settled into the chair after he'd disappeared into the kitchen.

Soon after the light supper Richard Anders had produced, bed beckoned and they fell eagerly into each other's arms bringing the day to an active and satisfying end.

Despite sleeping deeply, Anders was awake after a couple of hours, the unfinished report gnawing at his mind and resisting sleep. Reluctantly, he returned to the armchair and the report. Sylvana felt him leave but didn't stir.

At first he found it hard to concentrate on the report, his mind drifting back to the enjoyment she had brought to his day.

On re-reading he was genuinely surprised by the information included on the whole operation and the spread of its evil tentacles, things falling into place which had previously seemed like dead ends. The agreed action he was able to report was positive, the potential help from some of the other countries disappointing, but he included it in the report as tactfully as possible. Perhaps, when shared at Ministerial level, there would be a change in attitude. He really hoped so, and on that encouraging thought, returned to bed; only final topping and tailing to do tomorrow.

Sylvana didn't move as he got back into bed. She was facing away from him but as he moved his body closer to her she stirred, aware of him kissing her back. Soon he was asleep again and Sylvana waited for some time to ensure the rhythm of his breathing did not change. Satisfied she crept out of bed, hesitated by the door just to check he hadn't stirred and then closed the door behind her.

She switched on the table light and stood reading the report. It was relatively brief, her eyes opening wider at the accuracy of the information it contained. She reached for her bag, delving into the bottom to retrieve a small camera. Positioning each sheet to ensure illuminated as brightly as possible by the light, she quickly photographed the pages. She was constantly alert in case of movement in the bedroom, her heart pounding. Relief spread throughout her as she returned the papers into a pile and put the camera away. She returned to bed less than fifteen minutes after she had left it, her absence unnoticed by the sleeping Anders.

\--------------------

Stuart followed the Embassy car to Belgrave Square. He stopped as the car slowed and turned sharp left at the side of a building not far from the Turkish Embassy, which Stuart knew was a dead end. He'd been to the offices of a firm of Chartered Surveyors on behalf of a client several times, and knew the area reasonably well. Confident that the car would park, he also did on the opposite side of the Square, and hurried back to the side turning. By the time he reached the corner, the Embassy car had parked and its rear seat passenger left. He assumed Tomkins had gone into the building but decided against going further, as walking down a dead end risked being noticed and possibly identified, he'd just have to sit it out and hope Tomkins wasn't planning on staying the night. He took comfort that the car was parked, engine off and the driver appeared to be reading a paper. However, he was soon cold and returned to the XK, started the engine and turned the heater up to maximum. Soon bored but warm he decided to stay put for a bit and switched the radio on.

Warm and feeling sleepy – time for a walk he decided, and strode off towards the cul-de- sac. As he approached he could hear voices and peered around the corner to see Tomkins ushering a tall man who was vaguely familiar towards the car, – yes it definitely was despite the upturned collar; Victor Harrison. As Tomkins shut the door behind them, Stuart walked slowly back towards the XK, as he did so he was even more certain that Tomkins was Sonia's companion from Del Mario's. He reached the Jaguar just in time to see the Embassy car heading out of the Square.

The engine fired and Stuart headed out of the Square turning right. The road ahead was empty, no sign of any vehicles. He approached each junction slowly, looking carefully but saw nothing. In frustration, he turned left at the next junction, but after half an hour, acknowledged he'd lost them.

Turning the car around to head back to the flat, the driver of the Austin turned to his passenger, 'looks like he knows he's lost them and is heading home.'

'Better make sure that's where he's going eh,' came the reply.

Stuart was driving slowly deep in thought, trying to make sense of the evening. So, the two men knew each other, so what; what's the connection, not just knowing Jeremy surely, there must be more to it but what? The Austin remained a good distance behind in the light traffic at that time of night, but needn't have worried, Stuart was too preoccupied with his thoughts.

He parked up in the mews garage and walked towards the flat. As he did so the beam from the torch flashed briefly towards the Austin, parked in the darkest spot they could find; inside they were giving Inspector Barrett a brief summary of the evening's events.

Paula was asleep and did not stir as he got into bed. Suddenly he felt very tired, however sleep didn't come immediately as his mind was still trying to put the jigsaw pieces into a meaningful whole.

Chapter 8

Paula was up early on Sunday morning, having slept fitfully, her thoughts concentrated on the meeting with Peter Townsend at Del Mario's. She decided to let him do all the talking, after all she had asked him for advice and if he had none, so be-it.

After an hour or so fretting, she heard Stuart groan into life and managed to decipher his mumbling - 'sure I'll make a cup now, I haven't had one yet.'

By the time she carried the tea into the bedroom, Stuart had fallen asleep again. 'Wake up lazybones I want to know what happened last night.'

He recounted the previous night's events in between sips of tea. 'Well, what do you make of it, if anything.'

'Well, Sherlock, you were the one who insisted on going on your own, so I'm only getting the facts second hand. You tell me what you make of it and I'll let you know if I think you're wrong.'

'Hmm, I don't think interpreting what we do know is so difficult, it's knowing what to do next, to see if we can find any link between them and Jeremy. In other words, are we, correction, am I trying to make something out of nothing?' Stuart paused as if in deep thought.

'I'll try to get hold of Tony Venner later to see if he's dug up something which connects them. Up until now he's concentrated on Manley. He couldn't give me much on Harrison, still waiting to hear if the others give us something more concrete.'

Paula wondered if now was the time to share what had really happened at Del Mario's, but decided against it; perhaps after the meeting this evening.

Tony Venner had nothing new. Nothing so far to link all the names, although when Stuart described where he'd seen some of them together, thought this might indicate they were on to something. Would continue investigating, might eventually provide an exclusive. Stuart was relieved as he had no real idea how to progress things.

After lunch, Stuart and Paula strolled in Hyde Park. Despite the chill it was a pleasant winter's day and it was beginning to get dark when they returned to the flat. Paula busied herself with getting ready for the evening's work but her preparation brought her back to what might lie ahead with a jolt. She realised she was scared but hoped she could hide it from Stuart. The last thing she needed was him tagging along, although admitting to herself it would be nice to have a friendly face around.

\---------------------

She left the flat at six thirty, unaware of the accompaniment of a brief flash of a torch. The journey was easy in the Sunday evening traffic and she was genuinely pleased to see the other girls, their cheerful chatter putting other thoughts to the back of her mind. Joe Bradshaw reminded them they were on after Sonia's last number so it was time to ensure everything was ready. Paula hadn't seen Peter Townsend so perhaps he wasn't coming to the club that evening.

They heard the applause and Sonia appeared back stage. Her eyes flicked quickly from girl to girl but came to rest as she saw Paula, looking at her for longer than the others. Then she stalked passed calling out, 'good luck girls.' and headed for her dressing room.

Not many in the audience at that time of night but at least they were enthusiastic. Leaving the stage Peter Townsend appeared. 'Good evening girls, seems to have gone well again. Paula can I have a word?'

Paula froze momentarily before replying, 'of course, I'll just put a dressing gown on if that's ok?'

'Sure, come through to my office when you're ready.'

The other girls ribbed her mercilessly about the meeting, so Paula was glad to escape down the corridor. She knocked lightly and went into the office, surprised to see Sonia sitting in Townsend's chair while he stood beside the door.

'Hello my dear, come in and take a seat.' Sonia beckoned to the one in front of the desk. 'I understand you have a problem.'

Paula sat on the edge of the chair with her arms resting on the desk, she was very uneasy to find Sonia clearly in command.

Sonia smiled, 'relax dear, we want to help you if we can, don't we Peter?'

Townsend remained silent arms folded, leaning against the door. 'Tell me how you come to be in possession of this package.'

Paula recited the same story she'd told Townsend on Wednesday, hoping she'd remembered her concoction accurately.

Sonia listened intently and when Paula had finished asked, 'That's it, as simple as that?'

'Basically yes,' Paula agreed. 'It did all seem very simple at the time, but I'm really worried I've got into something sinister and don't know how to get out of it.' She buried her face in her hands and this time the tears were not an act.

'Please calm yourself Paula, we want to help but we have to check out your story to protect ourselves; you understand that don't you.'

Paula nodded, but didn't understand at all. Things were not going the way she had hoped. She realised that subconsciously she'd convinced herself that Townsend would tell her there was nothing he could do, perhaps advise her to involve the police and that would be that. Now she could hardly believe her ears, they didn't know anything about her yet here was Sonia as good as admitting they had contacts in the drugs world. Any elation she felt at this was quickly dismissed as Sonia continued.

'Naturally we need to see the package, after all it might only be some new perfume or such like that your friend wanted smuggled to the UK. I assume from what you've said you haven't opened it.?'

'Oh no, I think that would make matters worse. If whoever collects it found it had been opened I hate to think what might happen to me. That's my worry, are Ahmed's friends looking for me, why haven't they made contact and if they do after I've given the package to you, what then? I've been racking my brain to see if I can somehow contact Ahmed's friends, deliver the parcel to them and be rid of the whole business.'

Sonia's eyes held Paula's, her gaze was friendly but not sympathetic. 'We understand that but, before making enquiries, we need to know what's in the package, then we can decide the best course of action for all of us.'

'Peter, Sonia, I don't want to be difficult but I must be sure you can get the package to Ahmed's friends so they are certain I've kept my side of the arrangement and won't bother me again.'

Sonia nodded and for the first time looked towards Peter Townsend. 'We seem to have an insoluble dilemma, which does come first the chicken or the egg. How about we set up a meeting with the people we know have contacts in Egypt, it's a small world so they probably know or can find Ahmed from what you tell them, and you bring the package along. If you're not convinced they are the right people, we'll walk away and try again. How about that?'

Paula looked down at her hands, playing for time, after a long pause. 'Seems reasonable I suppose, but I'm sure you can appreciate I'm very apprehensive. How about the meeting is held somewhere I choose, familiar surroundings and all that?'

Sonia nodded, 'maybe, but you have to recognise it will have to be somewhere everyone involved feels comfortable with – not the local nick for example.'

That lightened the mood in the room.

'We'll make some calls and let you know on Wednesday if a meeting is feasible. Anything else on your mind?'

Paula glanced at her watch. 'Is that the time we're on again shortly, I'd better rush. Thank you, I look forward to what Wednesday brings, it will be a great load off my mind if it can all be brought to an end. I'll be very grateful.'

With that she rushed from the room before any more awkward questions were posed. Her legs were trembling as she made her way back unsteadily to the dressing room.

Sonia looked at Townsend. 'Not convinced we're getting the whole story from that one, several things don't ring true.'

The door opened and Robert Tomkins came into the room and perched on the edge of the desk. 'I agree, it all sounds a bit fishy to me, so Peter you do it and you do it tonight. No slip ups understood.'

Townsend looked sullenly at the floor as the other two departed leaving him alone to dwell on the task ahead. He didn't like it one bit but doubted he had any option.

\------------------------

Joe Bradshaw was waiting for her outside the dressing area. 'Earning yourself a bit more cash with Townsend, were you? Well you'd better hurry up and join the other girls, they're all ready to go on.'

Paula robotically walked through the performance, she couldn't put the last hour out of her mind. Smiling on auto pilot she knew she'd have to tell Stuart about the meeting with Sonia and Peter Townsend. The more she reflected on her story, the more she thought how ridiculous it all sounded. Surely Sonia and Townsend didn't believe her, but if they suggested another meeting what the hell would she do. Perhaps she could persuade Stuart to tell Inspector Barrett everything they knew and let the police handle it. Would they take it seriously though, as far as they were concerned Jeremy's death was suicide, the case was closed. Christ what a mess.

She didn't see Townsend or Sonia again before leaving the club; this time she had no knight in shining armour to protect her and was grateful to get into the Mini and set off in a hurry.

Paula relaxed a little as she neared the flat, would Stuart still be awake? Probably not with work tomorrow. Suddenly, her concentration returned to the road, the car coming towards her had headlights on full beam, momentarily blinding her. It appeared to be in the middle of the road, she flashed her lights and braked a little. The car kept coming straight towards her and appeared to be accelerating, she flashed the lights continuously and braked harder as it got ever closer. Realising it wasn't going to change direction, she yanked the wheel to the left and seconds later it struck the rear of the Mini causing both cars to spin in the road. Paula continued braking and screaming as the Mini came to rest against the kerb. Staring through the side window she saw the other car had mounted the kerb and smashed into the telephone kiosk. She opened the door and began running towards the flat, occasionally glancing back to see if she was being followed. She failed to notice the passenger door open and a shadowy figure disappear quickly into the night. Accompanied by a flash from the torch at the side of the garage.

Reaching the flat, she slammed her hand against the bell, her keys were still in the Mini. After what seemed an eternity Stuart opened the door, 'what the....'

'They tried to kill me.' Paula shouted at him barging in to the flat, flinging herself against him, verging on hysteria.

'Who, where?' Stuart held Paula tight against him, she was sobbing uncontrollably, looking out of the door he saw the Mini with the driver's door still open and what remained of a Vauxhall crumpled into the demolished kiosk; then he started to run towards the cars.

'Don't leave me.' Paula pleaded but Stuart was already on his way towards the Mini. She remained in the doorway, reluctant to go inside.

Stuart approached the crashed Vauxhall, he could see someone in the driver's seat, opening the door, the bloodied body of John Carrington fell into his arms.

Returning to the flat, Paula was still shaking but calmer. Stuart had dialled 999 to summon both ambulance and police. Sitting on the sofa sipping hot tea, with Stuart's arms around her, Paula began to tell her story. She had nearly finished when the police arrived.

'We've looked at the body sir,' the constable began. 'Drunk as a lord, certain of it, stinks of booze. Wonder how he managed to stay on the road at all. Assume you are both happy to give me a statement, shouldn't take long.'

'Of course, please have a seat. I haven't much to say, Paula, that is to say Miss Jackson, arrived home in a bit of a state, so I went to look at the two cars, saw there was a driver in the other car and opened the door to help. He just fell out, checked for a pulse, nothing so came back and called you.'

'Thank you, sir, perhaps Miss you can tell me how the collision occurred?'

Paula explained how the other car, with headlights full on, was deliberately aiming to hit her.

'Now Miss, I'm sure it's been a terrible experience for you but, from the state of him, we believe the other driver would be just aiming to keep the car on the road, not at your vehicle.'

'I'm sure they were trying to kill me constable; because of the drugs you see.'

'Drugs, what drugs?' The constable asked.

Stuart intervened, 'Miss Jackson's been under a lot of strain just recently, a busy time at work, you know how it is and on top of it all, this happens.' Paula looked at him in disbelief. 'Is there anything further you need to know, because if not, I think Miss Jackson should go to bed and sleep.'

'No sir, all looks pretty straightforward, we know where to contact you if we need to. Thanks for your help, I'll bid you goodnight. I'll see myself out.'

Stuart held his hand up to silence Paula until the door was securely closed behind him. 'Why did you mention drugs.'

'Look Stuart the way things have turned out and with what we've discovered, we should tell the police everything.'

'Perhaps, but not a traffic bobby and with Inspector Barrett's attitude towards me after the inquest, not sure he'll want to know, so I don't intend to spend any time trying to convince him.'

'But we can't carry on like this Stuart. Someone wants me dead, and I don't want to die!' She burst into tears, sobbing uncontrolably against him.

Through sobs and more tears, she told him everything that had happened at Del Mario's.

'Christ, seems they decided silencing you was the only option and with Carrington's death, I maybe on the list as well. Right, start packing while I write to Barrett telling him what we know.'

'Packing, where are we going?'

'Abroad, we're not staying here after what's happened tonight. I'm betting the police will find it wasn't just the crash which killed Carrington. That may get Barrett to believe we're on to something but we're not waiting to find out. There's a ferry at four this morning and we are going to be on it.'

# Part 2

#

# 

# Chapter 1

Dawn was just breaking, as the XK nosed its way out of the ferry onto the quay at Boulogne. Paula had slept most of the way since leaving London and felt better, temporarily putting the events of the last few days to the back of her mind. Stuart was tired, the long, fast drive to the ferry had taken its toll. He hadn't slept on the crossing, wondering what the future would bring. He'd contact Inspector Barrett in a few days to see if he intended to take action, but if not, what then, perhaps it would never be safe for them to return to the UK, in fact would anywhere be safe?

'What now?' Paula jolted him back to the present.

'Think we'll head for Switzerland, give us a bit of time to think things through and decide best course of action. We won't rush, take the scenic route, might help to cover our tracks in case anyone is interested in following.'

'Always wanted to go to Switzerland in the skiing season, St Moritz here we come. Drive on James!'

'Hold your horses as soon as we're clear of Boulogne, we'll stop, plan a route and you can take over the driving while I get some sleep.'

\-------------------

On Tuesday morning Stuart's letter lay unopened on Inspector Barrett's desk. It was eleven before he'd dealt with all the routine paperwork and finally turned his attention to it. Opening it carefully, with a cheap imitation dagger, he read it through twice and then placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket hanging by the door. Pausing briefly, he put on the jacket and headed for the Chief Superintendent's office.

\-----------------------

On Wednesday morning, Stuart and Paula were in a small hotel bedroom in Basle, waiting for the telephone call to be connected. The bedside phone rang and, after a brief check by the international operator, they were through to Inspector Barrett.

'Morning Inspector, Stuart Clay here, have you received my letter?'

'Yes Mr. Clay, I have your letter.'

'And do you intend to take any action in respect of its contents?' Stuart felt more nervous than he sounded.

'Firstly, we are trying to check out some of the so called facts in it...'

Stuart cut him short. 'Look Inspector, they, whoever they are, tried to kill Paula Jackson and I'm sure they did kill John Carrington.'

'Mr. Clay, I'm surprised at you. You're a solicitor, you know full well that guesswork and surmises are not facts. You've produced little evidence to back up your story, therefore that's what we are trying to do, establishing facts takes time and perseverance, clearly something neither you nor Miss Jackson seem to recognise, jumping about like a pair of rabbits and now fled abroad on a whim.'

Stuart groaned, here we go again, the great British bureaucracy creaking into action.

'When we've got some facts, we'll be able to decide if there is any action to be taken. I assure you I am taking your letter seriously and the contents will be investigated. Gather you're in Basle, are you staying there in case I need to contact you?'

'No, we'll be moving around. I'll ring you regularly to see if there's any update.'

'Please do,' Inspector Barrett terminated the call. Briefly replaced the receiver then picked it up again and asked for an outside line.

Despite the lack of progress Stuart wasn't too disheartened by the phone call, in fact Paula thought he was positively cheerful for the first time in days, as they set out to find breakfast.

'Think we'll move on today, not comfortable with the idea of anyone knowing where we are, head for the Alps, maybe fit in a bit of skiing. Ok with you?'

'Fine, at some stage I would like to stay in St. Moritz, if only for a day, just to say I've been.'

'Snob!' retorted Stuart, laughing. 'Think we'll head for Zermatt first, I've been there, it's near the Southern border, so we'll see a fair bit of the country on the way down, weather permitting. Then we can head across to St. Moritz and maybe drop into Italy on the way. We may have to change this depending if roads are closed, particularly in the Alps, not uncommon this time of year.'

'Sounds great, when do we start?'

'As soon as we've finished breakfast and had a mooch around to walk it off.'

\------------------------

The sun shone as they headed away from Basle, showing the scenery at its best. Stuart planned to take a couple of days over the journey, so was in no hurry, the weather was pleasant enough to fit in a bit of sightseeing and walking as a break from the driving.

Judging they were about halfway, they found a small hotel and soon settled down for a comfortable evening in front of a blazing log fire.

The next day brought a light scattering of snow, so they decided to move on towards Zermatt in case it got worse as the day progressed. The roads deteriorated and the XK lost traction a few times resulting in slow progress. Stuart grew concerned that some roads might be closed, but continued on regardless, arriving long after dark. They were both tired after the trying journey and decided bed and sleep was the best option, after a satisfying meal.

The next morning the sun had broken through which lifted their mood so Stuart decided to call Inspector Barrett.

'Hello Mr Clay, you're a bit optimistic, I have no news for you.'

'Ah well just thought I'd try.'

'Where are you now?'

'Zermatt, may stay put for a few days, not the best time of year to be travelling. I'll call again before we leave.'

'Ok suit yourself.' Again, he asked for an outside line immediately after the call with Stuart.

\-------------------

The sun shone throughout their stay, ensuring enjoyment of the bracing air and scenery as they explored the town. Although mainly covered in snow, the mountains and valleys retained an individual majesty, which made each one different and, with the activity of skiers, an ever changing vista. Stuart had been tempted to ski for a day but Paula reminded him that the possibility of a broken leg in current circumstances might prove unhelpful; reluctantly he accepted this.

Having rung Barrett again, with no success, they decided to travel on to St. Moritz, weather permitting. The red Alpha Romeo which had remained parked close to the hotel garage for most of their stay was still there as they began to leave, although they hadn't noticed it among the various vehicles parked in the snow covered streets. The passenger door of the Alpha was opened by a woman who lent in towards the driver.

'They've booked out and plan to make their way to St. Moritz by the scenic route.' The driver nodded and the door closed.

A few moments later the woman signalled to the driver as the familiar boom of the XK announced its departure from the garage. He nodded in acknowledgement, waited for the XK to turn into the street and while still in view, eased the Alpha away from the snow packed kerb, waving briefly to the woman as he passed. She watched for a while, until both cars were out of sight, then returned to the hotel.

Stuart was not driving fast, respecting the conditions, he'd planned the route but recognised this might have to change if some of the roads were closed, with possible diversions in place. It was Friday, with traffic expected to increase as the weekend approached, for now the roads were quiet. The snowploughs had kept the roads clear. As they climbed higher, the piled banks of displaced snow gave driving the appearance of going up a cresta run. He was grateful for the road marker poles, although several were virtually covered by the snow moved from the road. They couldn't see over the high banks. Stuart was aware that as they climbed the road was nearer and nearer to the mountain edge – perhaps the scenic route had not been a sensible choice. It was then he noticed the red Alpha for the first time, there had been a few assorted vehicles behind them but now the Alpha appeared to be the only one - quite a way back.

The road temporarily descended towards the next small town before climbing again towards a pass. As they descended, the road straightened, widened and the snow banks reduced so they could see how close to the mountainside the road was. The Alpha was catching up rapidly. Obviously in a rush mad bugger, I'll let him pass Stuart thought, and soon after it swept by them. The road appeared to bend sharply to the left ahead and the Alpha was braking heavily, Stuart eased off to allow the XK time to slow then accelerated lightly towards the exit. He noticed a side road off to the left which led down into the town. Suddenly the red Alpha came into view accelerating out of the side road straight towards them, the driver braked and turned the wheel hard to the right causing it to slew across the road almost blocking it. Stuart braked and swung the XK right seeking what little of the road remained, as the mountain edge rushed towards them. Paula screamed in terror at her perfect view into the valley below, Stuart could feel the car losing grip, so desperately swung the wheel back left, praying the front wheels would respond before the rear reached the mountain edge. As if in slow motion it turned beyond the Alpha, back to the sanctuary of the road, cascading snow behind it and briefly masking the Alpha. Stuart was fighting the steering as he tried to accelerate away, the Alpha already turning to set off in pursuit.

Paula was clutching the side of her seat as the car settled on the straight road. Stuart looked and felt tense, the Alpha was close behind. He would try to lose it, which might be possible on the straight but with the climb up the mountain pass ahead, he thought the Alpha would prove difficult to get away from.

Stuart could see the straight section ended soon and the road sign showed a series of bends lay ahead. As he braked into the corner he judged the Alpha to be only twenty yards behind. He accelerated hard towards the next corner, with the engine screaming, the road swept to the left but it remained difficult to judge the correct line to maintain maximum speed, he released the accelerator, trying to judge when he could plant it again. The car suddenly skidded to the right, accompanied by a sickening thud – the Alpha had rammed them. Before Stuart could react, they had been rammed again, quickly recovering he pressed on, scarcely daring to look in the rear view mirror, deliberately driving in the middle of the road. Coming around the next corner towards them was a lorry and trailer, taking up the majority of the road, Stuart didn't ease up, flashing his lights in desperation for the lorry to move over. Realising he would have to use the roadside to pass the lorry he slowed a little, glanced in the mirror to see the Alpha had fallen back, perhaps expecting a crash. Nearing the lorry, he saw there was loose gravel mixed with ice, the car could easily skid and it was a long way down the mountainside. He had no option other than to drive on through it, holding the wheel firmly and neither braking nor accelerating until safely passed. The Alpha had held back, but now was gaining on them, soon alongside. The road ahead was a mixture of bends and straights, clear of other traffic. Stuart couldn't see the Alpha's driver, only his hand as it moved from the gear lever to pick up something from the passenger seat. He yelled at Paula to get down as he wriggled lower in the driver's seat, expecting the shot which never came. Instead there was a grinding of metal as the Alpha drove into the side of the XK pushing it towards the road edge. As it moved away Stuart braked so did the Alpha; Stuart accelerated so did the Alpha, then as they approached the next bend it moved away to return with a resounding crash, jolting the XK ever closer to the edge. Stuart again fought the steering but could feel the weight of the Alpha continuing to press against the XK. Sweeping around the corner he accelerated to gain momentum and control, the car felt heavy, reluctant to respond, he braked instead, similar feeling, the two cars were locked together. At first horrified, then Stuart realised the XK was much heavier and should be able to dictate both pace and direction. Realising the situation, the Alpha braked, Stuart accelerated and they remained locked together, heading quickly to the next corner, keeping the power on he fought to keep the car on the road. With the next bend approaching he made no attempt to slow down, he could see the Alpha driver changing down a gear, trying to get some response and slow. At the last minute, Stuart braked hard, pushing with all his strength on the pedal. Both cars shook and slid violently, the XK's tyres fighting for grip. Then suddenly the Alpha broke free heading straight for the mountain rising from the roadside. It crashed into it, the rear of the car rising high in the air then flipped over and landed firmly on its roof. The XK remained a few yards away its brakes and tyres still smoking, the air pungent from the smell of cooked brakes. Paula had her head in her hands not daring to look; Stuart waited for signs of life from the Alpha.

'Do you think he's dead?' Paula asked at last.

'Don't know, no sign of movement but guess I'd better take a look. Just in case, you move to the driver's seat, if anything happens get the hell out of here and find the police at that town we passed a while back.'

'Why don't we just leave and tell the police. He was trying to kill us.'

'I know but maybe the car will have some clue as to why.'

'Be careful' Paula said as he walked towards the overturned car.

The driver was lying along the inside roof of the car. Stuart approached cautiously, aware he'd seen a gun. Kneeling beside the car and leaning in through the smashed window, he pulled the driver's legs towards him, causing the man to groan. Stuart was not relieved to find he was still alive; made him more nervous. The face, covered in blood, was not someone he recognised. He had the olive skin, associated with much of Southern Europe. First John Carrington dead and now this guy trying to kill them, he began to search the car for anything that would provide some clue as to what was going on. With difficulty, he opened the glove compartment but it revealed little more than road maps. Then he noticed the gun wedged between the seats jammed in with some papers. He stuffed these into his own pockets along with the gun and turned his attention to the boot. The weight of the boot lid told him there was something heavy inside, so he stood well clear as he released the catch, allowing the jack to fall out. Peering upwards the spare tyre remained firmly in place and little else. He turned back to the prostrate driver, bending to search his pockets, the man hit out heavily. Stuart reeled back, then just as the man attempted to rise, lashed out with a ferocious kick which connected with the underside of his chin, the driver slumped back, unconscious. He continued to search and found an address book which he kept; his wallet revealed little, the name totally unintelligible to him, Greek, Turkish, he had no idea, so he left that and returned to Paula.

She had watched horrified, 'is.... is he dead now?'

'Unfortunately, not,' came the terse reply. 'Never seen him before and not keen to see him ever again'

Paula sat in silence gazing at the carnage in front of her. 'What do we do now, report all this to the police?'

'I'm not sure that's a good idea, it will be his word against ours and maybe the police will believe him as to what happened here. He tried to kill us and may well try again, so the further we are from here the better. I'll let Inspector Barrett know the next time I ring.'

Paula returned to the passenger seat and they continued towards St. Moritz.

\-----------------

They travelled in silence, recovering from the shock of what they had just endured. Eventually Stuart spoke, 'I found this address book on him, read them out to see if I recognise any.'

The first address he recognised was Richard Anders. By the time Paula had read out all of them, nearly everyone Stuart had come across had been named, Manley, Carrington, D'Estrange, Harrison, Tomkins, Townsend, among others; even his own had been recorded. The book contained many more he did not recognise, some of which had symbols against them. The addresses were well spread across Europe and included four in Turkey. The Turkish ones intrigued him, Tomkins worked at the Turkish Embassy, Turkey was a known route onward for drugs from further East, although this was always denied.

'I think our stay in St Moritz is going to be a very short one,'

'Why?'

Stuart remained silent but glanced down at the address book in Paula's lap.

'Out with it, what's going on in your devious little mind?'

'Well, when the police do find the Alpha, they will appeal for witnesses who travelled this road. It's possible the lorry driver will remember the two cars driving quickly with headlights flashing. As neither vehicle is exactly common, he may remember the makes and so a search is on for a battered XK. Therefore, it might pay us to leave Switzerland as soon as.'

'And go where exactly?'

'I was think of the Italian lakes and maybe Venice, they're on our new route.'

'What new route, why?'

'Because that address book you're holding has the potential to lead us to all sorts of interesting places we've never been before.'

'Anywhere in particular?' Paula asked nervously.

'Turkey for instance.'

'Are you mad, its miles away, the roads won't be great, it will take ages to get there and when we do, we'll probably be in more danger than now.'

'We won't rush so we can make some sort of plan. Even with the borders to cross and poor state of the roads, shouldn't take more than four days or so. Turkey will be a lot warmer than here. Come on it will be an adventure.'

'I've done enough adventuring to last me a lifetime in the last week. If you don't want to go home, I'd rather stay in Switzerland, despite what's happened I'd feel safer here. Or, if we must move on, why can't we stay in the Lakes or Venice?'

'Because there are no addresses in our new guidebook in those places and there are some in Turkey.'

'But there were some in other parts of Europe.'

'Yes, but I think the ones in Turkey will provide answers more quickly than some of the others'

'Sorry Stuart, we are way out of our depth. John Carrington murdered and an attempt to kill me. Now some unknown man has tried to kill us both, who next is going to have a go, we haven't a clue; these are ruthless people a world away from our lives. If we keep sticking our noses into their business, sooner or later they'll succeed and then what good will we have done? I'm very, very frightened.'

'I understand and believe me I'm scared too – but don't you see what's happened proves Jeremy's death wasn't suicide. Somehow, he got on the wrong side of them. I need to find out why it was necessary to kill him and who did it. At this moment, Robert Tomkins is my number one candidate, but I need evidence, proof, whatever you want to call it.'

'Okay, I admit initially I was very sceptical there was anything suspicious, the inquest was final as far as I was concerned. Now I agree there is something very sinister going on. Please let's go to the police before it's too late for us.'

'Sorry love, I doubt the police will believe us and we'll be in hot water for causing and leaving an accident. In my view, we have no option other than to carry on until we have something more concrete to go to the police with. It seems we're involved with some sort of drugs ring, maybe small fry, maybe not. The fact they followed us and tried to kill us shows we're on to something and I intend to find out what. So, are you coming to Turkey?'

'You mean I have a choice, I won't feel safe away from you, and sure as hell I'm not safe with you; looks like Turkey here we come.'

For the first time in a long while, Stuart allowed himself a brief smile as they passed the sign announcing they'd arrived at St. Moritz.

A few hundred yards on, Stuart stopped the car at the top of a rise which gave a panoramic view of the town and mountains beyond. They got out of the car, the sun was shining and it was warmer than they expected.

'Looks beautiful from here doesn't it,' Paula announced.

'Yes, beautiful town for the beautiful people, they're not my cup of tea but doesn't detract from the view.'

'Funny that,' Paula replied, 'Here's an opportunity to meet and mix with the rich and famous and you deride it – but I know what you mean. A girlfriend of mine came here skiing after some minor European nobleman asked her at a fashion show, she thought it would be great fun and was full of it before she went. She came home after a week thoroughly exhausted, ski instructors chased her up and down the slopes all day and the nobleman chased her around the bedroom all night. Not quite the trip she was expecting.'

Stuart laughed and put his arm around her shoulders. From this vantage point they could see the lake, totally frozen over with skaters taking full advantage of it.

'Fancy a spot of skating might do us some good, before we travel on?'

Paula readily agreed and they headed into the town. After a happy hour skating, they found a bar on the lakeside.

'Why don't we stay here for a bit? You could each me to ski.'

'I'd love to,' Stuart replied, 'it sounds very tempting but you know we can't risk staying in Switzerland much longer, or skiing come to that. Perhaps when this is all over we'll come back and treat ourselves.'

'Nice thought.' Paula said finishing her coffee and making ready to leave. They walked slowly to the car neither wanting to go, as they gazed back over the lakeside scene.

They sat in silence, driving slowly for a final look at the town. 'Well we've seen it now, so if we do come back we'll find somewhere a bit cheaper.'

'Promises, promises, typical man.' She smiled at him.

At the next junction, there were three policemen leaning against their BMW motorcycles. One stepped into the road indicating for Stuart to stop. He briefly thought of flooring the XK and making a getaway, then immediately dismissed the idea.

'Good afternoon sir, may I see your papers.'

'Of course.' Stuart smiled eager to co-operate, although it took some time for Paula to rummage through various bags before finding them. This gave time for the others to walk around the car, inspecting it keenly.

'Is there a problem?' Stuart asked as he eventually handed over their papers.

'Routine inquiry sir, when did you arrive in St. Moritz and where have you come from?'

Stuart hesitated, desperately trying to recall the maps he'd seen of Switzerland. 'Err... we came down late yesterday from Chur.'

'And where did you stay last night?'

'I can't remember, can you Paula? It was a very small guesthouse, the other side of the lake, and we could only stay the night, lucky really as they're fully booked now.'

'Never mind we can check the registrations, there aren't many guesthouses that side of the lake.'

The other policemen had joined their colleague. 'How did you damage the side of your car?'

'I...I sideswiped the mountain, Paula went to throw her cigarette out of the window but it blew back in, landing in my lap. Lost concentration and just avoided a more serious collision.'

'And the boot?'

'Oh, reversed into a bollard, didn't see it and gave it quite a bang.'

'I can see that.' Then turning to his colleagues, they spoke in German for a while. Paula turned to speak but stopped as Stuart squeezed her hand.

'Assume you are staying in St. Moritz for a while?'

Stuart nodded.

'Good we'd like you to report to the Police station in a couple of days, as we'll make a few enquiries in view of the damage to your car. Perhaps you'd better get the car checked over while you're here – here's the station address.'

With that the police returned to their motor bikes as Stuart drove slowly to the junction and headed towards the town.

'So, we are staying in St. Moritz after all, despite that pack of lies?' Paula asked.

'Not bloody likely, that story won't hold water for two minutes when they start to check up. Hopefully, they'll treat it as routine and not rush, so even more important we leave now.'

'But if we just clear off, surely they'll be looking for us, in fact half the police in Europe may be looking for us.'

'You may well be right, so think we'd better take the quickest route to Turkey, give Venice a miss I'm afraid.'

'Me and my big mouth. First, I miss out on St. Moritz and now Venice, where to then?'

'Drop into Italy and head for Yugoslavia is probably our best bet. We'll drive around the lake and avoid the town before heading to Italy.' He wondered whether to ring Inspector Barrett but decided this could wait until they were in Yugoslavia.

Two and a half hours later they were approaching the customs post on the Swiss border. He parked the car so the customs post looked out at the passenger's side. He opened the door for Paula to get out and she made great play of stretching and breathing deeply as if recovering from being cramped in the car seat for hours. Stuart entered the building and wasn't surprised to find all three men gazing out of the window. The youngest asked for the papers and a couple of questions about their plans, a cursory examination and he was on his way back to the car.

'That seemed to distract them, I'm guessing our details haven't been circulated yet, so that's a relief. Now for the Italian customs.'

An officer stepped out of the office as they approached and waved them through.

# Chapter 2

The powerful Jaguar sped them through the mountains of northern Italy eastwards, the magnificent scenery was lost on Stuart in his urgency to progress into Yugoslavia. Paula slept fitfully lost in thoughts of her own, reflecting on Stuart's foolhardiness; when would he recover some sense, and leave this to the authorities?

Apart from occasional squealing of tyres round hairpin bends and the remorseless sound of car horns, the predominant feature of Italian driving, their journey was uneventful. They passed into Yugoslavia with little inquiry from police and customs posts, late on the next day.

During the journey, when awake, Paula had copied the contents of the address book into the similar ones they'd bought. She'd meticulously included every mark against relevant names, assumed to be some form of code, although precisely what was unknown. Two copies had been prepared, Stuart hid one in the damaged boot and the other in his camera case, stored in the glove box, retaining the original in his pocket.

The call to London had been booked before breakfast and now two hours later Stuart was impatient to get away and on towards Turkey. He paced across the hotel lounge floor getting moodier as time passed. Paula sat seemingly serene, reading an old copy of Vogue but also anxious as time went on. When the call came through, Stuart took it in the bedroom.

Inspector Barrett was the first to speak. 'Expected to hear from you before now, where are you?'

'Didn't think it was worth ringing before, spent most of the time driving. Have you any news for me?'

'Not much, it's been slow progress...'

'Christ how much time do you need to make a few enquiries!'

'Cheeky sod, you have no understanding of the processes we have to go through if what we find is to have any credibility in law, and this enquiry still has low priority.'

'Sorry, just it's all we can think about following the incident with Paula's Mini.'

'Okay, I've nothing specific, but our enquiries following the information you provided shed a different light on certain facts previously accepted by us as true and, certainly warrant further investigation.'

'Anything you're prepared to share?'

'Not yet at that stage, off the record I'm having doubts the inquest verdict on Palmer was totally correct, at least there are other aspects which should have been taken into account. If these had been fully known at the time, might have led to a different outcome – I emphasise might.'

'Fantastic, I knew it. When will you start making arrests?'

'Hold your horses, we're a long way from anything like that. We have to proceed cautiously; this case is looking complex and we're a long way from getting near to any of the people at the top. We don't want to act prematurely and frighten them away do we?'

'But, until arrests begin, it's not safe for us to return to England, is it?'

'Maybe not Mr. Clay, I did offer you police protection pending the outcome of our enquiries and that offer still stands, we can only offer it in the UK; so, where are you now, still in Switzerland?'

'Yugoslavia'

'Yugoslavia? On route to where, may I ask?'

'Turkey. Before you say anything let me tell you there was another attempt to kill us. Someone tried to run us off the road in the Swiss mountains, but crashed first.'

'Have you reported this to the Swiss Police?' Inspector Barrett sounded concerned at this development.

Stuart hesitated, 'err... no, not exactly but the police will be aware of the accident and possibly our involvement.'

'Did you tell the Swiss Police anything about why someone may have wanted to run you off the road?'

'No, bearing in mind the difficulty I've had in persuading anyone of my suspicions, I left it as a road accident.'

'Good,' Inspector Barrett sounded relieved. 'We don't want another country's police force poking around in this, possibly alerting the very people we're trying to track down, at least not yet. Now tell me why Turkey?'

Stuart paused, reluctant to admit he was still following leads as he found them, however tenuous.

'Come on,' Barrett interrupted. 'Out with it, what are you up to now?'

Stuart didn't reply and replaced the receiver. Paula came out of the bathroom. 'Well, any progress?'

'Some, but we were cut off before we'd finished. Line wasn't very good so didn't catch all of it, seems to be finding things which are making him question the inquest verdict.'

'Well that's good news, are you going to ring him back to let him and me, know what you are up to now?'

'No, it'll keep until the next call, we've wasted enough time already. How's the packing going?'

'All done sir.' Paula replied sarcastically.

The sarcasm was wasted on him; Stuart was too pre-occupied thinking what he was going to do when they reached Turkey.

'Ok I'll finish it and then we'll get on our way.'

Paula was tempted to hit him, then thought better of it. Ten minutes later they were in the car heading South East. Stuart had already decided to stick to the main roads as far as possible, despite the potential risk of being spotted by police cars, alerted by the Swiss. Possible, but unlikely he reasoned, it would be a bit dull but should be in Greece after three days of driving, if all went well.

\--------------------

The journey was uneventful and quicker than he'd estimated. At four in the afternoon, two and half days later they crossed the border into Greece. Both tired and stiff from the incessant driving, bumping over main roads full of potholes in places, had taken its toll of the Jaguar too. They agreed a rest was needed before traveling on, particularly if the roads continued to be of the same standard, cobbles, loose gravel and holes.

A quick survey of the map showed Kikini would be a good place to head for, overlooking a lake, ideal for a restorative break. The roads deteriorated, slowing their progress. It had been dark for some time with driving becoming more difficult, so they decided to stop at the first hotel they came to, particularly as it had started to rain.

They proceeded slowly keeping a lookout for any signs indicating a bed for the night. Passing a large well where the water was drawn up by donkey power, the headlights illuminated the donkey lying in a small, straw covered hut. They stopped briefly to appreciate the peacefull scene. The roof had clearly seen better days, collecting water and then cascading on to the donkey below. The labour of the day left it oblivious to the water falling intermittently on its back.

'Thought you said it would be warmer as we headed south,' Paula stated. 'If this rain keeps up that donkey will be pensioned off. Something he might appreciate though from the look of things.'

Moving on, the next bend revealed a taverna.

'Try this shall we?' Stuart said, stopping the car to get a better look. He opened the door and couldn't see across the room for smoke. At first, he wondered if the place was on fire and everyone in it was too drunk to notice. Then he realised nearly everyone in the room was smoking, mainly clay pipes giving off a pungent odour and a cloud of smoke that would do justice to a steam train. No one spoke as he crossed towards the bar, all eyes on him, gazing in silence. Not exactly friendly, welcoming locals he thought. Reaching the bar and through a series of signs, expressions and a few spoken words, managed to establish yes, there was a room and it was available.

Stuart was led down a corridor and up a dark, narrow staircase, along a corridor that ended in front of a small room, accommodating just a bed and a decrepit cabinet. The proprietor smiled, Stuart nodded and the deal was sealed. He returned to the bar, greeted by silence and stares once again, to collect Paula and their bags.

Paula had taken refuge on the small outside veranda, moving frequently to avoid the leaks. Stuart retrieved their bags and now quite wet from the incessant rain, ushered Paula into the bar. Silence returned but at the sight of Paula, conversation and appreciative eyes replaced the silent gazes, at least among the men present. Soon it was a gabble everyone seeming to want to greet the new arrivals, reaching the bar, full glasses of wine were pressed into their hands and toasts exchanged. A clap of hands cleared a small area for dancing and music filled the room. Stuart and Paula raised their glasses in appreciation and headed for their room.

Opening the door, they collapsed in laughter.

'Extraordinary, what a welcome Stuart, wonder what time the music and dancing will end; first you need to get out of those wet clothes.'

Paula pulled Stuart towards her and began unbuttoning his shirt. With buttons undone she knelt behind him on the bed and eased the shirt over his shoulders and down his back.

Stuart turned to face her. 'Hey your blouse is wet too, better take that off before you catch cold.' Paula nodded her agreement as he drew her towards him, gently easing the damp garment from her curvaceous body. Her hands sought and found the buttons on his trousers, undid them and pushed them towards the floor. Paula's bra lay on the bed behind her, her breasts reaching forward to caress Stuart's chest. Soon, they were locked together finding their own dance rhythm to the music reaching them from the bar below.

\-----------------

Later they returned to the bar, as the music was too loud to contemplate sleep. They were greeted like old friends and wine pressed on them once again. The room was a melee of people with a dance area large enough to allow a dozen or so to demonstrate their Greek dancing skills. A small dark man, with a thick black moustache and mouthful of smoke stained teeth, pushed his way across the room towards Paula and indicated towards the dance floor. She looked questioningly at Stuart, he responded with a gentle push towards the dance floor, the small man dancing his way behind her.

At first Paula felt like a wooden doll, unable to find any movement of her body that fitted with the music, aware most of the watching eyes were on her. Wine was being passed around again and she downed a glass, relaxing almost instantly as the wine and music mingled into her body; she watched the other dancers for a few moments and then began to emulate them. At first her movements remained rigid and doll like but soon her body moved with the rhythm, her hair swishing from side to side as her inhibitions fell away.

Shortly, the area around her and the small man cleared, other dancers stomping their feet and clapping their hands enthusiastically. As the music grew faster, Paula was in a frenzy of movement, the wine in control of her head allowing an erotic interpretation of Greek dancing. Men stood open mouthed and wide eyed, some almost drooling at the spectacle available on the small dance area. Her partner was playing an insignificant supporting role, whose movements did at least serve to remind the audience of the original dance, a contrast to the unfailing attraction of a youthful, energetic woman thoroughly enjoying herself.

Eventually the music stopped, whether because the dance had ended or the small band could no longer concentrate, was debatable. Paula curtseyed exaggeratedly and the small man took numerous bows to the delight of the audience. Stuart pushed through the crowd to recover Paula to the relative calm of the bar. The wine continued to flow and the music started again, but despite several invitations and pleading, Paula only danced with Stuart for the rest of the evening and a good deal more modestly.

It was the early hours when the bar began to empty and they made their way up the narrow staircase to a welcoming bed. Stuart announced he would try to ring Inspector Barrett in the morning before falling into a deep sleep. Paula was ahead of him and didn't hear a single word.

# Chapter 3

About the time Stuart was trying to ring London, Tony Venner was leaning back in his chair recounting his latest researches to Paul Simmons seated on the edge of the desk.

'You know, what never fails to amaze me about these guys on the fringe of, or up to their eyes in big time crime, is their ability to mix with people in high places. Our friend Manley for instance, is known as more than just an acquaintance of our high flying permanent secretary at the foreign office, Richard Anders. What could someone like him possibly have in common with Manley?'

Paul shrugged his shoulders, 'money, women, seems to be one or the other or both as far as I can tell.'

'Maybe, apparently they were introduced by a senior civil servant in the Foreign Office, Victor Harrison. He's a bit of a dark horse, has a lot of contacts, not much is known about him, at least as far as my sources are concerned, but he does seem to make a habit of introducing Manley to a variety of influential people. Recently Niklos Bechet, a Turkish business man and Manley have been seen together and guess who introduced them?'

Paul Shrugged again, in acknowledging it must have been Harrison.

Tony continued. 'Bechet has a whole host of interests from farming to shipping and apparently does a lot of business with Iron curtain countries. I've asked the City boys about him and they report his reputation is not the most ethical, bribes, large cash deals, contracts won in unusual circumstances, shady character although very successful. Well in with staff at the Turkish Embassy and the rumours are he funds most of the costs. Businessmen don't do that unless there is a payback.'

'Think there's anything that links Manley to Palmer's death yet?'

Tony didn't answer immediately, staring thoughtfully over the top of the cold coffee just retrieved from his desk. He took a drink and shuddered at the taste of the cold liquid.

'I wish I knew the answer to that one, at times there seems some connection, then, as I find out more, all it does is add to an ever growing conundrum of possibilities, loose connections and a hell of a lot of maybes. I do wonder if Stuart and Paula skipping the country has caused a bit of a stir, covering tracks and so on, clouding what was a fuzzy, complicated picture anyway.'

'Next steps, give up or what?' Paul asked.

'No, I'll keep digging, its intriguing and makes a change from the day job. Something may turn up, after all it does appear Stuart and Paula have trodden on a few toes, that car crash near their flat is not all it seems from what's been reported in the papers. Foreign Office officials, former policeman makes the big time, other movers and shakers, has all the makings of a good story if I could only find the key to unlocking it.'

'But?' Paul inquired.

'But, perhaps Manley learned his lesson and is going straight now, built a successful business, made something of his life. Despite his lurid past, everything now indicates a changed man. No regular girlfriend, doesn't gamble, not a heavy drinker, doesn't fit with the man he used to be at all. Perhaps the leopard, or I should say Leonard has changed his spots but somehow I don't buy it.'

'Stuart been in touch?'

'Not a word.' Tony replied testily. 'For all I know he could be dead, or more likely enjoying some winter sun with Paula.'

Before Paul could reply the phone rang, Tony raised his eyebrows towards Paul as he picked up the receiver. 'Tony Venner.'

'Tony, its Stuart Clay, thought I'd see if there's been any progress.'

'Progress? Where the hell are you is more to the point?'

Stuart explained briefly what had happened since he and Paula had left England, also the increased interest the British Police were showing in the circumstances of Jeremy Palmer's death.

Tony gave Stuart the salient facts of what he'd discovered, Stuart detected the despondency in his voice.

'You don't seem encouraged by this progress, anything wrong?'

'Blind alleys, in fact I was just discussing this with Paul when you rang. On the face of it could add up to a big international operation, Jeremy knew something and had to be silenced or, it's just run of the mill normal business stuff and has no connection at all. I'm still prepared to continue searching, as I said to Paul, a change from the day job but I'm not optimistic it's going to lead us anywhere.'

'Well why can't it be the former.' Stuart persisted.

'It's just unlikely, appreciate these things do happen but more in books and films, in my opinion. The driving force behind most crime is money, certainly in the case of drugs but most of the people Manley is in touch with either have plenty of money or certainly have enough by my standards, their motivation in life seems to be in other directions.'

'Does anyone ever have enough money, isn't it merely a question of conscious or morals that limits most people's desire to have more, but by honest means. Perhaps this lot got what they have through drugs, and the drug their now hooked on is money?'

'Maybe you're right,' replied Tony. 'Obviously the attempts on your lives indicate someone is determined to eliminate you, but not sure we've identified the right people to investigate. Tomkins is possibly the most likely and I'm certain he will know Bechet, but whether he knows of Tomkins' existence is a different matter. If he does, then we have a potential connection. Bechet's operations are extensive and unorthodox, so could include drugs activity.'

'Think this is something worth pursuing then, appreciate it's a different line of enquiry to Manley?'

The line went quiet, Stuart was just about to say 'Hello,' when Tony Venner spoke but he didn't answer Stuart's question.

'Are you being followed now?'

'I don't think so, if we are whoever it is keeps a very low profile, we are both aware of this possibility in the light of what's happened. We've moved a long way from where we last had trouble in a short period of time. Maybe they're just biding their time as to the best place to try and kill us.'

Not for the first time since the incident with the red Alpha, Stuart realised they almost certainly were still in danger.'

'Well, take care, keep alert, lose you and the trail does go cold.'

'Take that as read. If there's nothing else, I'll ring again when we are in Turkey.'

He replaced the receiver slowly looking carefully around the bar, it was virtually empty. Paula was sitting on the far side drinking coffee and another couple were drinking wine or Ouzo; the barman still washing a pile of glasses from the previous night. The bar seemed bigger than last night but Stuart was surprised there was no one else. During the call, when Tony was asking about being followed, he was certain someone was close to him, staring into his back, this had triggered a reminder of the potential danger they still faced. He had looked around then but hadn't seen anyone, must just be his imagination. He asked the barman if there had been anyone else in the bar, which drew a blank expression and a shake of the head.

He walked over to Paula and, as she poured him a cup of coffee, confirmed she'd seen no one else. Sensing his thoughtful mood.

'I assume there's been some development that you're dwelling on?'

'Not really, I suppose Inspector Barrett's investigations continue, if that's the right word, at a snail's pace but I always have to chase him for information, which is very limited. Maybe that means they're being very thorough this time, so might turn up something. Tony Venner appears to have come up against a brick wall with just a small chink in it, so he'll continue but think he's losing heart that we'll get anywhere.'

Finishing their coffee, they went outside to be welcomed by dull but warm sunlight. People, they dimly recognised from the previous evening, greeted them as they walked towards the donkey busy pumping water up from the well. Paula's dancing partner rushed to greet them and embraced Paulat, beaming with joy. He spoke at some length in Greek, they smiled at what seemed appropriate intervals.

The village was peaceful, the way of life contented. The main means of transport seemed to be donkey or horse and cart. Occasionally they passed a shed containing an old battered truck but never a private car. It appeared they'd left the twentieth century behind.

Soon it would be time to continue towards Turkey, but for now they savoured the slow pace, scenic views, friendly people and mild weather. They felt relaxed, yet as they walked, Stuart had that eerie feeling of being watched, eyes boring into his back. He glanced around, saw and said nothing.

\-------------------

The passage into Turkey was uneventful; the border police and customs officials took little interest in them, casually examining their passports, then waving the Jaguar on into the new country. As he accelerated Stuart wondered if the return journey would be as easy.

They pressed on towards the sea and Istanbul, over roads so rough that the Jaguar shook and rattled so it seemed inevitable that something must fall off and the car eventually disintegrate, not helped by the speed Stuart insisted on maintaining. Such that they only had one overnight stop before driving into the vast metropolis of Istanbul. They found a small hotel with garage facilities and close to the extensive dock area, adjacent to the Bosphorus Strait. The Jaguar was in desparate need of attention and despite the instant smiles of the garage mechanics and much nodding of approval, it was with some reluctance that Stuart accepted he had to let them do their best, or worst.

After fighting with the intricacies of the hotel shower system and something to eat, he rang Inspector Barrett. Barrett wasn't available, so he left the hotel details with Detective Sergeant Jones. Stuart was relieved that Jones had heard of him and knew of the ongoing investigation but he didn't feel able to give any more details, that would be for Inspector Barrett to do.

During this time, Paula remained fast asleep. Stuart thought it best to leave her and went down to reception to find a map of Istanbul. Spreading the map on the small table he manged to find the four addresses given in the black notebook. Only one was in the centre of the city, not far from the docks. The remaining three were in the suburbs to the North, West and South. Stuart decided he would visit each location to gain familiarity with the surrounding areas. He returned to the bedroom and finding Paula still sleeping, left a note on the bed beside her, closed the door and left the hotel.

He didn't hurry, in fact walking away from the nearest address, taking a number of circular routes to become familiar with surrounding streets, small passageways, tall and distinctive buildings to act as reference points, even where there appeared to be street lighting or none. When satisfied he had a sufficient store of street names and landmarks, to identify the location of the hotel within the labyrinth of buildings and streets surrounding it, he turned towards the city centre and the first address.

With frequent reference to the map he arrived outside a dilapidated warehouse in a rundown street. From his perspective it had a distinct lilt to the left, appearing to be resting on the building next door. He doubled checked the address as this was not what he expected, a warehouse maybe but why not closer to the docks? There was no sign of any activity outside and on closer inspection none inside as far as he could judge. He found a way to the rear of the building with a loading bay and large door for access, with a rusty looking hoist above. He looked around, walked away and back again and when satisfied there was no one near, climbed the steps at the side of the loading bay and peered through the small window into the warehouse. The glass was so dirty and the inside of the warehouse so dark that at first, he couldn't see anything. Eventually his eyes acclimatise to the gloom and he could see stacks of boxes, all labelled 'Bechet Corporation' in what he assumed to be several languages but no indication of the contents. Scanning the various stacks, he realised they were piled by destination and several were clearly marked 'London'. Nothing suspicious in itself, Niklos Bechet was a well-established businessman with lots on interests, so Tony had informed him; logically he would have warehouses stacked with goods of all sorts. If Stuart was to uncover anything, he had to find out what was in those boxes. Deciding that a look inside would have to wait for the cover of darkness, he continued to survey the building for half an hour or so, trying to find the easiest and least noticeable way to enter. The loading bay doors although decaying seemed sound enough and were firmly locked. Continuing around the building he found a side door with peeling paint and rotted through in several places. Looking though the resultant small gaps, it led into a corridor but he couldn't see through into the main warehouse. Although locked, it seemed to offer the best chance of gaining access, albeit forced and obvious to anyone there had been an intruder. Returning to the front of the building he checked the map for his next address and walked quickly away.

His immediate destination was a railway station, then a short ride to the Northern suburbs. It was nearly midday and at that time, if not always, the frequency of service irregular. Eventually a train arrived with vacant seats.

The railway ran close to the bay before turning inland and heading North. The journey was slow with frequent stops at untidy stations, where the guard shouted out the names. To Stuart they just sounded like one long similar word, he realised the announcements wouldn't tell him they'd arrived at the station he'd identified on the map as nearest to the address he sought. The names on the stations themselves didn't help much either. Significant landmarks along the way were few and far between, just grey buildings with brightly tiled rooves. Just like any city he mused, railways always seemed to travel through the drabbest areas surrounding the city centres. At the current stop, an elderly couple entered his compartment, accompanied by their goat, which settled and munched contently at their feet.

In all, the journey took an hour to cover a distance Stuart estimated at eight miles. The station looked the same as all the others the train had stopped at, as it plodded North. Plain strips of concrete on either side of the rails, to which passengers descended by way of steep steps, a small wooden hut serving as ticket office and waiting room. No other protection from the vagaries of the weather. He turned left on leaving the station, having spent considerable time on the train memorising the route he would have to take, not by street name but the turnings he would have to take and at what interval, so he proceeded by carefully counting the streets and cul-de-sacs before his next turn. This resulted in several wrong turnings and he found himself cursing the inaccuracies of the detail shown by the map, so was eventually surprised to find himself opposite the street he sought. He began counting off the numbers of the similar, terraced houses and passed by number 101, noticing only its brightly painted door and drawn curtains. Nothing to distinguish it from its neighbours. There were a few other people in the street so he walked on and down the next street, looking for a rear entrance but the houses were back to back, with no ready access. He returned slowly towards number 101, realising there was nothing out of the ordinary, so would probably have to watch over a number of days and nights if he was to discover anything of significance. Perhaps he should knock on the door and ask for Mr. Mahmood, the name in the address book. What if he was in, what then, well if he didn't speak English that would be the end of the conversation. If he did, Stuart would say one of the European link men has had a serious car crash in Switzerland, consequently London are concerned about breaches in the established communication network, as it seemed likely his contact list had been found and may be compromised. As a result, he'd been sent to give this information personally to all Turkish contacts, so normal links were not to be used until secure ones were in place. In the meantime, he'd be the link.

But how likely was that, an organisation of the nature he presumed to exist would have its own established means of communication, not an unknown turning up on the doorstep unannounced. These thoughts and more raced through Stuart's mind as he wandered slowly away from the house. He realised how flawed this was, what evidence could he give of this, how would he identify himself, what did he know of the local operation, didn't even speak Turkish. Nevertheless, he was determined to make some contact with the house and turned towards it. As he did so a black Opel car pulled up outside and three men hurried from the house, climbed in and it drove swiftly away. As Stuart drew nearer to the house he saw the front door was still open and a small rotund man stood inside the entrance.

'Excuse me does Mr. Mahmood live here?' he called out.

The man looked blankly at him, so he repeated the question and walked towards the door.

'I'm Mahmood, who wants to know?' he answered in heavily accented English.

'I have a message for you from London.'

'Come closer, then we can talk.'

Stuart approached the front door and made to enter but an arm blocked the way. He looked into the house but could see nothing exceptional in the gloom.

'What is your message?' Mahmood stared at Stuart, his eyes and whole posture demonstrated his annoyance at the interruption.

'It concerns new arrangements for communicating with London.'

Momentarily Mahmood looked startled but quickly recovered his defiant posture.

'You'd better come in then.' He gestured for Stuart to enter.

The inside was just as gloomy as it had appeared from outside, Mahmood led the way to a small room, overly furnished, the light from the window blocked by plants and drawn curtains.

'Well,' Mahmood demanded.

Stuart relayed his story; Mahmood remained expressionless.

'And you are?'

'John Morrison,' Stuart dimly recalled the name he'd given at the European Export Club.

'I have not heard that name before. Why has London sent me a non-Turkish speaking Englishman to act as our contact?'

'London doesn't know how safe the established links are. The accident being in Switzerland, it's been decided to send contacts from London to all operations, not ideal but best that could be done in the circumstances.' Stuart knew this sounded a bit lame but couldn't think of anything else on the spur of the moment.

'When did you arrive? Why was I not informed? Why have you no code identification? I don't believe you. I've been receiving messages in the normal way from London, the last one less than an hour ago.'

'London thought it best to continue with the current communication network until personal contact has been made to establish the new arrangements, and check the recent communications are accurate and still secure.'

'In that case is the consignment still to be shipped tonight?'

'Yes, that's correct but any further messages on this or other activities are to be made through me. My main task is to ensure all involved in the Turkish operation are aware of this temporary measure.'

'I see,' Mahmood's tone had softened a little. 'You will understand my caution Mr. Morrison, 'your arrival is a total surprise to me and in our business, surprises are normally unpleasant ones.'

Stuart nodded in acknowledgement but remained silent; he'd said enough, leave Mahmood to mull it all over and decide what to do.

After what seemed an eternity Mahmood spoke again. 'Okay how do we contact you?'

'I'm in the process of setting this up, for the time being I'll contact you.'

'This is unacceptable we have to be able to contact you, things can move very fast in this business.'

'I realise that and I'll get everything in place within twenty- four hours.'

'Too long, I'll make the local arrangements and in the meantime, ensure we are in regular contact with you.'

He smiled but it wasn't a friendly one. Stuart had not heard any footsteps behind him but turned as Mahmood spoke.

'Kadir will keep you company until we meet again.'

He was a massive man, well over six feet tall and looked about as wide at first glance.

'Unfortunately, Kadir does not speak English, so I will give my instructions in Turkish, you understand.'

Stuart was surprised at the length of the instructions; Kadir didn't speak, merely grunted occasionally and looked suspiciously towards him.

Eventually, Mahmood stopped speaking and then addressed Stuart. 'Now if you will excuse me Mr. Morrison, I have a lot to do before tonight's shipment. I'm sure you must have too.'

He gestured towards the door and ignored Stuart's outstretched hand, opening the door for them to leave.

'Where have you parked your car?'

'As yet, I haven't got one, I find it best to get my bearings in a new place by walking and using public transport but a car is on my long list of things to do.' Stuart said more cheerfully then he felt.

Mahmood almost laughed, but Stuart wasn't sure if he was laughing with him or at him.

Kadir made a great companion on the walk to the station, rather like a well-trained dog. He kept one pace behind and his eyes never flickered from his master's back.

Kadir presented quite a problem. Stuart had no idea what instructions Mahmood had given him and he certainly couldn't return to the hotel and Paula, with him in tow. He had to get rid of him, preferably by just giving him the slip, so he could visit the two remaining addresses alone, but ensuring Kadir had no idea of where he was going or why.

It was gone three in the afternoon as they reached the station and when the train arrived there were few vacant seats. Fortunately, Stuart found a single seat alongside a large lady with many shopping bags. Unfortunately, Kadir found a similar seat just a few rows behind. Stuart decided his only hope of losing Kadir was when they reached the terminus, there should be more people there, making his escape from Kadir potentially easier.

As the train approached its final destination, Stuart stood to join others collecting their bags and other belongings, in preparation for leaving the train. As the train jolted to a stop he pressed forward in an exaggerated demonstration of being thrown off balance. His legs pushed him strongly through the crowd and was soon at the exit and jumped down, glancing behind him he found himself staring up at the looming form of Kadir. He smiled briefly and walked slowly along the platform with the rest of the throng, pondering his current predicament and how to get out of it.

\-------------------

The journey to the other two addresses passed without incident. They both proved to be ordinary looking houses in ordinary streets. He approached both and the presence of Kadir made his contact more acceptable to those he met, although he had no idea what Kadir said to them, or even if it was in agreement with the story he'd given. On leaving each, Stuart thought about making a run for it but in an unknown area, decided against it.

As time was getting on he thought about ringing Paula but his attempted use of a public telephone was thwarted by Kadir, clearly telephones were contrary to his instructions.

It was well into the evening when they arrived back at the terminus and Stuart was hungry. He gesticulated to Kadir who nodded his approval and both headed for the station buffet. They ate the unappetising food enthusiastically, Kadir using the spoon as a shovel until a large mound of uncertain nature disappeared from the plate to his mouth.

Stuart was tired and drank several cups of the strong Turkish coffee, trying to work out what the hell to do next. Number one priority remained getting rid of Kadir but number two was keeping as close as possible to this Turkish operation as it appeared to be leading somewhere at last. The 'shipment' tonight may be of a legitimate nature, unlikely though that seemed.

As he couldn't see any immediate prospect of losing Kadir he decided to return to the warehouse and so the odd couple made their way in single file. It was only a relatively short distance but Stuart walked slowly, he was in no hurry to get there as he'd no idea what he would do when they arrived.

Standing in front of the warehouse it seemed as deserted as when he'd visited earlier in the day. Walking towards the rear, the sound of voices drifted towards them. Three lorries were parked alongside the loading bay into which a team of men were loading boxes, moved from the warehouse by a single forklift truck.

Stuart noticed the black Opel saloon he'd seen earlier, two men were leaning against it smoking, neither was Mahmood, he assumed they were the men he'd seen earlier, leaving 101. They saw the odd couple but made no move, perhaps instantly recognising the enormous form of Kadir. He joined them exchanging a few words in Turkish, while keeping a watchful eye on Stuart. Standing still, Stuart become aware of the chill in the night and flapped his arms around him to generate some warmth, finishing with a brisk walk towards the lorries. Kadir immediately left his companions and followed. The boxes were the ones marked 'London' as far as he could see. The forklift was bringing them from the far end of the warehouse where the London boxes had been stacked. The men loading them on the lorry moved rhythmically ensuring no wasted space, despite the lack of light.

Soon the work was complete and the lorries' shutter doors pulled down and locked. Some of the men piled into the cabs, while the rest drifted away on foot. Stuart was thinking of following the lorries on foot to the docks, although recognising it would not be easy finding them again. The black Opel pulled alongside, Kadir opened the rear door and gestured for Stuart to get in. He moved across and was crushed against the other door as Kadir joined him.

Stuart assumed they were heading to the docks as they seemed to be travelling in the right direction, although they'd lost sight of the lorries. Entering the docks quickly led into a maze of narrow unlit 'roads' between hundreds of parked lorries. He'd managed to memorise the route from the warehouse to the docks, thanks partly to his earlier reconnaissance but entering the dark docks defeated him. He tried to remember the location numbers of the lanes they drove down, but soon realised this was impossible.

The car drew to a stop. Stuart couldn't see any sign of the lorries. Glancing around he saw them about a hundred yards away, parked alongside a freighter with the name 'Valkrect' illuminated by dockside lights. They all got out of the car and walked towards the vessel, stopping some distance away as the lorries' engines started and moved towards the ramp. Being nearer, he could now see the shipping line below the ship's name; 'Niklos Bechet Shipping Inc.' Stuart reflected he'd not seen any official checks since entering the docks and could see no signs of any officials monitoring the lorries, adding to his suspicions on the nature of the consignment and the influence of the people behind it. Briefly he felt elation at this but this was soon overtaken by fear of what he'd gotten into. He walked closer to the water's edge gazing into the murky dock hoping it might provide some inspiration.

He was aware of Kadir approaching behind him but remained transfixed on the surface of the water, fascinated by the mix of colours appearing in the shadowy light from oil, cleansing fluids and all the other liquid mixtures to be found in any of the world's dockside waters.

Suddenly two enormous hands engulfed his neck, compressing his throat, gripping it tighter and tighter so breathing became impossible. Stuart realised consciousness was slipping away, he relaxed to conserve his remaining breath, feeling Kadir move closer to him and slightly loosening the grip around his neck.

In desperation, he slammed his right elbow into Kadir's stomach and as the fingers loosened more, grabbed one wrist with both of his, pulled fiercely downwards, lowering his body and thrusting backwards. Kadir's great weight began to move, for a few seconds it hung like a giant tortoiseshell on Stuart's back then catapulted forward, towards the water. Stuart could still feel the other hand at his throat, he twisted and clawed at it to no avail and resigned himself to joining Kadir in the water.

On the dockside, no one had moved, the splash resulting from the two men entering the water had caused heads to turn away from their work briefly, glancing at each other in an understanding way before returning to their tasks.

They plunged straight down together, Kadir's grip relaxing as his efforts moved to striving upwards towards the surface of the water. Stuart continued to descend through the murky water his lungs starved of air before he entered the water, crying out for a breath. The mud at the bottom of the dock was thick so he couldn't find a foothold. At last he felt something solid beneath his feet and pushed desperately for the surface.

Gulping cool night air, he looked around for Kadir. Suddenly he felt his legs enclosed in a vice like grip and was pulled immediately below the surface, sensing where Kadir's head should be he pummelled desperately with both fists, the grip released and both men returned to the surface.

This time, the splashing on the surface as the two men fought, drew more attention from the workers and they began shouting and running to the water's edge. Stuart had not only to get away from Kadir but also avoid being seen by those on the dockside. He raised himself higher in the water using Kadir's body as a lever, filled his lungs with air then kicked and turned on the other man's face, heading for the bottom. Kadir surfaced and let out a scream of agony as Stuart's shoe ground into his nose in a final push downwards. In the mud flecked water, Stuart swam blindly until his fingers touched the slimy dockside. He swam along the dock and soon sensed it turning through ninety degrees and followed it, swimming as fast as his sodden clothes and aching limbs would allow. With his lungs crying out for air, he headed for the surface at risk of blacking out.

He surfaced between a tug and the concrete dock. He could hear the men jabbering at each other as they scanned the water, looking at it intently for sight of the slightest movement. The noise level rose, reaching a crescendo as they threw a rope down to Kadir and struggled to pull him from the water, some thirty yards from where Stuart rested, treading water gently to avoid attracting any attention. He edged around the tug and saw other vessels moored, stretching away into the black night. He took another deep breath, suddenly cold with his clothes forming any icy blanket around him. Once again he sank below the surface and headed away from the noise of the men surrounding Kadir. He surfaced four more times in his desperate efforts to distance himself from the men now spread out along the dockside peering intently downwards. Kadir sat swathed in blankets, urging the men to continuing looking.

Further down, Stuart saw the dock wall appeared to end and swam quickly towards it, relieved to find there were steps leading up. Despite his chilled, aching limbs he climbed quickly, crouching at the top to survey the scene. Judging the searching men were far enough away, he moved silently towards the maze of parked lorries. The light wind pressed his sodden clothes against his shivering body, as he sought refuge among the lorries, moving as far from the dockside as he could, despite desparately needing to rest after the exertions of his recent experience. He sat against a lorry wheel, breathing heavily, thankfully shielded from the wind and the dockside. When a little recovered he peered around the wheel and took the gun he'd found in the Alpha from his pocket. The search continued with some men leaving the dockside and heading for the lorry park. He had to find a way through the maze and quickly.

The task proved easier than he could have hoped, only twice did he have to retrace his steps as he found the way blocked by rusting containers. On both occasions he could hear the sounds of search groups, calling to each other but without enthusiasm. His heart rate quickened, partly through fear of being trapped in a dead end. He tried to keep moving at what he gauged was a straight line to the dock gates, stopping frequently, to avoid the risk of being seen by anyone peering underneath the lorries.

Once at the gates, he paused searching for any sign of life then crossed the road to the unlit side. Here he tried to recall the map of the area and after a few minutes set off confidently towards the hotel. He was freezing, shaking from head to toe, when he found the front door, it was locked. He lent on the outside bell and could hear it ringing inside but the expected footsteps didn't come. He looked up and down the street not seeing any sign of life, his vison was becoming hazy and in the shadows he imagined men coming towards him. Blinking rapidly, he looked at the shops opposite, perhaps they'd provide some refuge, his mind was losing touch with reality, the imagined men were no longer in sight, dimly aware of a falling sensation, a few moments later he lay motionless against the hotel door.

# Chapter 4

The intenseness of the light gradually filtered into Stuart's drowsy brain. Still numbed by the cold he felt the hot cup of coffee being pressed into his hands. He drank without looking up, fearful of who he might see. His eyes rested on his shoes, recognising they were not his own, moving slowly up none of the clothing was familiar to him.

'Are you feeling any better now?' the voice was harsh, the English clear and confident.

Stuart nodded, and risked looking up, it was not a face he recognised. Across the room, three men were seated at a large desk. One was in uniform and smiled as Stuart turned towards him. The other two in civilian clothes remained staring at him with no show of emotion.

The one in the uniform stood then perched on the edge of the desk. 'Forgive me I haven't introduced myself, Captain Theoloudos of the Turkish Police, immigration section.' He smiled again. 'These two gentleman,' he gestured to the desk, 'are how do I put it...interested in my work. Your passport gives the name of Stuart Clay of British nationality. May I ask why you are in Turkey?'

Stuart looked at the man. He was large, the uniform well cut, giving the impression of a thorough professional, not to be messed with. His hands were clasped together in front of him, seemingly relaxed, yet his eyes didn't blink as he stared at Stuart, penetrating, waiting for an explanation.

Stuart's mind was still dull, weighing up how to answer, tell everything he believed he'd discovered or, keep it to the bear minimum the Captain might accept.

'I'm on holiday,' he began, 'driving around Europe, probably going home in a couple of months, unless the money runs out before then.'

'I see, tell me is it usual to go swimming on a chilly night fully dressed. Perhaps it's an old British custom eh?' Theoloudos smiled easily.

Stuart was about to reply but stopped himself. He'd rushed in too many times before, think man, how much should I tell now. He was battling with himself. Involve the police and maybe progress could be made at this end that would help Barrett's investigation, but could he trust them.

'Well, I'm waiting for an answer.' Theoloudos persisted. 'In case it's not clear, I need to know why we found you in the condition we did. Did you jump from a ship, steal another man's passport? What happened, why did you have a gun?'

Realising the police may have found the address book, although glad he'd made copies, its existence might take some explaining. 'I'm afraid it may take some time to explain, do you think I could have something to eat.'

'Of course, forgive me I should have realised,' and with that reached behind him and pressed a buzzer on the desk. Within seconds a uniformed officer came into the room to answer the call. Through the open door, Stuart could see other uniformed officers at desks and on the telephone, accepting that he was probably in a regular police station.

'Satisfied?' The ready smile again.

Stuart nodded and began to recount the story. The smaller of the two plain clothes men, wrote hurriedly, filling pages quickly. The other just made occasional jottings. When the food arrived, necessitating a break, Stuart could feel the tension in the room, the eagerness for him to continue.

After two hours he was through, he felt exhausted, and longed for sleep. Paula would be waiting and worried. The police had offered to collect her but he only asked that she be reassured he was okay and would return soon.

'Thank you Mr. Clay. Naturally I will have to talk to the British Police and will undoubtedly need your further assistance, if we are to make progress on this potentially serious matter. In the meantime, I have arranged a car to take you back to your hotel. I assume you are confident your assailants have no idea where you are staying. Here's my phone number should you need to get in touch.

Stuart was confident Mahmood and his cronies would not know where he was staying, although a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he rose to leave. His head swam and he could feel he was falling forward. Theoloudos rose quickly to catch him and place him back in the chair. He collapsed gratefully into it.

'Do you feel well enough to go back to the hotel or should I call a doctor?' Theoloudos asked.

'I'll be alright in a minute, just a bit light headed, the food will help no doubt.'

In fact, it was fully twenty minutes before he'd recovered enough to stand again.

Ten minutes later he was outside the hotel bedroom. For some reason, he knocked and waited for an answer before opening the door. Paula was sitting on the bed, legs drawn up underneath her, face stained from the many tears she'd cried. Even after she had received the message from the police that he was safe, the tears continued.

Now she leaped to her feet and clung to him, causing him to lose balance and they both collapsed on the bed. They lay together for a while without speaking a word. At last Paula broke the silence.

'Are you really alright?' She spoke without moving away from him.

'Of course, exhausted but some sleep will soon fix that.'

'Why didn't you call me earlier; I've been worrying for hours.'

'I tried but my minder wouldn't allow it.'

'What minder?'

'Let's get into bed and I'll tell you all about it.'

\-----------------------

They woke in time for lunch. The gloom of the previous day had lifted and now a wintry sun shone down on Istanbul. Stuart gazed from the bedroom window, he could feel the charm of the old city glowing in the sunshine, appealing to him, helping to dull the memory of the previous day.

Paula was still dozing on the bed.

'Good morning campers, this is your tour guide speaking, after lunch we will be going on a tour of the old city, so wakey, wakey.'

'Christ you're cheerful for someone who was nearly killed yesterday. Are you sure we ought to go out, it's probable Kadir and co are looking for you.'

'You have a point let's talk about it over lunch and agree a plan. We're stuck here until Theoloudos says we can leave, so we'll have to do something or go stir crazy. Or, we could just stay in bed and await his call,' he said optimistically.

Paula threw a pillow at him.

'Lunch it is then.'

The mechanic was just going to lunch when Stuart opened the door to the garage. In a torrent of pigeon English and hand signals, the man explained the car was fine but he'd like to test drive it to be sure. Stuart tried to explain that as long as the car ran okay and the brakes worked, a test drive wasn't necessary, he didn't want the Jaguar running around the area of the hotel, as it might just give Mahmood's network some idea of where John Morrison might be found. But the mechanic merely beamed at him, either didn't understand or didn't want to, so he gave up.

He waited for Paula in the bar, breakfasting on black coffee and a large brandy and settled down with an American newspaper. He finished both quickly and ordered more of the same. Before the drinks came, Paula appeared carrying two cups of coffee.

'I think your ordering skills have been affected by the trauma of last night, so I corrected it.' She announced.

'Purely medicinal I assure you but you're probably right, one's enough this time of day.'

Paula sat down feeling the need to be very close to him, looking at the paper he was reading, rather than give any indication of how she felt. They walked into the restaurant arm in arm, the head waiter sensing their need to be alone, found a table for two at the far end of the room, next to a window overlooking the street that ran along the front of the hotel.

They were in no rush so took their time ordering. Over an hour had passed before their main course arrived. Stuart looked up as he thought he recognised the burble of the Jaguar's exhaust, then the increasing sound as it accelerated, still some distance away. He heard the mechanic's clumsy gear change from third to second as it slowed for the corner leading on to the straight road in front of the hotel. Suddenly there was a loud explosion, they both looked out of the window and saw the Jaguar catapulting down the road in a ball of fire. They joined the rush of people spilling out into road some clasping their heads in horror, others mouth agape at the incredible sight, some already crying uncontrollable. Stuart ran towards the car with a few others. It had come to rest still burning, it's body twisted grotesquely. He pushed through the small crowd to reveal the mechanic lying crumpled, locked against the steering wheel, both legs shattered and bleeding profusely. His clothes still burning despite the efforts of some to smother them. They tried to lift him from the mangled wreckage but this only revealed other injuries resulting from the explosion, all that remained was to await the arrival of the authorities to assess the scene, remove the body and investigate what had happened.

Returning to the hotel, Stuart's first call was to Theoloudos. Stuart quickly relayed what had happened.

'Well you seem to have really annoyed someone don't you,' was the surprising response.

'What's that supposed to mean? It appears a gang of thugs has now tried to kill me twice and all you can say is I've annoyed someone.'

'Calm yourself Mr. Clay, I'm as concerned as you are, especially after Inspector Barrett has confirmed your earlier allegations. What we have so far indicates we are dealing with a ruthless drugs ring, but as yet we have very little evidence we can act on.'

'Little evidence?' Stuart was almost shouting down the phone, 'I have given Inspector Barrett and now you all sorts of positive leads into the activities of these people and, so far it feels like I'm doing this on my own.'

'I'm afraid, Mr. Clay, that you have little understanding of what is necessary to make progress in this sort of operation and achieve success. If we are to track down and prosecute the big names involved, the police must maintain a low profile, making progress in small steps from the operatives on the ground to the brains masterminding the whole operation. If the top boys get a sniff that we're on to them, they'll just close it down, and in time spread their wings elsewhere. We have to move slowly, and carefully. The actions you have taken are not always helpful to this approach, sure you've given us some information but mostly at a low level which might implicate those a bit higher up, but you've also exposed yourself and Miss Jackson to considerable danger from thugs, as you put it. You don't make it easy for us to help you survive this.'

'I'll grant you it all appears to move slowly and our lives are in danger, that's the very reason we left England in the first place. It seems the gang is always one step ahead of us, always present whether we keep a low profile or not. I can't help feeling there's a leak, as soon as we reveal where we are, the gang knows and finds the opportunity to attempt to kill us.'

'I suggest you go back to England, you've given us some leads and the events of today demonstrate its going to be difficult for us to give you adequate protection. I appreciate there are dangers in England, however, on home ground it will be easier for the police to protect you.'

Stuart paused for a few moments.

'Okay, when can we leave?'

'As soon as you like, I can make arrangements for you to be on the next flight to London if you wish, and I'll let Inspector Barrett know, so he can make arrangements to meet you. I'll ring you at the hotel to confirm the final arrangements.'

Stuart's next call was to Barrett.

'What do you know about Captain Theoloudos?' he began testily.

'Nothing at all, I'd not heard of him until he rang me about your latest escapades, you certainly have a knack of introducing yourself to the police forces of Europe. The Swiss Police have been in touch as you may already have guessed. Why do you ask about Theoloudos?'

'Something about him makes me suspicious, frankly I don't trust him. Just how did the bomber know where to find my car and possibly us?'

'Strikes me you don't trust anyone and that's why you keep heading into danger. You demonstrate a lack of trust in any of the police you come into contact with. What makes the Captain special?'

'As I said, the latest move by this gang or whatever it is, they always seem to know where we are and take action to get rid of us. Just wondered if you'd come across him in your investigations.'

'Well I haven't, and just because you've put youself in danger yet again, doesn't mean he's bent.'

Barrett was also becoming agitated.

'Look young man, you may have accidently provided us with some useful leads, including throwing doubt on Jeremy Palmer's cause of death, but that doesn't give you the right to slander the good name of every police officer you don't like.'

'Okay, sorry I've ruffled a few feathers, I was interested to know because he now has the address book I took from that car in Switzerland.' He paused waiting for the Inspector to respond but none came.

'Anyway, how are you getting on, any progress?'

'The investigation continues and progress is being made.'

'Is that all?' Stuart exploded.

'All I'm prepared to tell you at this stage, yes. Investigating this sort of crime needs handling with kid gloves, not something you're good at....'

'Save it Inspector, I've had the lecture already for today.' Stuart interrupted and slammed the receiver down.

\--------------------------

It was nearing five when Theoloudos rang back. Stuart and Paula had spent the afternoon making two further copies of the address book, from the remaining one concealed in the camera case. The Captain had arranged for them to travel on a direct flight to Heathrow, leaving at eight. He offered a police car to take them to the airport; Stuart gratefully accepted.

As soon as the call ended, Stuart walked to the public telephone box and rang the main railway station. A train with connections right through to Paris would depart at five minutes past eight. He booked a sleeping compartment.

The police car arrived soon after six and with all luggage loaded, set off for the airport. The streets of Istanbul were busy and each junction a major hazard, as it was never clear who or what had right of way, but the police driver proceeded at a steady forty miles an hour regardless.

It took just twenty minutes to reach the airport. They stopped close to the main entrance and the driver insisted on helping them with their luggage. They thanked the driver and headed towards check-in. The driver watched them for a while, then seemingly satisfied, gave a brief salute and left.

They had just over an hour until the train departed.

The journey back through the traffic took longer, it had grown heavier as commuters joined the fray. The taxi didn't receive the same respect as the police car at junctions, so its horn was used far more. The driver spoke little English but was keen to practice, which involved frequently turning around towards them, causing inattention to the road, resulting in much braking, swerving and shaking of fists.

They pulled into the station forecourt at a quarter to eight. At the same time Theoloudos spoke to Inspector Barrett.

'They didn't board the plane, possibly they are still in Istanbul or may have left by train. We're checking now I'll be in touch when we have anything positive.'

The station was busy, not just with passengers but those seeking some protection from the already chilly night. Stuart spotted two policemen next to the newspaper stand but they didn't appear to be scanning the crowd, just talking occasionally to each other.

Stuart piled the luggage out of sight behind a large pillar and left Paula sitting on the top case, while he sought the booking office. His route took him within ten yards of the policemen but they paid no attention, more interested in the numerous pigeons.

The booking clerk didn't speak English so it was fully ten minutes before Stuart had paid and collected the tickets he had reserved. He hurried back to find Paula anxious and cold. They gathered up their luggage and ran for the train.

By the time they were settled in their compartment, the train was moving slowly westwards towards Bulgaria.

# Chapter 5

Niklos Bechet was looking again at the copy of Richard Anders report on international drug trafficking, the harsh light reflecting from his bald head. He looked up, the light now fully on his face. Despite the bald head it was not an old face, the skin was smooth, creased underneath the eyes as much by fat as age, the lips were thin only rarely showing the pearl white teeth when he spoke. His neck was short and wide, absorbing the several double chins which provided neat steps down towards his shirt collar. At last he spoke.

'Remarkable Sylvana, remarkable.'

He paused long enough to acknowledge her smile, then gathered up the papers in his stubby hands and rose to address the gathered audience.

'This is a little too accurate for comfort.'

He waved the papers in the air.

'Anders says, in this report we have here, the authorities need to be careful to distinguish between facts that have been verified and the deductions, which though logical from what they know, are not proven. He is right, the concrete facts are limited but the deductions, and dare I say, speculations, are remarkably accurate. Almost as if someone in this room helped Anders draft it.'

His piggy eyes narrowed even more and slowly looked into each corner of the room as he scanned the faces before him. They returned his gaze not daring to look away in case this was misinterpreted, the potential consequences well known.

'I've called you all together because all this report needs are the addition of a few names, and it would be a very credible dossier on our whole organisation. So, what can we do, we know this report has been given to the British Government and they have undoubtedly identified other bodies with whom it should be shared. At this stage I open the meeting to your suggestions and then we will conclude with a future plan.'

Bechet sat down on the plush sofa, allowing Sylvana D'Estrange to arrange herself against his left shoulder while his hand rested on her shapely thigh.

At first, the room remained quiet, the attendees actually, or feigning to be, still absorbed in their copies of the report. The sound of the traffic outside in Park Lane penetrating into the silence.

The room was large and lavishly furnished, with the eleven people in the room untidily spread over a choice of seating, arrayed in front of the sofa where Bechet remained staring towards them. Despite the bright lighting in the room, he was not surprised by those who had chosen to sit in its darker reaches, their faces inclined away from him, stealing occasionally glances at Sylvana, but showing no emotion.

These men, while competent in their own small areas of activity, would never pose a threat to him, committed men who recognised the power of the organisation to decide and deliver life or death in an instant. No, the men he had to watch were those sitting boldly in front of him, their eyes seldom leaving his face. These were the ones who ensured the organisation survived, eyes and ears constantly alert to danger and opportunities, the latter embracing the potential for dissatisfaction and consequent disruption. They were committed and loyal, as long as the organisation served and delivered their need for money and power. Each ready to step into his shoes should circumstances necessitate, at least in their view. They also knew a wrong move could cause a bloodbath and destroy them and the organisation. Keeping these men and their various factions loyal was now the biggest task Bechet faced.

In the silence, he allowed his mind to review these men, reminding himself of any dangers he'd become aware of.

Chin Li Kung – Malaysian, small quiet man with a whisper of a moustache. Large horn-rimmed spectacles magnifying his eyes, giving him the look of a fish. A shock of black hair, always plastered to his scalp with cream but a strand or two managed to escape, and stood upright often adding a pair of horns to his fish like face. The combined effect was that of a studious child but his background was far removed from childhood. Involvement with Chinese gangsters in Singapore from an early age, exposing him to a level of violence which was the hallmark of how he ran the Far East operation. Now based in Hong Kong, and quickly making a reputation in mainland China, adding this massive market to his empire, despite the opposition of established players. No weaknesses identified, as yet; never been arrested.

Tahir Salem – Pakistani. Tall, good looking, black hair speckled with grey. A consummate womaniser, his one big weakness. Bechet had first meet him many years ago, as a small time drugs pusher in Karachi. He'd liked the way he ran his small business and his faith had been rewarded. Salem had proved himself capable of organising and running a tight operation from growers through to delivery across Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, avoiding the usual religious and tribal conflicts inherent in these countries.

Phillipe Manadous – Turkish. Nearly sixty years of age, small with a cherubic face, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, masking a ruthless streak. Been like a father figure to Bechet, his right-hand man as the organisation expanded. However, he had his soft spots, but for him Bechet would have eliminated Mahmood years ago. The man had made too many mistakes, blaming others and never seeming to learn. Why Manadous protected him remained a mystery, but gave Bechet comfort that Phillipe was never likely to challenge for the top job, a reliable allay in tough times.

Dudley Ferguson – Massive West Indian, one of the smaller operations covering the Caribbean and some South-Eastern states in the USA. Lot of competition within his area of operation. Many choosing a life of crime, making a stable organisation difficult, but Ferguson had overcome this, dealing swiftly and violently with those who stepped out of line. His fondness for drink was a definite weakness.

Sergio Lopez – Mexican father and Cuban mother. A neat man always immaculately dressed, there wasn't any feature about him that was out of the ordinary, yet he always stood out in a crowd. He had presence, confidence, a ready smile for anyone who met him. Yet he ruled the South American operation with considerable success, competing with the Columbian drug barons for supplies and immunity from the authorities' interference. If anyone stepped out of line, Lopez was soon aware and their death would be a reminder to others of where their loyalty had to lie, if they wanted to survive and thrive. Weakness, seemingly happily married with four children.

Helmut Schnell – Tall aristocratic looking East German. Real man of action, rose rapidly through the German army ranks during the thirties. Finished the war as a high ranking SS officer but managed to pass into anonymity when the war crimes trials swung into action. Having realised the war was lost, he spent the last year selling the spoils of Germany's acquisitions including artworks, classic cars and wine collections to the Russian hierarchy; how he achieved it without either the German or Russian command bringing his war to an early end, remained a mystery to Bechet. The money he amassed helped him to escape to Argentina and then later to the States, where his talent was appreciated by organised crime bosses. Returned to Berlin, five years ago and now runs the entire European operation. Weakness, homosexual inclinations resulting in promoting good looking young men above their ability.

Ferguson interrupted his thoughts.

'We worry too much. For years we have recognised and avoided the authorities' various initiatives having any effect on our activities. Okay, occasionally we've sailed too close to the wind for comfort but, in my area we know the major players and a slug of money here and a bit of violence there soon smooths things over and we continue to grow our activities and wealth. What about you Tahir? You operate in a difficult area, facing numerous initiatives by the authorities and indeed international governments to eliminate us.'

'It's true, I know the Governments are aware of us and have files on our activities, but as long as we pay a portion into their official and personal coffers, they turn a blind eye while spouting on about their latest initiative. Reality overcomes morality, if they eliminate the growers and distributors, it will only start up somewhere else and they lose their perks.

Manadous spoke. 'The situation is not the same in all our areas. I have close friends in the Turkish government and I know, if enough pressure is brought to bear by a co-ordinated international initiative, willing to take action on the ground, they will act to close us down. If the West produces a report naming names, distribution routes etc., they would act swiftly. They will go with the moral flow and, despite a history of corruption, they'll deny it, maybe sacrifice a few colleagues to demonstrate their resolve to crack down on the drugs trade and all that implies. That way they live and continue in office. That's the most important thing to them; power and the benefits that brings over time. The alternative would be to resist action, possibly ending such democracy as exists and forcing closer relations with Russia, and all that implies for the future.'

Lopez took up the theme. 'From my perspective, I don't see much fresh information in this report. My organisation, sorry, our organisation has and will continue by keeping one step ahead of the authorities, maintaining such relationships as are appropriate to the locality. I believe, most of what is in this report is known to the Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement. The reason they haven't acted in the past is the lack of evidence to make any charges stick. Also, as individuals, they worry how far our tentacles could reach to snuff out them and their families, if they do try to act. I guess things are different in Europe, what do you think Helmut?'

'It's true,' Schnell joined in. 'Europe is very different and action would be demanded in the circumstances Phillipe outlines. The populace would expect and demand it, despite co-operation between countries being quite limited. Perhaps we should recognise the situation will be different in the various areas we operate in, although a global solution is required, as that's what we are, a global business. Maybe, over time, all countries will become more western like in their approach to activities such as ours and we should devise a strategy to deal with the changing world. I also say this because the thrust of Anders' report is not just to name names, but to encourage a big step up in co-operation and co-ordination across continents. I expect the response to this will not be consistent across them all, however it's a real effort to manage what they see as a major cause of crime and corruption at an international, rather than national level. A significant move.'

The room fell silent again. Bechet took the opportunity to speak. 'Thank you, gentlemen for providing your varied views. Now we need to consider positive action or, as Helmut put it, – our strategy. Chin Li you've not spoken yet?'

Chin Li Kung fingered his feathery moustache, delicately almost lovingly.

'The conversation so far has only confirmed my opinion that at this moment in time, the contents of the report are only of immediate danger to colleagues in Europe and the USA. As you say Helmut, co-operation in Europe is poor with a few exceptions, which is the case internationally. However, I think the report will provide a catalyst for Europe to get its act together and, in time that co-operation will spread, thus proving a threat to our whole operation. I think the authorities will recognise this has to be done in stages. Some will need much coercion to toe the line, so it will take time, how long I couldn't guess. Let's look at the practicalities of this, I think we all accept that making significant changes in Europe will be the first step, as there will be a massive effort to ensure this is successful so progress can be made in other areas. My guess is that after Europe, it will be North America, where the national activity is already strong, Caribbean, West Asia, starting with Turkey, moving into mid Asia perhaps coupling engagement with China in a sort of pincer movement. I've left South America and Africa to the end, not that I think that will necessarily be the case, they are just much harder nuts for the authorities, and indeed us, to crack. So, if I surmise correctly I suggest our immediate priority is the protection of European operations and, as a first step, we should move our headquarters to reduce the risk of that being compromised.'

'Does anyone disagree with Chin Li's prognosis?' Bechet asked the assembled room.

Manadous broke the silence. 'I agree and accept what Chin Li says but we must also consider protection of the activities in the other areas, not just Europe, and agree the priorities.'

'That seems reasonable.' Bechet spoke again, 'in anticipation of what appears to be the opinion of you all, I have already begun planning the relocation of headquarters. As part of planning this I suggest, no demand, that you all document each man in your organisation from the bottom up, how much you know about him and how much he knows about the organisation above him. In addition, I want details of every contact known to your organisation, the nature of his activities and his trustworthiness. I'd remind all of you I began this meeting by stating the contents of the Anders' report indicates we have a leak somewhere. We need to take steps to find and eliminate it. Any questions? No, then let's get on with it, I want to meet again in a couple of weeks to review what we know and finalise a plan.

The room began to empty. As Robert Tomkins reached the door, Bechet called out.

'Robert stay a while won't you, I wish to discover Mr Clay's latest exploits.'

Tomkins moved back into the room and sat down. He pulled out a gold cigarette case and opened it.

Before taking a cigarette, Bechet stated. 'Seems you're losing your touch Robert. The last couple of arranged accidents have not gone well.'

'Yes Mr. Clay and his girlfriend are proving very lucky. They are on their way back to England, by train. For some reason, he took a dislike to Captain Theoloudos and declined his offer of a flight back. Instead booked himself on to a trans Europe train and should at this moment be crossing the border between Turkey and Bulgaria.'

Bechet smiled and stood up, taking a cigarette from the open case.

'Have we, how shall I say, some entertainment planned for Mr. Clay, Robert?'

'I have issued instructions to that effect.'

'Good, let's hope this time it will be successful.'

# Chapter 6

The train journey through Turkey had been slow and frustrating. Although designated as a trans Europe service it appeared to stop at every town all the way from Turkey to Bulgaria. It was looking like a long and boring trip ahead of them. Stuart was convinced that if potential passengers walked along the line and hailed the driver, he would stop and allow them to board. Fortunately, both had slept for a good part of the journey, although the frequent stops had ensured sleep was spasmodic. Nevertheless, they felt better for it.

Just as well, the prospect of passport and customs checks awaited them. They joined the queue of fellow passengers making their dreary way towards the official checkpoint. The train would remain stationary for over an hour to allow the formalities to be completed correctly. Stuart was nervous, it was probable their details would have been passed on to the Bulgarian Police.

However, it transpired relations were not good enough to permit this or, it took even longer than the train to be acknowledged and acted on.

Returning to their compartment, Stuart decided to find a telephone and descended again to the platform. It was ten in the morning when the phone rang on Inspector Barrett's desk. He'd just returned from the canteen with what would have to pass as breakfast, a cheese roll. The operator announced the caller and he groaned inwardly.

'Good morning Mr. Clay, how can I be of service to you today?'

'I'm sure you can guess Inspector; I'd appreciate any update you feel able to provide.'

In between mouthfuls of the roll, Barrett confirmed he'd had further contact with Captain Theoloudos and they had exchanged information which had been helpful to both inquiries but it was early days to expect results from their liaison. For once he thanked Stuart for the information he'd provided. He did express some concern that providing information to the Turkish police might complicate the work being done. Yes, his investigations were still continuing, and no, he was not able to provide any more information to Stuart, particularly as he'd declined to take the flight home as offered by the Turkish police.

'I accept you don't trust Theoloudos for some reason, but surely you accept that a four-hour flight home is much safer than a few days' train journey, potentially placing you and your lady friend in danger again. If you're worried what would happen at the airport, a police escort could be arranged or don't you trust the British Police either? Police resources are limited and can't continually be diverted to looking after an amateur detective, so the sooner we can pick you up and provide you with organised protection, the better.'

The Inspector suggested they leave the train at Sofia and fly home from there, he repeated again a police escort would be arranged to meet the flight. To avoid prolonging a fruitless conversation any longer Stuart agreed.

He returned to the train dejected by the call. As usual he'd got his hopes up that there would be some positive news and the police would be nearer to arresting Jeremy's killers; even smash an international drugs ring in the process. The chances of this seemed as far away as ever. Also, there had already been four attempts on their lives. It would be a while before they reached Sofia and the potential sanctuary of a flight home. What then, one of the attempts had been in England, out of the frying pan into the fire?

The compartment door grated as Stuart pulled it open, waking a still drowsy Paula. She smiled at him and he smiled back concealing his mood from her.

At last the train moved forward into Bulgaria, almost immediately the scenery changed, mountains and lakes came into view. The train moved more quickly, as if accepting the ascents up the valley into the mountain area as a challenge to be overcome. This was followed by fast descents, the engine resting in preparation for the next climb. The changing scenery absorbed Paula, and Stuart's mood improved. For a time, they chatted as any tourist couple might.

They decided to take advantage of lunch in the restaurant car and maybe a local wine. The restaurant car wasn't busy, so they took their time before returning to the compartment. The meal had done them both good, they even appreciated some of the comforts offered by the tiny compartment. The beds weren't large but the linen fresh, the chairs each side of the small desk were comfortable and screened from the bathroom area, with a pleasing view out of the single window.

Paula heard Stuart locking the door behind her.

'Why are you doing that?'

'Security precaution only, I couldn't find a Do Not Disturb sign,' he said turning her chair towards him.

'Hey, I was enjoying the scenery and relaxing.'

'I'd rather look at you and maybe a bit of exercise to work off lunch, does that sound like a plan?'

'Probably the best one you've had in a long time.' Paula replied running her finger gently across his lips.

\-------------------------

Darkness was closing in. Stuart could see the bright lights of the other carriages as the train snaked around bends in the mountain passes, like some enormous funfair caterpillar. He lay on the bunk gazing out of the window.

Paula eased herself up on her elbows to see what held his fascination. The gathering gloom made her shudder and she reached up to pull the blind down. Stuart caught her arm.

'No leave it a little longer, at least until we have to switch the light on.'

Paula smiled at him, entwining her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and neck.

'You really need a haircut you know.'

Stuart laughed, rolled onto his back and lifted her on top of him.

'I thought you liked my long, flowing locks.'

'I do but I don't think it's appropriate for an up and coming young solicitor.'

'What makes you think I am?'

'You mean I've been to bed with a man without prospects.'

'Well, I wouldn't go as far as that, I undoubtedly did have and probably will have at some time in the future, but right now?'

Stuart ran his finger gently across her back.

'Hmm, well I think it's time to dress and head down for afternoon tea, what say you?'

'Your wish is my command young lady.' Stuart replied without making any attempt to move from the bed, changing his gaze from the window to watch Paula dress.

Tea was a leisurely affair followed by a stroll along the length of the train, intrigued by the variety of their fellow passengers. The carriages were almost as varied as the people, the compartment they occupied comfortable and well furnished, others more basic and some appeared to be converted cattle trucks, with hard wooden benches. The benches were crammed full of people and what appeared to be their worldly possessions, including the occasional animal. They looked, and probably were, very uncomfortable.

Returning to their compartment, Paula announced.

'I'm going to dress up for dinner tonight, we've had a relaxing day for the first time in a while and I'm going to finish it off in style. So, you'd better smarten yourself up buster.'

'I suppose that means you'll be monopolising the bathroom for a couple of hours, so I'd better find something to do.'

'Cheeky bugger, I don't take that long!'

'We'll see, just in case I'll head to the lounge area and find something to read.'

They kissed lightly and as Stuart closed the door he said. 'Lock this behind me won't you Paula.'

'Okay, pick me up for cocktails about seven.'

Stuart was glad to see Paula happy and relaxed. He checked the door was locked, as his call with Inspector Barrett had reminded him they weren't out of danger yet. Not too long before they'd be back in England, where they should be safer and perhaps prove easier to progress things. Maybe he ought to think about going back to work, but not just yet.

He didn't head straight for the lounge, he again walked the length of the train, this time his eyes searching for a face that looked out of place, anything suspicious. A man travelling on his own perhaps, without luggage. Within a short time, he'd identified five possibilities and having walked through every carriage, this had risen to twenty-five. Stupid, anyone who intended to harm them would be good at blending in with the crowd, he realised how futile the exercise had been and headed for the lounge.

He sat down dejectedly, picking up a small selection of books. A thriller appealed to him and he was soon absorbed, able to forget their predicament for a while.

Seven came soon enough, returning to the compartment his light knock resulted in the door being opened, only to find Paula still in her underwear with a few dresses scattered on the bunk bed. A quick shower while Paula lingered over her decision on a dress; then with a final check in the mirror they headed for the bar.

The bar was at one end of the well-furnished restaurant car. They sat down, a waiter arriving promptly to take their order. Stuart quickly took in the detail of the bar and its fellow occupants.

There was seating arranged around tables fixed to the floor, leaving a centre aisle for the waiter and passengers to come and go. There was a couple of booths with high backs, they were sitting in one of them. Stuart had positioned himself so he could see down the carriage and noticed three of the potential 'suspects' he'd identified earlier were seated around the bar.

Paula interrupted his speculation.

'I know you're worrying about something Stuart, please don't, just forget about whatever it is, for one night at least.'

'It's nothing really, merely mulling over the circumstances that have resulted in us sitting in a restaurant, on a train travelling across Europe; nothing specific, promise.'

'It's more than that I know. Try to forget about the bad things that have happened and think about the future, about us.'

The drinks arrived, he proposed a toast.

'To us and bugger the rest.'

Paula raised her glass, their eyes meet and both felt elated at being close to someone they loved.

\-------------------------

Dinner was one of those few happy occasions when conversation becomes unnecessary, contributing little to the joy of just spending time with each other.

They strolled back to the compartment arm in arm, relaxed and content. Stuart unlocked the door and stood aside for Paula to enter, as he did, he saw the light from the corridor reflected on a metal surface he'd not seen before.

He pulled Paula back and flicked the compartment light on, the room was empty, perhaps it had just been his imagination. He entered, signalling for Paula to stay where she was.

At the recess leading to the small bathroom, he paused listening intently for any sound which would betray the presence of an unwelcome guest. He remained still, feeling the tension building in his body. He moved forward, every sense on full alert, with all his weight on his front foot he could just see into the recess and stepped back immediately, almost losing his balance. The knife flashed forward, catching the outstretched sleeve of his jacket as he retreated. He grabbed the wrist behind the knife pulling forward and down, managing to get his hand behind his opponent's neck driving it towards his fast rising knee. But the man had turned sufficiently to reduce the impact and kept hold of the knife, slashing wildly while tumbling into the main room. Stuart saw the blood oozing from the man's nose but the face was not one of the twenty-five possibles he'd identified earlier. He grabbed a pillow from the bunk as the man lunged towards him, manging to push the knife away as it ripped through the material, releasing a shower of feathers. He kicked out at the man's shin and saw the look of pain as he connected with the bone, grabbing the knife hand, he turned and kicked again behind the knee, causing the man to fall forward. Stuart looked for something heavy to hit the exposed head, but it was already rising and turning towards him, knife still threatening a deadly thrust. He backed away until the wall prevented any further retreat, the knife being slashed menacingly in front of his chest. The man lunged aiming for Stuart's heart, he twisted and the razor sharp metal collided with the wall, he rammed his elbow into the man's face causing him to reel backwards. He was still holding the knife. Stuart took a step forward aiming a kick at the outstretched arm but missed, seeing his opportunity, the assailant used the bunk to push himself towards Stuart while he was off balance. The knife flashed harmlessly under his arm, Stuart clamped down on it so they were locked together and tumbled into the bathroom, knocking the basin off the wall and crashing to the floor. Stuart clung to the man so he had no chance to strike with the knife, desperately seeking a grip on the arm which held it. With his free arm, the attacker found Stuart's throat and levered himself up, the pressure allowing the knife arm to be released. Sitting astride Stuart he raised the knife above his head and drove it downwards while Stuart bucked and wriggled beneath him. The knife embedded itself in the floor by Stuart's ear, he wriggled clear and raised himself sufficiently to bring both hands down heavily on the exposed neck in front of him. He grabbed for the knife, pulling it quickly from the floor. His assailant was dazed but lunged up at him, then fell back, Stuart looked in horror at the knife embedded in the man's throat.

Quickly he dragged the body towards the shower, allowing the flowing blood to drain into it, before returning to the corridor to find Paula. She was huddled against the wall, paralysed with fear, at the sight of Stuart the tears flowed as she clung to his neck.

Gently he eased her arms away and dried her tears, then sent her to buy a packet of cigarettes from the bar. Reluctantly she went, leaving Stuart to survey the damage in the compartment. Apart from the broken basin, the scattered feathers and some blood, there was little to betray the struggle which had taken place.

As soon as Paula returned, Stuart threw the contents of the packet out of the window and then folded it into a firm wedge. While Paula held the door of the main carriage closed, he eased the handle and slid the folded packet between the latch and the door frame. He returned to the compartment, searched the man's pockets and wrapped a towel around his neck and tied it firmly, stemming the flow of blood and hiding the wound. He prayed no one would walk down the corridor in the next five minutes, resulting in some awkward questions and difficult answers.

Paula called out the corridor was clear as Stuart looped one of the dead man's arms around his neck, and his own around the waist, supporting him as if drunk, half carrying, half dragging him towards the door. The sweat ran freely down his face and body from the effort, as he struggled to position the man against the door. After what seemed much longer than it really was, the body was propped in an almost upright position against the door. Stuart stepped a few paces back and after Paula assured him the coast was clear, lunged forward and brought his foot into the man's back. To his relief the wedge gave, allowing the door to swing open and the body to disappear into the night. The door bounced against the side of the train, kneeling down Stuart was able to grab the flailing window strap and pull the door closed again. Paula rushed towards him with tears streaming down her cheeks and helped pull him to his feet. This time he didn't attempt to move her arms but held her close as they returned to the compartment.

\--------------------

'How are things going with your report on drug trafficking?' Sylvana called from the kitchen.

'Fine, fine,' Richard Anders replied without looking up from the newspaper he was reading. 'Why do you ask?'

'No reason really, it just seems to have absorbed you so much recently, I wondered if there had been some further progress.'

He put the paper down and stood behind her, with arms around her waist.

'As bad as that was it? Well, I shouldn't really tell you but with any luck, less than a week from now, we will have broken the operation in the UK and some other countries, or at worst reduced its impact significantly and caught some big fish in the process. As expected, some countries are not being as co-operative as we'd hoped, petty politics, bribery getting in the way, so we won't have achieved everything, nevertheless good progress, to use your term. No doubt some will regroup and start the whole despicable trade all over again, we knew it would be a continuing battle, not a one off victory. I've a report to finalise over the weekend on how we maintain momentum and build on what we are hoping to achieve.'

'I find it hard to believe any country wouldn't join in an initiative to reduce drugs used among their people, when the effects of it are so clear to see.' She turned to face him.

He kissed her gently on the forehead.

'My beautiful Sylvana, you know life is never as simple as that, never black or white, but lots of shades of grey and that applies to drugs and every other problem the world faces today. Economics, local wars, famine, votes, favours to be gained and granted, power bases, all conspire to make achievement hard, add in widespread corruption, and the morale argument is hard to get across whether it's in respect of drugs, armaments and many other undesirable traded items, they are all big business. If you've got something to sell and somebody's prepared to pay an acceptable price for it, the rights and wrongs of actually selling it seldom come into it, unless individual government's ban its sale and enforce it. You just pocket the money; thank you very much.'

'Oh. Richard how cynical you are, the world is full of intelligent, questioning people. People who care what sort of world we live in, what sort of world their children will live in.'

'Not cynical just realistic. The world maybe be full of intelligent, questioning people but they don't run the world; power hungry, ruthless and yes, greedy men and women do, all too often for their own advantage, or at best on a platform that appeals to the general populace. Ask the populace if tax rates should be raised to eliminate poverty in society, increase funding for the NHS etc., the majority say yes but they don't mean their taxes, they mean the others who aren't paying enough tax, whoever they are. Money and its sources such as commodities, however defined, is the principle driver, so leaders have to maintain an economic situation which will keep the majority of the population content and uninterested in the long term future, except as an academic talking point. Those same intelligent and questioning people will tend to have a different view if their jobs disappear and their standard of living is reduced to subsistence level; the future becomes a very, very short period of time.'

'That's a very jaundiced way for a potential future leader to talk.'

'Perhaps, in the political sphere I probably am cynical or at least disillusioned. I've lived too long in the company of those who say things they believe will be popular, rather than things they really believe they can implement or achieve. That's why the drugs thing absorbs me so much. I feel it's a desperately important issue, something I can contribute to in a positive way, even if it's only keeping pressure and interest high amongst those who can actually change things. You know over the last few months I've thought about my own future a lot and come to consider public service roles such as doctors, nurses, police etc must be among the most satisfying in the world. I know they have their frustrations, not enough resources to provide a required level of treatment, too much form filling, hours of routine checking detail to find one or two crucial clues, juries giving a verdict of not guilty when you know they are as guilty as hell. However, overall on a day by day basis, they know they've made a difference, something good, benefiting others.'

He remained silent for a few moments.

'Of course, others such as teachers, social workers undoubtedly get similar satisfaction. But me, I can only try to influence others to take action in areas I feel need to be addressed, often with no measure of success at all... hey, I'm getting far too morose and serious; enough, what's for dinner?'

'Beef risotto. Tell me Richard, are you really disillusioned with the path you are following and the future that might bring?'

'Not so long as you're part of it.' He replied cheerily. 'I'll open some wine so we can drink to that.'

As he walked away, Sylvana's eyes welled with tears, knowing his future would never include her.

Despite the inner sadness both felt as they mulled over the earlier conversation, dinner and wine were enjoyed in good humour and high spirits, which continued into the bedroom.

An hour or so later, Richard Anders left a sleeping Sylvana to work on fine tuning the report, his brain unable to switch off until he'd fully reflected his own view on how to ensure this massive international operation would prove a success.

It was two in the morning when he finally returned to bed, looking at, then gently caressing the naked form of Sylvana. Not wanting to disturb her further, he switched off the reading light and soon fell into a deep exhausted sleep. At three thirty he was alone in the bed, the naked Sylvana erotically illuminated by the light shining on the revised report, while her small camera clicked away.

\------------

The knocking of the attendant with pre-ordered tea woke them as the train travelled slowly on towards Sofia. Paula opened the door and as he placed the tea tray on the small table, he saw the broken basin and gesticulated towards it. Paula mimicked drinking from a bottle and pointed to the top bunk. The attendant laughed as he wrote out the bill for the basin's replacement.

The tea was very welcome, reviving Stuart from his deep sleep, following the intense exercise of the previous evening. He showered and dressed first, finishing the tea while waiting patiently for Paula to prepare herself for the day ahead, then they headed for breakfast.

They sat in silence until the waiter had left them to deliver their order to the kitchen. Then Stuart spoke.

'I think we ought to leave the train at Sofia and fly home, as suggested by Inspector Barrett. He said if we let him know which flight we're on, he'll ensure there's a police car to pick us up.'

Paula nodded agreement.

'What happens when we get home, will we be able to live safely in the flat or can we expect more nocturnal visitors determined to kill us?'

'I don't know the answer to that, we'll discuss it with Barrett and take his advice. If his investigations are making progress, maybe that will make things safer for us in the future, but he remains very cagey about what he's found, and where that might lead. Maybe he's got nowhere and that's why he won't tell me, nothing to tell. I suspect we may have to go into hiding for a while in any case, although that should prove easier back home than now. They seem to know our every move, whoever they are. I told Barrett that Theoloudos has the address book, but he gave no indication he was interested, even though it does provide some names of the people behind this. Talking of that, I think we should keep a copy each, just in case something happens to one of us,'

Paula turned away, looking out of window, reflecting on her efforts to discourage him from pursuing this and the danger they were now in.

'Penny for them,' Stuart interrupted. 'Let me guess, wondering again why the hell I got us into this jam. I'm sorry love but you know I couldn't let it go, I felt responsible, we will solve this and survive. Hopefully they don't yet know last night's attempt was unsuccessful so we should get back to England without any more hassle.'

He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt, as something told him the other side already knew and were planning their next move.

# Chapter 7

The station clock struck nine as the train pulled into Sofia. They'd paid the attendant for the basin but did not say they were leaving the train. Paula was still packing, Stuart peered out of the small bathroom window running his eye up and down the platform, trying to spot anything unusual. It was just like any other station in Europe, passengers waiting to board, others waiting for the train to arrive, looking anxiously for those they were meeting, others sitting or standing, reading or just gazing aimlessly into space. Porters moving slowly amongst all this with piles of luggage. Stuart recognised his task was futile and turned away to help Paula with the final few items.

Before leaving the compartment, Stuart ensured the corridor was clear and made for the platform, moving quickly away from the train before finding a porter to take them and their luggage to the taxi rank outside. The ticket collector was astounded that passengers with tickets to Paris should be leaving the train at Sofia and this caused a minor commotion, with other passengers held up.

There was a queue for taxis, so they felt very exposed standing beside their luggage. Stuart looked around anxiously but failed to notice the small man with glasses on the other side of the road, reading a newspaper while leaning against a telephone box, as if waiting for the caller to finish. Inside, the caller with his back towards them was having an animated conversation, hands gesticulating wildly. This distracted them as they tried to guess who he could be talking to and about what.

A taxi was soon free and as they loaded their luggage, they were too preoccupied to notice the telephone caller had stopped, and the small man outside had disappeared. By the time the taxi drew away, the caller was outside the box, hands thrust into his black overcoat pockets, his face expressionless as he watched the taxi. A Peugeot estate car pulled up alongside him and they set off in the same direction as the taxi, keeping a respectable distance behind. It was driven by the small man with glasses.

The taxi didn't hurry and it was almost an hour later when they drove into the airport. The Peugeot had easily managed to keep them in sight and pulled up forty yards away, with a good view into the departure area. The small man got out, pulled his coat collar up and put on a cap, then headed for the revolving door. Opening the car door had allowed the cold wind in, and his companion was grateful to be left alone in the car. Even inside the terminal it wasn't warm, the vast space aired by the turning of the revolving door, the side doors being constantly opened and closed as passengers and others came and went.

The girl at the reception desk looked frozen as Stuart and Paula approached but she managed a smile and told them the first flight to London would be Swiss Air, departing 1.15pm. Although that was nearly three hours away, they hurried to the Swiss Air ticket desk. They needn't have rushed as the flight was still only half full, but felt relieved to have the tickets securely in their hands. As they moved towards the cafeteria, the small man with glasses also booked two tickets to London.

At the third attempt, he got hold of Inspector Barrett.

'We're taking your advice after another attempt to kill us on the train. We're at Sofia airport now and booked on Swiss Air flight number SA1023, arriving 4.30.'

'I'm glad you've come to your senses at last Mr. Clay,' the Inspector paused waiting for a derogatory reply which this time didn't come.

'I'll arrange for a police car to meet you at the plane as soon as you land and for customs and other formalities to be carried out somewhere more secure than airport arrivals. You'll have to show your passports to the officers in the car, not sure who'll they'll be as yet.'

'Where will they take us, Scotland Yard?'

'No, we have a number of safe houses available where you can remain for a few days. I'll meet you there and go through the arrangements to ensure your safety.'

'How long do you think we'll have to remain in police protection?'

'Maybe until my investigations have reached a conclusion, then you can resume your life and get out of my hair. Don't worry, I want that to be as soon as possible as much as you do. Have a good flight and I'll see you later.'

Barrett rang off, replaced the receiver, picked it up again immediately and asked for an outside line.

Stuart returned to the cafeteria.

'Well what did the Inspector have to say?'

'Not much, just the arrangements for us to be met at the plane and taken to a safe house, he'll meet us later for an update. Perhaps we should head for check-in to ensure we're on that flight.'

As they waited in the queue for check-in, Paula asked. 'How long will we have to be in the safe house.'

'He didn't say, judging how slowly the investigation seems to be moving, it could be years, particularly as I don't think he's yet determined whether or not this might be a big international operation. In which case, it will need a much bigger team to break it than he appears to have committed so far.'

'Well to ensure it isn't years, are you going to tell him everything you know, stop playing games and feeding in bits of information, because you don't know who to trust.'

'Yes, I want to see an end to this whole mess, so we can pick up or lives again, maybe get married.'

'Stuart Clay are you proposing to me?'

'I suppose I am, although don't think much of my prospects currently, not much to offer.'

'Oh, you're so romantic, how could I possibly refuse but don't you dare suggest a trip around Europe for the honeymoon.'

'Honeymoon, think you've had that already, I shall be too busy working to keep you in the manner you've grown accustomed to, so no time off for me in the foreseeable future.'

He leaned forward and kissed the end of her nose as her arm tightened its grip on his.

When flight SA1023 was called, Paula was the first to her feet. She aimed a gentle kick at Stuart's outstretched legs.

'Come on lazybones time to go home.'

'Okay but there's bags of time yet, we'll only join another queue.' He didn't move.

'But I want to be sure we're on that plane, no last minute hiccups.'

Stuart still didn't move, he was watching the reflection of the small man pacing up and down at the far end from where they sat. He stopped beside a seat containing a much larger man in a thick black overcoat. There was no flicker of recognition between them as the small man turned and resumed his pacing, like a clockwork toy, his pace didn't change, turn around and do it again. Stuart stood and paused waiting to see if there was any change in the mechanical movement. None, but he felt uneasy as Paula cajoled him again to move.

'Wake up dreamboat, if you're going to ogle at other women less than an hour after proposing to me, I think I'll call it off.'

'What do you mean?'

'You've been gazing at that brunette over there and I think she's giving you the come on too.'

'Sorry love, miles away trying to get my ducks in a row for Barrett later today that's all.' He lied.

'I'll believe you, thousands wouldn't but if you look her way again....,' she left her action unsaid.

Nevertheless, he risked a quick glance and as far as he could see the two men were still going through the same routine, with no sign they knew each other.

Paula claimed the window seat and Stuart settled in the aisle seat, leaving the middle one empty, giving him a clear view up and down the plane. He had taken his time finding their seats, scanning faces as he passed, but they were all busy settling luggage in the overhead lockers or, digging something out to amuse themselves during the flight.

Now he looked around, trying to scrutinise those still boarding, while Paula settled into the inflight magazine. The small man nodded to the stewardess and headed for the seats at the rear of the plane, next to the toilet. Unusual choice when the plane isn't busy Stuart thought, then dismissed it. He wanted to be sure he didn't miss the big man boarding; as he'd convinced himself he would.

At 1.15 precisely, the doors were closed and the cabin staff began to run through the safety procedures, looks like I was wrong he mused, the big man hadn't joined. Paula turned to him.

'Seems there's another passenger, the steps are being put back in position.'

The door opened and the big man stepped aboard, apologising briefly and sat in the first empty seat at the front of the plane.

If Stuart's suspicions proved correct that meant the two exit doors were being guarded, but for what purpose he didn't want to contemplate. He couldn't put it out of his mind as the plane taxied towards the runway. It puzzled him, why had that man been allowed to board after the doors had been shut and take-off procedures started. Was he some sort of official? Perhaps Barrett had asked for them to be accompanied, without letting them know he was trying to arrange this.

If the plan was to kill them, surely that would have been much easier in the airport, rather than on the plane. Then he shuddered, realising perhaps the easiest place to attack them would be as they queued to leave the plane on arrival. Despite the plane being nowhere near full, there was always a bit of a melee as passengers jostled with hand luggage and each other to leave. A thin knife pushed into some vital organ, the victim gently lowered back into their seat as if waiting for others to leave. Paranoid or not, he began to review options so they could leave the plane as safely as possible.

As the plane levelled out at cruising height he tried to relax. The captain was reciting the basic data of the flight, announcing there was swirling dense fog at Heathrow, so they might be diverted and finished with, 'sit back and enjoy the flight.' Stuart wished he could, possibly two men on board who might try to kill them, and now the police might be waiting at the wrong airport. He closed his eyes feigning sleep while desperately attempting to formulate some sort of plan. He recognised he'd have to tell Paula when he'd reached a conclusion, so she'd know what to do, after all they'd been through he wasn't looking forward to that.

It was 4pm when the captain's voice interrupted the hiss ever present in the pressurised cabin.

'I'm sorry to announce Heathrow has been closed to all internal and European flights, so we've been diverted to Birmingham. Our arrival time of 4.30 remains unchanged and arrangements are being made for your onward journry to London by coach. The cabin crew will provide further details, if any of you would prefer to be taken to Central Birmingham, please let them know.'

Soon the plane began its circular descent. It was a bright if cloudy day over Birmingham. As they got lower, Stuart leant over Paula to look out of the window. No sign of any unusual activity and more to the point, no waiting police car. It looked like they were on their own.

The landing was smooth and the plane taxied towards the terminal. Ground staff were making preparations to disembark the passengers, with steps soon to be placed in position and baggage trolleys made ready for when the hold opened. The plane rolled to a standstill and the roar from the two jet engines died to a whisper. People were already standing in the gangway, impatient to be released from the confines of the plane.

Paula and Stuart made no move to leave, neither did the big man at the front of the plane, despite him being seated in pole position for the exit. Stuart stood up and called for a stewardess, noticing the small man was merely gazing out of the window, taking no notice of passengers getting ready to leave.

As the stewardess approached, the familiar sound of a police siren penetrated the plane. Passengers crouched to look out of the windows to see what was happening.

'Is anything the matter sir?' Inquired the stewardess.

'My fiancée feels very sick,' Paula was bent forward with the brown bag clutched to her mouth and threw in the occasional moan for good measure.

'Fresh air will help; do you think you can walk? Paula nodded. 'In which case, I'll get the passageway cleared so you can leave first.' The announcement came asking passengers to regain their seats to allow a sick passenger to leave first.

Soon people began to respond and Stuart was able to guide Paula through the less crowded area towards the rear exit. When they reached the small man he stood up, Stuart reached out and grabbed his glasses and with the other hand thrust him back into his seat, his head colliding with the window.

The commotion at the other end of the plane, as the big man leaped up and pushed stewardesses aside to descend from the front exit, caught his attention.

'Run Paula, run like hell!' He yelled.

He paused just long enough to smash a bottle of whisky from the duty free trolley over the small man's rising head, then headed quickly for the rear exit.

Paula was halfway down the steps when he reached the top, and began yelling and waving at the police car. At first there was no reaction, but then both doors opened, as they'd seen Paula running towards them. But they hadn't seen the big man running from the front steps, Stuart called a warning in vain, just as the big man shouldered charged the first policeman clear over the bonnet of the car.

Paula was immobile with fear as he advanced towards her, ignoring the second policeman.

Within seconds she was struggling to escape from his powerful arms, she kicked out at his legs but he didn't seem to notice. A screech of tyres announced the arrival of a green Rover, a rear door opened and Paula was bundled towards it. She managed to brace her flailing legs against the rear wing, pushing backwards for all she was worth. Then her legs were knocked harshly away, she was thrown into the empty rear seat and the door slammed shut, just as Stuart arrived. Through the window she saw him aim a kick at the big man's groin, she winced involuntarily but it was wasted, as the man proved very agile, catching Stuart's foot using it to send him crashing face first to the ground.

Paula made to escape but the driver grabbed her arm in a vice like grip, a row of even white teeth smiled at her.

'No, you don't Missy.'

She didn't return the smile, she looked and felt defeated. The door opened, revealing the sound of a police siren and the big man struggling to force Stuart into the car. The police car screamed alongside, doors flying open as it skidded to a halt.

The driver looked at the big man as he dived into the front seat, 'Let's go' he yelled.

The Rover accelerated away with Stuart clinging to the rear door, feet precariously perched on the rear bumper as it swung wider open under his weight he screamed. 'Jump Paula, jump!'

His feet lost their grip on the bumper and were dragging on the ground as he fought to maintain a hold on the door. As the car accelerated, the door swung back, trapping his fingers against the bodywork, causing him to let go and crumple to the ground. As he looked up, blood streaming down his face, he saw the rear door close with the Rover racing away, pursued by the police car.

Paula was looking out of the rear window as his eyes tried to focus on the receding number plate, VK..., then they closed as he lost consciousness.

\---------------------------

On waking he was aware how white the walls were, almost blinding, his ears conscious of the rustle of a starched uniform. The voice soft and friendly.

'My word you've been in the wars, do you make a habit of travelling on the outside of cars rather than in them?'

Stuart tried to smile but the pain of moving his lips stopped him short.

'Don't try to talk,' the voice said. 'In answer to your unspoken questions, firstly you are in the sick bay at Birmingham airport and I'm a qualified nurse. Secondly you have ten stitches in your top lip and nose which does nothing for you, but so far has stopped the rest of your blood leaking out. You have multiple scrapes to knees, elbows, hands and even the side of your face, but it doesn't appear you've broken any bones, though how you haven't, God only knows. Thirdly, Birmingham police are on their way to interview you but suspect that is going to be a one-way conversation, and it's possible the doctor in charge will prevent that and transfer you to hospital anyway. Oh, and on instruction from the police, two security guards are on duty, one outside the door, not sure if that's to keep you in or everyone else out, and one sitting on the chair over there.' The guard raised his hand in acknowledgement. 'Now unless there is anything else I can do to make you comfortable, I'll leave you in peace. Try and get some sleep.'

Stuart reached out and touched her hand, she gently squeezed the bandage briefly and turned to leave.

'Don't think you'll have trouble from this one Taffy, see you later.' Taffy closed the door behind her.

For a while Stuart wondered if he really was still at the airport. The single room, guarded like a cell, the over friendly nurse, perhaps he had also been caught by the gang and for some unknown reason they wanted to keep him alive for the time being.

He closed his eyes, trying to think clearly but the fog was thicker than at Heathrow and everything in his head seemed cluttered, couldn't make sense of it; there was a noise getting louder, familiar but adding to the pain in his brain. Then he realised the noise was a big jet, probably taking off, so he was definitely at the airport or very close, this enabled him to relax a little and was soon asleep.

He was awakened by the return of the cheerful nurse and two uniformed policemen.

'Good afternoon Mr. Clay I'm Inspector Warren and this is Constable Power. I understand from nurse Jenkins here that you will find it difficult to talk, but wonder if you can throw any light on what was happening on the runway a little while ago?'

Stuart tried to mouth some words but nothing came out, the pain of doing so very visible on his face. Inspector Warren held up his hand,

'I can see this is causing you considerable pain, perhaps it would be easier if I tell you what I've gleaned from eye witnesses and you nod or shake your head to confirm or not. If that leaves gaps we'll try to address that in some other way, okay?'

Stuart nodded.

The Inspector began to recite what had happened on the runway, including Paula's kidnap and then wanted to know if Stuart knew who they were, why, what they were after, was the police car involved genuine police, as far as he knew they certainly weren't part of any Midlands force.

Stuart realised he couldn't deal with these questions by head movements. He gestured for pen and paper, with the help of the nurse he wrote - Inspector Barrett, Scotland Yard. Contact.

Warren sighed and asked if there was a private telephone nearby and was shown to the dispensary by nurse Jenkins, leaving Constable Power to remain with Stuart.

'Don't mind the Inspector Mr. Clay, he's very ambitious and probably a bit disappointed London are involved, as it probably means they'll take over.'

Nurse Jenkins returned.

'He's on the phone to London right now, asked me to leave, official police business and all that. How do you feel?'

Again, the lame lop sided half smile from Stuart.

'The doctor will be along soon to assess you, to see if its hospital for you or we could release you as the walking wounded.'

Inspector Warren returned and assured Stuart that although Barrett wouldn't divulge much, he comfirmed that they were the innocent parties and that he would like Stuart to be escorted to London. A police car will pick you up at Euston.

'He couldn't update me on the pursuit of the other vehicle, as it got away from the police car. He has a few leads to follow up, so will tell you more when he sees you. Is he fit to travel nurse?'

Nurse Jenkins told him the doctor would be coming soon and able to advise on that. Inspector Warren assured Stuart he would make the necessary arrangements for travel and in the meantime Constable Power would remain until he could be collected.

The doctor gave him the all clear and with the help of the nurse he struggled to dress.

He ached all over. The doctor assured him he would be able to speak more easily once the anaesthetic fully wore off. He had to take it easy, get plenty of sleep and keep taking the pain killers.

Constable Power helped him to walk, and a car arrived to take him to New Street station for the journey to London. It had been decided Power should travel with him to ensure a safe journey.

\-----------------------------

Constable Power delivered him to the waiting police car at Euston, said his goodbyes and returned to catch a train back to Birmingham.

The car pulled up outside a dingy hotel, red brick Victorian building three storeys high, situated on a non-descript street somewhere off New Cavendish Street. The exterior woodwork was painted white, but the dirt and grime from traffic, and necessary repairs neglected over the years had taken their toll, giving the whole building a very different appearance from when newly built. Inside the high ceilings and large windows gave an impression of space so lacking in its modern counterpart.

The reception was brightly lit and staffed by a young woman, probably in her early twenties, her welcoming smile showed no surprise at the state of Stuart's face.

With a nod to the policeman. 'Good evening sir, room nineteen. It's at the back of the building, as quiet as you'll find in London. Dinner can be taken in your room if you wish and there is a mini bar. You're welcome to use the hotel's main facilities if that suits.' Finishing with another nod to the policeman.

Stuart touched his lip self-consciously, the girl made no comment and gave him his key.

'Which way?' He asked, with considerable difficulty.

'The porter will show you.' The receptionist replied and pressed a buzzer on the desk, then continued with her paperwork.

Eventually a man who looked every day of eighty shuffled into view, bent to pick up the bags of both Stuart and Paula which had been off loaded from the plane.

The policeman intervened, 'We'll manage the bags, you just lead the way.'

'Glad to see the police doing their bit of community service to help the elderly, gov.' The porter said and set off at a brisk pace.

'Name's Harry by the way, anything you want during your stay, just let me know sir. Been in the wars haven't we sir, pity they didn't do a better sewing machine job on you, might have pulled Sally, the receptionist.

Stuart tried to smile, noting the receptionists name.

'Perhaps you slipped on the ice outside.'

It was foggy and drizzling outside, and there hadn't been any ice in London this year.

'Get a lot of these sort of injuries here, makes me wonder sometimes if we're the overflow for the local casualty unit.' He tapped the side of his nose, stopping outside of a room.

'Here we are number nineteen.'

The policeman dumped the bags and had a quick look around the room and bathroom. Satisfied he took his leave.

Stuart was sweating profusely from the effort of carrying the smaller bags.

'Yes, like a sauna down this end sir, I'd advise sleeping with the window open if you want to get any sleep at all.'

Stuart walked to the window which looked out on a maze of pipework, with a fire escape not far away. Didn't seem a very secure location to him, pretty easy to get into the room, nevertheless he opened the window.

The bathroom was almost as big as the bedroom and had clearly been a separate room in earlier times; the locked door leading onto the corridor confirmed this. Just to be on the safe side he jammed a chair under the door handle, and would do the same in the bedroom before trying to sleep. He unpacked some items he expected to need for the night, then lay back on the bed.

Although he felt very tired, his mind was far from sleep. Inspector Warren had told him Barrett would be in touch sometime today, including an update on Paula's kidnapping.

Christ what a mess, they'd left the country a couple of weeks ago, after the attempt to kill Paula and had nothing but trouble ever since, instead of escaping they just kept running back into it.

Poor Paula she's really been through the mill and now this. Perhaps she was right, if only he hadn't kept pushing to find out more and let the authorities continue investigating in their own sweet time. If only, if only, he was having difficulty holding back tears as he considered what might be happening to her right now, all because he was sure he could do this on his own. He allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a while, then snapped out of it, reviewing what had happened and what new information he'd gleaned during their time out of the country. This was partly to stop him thinking negatively about Paula's situation and also to marshal his thoughts before the promised meeting with Barrett.

As there was nothing more he could do until Barrett made contact, he decided to head for the bar and food, although he didn't really feel like either.

The bar had only one other customer, an American telling the barman his life story. Stuart thoughtfully sipped his gin and tonic then headed for the dining room to avoid being dragged into this one-sided conversation.

The dining room reflected all the charm of the Victorian era, a magnificent chandelier hung in the centre of the room, reflecting all the decorative colours from the walls onto the ceiling. The remaining lighting consisted of wall lights, spaced spasmodically around the room, so the lighting at table level was quite dim.

The carpet was plush and good to walk on, the walls were a soft shade of red giving warmth and atmosphere, somewhat unexpected from the rest of the tired building.

At the far end of the room an open fire burnt brightly, although the heat it provided was limited, it added to the general ambience of a comfortable room to enjoy the evening in.

Fortunately, the central heating was effective and compensated for the lack of heat from the open fire.

The ceiling was a masterpiece of ornate plasterwork. In the centre above the chandelier an intricate pattern of scenes from Greek mythology, spreading into other symbols and motifs towards the walls. Stuart wondered how many hours doing such a complex design would have taken.

The menu provided the answer, as on the back was a history of the building and its many alterations over the years. The ceiling had taken two men one hundred and forty- two days, fifteen days longer than six men had taken to carry out all the other internal updates and improvements. The men specialised in renovations for the National Trust, so it would not have been cheap, especially in central London.

Stuart ordered the chef's speciality pate and sea bass to be washed down with half a bottle of sauvignon blanc, not convinced he'd actually be able to eat.

The service was good, particularly as he was one of only three early diners, so he was taking coffee in the lounge by eight thirty.

He had just poured a second cup when the receptionist, Sally appeared.

'There's a call for you Mr. Clay, shall I put it through here.'

'No, I'll go back to my room thanks.'

Stuart moved as quickly as his injuries allowed, expecting an update on Paula and wasn't surprised to find himself out of breath as he picked up the receiver.

'Inspector Barrett, good evening.'

'Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Clay, not Barrett but I do have news for you concerning Miss Jackson.'

'Who are you, where are you calling from?'

'Really Mr. Clay, you surely don't expect me to answer questions, do you.' The voice had a slight foreign accent but meant little otherwise to Stuart.

'Listen to me, I have your girlfriend and would like to meet with you to discuss.... shall we say her future.'

'And you listen to me, if you touch one hair of her head, I'll track you down and kill you.'

'So melodramatic Mr. Clay, calm down no one is talking about hurting or killing anyone, I just want to talk.'

'Ok I'm listening.'

'You have something which belongs to us, and I have something you want returned.'

'What have I got?'

'A black address book, with quite a lot of information we find is missing.'

'I know what you mean.'

'Good then I suggest you bring it with. Millwall docks, there's a disused warehouse at the eastern end of Spindrift Avenue, although disused the name of the last occupant is still visible – Hayden' s Wharf Services. Got that?'

'Yes, expect I'll find it.'

'Good let's say we meet in one hour, don't contact the police or anyone else, otherwise you may find Miss Jackson went for a swim but forgot her armbands, understood?'

'Yes, but I repeat my warning if you harm her, I will find you.'

'See you in one hour, alone.'

Stuart felt the receiver hot and sweaty in his hand. The call had upset him and he was trembling with emotion mixed with rage, not for the first time in recent weeks he felt helpless, carried along at the whim of those who seemed to have more control over his life than he did.

'Do you want to make a call Mr. Clay?' It was Sally the receptionist.

Stuart realised he hadn't replaced the receiver.

'Err... no thanks, sorry, wait. Do you think it would be possible to hire a car for me, self-drive?'

'When do you want the car, we have a contact who can usually supply one at short notice.'

'Five minutes ago.'

'I'll get back to you in a jiffy.' Sally sounded pleased to have something urgent to do.

This time he replaced the receiver immediately. He had a few things to do before leaving the hotel. The first thing was to find somewhere safe for the other two copies of the address book, retrieved from their luggage. Then he began writing a note to Inspector Barrett, explaining the latest development. The phone rang just as he was finishing.

'I've got a car for you Mr. Clay, it's an old Hillman Minx but they assure me its reliable and won't let you down, be outside the hotel in ten minutes.'

'Thanks, do you have a hotel safe, I have a few things I'd like to lock away while I'm out. Postage stamps and an A-Z would be useful too.'

'Think I can manage all that, see you shortly.'

He was pleasantly surprised by Sally's efficiency and felt the surge of adrenalin adding to the nervousness of what the next few hours would hold for him.

Soon he was out of the hotel and scrutinising the A-Z. The stamped addressed package to Inspector Barrett on the passenger seat. Sally hadn't been wrong about the car, it was certainly old but started readily enough and settled into an even idle. He'd left the other copy of the address book with Sally to place in the safe, she'd wished him a pleasant evening. Pleasant evening, if only she knew.

Satisfied he'd done everything he intended, he set off. He hoped he'd have time to suss out the area around the warehouse, but his first priority was to post the package, including a copy of the address book, to Barrett.

# Part 3

#

# 

# Chapter 1

Spindrift Avenue was dark, there wasn't a street light in the whole road. Driving slowly, the headlights provided enough illumination to makeout the faded writing, announcing he'd found Hayden's Wharf Services. As he had a little time to spare he decided not to turn immediately as the car headlights would announce his arrival to anyone watching. Instead he continued to the next cul-de-sac on the left and parked among the few vans and cars, the old Hillman blending well with the remainder of the vehicles. It was a residential street of old terraced houses, lights visible behind drawn curtains, he paused to see if any revealed someone peering out to see the new arrival. None moved, so he got out of the car quietly and headed back towards the warehouse.

At the end of the cul-de-sac the buildings changed to light industrial ones, some replacing the disused warehouses which still showed paint, dye, import agencies and a variety of others reflecting the past life of this docklands area. He paused, listening intently for movement, all he heard was the throb from the engine of a tug on the nearby river and the rumbling of a slow moving train. Moving again, he was acutely aware of his own footsteps on the hard paving, so moved more slowly to cushion the noise.

When driving past he hadn't noticed the iron gates in front of Hayden's, still he could hear nothing to indicate anyone was in or around the building. He walked on looking for a way to go down the side of the building towards the river. The walkway running alongside the fence was overgrown and as he pushed branches apart, some whipped back causing him to wince as they struck his face. Eventually the walkway opened out with a view of the river.

The iron fence gave way to a dilapidated wooden one, Stuart peered through and could see the ramp leading to a dock where vessels would have tied up to be unloaded. None were visible now. He could see the wooden fencing on the other side of the ramp, no access to the building was immediately apparent.

Hastily he retraced his steps, crossed the road, past the gates to the other side of the building. Here there was no gap, high chain link fencing of the haulage company next door prevented any access. He walked on and was a good seventy yards beyond the warehouse when he found the gap he sought; allowing him to go towards the river. From this side, he couldn't see the dock, as the wooden fencing obscured his view, only the river beyond.

The river was calm, as far as he could tell there was little flow, confirming it was high tide. The tug still audible, but out of sight. Nothing else moved on the river, the moored barges on the opposite bank provided a gently moving foreground to the jumble of wharves and industrial buildings attracted to this, once major, commercial centre.

Away to his left, Greenwich College and even the masts of the Cutty Sark were just discernible. They had certainly chosen the meeting place well, even the riverside was masked from view by a high wooden fence. As he trudged back towards the road he could feel the fear rising. Any excitement had gone, he felt defeated. He realised they did hold all the aces.

He'd discovered nothing which could give him the vital element of surprise, to tip the balance a little in his favour. He'd not even found a potential escape route, assuming he could grab Paula from their clutches. Despondently, he trudged towards the iron gates resting briefly against them, nothing for it, go in and hope they both escaped unharmed. The fear had taken a real grip on him, he'd no idea what he would find or face in the next few minutes. He was an amateur mixing with professional, ruthless people.

He clicked the latch and pushed the gates open, deciding not to close them behind him, allowing some possibility of flight. The heavy wooden doors, giving access to the warehouse, were showing signs of decay, paint peeling and various small areas rotten. He pushed these gently but found they were pretty solid not much chance of them giving way, even if he was able to take a flying kick at them, which certainly was beyond him after his argument with the tarmac in Birmingham. He still couldn't see any lights or sign of life and wondered if this was the right building after all.

'Good evening Mr. Clay, good of you to come.' It was not the confident voice he'd spoken to on the telephone. It had an accent, yes but the crisp, precise English was missing. This voice was most definitely Irish.

'Remember me?' The voice spoke again coming to rest a few feet in front of him.

'Where's Paula?' Stuart demanded, ignoring the question.

'Safe enough, now let's get down to business. You've brought the address book.' It was a statement not a question.

'No book until I've seen Paula is okay.'

'Fair enough, bring her out boys.' The Irishman called out.

Stuart turned towards the building at the sound of a small side door opening and saw three people emerging, one smaller than the other two, with long blonde hair. At first, he couldn't tell if Paula was walking on her own or being supported by the other two. He moved towards them anxiously but the Irishman grabbed his arm.

'Not so fast Mr. Clay, close enough for now.'

Stuart turned towards him and realised it was Eddie from Del Mario's. He didn't resist, it was too early for that, in any case he doubted it would be effective against the big bouncer.

'Are you alright Paula?'

The blonde head moved up and down.

'She's gagged Mr. Clay.' Eddie spoke softly by way of explanation. 'We didn't want her crying out now, did we? Might bring a few unwanted guests to our little gathering. Now the book please.' Eddie held out his large hand in anticipation.

Stuart reached towards his pocket. 'What happens to us after I give you the book? Are we free to go?'

'That depends on things we have yet to discuss.'

'What sort of things?'

'The address book if you please, Mr. Clay, or my friends will start getting rough with Miss Jackson.'

Stuart placed the small book into Eddie's outstretched hand.

'Thank you, I'll just have to check through to ensure it's the one and complete.'

Eddie took a torch from his pocket and began to flick through the pages. By the reflected light Stuart could discern a smile of satisfaction beginning to form on Eddie's face and decided it was now or never. He took a pace backward then drove his foot as hard as possible into Eddie's groin. The big man crumpled in obvious pain, the address book remained firmly in his grip but he dropped the torch. Stuart scooped it up and ran towards the men holding Paula. It all happened so quickly, he was only a few yards away before the men began to move. Initially dragging her back towards the warehouse then releasing her as they turned to face Stuart.

'Run, run for the gate Paula, it's open!' He screamed as he lashed out at one of the men, the torch catching him across the bridge of his nose, stopping him dead in his tracks, temporarily blinded and in excruciating pain, as blood flowed liberally down his face.

Paula had not moved, in his desperation to reach her Stuart had ignored the third man. He saw the piece of wood being swung at him, raised his arm to protect himself, it reduced the impact but the wood still smashed into him, driving him to the ground. Still Paula did not move.

The cold water from the Thames thrown over Stuart had brought consciousness flooding back and with it the throbbing in his head.

'That was very foolish Mr. Clay.' Eddie's voice revealed supressed anger but no sign of the pain he had suffered.

He looked about the room they were in. The floor was cobble, broken up here and there revealing the soft dirt underneath as it stretched towards the walls.

High above, the rotting timbers were exposed and small holes had appeared in the roof, allowing some light into the room below from the clear starlit sky. Dimly, Stuart could see the faces surrounding him.

Eddie stood towering above him, his face appeared locked in a weird, grim smile. Furthest away a man was slumped against the wall, little of his face was visible between his hands, just the nose with blood still visible from the recent wound. The third man, who had knocked Stuart senseless, stood a few feet away, idly cleaning his nails with a stiletto knife. A mop of black hair flopped over his thin, lined face. He had a large nose emphasised by the small mouth and limited chin beneath it. His eyes were small, frequently flashing between attention to his nails and the still crumpled form of Stuart near Eddie's feet.

Peering at him with blinking, half focused eyes Stuart started to rise, in a flash the man moved forward, knife held against Stuart's throat. Only then did he look towards Paula and his blood ran cold. Beneath the blonde hair, a beautiful face yes but not Paula's. Sonia the sultry singer looked pitifully back at him.

Eddie spoke before Stuart had chance to hide his shock at this revelation. 'Surprised Mr, Clay? Surely not? You didn't really think we'd bring your girlfriend along, did you?'

'Where is she?' Stuart made no attempt to mask the fear he felt.

'That's no concern of yours, perhaps you'll meet in the next world.' Eddie laughed, his huge shoulders moving rhythmically up and down.

'What do you mean?' Stuart demanded.

'I mean, now we've got the address book it's time to get rid of you. You've caused us a lot of trouble, involving the police in our plans and this book, well it's of no value to us. No doubt copies have been made and the police already have the information in it. They won't find it's much use to them by the time they take action, they're too slow, as you already know all too well. No, it wasn't the book we wanted it was you and Miss Jackson, it was all a trap, so not before time your number is well and truly up.'

Stuart tried to get to his feet but the flashing knife soon put a stop to that.

'Finally, Mr. Clay, the game is being played to our rules and your part in it has come to an end.' Eddie's expression changed, the frustration and menace clearly showing.

'Our problems started all because you wanted to know how Jeremy Palmer really died. Well now you are going to find out. He was a clever young man but the drugs must have pickled his brain. He could have had a great future in our organisation, instead he tried to bend it in his favour, never a good idea when you use the product as regularly as he did. Attempting to blackmail people in an organisation like ours is not something any sane man does. At first, we were gentle, cutting back his supplies unless he paid the full price, showing him who's boss, toe the party line or else sort of approach. Stupidly he wouldn't comply, began shooting his mouth off, being generally indiscrete, pushing his luck, so his number was up. His death was easy to arrange, he was already a mainline addict, so I arranged to meet him somewhere quiet to handover more supplies, somewhere rather like this. Then we....' Eddie gestured towards the other two men in the room, 'made sure he got his fix; just a little stronger than usual, so he quickly became very drowsy. Don't you think the scrawled suicide note was a nice touch, poor Palmer, didn't really know what he was doing by then; needed some help but it looked cosher.'

Anger had overtaken fear in Stuart. The way this big Irishman could talk so cynically about the death of his friend incensed him. However, the stiletto quelled all thoughts of action.

'The rest was easy, a death by forced drowning maybe detected but not the way I do it. I have a rope, a rope embedded in small but heavy concrete block. By sure chance I've brought it with me tonight.' He said grinning widely. 'The rope is used to lash the unfortunate victim's arms to his or sometimes her thighs, and their wrists to their ankles. Placed silently in the river they sink like a stone while I keep a firm hold on the rope. Now here's the clever bit, the knots are too tight to wriggle free from, but once the bubbles stop rising, one jerk from me and they slip undone, leaving no trace they were ever tied, just a bloated corpse for some unfortunate to find at some time in the future. Easy eh? You don't have to believe me, you're about to find out for yourself. Its high tide, the river nice and high, as it ebbs you'll travel quickly, maybe even reach Southend before you're found.' He laughed at the thought.

'You bastard,' was all Stuart could manage as the awful facts of his future sunk into his still throbbing brain. 'What about this he muttered,' touching the side of his swollen, bruised face where the wood had struck him.

'I agree that's a little unfortunate but perhaps you hit something as you fell into the water, still suffering from shock and the effect of the anaesthetic, making you a little unsteady on your pins. They will probably never know where you fell in, so difficult to verify.'

'The police won't believe that in view of what's already happened to Paula and me.'

'Perhaps, but at this stage of the game I'm not too bothered either way.' Eddie snapped. 'All that matters is getting rid of your interfering nose for ever. Right Jack get him down to the river, Tom you can help and stop feeling sorry for yourself, it's not the first time you've had a broken nose. I'll bring the rope and block. Sonia, you go back to the car, give us five minutes then wait outside the gate with the engine running.'

Jack waved the stiletto indicating for Stuart to get up. Once on his feet he felt worse, the room swimming before him, unable to focus on anyone or anything. Pushed outside, the cold air revived him a little.

Eddie reached the river before them staring into it with the rope attached to the concrete block in his hand. Stuart had a brief thought of running at him, driving them both into the water but Jack seemed to anticipate this, lifting the knife to Stuart's chin.

With his head between his legs, arms and wrists tied as Eddie had described, Stuart's head throbbed violently again. He tried testing the knots but couldn't move, the muscles in his back complaining about the position he was tied in. A sweep of nausea came and thankfully passed almost as quickly.

Eddie surveyed his handiwork and seemed satisfied. 'Okay into the water with him, lower him as far as possible, we don't want a big splash. Any last requests Mr. Clay?' He said cheerily.

'Go to hell.' Stuart replied.

'One day I may join you there, not just yet.' He lowered the concrete block into the river. With that Jack and Tom began to manhandle his immobile body into the water, letting go with a small resultant splash. Stuart's last thought before the cold water hit him, was to take as big an intake of breath as he could manage.

On the dockside Eddie switched on the small torch, concentrating its beam on the ripples of water spreading out from where Stuart had been immersed.

'Off you go you two, I won't be long, keep Sonia company she's probably a bit jumpy by now.'

The two men melted into the darkness, leaving Eddie staring into the water clutching the end of the rope.

The icy water had reduced the throbbing in Stuart's head but already he felt cold. Shivering as the concrete block carried him towards the river bottom. The block hit the bottom first, settling into the mud, Stuart soon joined it but on the other side of a stout piece of timber protruding a couple of feet from the bottom, the rope stretched over it. As he struck the bottom he was sure the rope eased a little, desperately, he rolled away from the block, the rope had definitely moved, the block, wedged hard against the timber, was pulling the rope free. He strained every moveable muscle to release the rope more.

After, what seemed an eternity but in fact was less than a minute, his wrists were free. Seconds later, he was able to straighten his body, as the rope fell away. He swam further before heading for the surface, he didn't know if he was heading out into the river or towards the bank. He didn't care, he just needed air. Suddenly he could see more, the water less dense as he broke the surface as quietly as possible, he sucked in the cold air and descended again for risk of being seen. As his breath ran out he surfaced again, this time noticing he was twenty yards or so from the dockside, he could see the torch beam still on the surface where they'd lowered him in. He surfaced a couple of times more before noticing the torchlight was no longer shining. He went down again and soon resurfaced to check his eyes had not deceived him, then swam slowly towards the dock. Reaching the side, he hung on to one of the chains lining the dock, he raised himself sufficiently to see Eddie had retrieved the block and rope, he was bent over. Clearly it had taken some effort to pull the block from the mud. At last, he picked it up and set off for the warehouse.

Although the cold was almost unbearable, Stuart waited to be sure Eddie did not return before hauling himself out of the dock. Thankfully, there was little wind as he ran for the cover of the warehouse and then on towards the gate. He saw the Austin Westminster parked up. Through the open window came the question, 'everything ok?'

'Perfect, just perfect.' Eddie replied as he loaded the rope and block into the boot and closed it softly. 'I'll just check around to be sure we've left nothing behind. Won't be long.'

Stuart waited for Eddie's return to the car before slipping through the gates and hastening back to the Hillman. It started first time, he slammed the heater on full, pulled up at the entrance to the cul-de-sac and watched the big Austin pull away.

# Chapter 2

In an upstairs room at Del Mario's, Victor Bechet took a long pull on the Havana cigar and watched, almost dreamily, as the smoke rose up and billowed around the unshaded light in the middle of the ceiling. The room was silent, its occupants even refraining from breathing normally to avoid making unnecessary noise, adding to the tense atmosphere.

'Well, gentlemen,' Bechet spoke at last. 'That is what I intend to do, has anyone any questions?'

'I'm sorry Victor if this seems like a stupid question, are you seriously saying you are going to let the authorities beat you, close us down?' Dudley Ferguson asked.

'Up to a point that's right, although not the whole story. With the latest information, we have from Sylvana,' at the mention of her name Victor turned towards her and ran his fingers lightly down the back of the beautiful woman sitting beside him. 'We know when the authorities are going to act, where and, in most cases, how they will set about it. From the detailed information, you have all produced on your own operations,' he placed a small fat hand on the pile of paper in front of him, 'we can protect those you trust and use them to change and then continue the business in its new form.'

'Understood, but its inevitable some of those listed in that blasted report Sylvana's obtained will be taken,' interrupted Dudley, 'how long before that leads to others and eventually to us? Surely we can protect ourselves better than just closing down.'

'I believe what I'm proposing in response to that blasted report, as you so eloquently put it, is the most effective way of surviving and yes growing in the long term. As I said, because of Sylvana's efforts we know when and where the authorities are going to act. However, when they get there, the cupboard will be bare. Arrangements are well in hand to ensure everyone who's at risk is warned and knows what to do. That is everyone, except those you have identified as being of no further use to us, or perhaps pose a risk. In which case, the authorities will be doing us a favour by doing our work for us.' He laughed, the sound of soft flesh vibrating in time with his own mirth.

'But goddamn it Victor, that does mean major parts of our operation will be shut down! That's just what the authorities want and we are doing it for them'

'Of course that's one way of looking at it, but the disruption, because of the information we have, should be at a minimum. Those parts of the organisation, unknown and seemingly impenetrable to the authorities, will continue, albeit at a reduced level. Also, don't forget the legitimate businesses we have established. We've been at great pains to ensure they are clean, comply with laws, employing managers and staff who have no knowledge of, or connection with our main activity. They will remain operational producing a healthy cashflow. The rest, after a suitable period in hiding, will emerge and take up more or less where they left off, with new premises and new transportation channels. The authorities don't realise it, but perhaps they're doing us a favour. All organisations can get complacent, too confident, spread its wings too far without a few checks that everything is still as secure as it can be. Seems that's happened to us, and we are taking the necessary action to ensure we will be around for a long time yet. Sure, it's disappointing, certain things we've worked hard to set up will be lost, this club for instance.' Bechet stretched both hands on the table as a gesture of how things had to be. 'But I'm confident we will come out of this stronger and far less vulnerable than we are now.'

Sergio Lopez nodded his head, 'I agree, at our first meeting I said the Americas network has been playing cat and mouse with the DEA, CIA and others for years. Well now we move into a new era, an opportunity to take a massive leap ahead of all the work the authorities have been doing and get them off our backs, at least for a while. By picking up some of the minnows, as Victor said, we know some of these can get ambitious and we have to dirty our hands to tidy up. Let the authorities do our spring cleaning for us. While we concentrate on building a whole new empire.'

'I note you think it will be safe for Chin Li, and me to continue operations, at least for a while.' Tahir Salem stated, 'I quote the report. At this stage, the Pakistani authorities are not convinced that the involvement of their countrymen in a so called major international drugs operation, is of sufficient consequence to warrant taking special action at the moment. They already have specialist squads set up for this purpose and deem that the proposed action by the principal countries involved will only undermine the investigative work being carried out. Specialist squads – I drink with the man in charge every Friday and he spends most of his time in one of my whore houses.'

Everyone in the room laughed except Sylvana. Her thoughts wandered dreamily to Richard Anders, she knew she would never see him again. She'd made her choice and she'd have to live with it. She could have told Richard all she knew about Bechet and the operation to help add detail to the report, instead she'd chosen to photograph it. She bit her lip at the thought of what might have been, she'd been too busy playing the wealthy widow, a lifestyle Bechet's money provided, the one thing Richard never could.

'Similar arguments have been raised by Hong Kong and the Chinese, they have, and will continue to investigate major crime of all sorts through their own agencies, according to the report.' Bechet had taken up the story now.

'Hong Kong doesn't consider sufficient is known at this stage to warrant the action being planned, can't help feeling the Chinese have had a hand in that conclusion. Nevertheless, we know from other areas they may genuinely not know enough now, but how long before they do? So, we must plan to make changes in the two areas not being actioned. Chin Li will do this while continuing the current operations, same for you Tahir. The rest of us will do it from our new headquarters, working together.'

'Which are where precisely?' Helmut Schnell asked.

'I'm sorry Helmut, gentlemen, for being so cautious but only Phillipe and myself know and it's going to stay that way until we get there.'

'Which implies you don't trust us.' Helmut said, his eyes never wavering from Bechet's face.

'I appreciate it looks that way but assure you it's not true. I trust each of you implicitly. However, the contents of the report we have all seen troubles me. The level of knowledge it discloses about us has convinced Phillipe and me that there is a leak, and at a reasonably senior level. No one in this room but, somewhere among your trusted aides.' Victor Bechet's eyes moved slowly around the room. 'I may be wrong but, as a precaution I do not want anyone other than Phillipe and myself to know where we are going. While you have all been busy documenting your operations, identifying your key men, the essential distribution channels, suppliers and reliable informants, we have been finalising the plans we started some time ago, to create new headquarters. These are now in place; communications all in working order, in short, we are ready. This involves a new community for us and our top aides, including families. We will simply disappear off the face of the earth until it's time to emerge with our new structures in place. But before we do that, we will use the time to test our aides and discover, once and for all, if we have a leak or not and who is responsible.' Bechet finished by slamming both fists on the table with such force everyone jumped.

'I'm sorry, gentlemen,' he continued more calmly, 'you will probably have gathered that the thought of an informer in our senior ranks distresses me. They are all well paid, given power and authority, yet I'm convinced one of them is a traitor, as yet unknown, but when we do know, his death will be long and painful.'

His face contorted with anger, emphasising the fate that awaits the person or persons that sold them out.

Sylvana shivered, Bechet was a magnetic man but not a handsome one, and now, with his face reflecting all the venomous feelings inside him, she was scared, aware that her life revolved around this vicious man. There would be no escaping him, one day her looks would fade and then she would be discarded, thrown on the rubbish dump with all the other flotsam and jettison of human life. Her last evening with Richard Anders again, flooded her mind.

'Okay Victor, we reluctantly accept your decision as to the best way to proceed,' Sergio Lopez announced on behalf of the silent group. 'When do we go and who comes with us? When will I be able to send for Marcia and the kids?'

'They're coming with us Sergio. I have the passenger list here in front of me.' Bechet picked up a piece of paper and waved it in the air. 'The whole basis of my plan is that we simply disappear, therefore everyone who is to be part of the new operation, including direct family will come with us, to ensure no loose ends. I would like you all, except Chin Li and Tahir of course, to check it to ensure it is complete to your satisfaction. In all there 185 names on the list.'

He passed the paper to Helmut Schnell, 'as to when we leave, we go tonight!' Bechet enjoyed the stunned silence which fell over the room at his latest pronouncement.

'Hell Victor, if my wife and kids are coming with us, how are they going to get here in time?' Lopez protested.

Bechet held up his hand to fend off a barrage of questions,

'Everyone on the list is in the UK, close enough to where we depart from, waiting to be taken there or making their own arrangements to arrive in good time. By this time tomorrow, everyone involved in orchestrating the future operation, will have disappeared, presumed dead by the authorities. I appreciate you may have some additional names you consider essential to our future, if you write them down I have in place communication links which should enable them to join us, as soon as practical. I know some of those remaining will be caught when the authorities finally act, but with all the careful planning Phillipe and I have done, in conjunction with you, they will find this is the most expensive and ineffective operation they have carried out so far in their efforts to restrain the drugs trade. This fact will make getting co-operation from all the different authorities involved, to work together in future, all the more difficult. They'll blame each other for incompetence and leaks in their security systems for the next ten years.' Bechet smiled at the thought. 'However, to make our plan effective, we must disappear and not contact those remaining for a while. Don't forget, for the authorities to have any success at all their actions have to be completed in a very short time. So while they are reviewing and planning what next, so will we, soon emerging to our new future. Hence, the necessity to make these arrangements without your full involvement, for which I apologise.'

'You mentioned that as far as the authorities are concerned it will be assumed we are all dead Victor, how come?' Schnell asked passing on the list.

'Ah, that's another detail I'd rather not reveal just now, but believe me you will all remain very much alive, just invisible.' Bechet smiling again, the tension falling away from him as it seemed his plan had been accepted with very little questioning or change.

'What about those of us who will be returning to our countries.' Chin Li asked, 'whilst I appreciate the enormity and timescale of having to re-establish part of our organisation, do we continue as usual or does your plan necessitate some changes?'

'Yes, perhaps you and Tahir have an even harder task in front of you. It will be tempting to carry on as before, which will demonstrate to the authorities we are still around. We have been building up stocks at the retail end, a dangerous practice I've always believed, but a necessary one to meet the interruption in supplies which will now occur. An interruption which is necessary to enable us to set up new supply and distribution channels. I don't want further supplies coming into the system and pressurising us, particularly for you two continuing to operate.'

'That's all very well, Victor.' Tahir Salem stood up to emphasise his words, his face close to the hanging unshaded light, 'My suppliers are not going to take kindly to a holdup in our network, or a gap in payments to them. They may well seek other customers.'

'Let them,' Bechet was still calm, his voice even, 'there are two aspects to this. If some of our competitors take material from our suppliers it may backfire on them. It could give the authorities a lead into their operations instead of ours, then they will be competition no more. Secondly, let a few supply the competition, for the reason just given, but then we respond hard and fast.'

Bechet's eyes narrowed and the others sensed his anger rising again, 'burn everything he has, teach him and our other suppliers they are too small to cross us, without incurring dire consequences.'

Salem nodded gravely, 'I have to say, I don't like it, I just don't like it, most of these people are friends not just business partners.'

'Then I suggest you select one who isn't, Tahir. Never forget we are not running a normal business, normal rules and cordiality don't always apply. We make the rules and either people who deal with us, accept that, or suffer the consequences. That's the only way to stay ahead, trust no one who is not part of our team. That's why we are all here tonight. Chin Li, do you see any problems?'

'I've already selected my supplier even if he doesn't supply anyone else.' Chin Li grinned, 'one or two have been getting above themselves and need bringing down a peg or two. Be good to remind them of the facts of life in our business.'

'Good, I'm glad that's agreed,' Bechet said lightly. 'As to the other priorities, the main one is to completely reorganise the distribution channels. In most cases, we will be using the same people as they know us and are familiar with the way we work. But we will expect them to change personnel and routes lower down the chain, in case any of the existing ones have been compromised by the investigations. It's in their interest, as well as ours to assist in these changes, as it will make their activities more secure. I trust you two agree this is a priority, yes?'

Chin Li and Tahir nodded agreement.

'I will not contact you for a couple of weeks or so, just to be on the safe side, but I will expect full reports on progress after that. Now, unless there are any questions, I suggest we all have a drink and then ready ourselves for the journey ahead.'

'Just one,' Helmut Schnell spoke, 'what has happened to the interfering busybody Stuart Clay?'

'Ah, a remarkably lucky young man, but tonight his luck has run out. Eddie has been teaching him how to swim with a concrete block attached to his body, quite a difficult task, I believe!'

This prompted smiles and laughter from all except Sylvana, once again she reflected on her future.

Helmut Schnell added, 'I trust Eddie, good though he is, didn't try to accomplish this on his own. Mr. Clay has a knack of avoiding our carefully laid plans for his demise and this needs to be done before we leave.'

'Don't worry Helmut, even if Eddie fails, what does Mr. Clay really know? He knows nothing of our future plans. The reports we have show the authorities' investigation and proposed actions are by far the bigger threat, hence the action I'm taking on behalf of us all. Nevertheless, I would prefer all loose ends to be tidied up before we go.'

The meeting was breaking up when there was a knock on the door. 'Come in,' Bechet called.

The door opened and Eddie's massive frame replaced the vacated space. 'Well?'

'Funny Mr. Clay just couldn't get the hang of swimming with a concrete block tied to him.'

\-------------------

Stuart had followed the Austin Westminster with ease, clearly they were not in a hurry. It came to a stop on the road which ran alongside Del Mario's. Eddie and Sonia got out, Jack moved to the driver's seat and the big car moved on. Stuart was tempted to follow on the off chance they were going to where Paula was being kept, but decided he would learn more from Del Mario's. He sat for a while trying to convince himself that Paula would be inside the club, then turned his attention to recalling the layout while the Hillman's heater continued to dry his clothes and warm his body.

He could picture the main room but his memory of the small rooms that led off from the twisting corridor was vague and formed a maze in his mind. Perhaps it would be clearer once inside. He checked the wing mirrors for any sign of someone taking an interest in the car, then left without locking it. The chill wind instantly penetrated his drying clothes, he was shivering again. He ran towards the rear of the club, to get into the alleyway behind, partly to get out of the wind but also to see if anyone followed. The rear door was closed but he manged to get his fingers around the edge, opening it sufficiently to get his foot inside then using all his strength, he was able to prise the door open, sufficient for him to slip in.

The heat inside was welcome and helped revive his numbed brain. The layout was gradually coming back to him, he was sure turning left along the corridor would take him towards the manager's office, what was his name, Joe Brad... no that was the assistant, Peter, Peter Townsend that was it. To the right were the small dressing rooms, then he recalled the junk room; it was next to the manager's office. Most likely Paula would be in there, so he headed in that direction.

He reached the door of the junk room and opened it carefully, it was very dark, however he could make out various piles of furniture, musical instruments and other paraphernalia, presumably no longer of any use. He was about to search the room more thoroughly, when the sound of voices caused him to pause and return to the door.

'You mean they're leaving tonight, all of them?' Joe Bradshaw's voice was high pitched reflecting the surprise and fear he felt.

'Yes, I believe that's the plan.' Stuart recognised the Irish voice, Eddie.

'Do you know where they are going and why?

'No, I don't know where they are going. I know where they are going from and I understand it's all to do with some report Bechet has obtained on the authorities' investigation into our activities.'

'We've had those before, what makes this one special?'

'I don't know but it seems to have put the wind up him enough to make some major changes.'

'Where are they going from, how do you know, who is going?

'Because I'm going with them.'

'What about, me?

'Stop worrying, the boss has thought of everything, you'll get your orders in good time.'

'It must be serious if you're going, any others going from the club?'

'Not sure, it's all a bit hush, hush, probably Pete and Sonia, so you'll be carrying on as normal for a bit.'

'Carry on, you must be joking Eddie, if the big boss and all you lot are scarpering, I'll bet there is nothing to carry on with in twenty-four hours, or even less.'

'Joe you're worrying unnecessarily, think it through, the boss is not going to want to leave anyone who knows about the organisation, that would defeat the whole plan. It's just not everyone can leave at the same time.'

'Suppose you're right, where did you say you're leaving from?'

'I didn't, but it's no great secret now as we'll be on our way in a couple of hours, Bruntingthorpe air strip.'

'Bruntingthorpe,' Bradshaw repeated incredulously, 'there hasn't been a plane there for years.'

'Well there will be tonight. A large plane will land and take off again within thirty minutes for an unknown destination. We'll I'd better go, lot to do before I leave.'

Stuart waited for them to move on then continued his search. Nothing, there was no sign of Paula. He went into other rooms, still nothing. He was on his way to Townsend's office when suddenly the place was alive with people. He dived back into the junk room to avoid being seen. Only when it was all quiet again, venturing once more towards Townsend's office. He eased the door open to find Joe Bradshaw sitting behind the desk with a large tumbler of whisky in his hand.

'Remember me?' He asked softly, closing the door behind him. Bradshaw stood up and reached for the telephone, Stuart moved swiftly and pushed him back into the chair, the phone falling to the floor as he careered back against the wall. Stuart yanked him up from the chair and snarled, 'I said do you remember me?'

'Yes, I remember you but thought you were dead.'

'Well, you can see I'm very much alive, but you may not be if you don't tell me where Paula Jackson is.'

'Paula Jackson?' Bradshaw seemed genuinely surprised. 'The model who didn't stay to finish her contract. I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks or so. I don't know what you are talking about.'

Stuart hit him hard across the mouth with the back of his hand and Bradshaw collapsed onto the floor. Stuart hauled him back into the chair. 'Liar, she must be here, tell me or I'll beat you to a pulp.'

'Honest, I haven't a clue. I've no reason to lie to you.'

Stuart relaxed his grip, realising Bradshaw was probably telling the truth. 'I gather everyone's going on a little plane trip tonight, are they all coming here?'

'Doubt it, as haven't seen many, suspect the chosen few are meeting at the airstrip but I don't really know. I'm not going, not sure what lies in store for me and other minions.'

Stuart felt defeated, it was obvious Bradshaw knew nothing of use, certainly not where Paula was. Perhaps he should have followed the Westminster after all. Nothing for it but to head for Bruntingthorpe and hope that would prove more fruitful.

# Chapter 3

The Hillman's engine roared, in every gear it was being pressed to the limit. Stuart wanted to be at Bruntingthorpe before the others arrived to give him time to assess his options and then let Inspector Barrett know, if he could find a convenient telephone. He suspected this would prove difficult at such a remote spot. As usual, he'd just go with his own intuition – whatever hot water that gets him into, again.

As he approached the airstrip, he slowed to find an entrance where he could hide the Hillman from view. It took some time before he found an overgrown rusted gate and took even longer to force it open and park the car out of sight. He was walking along the perimeter road when suddenly the landing lights lit up and he could hear the drone of an approaching plane. He took to the grass sticking close to the high hedge. At least the landing lights made it easier to walk over the rough ground, although he still managed to stumble a couple of times, reminding him how bruised his body was. Soon the control tower and hangers came into view.

Minutes later, the plane landed and the lights went out, the hanger was illuminated as the cargo doors of the plane swung open. Fork lift trucks were transporting a variety of packing cases towards the plane for loading. Stuart had paused to take in the scene, when the sound of voices caused him to crouch down; the first of the passengers had arrived and were walking to the plane's front steps. Soon others arrived and both sets of steps were a constant stream of people, eager to get on board.

As the flow of passengers diminished, Stuart decided he had no option but to join the plane, he moved towards the packages still being loaded and carried a few up the loading ramp. No one challenged him. He found a convenient hiding place behind packing cases already loaded. Minutes later the hydraulically controlled ramp began to rise and he could hear the increased noise from the jet engines as the plane prepared to taxi for take-off.

It started down the runway, accelerating fast, swiftly rising, and Stuart was caught off balance falling heavily against the tied down load. Dazed, he groped for a more secure hold, recognising this was going to be a difficult, chilly flight. Below him the landing lights flashed once and then all was dark again.

\-----------------------

Bechet sat tense, waiting impatiently for the fasten seatbelt sign to go out, then as family and friends found each other to catch up on what was happening, he went forward to the cockpit. Inside the pilot and co-pilot did not turn around as he entered, continuing instead with the final checks after take-off. The navigator was busy with his charts, so only the radio operator acknowledged Bechet.

At first, he merely watched them as they went about their tasks, fascinated by the array of winking, blinking lights. At last he spoke, 'Good evening, gentlemen.' The pilot looked round and saw Bechet's stubby form leaning against the closed cockpit door. 'I have a change of course for you.'

'You mean we are not going to Canada.'

'Correct captain, we are not going to Canada. However, I want it to appear to air traffic control that we are going there until we reach 46' west and 58' north, which I believe is two hundred miles off the southern tip of Greenland.' The navigator quickly reviewed his charts and nodded in agreement.

'Good,' Bechet continued. 'At that point, I want you to give a Mayday signal, identifying the plane and its precise location. I think an explosion in the tail end will serve as sufficient reason why the signal is being given.' He paused to look at each man in turn, their faces remained calm, waiting for his next instruction. 'I appreciate none of you are actors but you've been through the procedures often enough to make it appear that this time it's for real – the plane is out of control and heading for the sea. Anyone hearing the signal must be convinced that is what is happening and, it's inevitable we'll be in the drink in seconds.' His eyes again searched the faces of the crew.

The pilot hesitated before saying, 'don't worry sir I'm sure we can convince anyone listening that we're in dire trouble. If you were asking us to keep flying a damaged plane for a few thousand miles, that would be difficult but not so with a ditching. I take it we will then be changing course?'

'Quite so captain, our destination is north Norway. Once the mayday signal has been given there must be no more radio contact at any time from this plane, it's crashed, absolute silence, understood? You will have to put the plane into a steep dive to simulate a crash and then continue flying low over the sea to avoid detection, until it's safe to climb and follow a new route. It's vital we avoid being spotted by any air traffic control system, the authorities must be convinced we have crashed.'

'Have you the co-ordinates of the destination sir,' the navigator asked. 'Thank you, I'll plot a route around the Arctic Circle to reduce the risk of being spotted to a minimum. Even if we are, I think a lack of response will lead to the assumption we're a rogue Russian transport plane, not uncommon in the area I believe.'

'Excellent, and finally its important we land in darkness with a couple of hours to unload to reduce the possibility of being spotted to a minimum. It's an old German air base used to attack convoys during the last war, not been used for years but we've brought the technical systems up to date and checked the runway, clearing ice and snow away in the process. It's not an easy approach, tucked under a mountain overhang but if German bombers and fighters could do it, I'm sure you can captain.'

'I assume you'll only want one approach and then land sir?'

'Correct captain. The Germans chose the location well, it's remote, the nearest population around ten miles away, a small fishing village but don't want to arouse their suspicions that anything exceptional is taking place. NATO have used it as a training facility a few times over the years and as we've been working there, spread the rumour it's just another "top secret" operation. The locals tend to take comfort from that as they're close to the Russian border. Any questions?'

'It will be a steep dive sir, is there anything you'd particularly like me to say to ensure the passengers aren't alarmed.'

'Keep it simple, usual stuff about returning to seats, seatbelts on and as we are changing course, it necessitates a steep descend and after a few minutes a steep climb. If you hear any signs of panic, just keep reassuring them it's a normal manoeuvre and all will be well.'

On the way back, Bechet paused by Eddie's seat. 'Did you manage to tell Bradshaw we were leaving from Bruntingthorpe?'

'I managed to slip it into our last conversation, yes.'

'Excellent, things are working out just fine.'

\----------------

Recovering from the fall, Stuart's eyes were becoming used to the gloom in the cargo area and sought something to wrap around him, the cool air was making him shiver. He considered searching the various sealed packages stacked around him but decided against this, in case the broken seals alerted the crew to the presence of a stranger. Having found some old blankets used as cushioning between the stacks, he settled down to sleep instead.

He awoke as the plane plunged downwards, sliding down the hold towards the front of the plane and coming to an abrupt and painful halt. He was sure the plane was crashing, it couldn't possibly be a landing even an emergency one. He curled himself up inside the blankets, accepting the inevitable crash but suddenly the plane levelled out and once again tossed him into the surrounding packing cases head first. He lay semi-conscious for some time until the plane began a steep ascent, causing him to feel nauseous, fighting the urge to be sick at the same time struggling to find a stable grip. At last the plane levelled out and eventually he fell into a fitful sleep.

\--------------------

'You should see the landing lights any time now,' the navigator announced, 'assuming they've got them that is.' Moments later the co-pilot confirmed they lay straight ahead but were difficult to see through the snow storm. 'That's a relief, constant attention to the charts in these mountains is pretty tiring.'

'I can't see anything yet; I hope things become clearer as we descend.' The pilot said. 'I'm concerned about this overhang, I suspect we will have to get our approach height spot on to avoid ploughing into the mountainside, but not too low so we hit the runway too early. Not happy about having to land on the first run in these conditions.'

'I can see the overhang captain; the landing lights are just illuminating the lower edge but it looks like there is a fair amount of snow on the runway.'

'Any idea how long the overhang is, does the runway start before it?'

'The charts aren't that clear captain and with the snow, think you'll have to touch down about where the overhang starts. As the runway runs underneath it, should provide some protection from the weather.'

'Great and with this swirling snow sweeping across us, I'm virtually flying blind.' He turned to the co-pilot, 'don't be afraid to shout out if you think the approach is wrong, although whether I can do much about it once committed, is another matter.'

'You're still nicely lined up with the lights skip, difficult to tell if height's ok but you can bet I'll shout if it's not!' The co-pilot tried to sound calm, he was on tenterhooks as the plane continued its descent.

The pilot's eyes were fixed wide open staring through the small screen, trying desperately to get the height right for the small gap he perceived between the overhang and the runway; the knuckles of his hands white from the unconscious effort of gripping the controls too tightly. The fear of being even slightly off course when the snow eased, meant he hardly dare breath in case the movement in his body resulted in the slightest change in the rudder setting, which could see them collide with the mountain or run off the side of the runway, down the steep slope towards the fjord below. Neither option had any attraction. He was full of admiration for the German pilots of the heavy bombers which had done this day in and day out for a number of years.

The navigator continued to give the co-pilot as much information as possible from the charts but it was limited, this was fly by the seat of your pants time. He had faith in the captain's experience and ability, nevertheless he was worried, it looked an impossible task to land safely.

As they got lower the snow was less blinding and the landing lights more visible along its total length. 'Blimey it's a short one.' The co-pilot exclaimed, adding to the tension in the cabin. Suddenly they could all hear a roar, rising above the engine noise – the unmistakeable thunder of frozen snow moving down the mountain. It must have been snowing for days, layer upon layer of snow building up and freezing solid on the mountainside, until the weight caused it to become loose. First, the loud crack as the tiny fracture grows to allow the loose snow to break free and then the roar as the avalanche gathers pace down the mountain; a roaring cascade of frozen snow and boulders crashing down with terrific force and speed.

The pilot and co-pilot looked at each other with the same thought, what seemed a difficult landing would probably be impossible now. In the passenger compartment, strong men were reduced to jelly as the crashing snow drowned out all other noise. Men who lived with the threat of death every day were scared, scared because they had absolutely no control over what might happen next, a position they seldom found themselves in. All they could do was try and comfort the women and children on board, while trying to avoid all thought of this fragile tube becoming their tomb.

The vibration was becoming unbearable as the shock waves from the avalanche bounced off the plane. Through the cockpit window the landing lights were still visible, but tension was high as they waited for the avalanche to come into view.

The navigator's voice broke through the tension. 'Christ look at it!' Although he was shouting into the intercom, his voice was barely audible. Snow and rocks cascading downwards, some landing on the runway but most continuing their rush down the mountain. Boulders were bouncing around as if in slow motion, like enormous balloons in a light wind. It was unreal but the noise continued to overpower their senses.

The avalanche was at the far end of the runway, at first easily seen but as they continued the descent, the maelstrom billowing towards them making it difficult to be sure of their approach. The pilot gripped the controls even tighter, peering for some vision through the snow and rock cloud. Every muscle taught, expecting to make some adjustment to their course when vision became clearer.

After what seemed an eternity, vision returned. 'Christ I'm too high,' the pilot's words had all four men craning to see through the small windscreen area. As they did so, he pushed the lever to give maximum descend from the wing flaps. The nose of the plane dipping almost instantly towards the illuminated runway.

The pilot knew, they all knew, he had to get it safely down on this first approach. There could be no question of climbing, returning and trying again. The climb would either take them straight into the overhang or the avalanche still pouring over it. Either way it would result in total destruction of the plane and probably all on board.

'For god sake, pull her up a bit, at this rate we'll stall.' The co-pilot screamed. The radio operator and navigator just looked at each other, fear spreading throughout their bodies.

'Not yet, not yet.' The pilot sounded more confident than he felt, 'I'm going to need every inch of that runway and I intend to have it.'

Everyone fell silent, there was nothing they could do but trust the pilot and pray. The co-pilot was biting his lip, desperately trying not to say anything else, for fear of distracting his colleague from the delicate task of landing in the awful conditions.

He reflected that Captain Vernon Grant had five years' experience with B47s in WW2 and fifteen years with Pan Am, flying across the whole of their fleet, before becoming one of the best charter pilots around. They couldn't be in safer hands.

He turned towards him, a vision of concentration, face ashen grey, hands still gripping the controls too tightly. Looking out of the windscreen again he saw the runway fast approaching beneath them, then the vibration as the front wheels touched then left the tarmac, engines roaring on maximum reverse thrust. This time the rear wheels touched as well, the plane slewing on the runway briefly before catapulting into air again, throwing passengers and crew against their seatbelts and harnesses. Captain Grant managed to straighten the plane a little before it touched down for the final time rushing along the tarmac towards the avalanche.

The co-pilot couldn't help himself. 'She isn't going to stop in time!'

'You're right; fold the front wheels, now.'

'What?'

'You heard me fold the front wheels.'

The co-pilot found the control handle and yanked it hard, causing the locking mechanism to release and the wheels began to fold under the plane. Instantly, the nose dipped to the runway, then collapsed on to it as the front wheels folded under the strain of the plane moving forward and were torn away from their housing. The unstable plane tipped onto the starboard wing dragging it instantly to the side of the runway and the mountainside and then flipped to the other wing and began to slew around, sparks flying from the damaged wings and fuselage. Another fifty yards and it had come to a stop facing the opposite way down the runway as if preparing for take-off.

Inside the plane it was total chaos, emergency doors had been kicked open and the first passengers were already sliding down the emergency chutes. A fire tenders and ambulance arrived helping to get everyone off the shutes as quickly as possible in case the plane caught fire. In the cockpit, Vernon Grant was slumped over the controls, totally exhausted, the others lifted him to his feet and helped him toward the chutes.

'Well done skip, fantastic work.'

The captain's first thought was not the congratulations of his crew but Victor Bechet's reaction when he understood the extent of the damage to the plane. It would be a long repair job and at worst the plane would never fly again. He knew that was definitely not in Victor Bechet's carefully thought out plan.

In the cargo hold, Stuart had not woken until the plane first touched the ground. He was unaware of the avalanche, unware of how difficult the landing site was, unware of why the pilot was having such trouble getting the plane down. Thrown from one side of the plane to the other, clutching desperately at securing points and tied packages; he was being tossed around like a cork in a heavy sea. When the nose crashed to the ground, he found himself flying towards the front of the hold; his outstretched arms providing little protection as he slammed into the metal fuselage. Rising painfully to his knees, he could feel the warm trickle of blood, from the stitches so recently applied to his face. He was bruised all over, every part of him aching and rolled over on to his back as the plane tipped from one wing to the other. He ended up trapped between two packing cases, thankfully remaining there until the plane came to rest.

He lay there for some time, winded and unable to move, waiting for the sound of the rear doors opening. Eventually he raised the energy to wriggle free and peer around the side of the packing case, nothing moved in the gloom. The blood was flowing more freely from the wound on his face and soon saturated the handkerchief he clasped over his nose and mouth. Panic was beginning to overwhelm him, he needed to stop the bleeding but how? Groping around in the darkness he found several suitcases had been flung open with items of clothing scattered around. In one a found a towel, pressed it firmly to his face and lay on his back, breathing heavily.

Although he felt awful, he became increasingly concerned that the rear doors had not been opened. It was more than an hour before he realised the plane was moving again. A series of hydraulic jacks were slowly raising it off the runway, trying to get it in a level position off the ground. Twice the movement stopped to allow jacks to be repositioned to ensure the plane was as stable as it could be in the circumstances. The third time he was aware the back doors were being opened at last, with the noise of the activity below echoing around the vast hold. The torn away front wheels were being lifted onto a lorry, inspection of both wings and the fuselage was under way, lit by a number of arc lights.

Stuart was oblivious to all this, merely waiting for the hold to be unloaded. Remaining in his hiding place at the front of the plane. As nothing seemed to be happening he edged cautiously towards the rear, hoping to get a view of what was going on below. He crouched behind a stack of packages close to the door, ducking back as a man's head appeared.

'Bit of a mess in here, will take quite a few of us to start shifting it into position for offloading. Going to be a long night ahead of us.' He called out.

Stuart saw the man was dressed in heavy, quilted blue overalls and wind proof coat and risking a quick look, saw this was standard dress for all the men; he'd stand out like a sore thumb, dressed in a thin raincoat over a pair of crumped slacks.

He decided the only way to get off unnoticed was inside one of the packing cases. With the light from the open doors he could see the floor was scattered with open suitcases and clothes. He decided that in this mess a few would not be missed and quickly changed his slacks for a thicker, darker pair and put on a couple of dark jumpers under his raincoat. He then searched for a suitable packing case. He prised the lid off one to find it full of bottles, some broken and the remaining contents reeking of alcohol. Carefully replacing the lid, he opened others until he found one containing books and magazines, and lifted them out, scattering on the floor some way from the case, until there was sufficient room for him, his changed slacks and towel. Re-fixing the lid from the inside proved problematic, taking some time before he was eventually satisfied it was sufficiently in place to pass casual scrutiny.

Fortunately, the unloading commenced soon after, as he already was very uncomfortable in his new hiding place; he was dreading getting cramp in his aching limbs. He felt the case being manoeuvred and then being lifted by a fork lift truck. He was suddenly struck by fear that other packing cases would be piled on top, leaving him trapped inside until opened and discovered.

At last the fork lift deposited him and as he heard it moving away he tried to lift the lid. Thankfully it moved and he raised it sufficiently to view his new location. It was a large store or hanger and each packing case had been placed on the ground to allow easy access for emptying the contents.

When all was silent he peered out again, the hanger was in darkness with a small light above a closed side door. He climbed out, immediately concealing himself behind the case and stretched his aching body as soon as he dared, allowing the flow of blood to become more normal. His legs felt heavy, unused to being asked to move again, his brain dull. He hobbled across the hanger floor towards the lit door, hesitating outside of the pool of light, listening intently for any sound. Hearing nothing, he stepped into the light and through the door into the biting Arctic wind.

\--------------------------

The cold was numbing, the wind penetrating his clothes despite the extra layers. He had to find shelter, or soon the cold would freeze the very marrow in his bones. Already his head ached from the effects of the freezing air. He needed more appropriate clothing and fast. Through the swirling snow he could see the illuminated runway and the crippled plane being towed to one of a series of hangers, brightly lit, showing a hive of activity. He was outside the last one, turning away from the runway, he could see another large block with lights at a number of windows. He moved gingerly towards it, keeping in the shadows as far as possible, then walked all the way around what appeared to be an accommodation block, eventually arriving at a fire escape, coated in a thick layer of snow. With some difficulty, he made his way slowly up it until he reached the first floor; the heavy door in front of him was closed but not locked. As he eased it open he saw the closure bar had frozen solid in the open position. The corridor was cold and deserted but at least offered shelter from the biting wind.

The corridor stretched away down the side of the building with regular doors off, clearly bedrooms and suites. Stuart tried each door but all were securely locked. The door at the end of the corridor was open, revealing a large conference room, with a screen at one end and comfortable seating arranged in front of it. He closed the door and tried the door on his left, it led into another corridor with the familiar line of bedroom and suite doors on either side. All, were securely locked and he presumed occupied.

As he took the next turn in the corridor, a door a few down from where he stood clicked open; he froze, with nowhere to hide pressed himself against the wall, waiting for the door to open wide. For a few seconds nothing happened, the light from the room illuminating the corridor in front of him, then it went dark as a man emerged, stepping into the corridor and pulling the door closed behind him.

The man did not appear to have noticed him and set off in the opposite direction, Stuart relaxed, trying to contain a sigh of relief. Suddenly the man whirled around and demanded, 'who's there, come forward and identify yourself.'

Stuart thought of running, it was only a short distance back to the corner but dismissed the thought as his eyes focused on the small grey silenced gun in the man's hand. Reluctantly he walked slowly towards the man, raising his hands in the air as he did so.

'That's far enough, remain still and keep your hands where I can see them.'

Stuart stopped, scrutinising the man who was vaguely familiar, then it came to him. 'Harrison,' he breathed aloud, 'Victor Harrison.'

'How do you know me; I'm not playing guessing games who are you?'

Stuart paused, his mind racing, should he lie again. 'My name is Clay, Stuart Clay.'

For a fleeting moment Harrison looked shocked, but soon recovered his composure. 'Mr. Stuart Clay, the late Mr. Stuart Clay, I've been reliably informed. Into the bedroom.' Harrison waved the gun in that direction and threw Stuart the key.

He opened the door and moved into the room slowly, trying to judge when Harrison was just inside the room, then slammed the door back as hard as he could and dived forward. The door rebounded against Harrison's outstretched foot.

'No more amateur heroics, please Mr. Clay, get up and sit on the far side of the bed.'

Harrison closed the door and switched on the light. Stuart blinked his eyes and turned his head away, being unaccustomed to the bedside reading light beamed on his face.

'Sorry about that.' Harrison's voice sounded genuinely apologetic as he dimmed the light. 'Forgive me if I continue to point this gun at you for a while longer, I would like you to sit quite still until I'm sure you understand my part in this affair.'

He remained standing pointing the gun at Stuart's heart.

'I believe we have met before at The European Export Club, you didn't introduce yourself as Stuart Clay on that occasion. I tried to give you as little information as possible on the unfortunate Jeremy Palmer and my relationship with him; it transpires this hasn't deterred you from poking your nose into every nook and cranny, getting yourself into a few scrapes along the way and now this.'

Stuart asked impatiently, 'do you know where Paula Jackson is?'

'Again forgive me, I should have put your mind at rest. We have her.'

'What here?'

He rose from the bed ignoring the gun still pointing directly at him.

'No, no, by we I mean M.I.6.' Harrison paused to allow the revelation to sink in. 'Leonard Manley, who I gather your journalist friends have been researching, and I are employed by what is more commonly known as the secret service. We are part of a large team investigating and trying to destroy an international drugs ring, which you and Miss Jackson have stumbled into and hampered our work.'

Stuart stared wide eyed in disbelief. 'You still haven't told me where Paula is.'

'She is safe back in the UK and you would have been too, if you hadn't been so determined to suspect everyone you came into contact with. It was intended to capture, if that's the right word both you and Miss Jackson at Birmingham airport and keep you safe until this whole thing has been tied up.'

'But the arrival of the police prevented you from doing that.' Stuart responded sarcastically. 'Hard to believe you turn out to be the good guys, so where is she?'

'As you say, what appeared to be the arrival of the police prevented our securing both of you. Only they were not police.'

'But they were sent by Inspector Barrett of Scotland Yard. This was confirmed to me by the Inspector who interviewed me at the airport.'

'I'm afraid Inspector Barrett's loyalties in this matter are open to considerable question. You may recall the Inspector who saw you at the airport, expressed surprise that his division had not been informed of police intervention from London. On the telephone Barrett was able to convince him of the reason for this, in fact the real reason was far more sinister.'

'Frankly Harrison, I don't believe you.'

'Understandable, and in line with your track record in this whole affair. However, if you think about it we have little option but to trust each other. You have no one else to help you here, and I have already risked being exposed by not taking you straight to Bechet and his cronies. I'm sure you've guessed Bechet is the head of a vast drugs operation, covering several continents. From information he has obtained, he knows that the authorities in several of these countries are tasked with eliminating, or at least reducing, the impact of this vile trade. We are working together to target his activities as a major step forward in the continuing battle. Having become aware of this, in his usual meticulous way, he has planned to accept some disruption to his business while ensuring it emerges stronger and all the more difficult to break in the future. I'm confident he will have left a trail to make it easy for the police to confirm he, and the major players left in a plane from Bruntingthorpe and then a ditching in the Atlantic, leading the authorities to believe he came to a deserved sticky end.'

'How come you're here, if Bechet's so careful and clever why hasn't he sussed out who you really are?'

'Really Mr. Clay, have you so little faith in the British security service that you don't believe we've been doing this sort of thing for years and have some expertise. I assume you came on the plane so will know the fake ditching happened. The pilot announced we were changing course, merely saying this necessitated a steep descent, then an ascent a while later. I'm sure this was to simulate a ditching and the obliteration of all on board'

'I was in the cargo hold, thought we were crashing. It got very messy in there as packing cases came loose and spilt the contents. Do you know where we are?'

'Before I say any more, do you accept it makes sense for us to work together, I need to make contact with London to change plans in light of this development. If you're not going to help, then I'm afraid it's time to tie you up and safely store you in the wardrobe until I decide what to do with you.' Stuart nodded wearily. 'Right, in the commotion of the crash landing, I managed to gather up some of the charts from the navigator's desk.' Harrison moved across the room, withdrew the charts from a drawer and spread them on the bed.

'Now look at this one first, it clearly shows a course plotted towards Canada. Harrison watched as Stuart's finger followed the route marked. 'Then you'll see just South of Greenland, it changes through approximately 180 degrees, going North initially over sea rather than land towards the Arctic Circle, then turns eastwards towards Russia. I believe the fake crash took place where it changed course significantly and if you follow to where it appears to end, looks like we are in a remote part of Northern Norway.' Stuart nodded agreement. 'Now looking at this larger scale chart it shows the destination as the top end of this fjord.'

'Blimey no wonder it's so cold, but there's no indication of an operational airport.'

'Look closely at this area, I think it's a facility last used by the Germans in WW2. It must have taken some time to bring it up to scratch, which means Bechet and his cronies have been aware of our plans for a lot longer than we realised. There must be a leak pretty high up to have given him this sort of head start.'

Stuart noticed, not for the first time, that Harrison still held the gun and it seldom wavered from his chest. 'Alright, what you say makes some sort of sense, what can two of us do, stuck at the top end of Norway.'

'In some ways your arrival here has made my job a little easier, provided you agree to fully co-operate with me, otherwise it's the wardrobe.' Harrison paused for a response with the gun still in hand.

'Co-operation sounds better than time in the wardrobe, so what can I do?'

'Twenty-four hours from now, the biggest international operation against Bechet's organisation is planned to begin. The only snag is those co-ordinating it have no idea where we are, even if they now know of the plane's departure from Bruntingthorpe, which is likely, their efforts will be concentrated on searching the area where the plane supposedly crashed. That presents a major problem, although the operation planned in various parts of the world to smash the sourcing and distribution systems can begin, capturing as many of those involved at around the same time; the top birds have flown and are sitting on a nest in Norway. It's vital that operation control is informed of this to prevent it being turned into one of the biggest international disasters, with everyone involved blaming everyonelse, setting international co-operation back years. Until you arrived I was going to try to make contact through a village which appears to be about ten miles from here, down on the coast. Now, I'm asking you to make that contact, while I remain here for two reasons. Firstly, in case they move on again, I don't think repairing the plane we came in will be a quick job but I bet there are smaller aircraft here. If so, it's possible the senior guys can get away. Secondly, by being here, I hope I can sabotage some of their defences to make the operation's task a little easier. I'm not sure how effective this will be, but I'll give it a damn good try. Are you up for it?'

Stuart hesitated, 'perhaps if you'll tell me how come you're included on this trip, if you are who you say; might also give me a bit more comfort that Paula is safe.'

'Okay, I infiltrated the European operation run by Helmut Schnell about three years ago and have been gradually getting closer to him. Not easy, as he seems to prefer younger men of a certain disposition, if you catch my meaning. I got lucky and was able to prove to him that a couple of his favourites were double crossing him, taking him for a fool, which believe me, he certainly is not.'

'Was Jeremy Palmer one of those?'

'No, Palmer was a minnow, I was surprised they bothered with him, guess he just became too much of a nuisance and had to be shut up. Wrong place, wrong time; perhaps Helmut was becoming edgy as they received information on the action being planned against them.'

'So how do I get out of here and make my way to the village?'

At this point Harrison put the gun back in the underarm holster. 'I assume you can ski and my interpretation of the charts is it will be mainly downhill. Not going to be easy in the dark but, as long as no one else knows you're here and you can get away without being seen, shouldn't prove too difficult. Now let's get going and get you kitted out.'

\----------------

The freezing air hit them as they left the accommodation block by way of the fire escape. No one was watching, the damage to the plane had changed the routine, men on guard duty had been summoned to help with the repair work, or clear debris from the runway.

The lights glowing brightly from the hanger containing the plane, provided a good view of the area and a route to the hanger containing the unloaded cargo. They stuck to the shadows in case anyone looked up from their work, running from building to building, making it safely to the unlocked door. They stood in silence, listening for any sign of activity in or around the hanger, but all was quiet, as they moved quickly inside.

A look around revealed a series of locked cabinets running down the side of the wall adjacent to the door. Expertly, Harrison picked the lock of the first one and swung the door open to reveal a rack of six automatic weapons. 'Looks like I'm going to have my work cut out if these lockers contain more of the same.' Harrison muttered. He opened a few more and his fears were confirmed, with various arms and ammunition displayed. Eventually he found what he was after, lockers containing skis, poles, boots, googles and suitable clothing.

Stuart guessed at those likely to fit and was soon fully equipped, selecting skis just a little taller than himself. The second pair of boots fitted well enough and he set about adjusting the bindings. They returned to the door and again waited for sounds of activity nearby. Hearing none they went outside, heading in the direction of the village, seeking a suitable place to make a start on the descent. This took them away from the hangers but towards the control tower which was in darkness. Suddenly a searchlight illuminated them. 'Stay where you are, do not move.'

Looking into the glare of the light, they could see nothing, then the outline of a man appeared about twenty yards away. He advanced slowly towards them, a sub machine gun held across his chest.

'Ah, there you are, look we need more help to manoeuvre the plane.' Harrison's voice was firm, authoritative. The guard relaxed a little and this was enough. Harrison drove his gun into the man's stomach and clubbed him brutally to the ground. Before Stuart could speak, Harrison clasped his hand over his mouth. 'There must be someone operating that searchlight, maybe they haven't seen us but I'm not betting on it. Stay here out of sight if you can.' Then he setoff at a run towards it. Climbing the icy steps of a small room below the searchlight, he was met by another guard peering out of the door. Stuart heard a muffled greeting and then there was silence.

'That was a little unfortunate, if those two are found before I get back, I might have some awkward explaining to do.'

Stuart replied, 'you don't need to come any further with me, I'll recce the way down, by splitting up there's less chance we'll both be caught. Be better to tidy up here anyway, get those two out of view. I'm not a bad skier but on unfamiliar ground, the bigger lead I have over anyone following, the happier I'll be.'

'Agreed, see you when this is all over.' With that Harrison headed back towards the control tower.

Stuart trudged along at the side of the runway in thick snow, peering down for a suitable route.

He walked back and forth a couple of times before selecting a likely way down. By the time he found what he was looking for, he realised how tired he was. The thick snow meant he had to raise each foot, made heavy by the ski boots to knee height and then place it back carefully in the snow, until he was confident it would take his weight. He had plunged forward onto his face a number of times, dropping the skis and watching them move away from him, as they glided over the snow. Exhausting!

The clear sky provided some light as he put the skis on and eased downwards. The snow was still falling lightly, distorting visibility, so progress was slow. The route he'd selected was steeper than it looked, necessitating traverses along it, with frequent sharp turns. He realised how rusty he was after falling a few times. The steep slope also had a light covering of snow over large rocks and debris from the avalanche, which he hadn't seen at first and impaired his progress even more. He could see down to the tree line but it would take an age to get that far, and that might prove to be the easy bit.

Once in the trees it was much darker and almost impossible to judge the best way down. Soon the slope was far less steep and he made better progress, eventually relieved to emerge into the open.

Ahead, it appeared to be good powder snow and he relished a reasonably fast run through it, making easy and fast turns but over confidence and tiredness meant he didn't spot the exposed rock, his left ski dragging on it, detaching itself as he flew through the air, landing heavily. For a while he lay motionless, unable to believe he was still in one piece. He touched his face, it was bleeding again so he lay it against the cold snow, hoping it might stem the flow of blood but also help clear his fuzzy head. In time, he sat up, gingerly touched his face to find it was still bleeding. He looked around for the missing ski and saw it protruding from the snow some yards away. He looked down, and with some relief saw the right one was still securely attached, although it had forced his leg into an unusual angle, which he hadn't been aware of before.

He pushed himself up and hobbled towards the other ski. His right leg was definitely damaged, but could take his weight, even if painfully. It took him some time to put the left ski on again and then set off, far more slowly now, each turn causing some pain in his right leg. Soon the route stretched towards more trees, at least this would provide cover from any prying eyes looking down, searching for him. He stopped before going into the trees and was convinced it would be difficult to spot him, but the going was likely to be difficult.

The trees were smaller, closer together and branches occasionally whipped across his face, cascading a flurry of snow over him, covering his goggles and adding to the pain he was already feeling. Distracted by this he nearly ran full on into a few trees, swerving or stopping at the last moment. Gratefully, he lent against a tree and spotted a wider way down between them. This would reduce his cover but make progress easier. Cautiously he edged towards it, his skis sliding as his tired legs failed to dig them sufficiently into the snow. Crouching down and nearly toppling over, he peered back towards the runway high above. He couldn't detect any activity which would indicate he'd been spotted, so took the opportunity to rest a while. The silence within the shelter of the trees was lulling him to sleep. With great effort, he roused himself and continued down the slope.

With the fear of being followed discounted, he proceeded slowly, realising his tired limbs were struggling to keep the skis parallel and all too frequently crossing as he failed to position his body to make the turns. He was determined not to fall again, for fear of not being able to get up. The snow had almost stopped, improving visibility and the first light of dawn was being to show through the cloud laden sky. Although his rhythm was irregular, necessitating more concentration, he almost missed the sudden drop ahead. Managing to stop before falling over, he surveyed the valley stretched out before him. He could see the river leading down to the fjord, but not yet the village which lay on its bank. The river flowed away to his left and the village must lie close beside it, still hidden by the steeply rising mountain. He realised that without a clear sight of the village it would be all too easy to lose too much height and, be faced with the arduous task of retracing his steps up the snow covered slope, before being able to descend once more.

He decided it would be better to stay high, until he could actually see the village, then select the most obvious way down. This was even more tiring necessitating frequent stops, leaning heavily on the ski poles to rest his aching limbs. Soon the terrain became more mountainous and his route much narrower with precipitous drops every now and again. The challenge and concentration necessary to negotiate some of the ledges safely, stirred his dulled brain into action, causing a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

He constantly checked his route to ensure he was maintaining height, pausing briefly and taking the opportunity to rest. He did so after negotiating one particularly narrow ledge, giving a view back towards the trees he'd recently left. He became aware of a faint buzzing noise, which at first he put down to exhaustion and the rustle of his anorak hood. It grew louder, then he saw the small plane high above him. He pressed himself back into the mountainside but felt exposed, he needed cover and fast. The plane was getting louder indicating it was nearer, he needed to find a crevice or hollow, anything that would shield him from view, but all that lay ahead was the widening ledge, running along the smooth mountainside. He looked upwards seeking cover from the view above. Then he saw it, about twenty yards further on and about twelve feet up, a small overhang; he pushed hard on the ski poles towards it, soon stopping again in a shower of snow. He realised this would provide cover from directly above but if the plane flew lower, along the mountain he would be clearly visible. Reluctantly he released the bindings on the skis and thrust them into the snow, partly hidden and to avoid them slipping away.

He looked for footholds to lead him up to the overhang, then began to climb. The heavy ski boots needed a good foothold to bear his weight and his first few attempts failed. Slowly he was able to make progress, each step requiring considerable effort to find a suitable climbing point. Reaching up towards the overhang, he found a small recess and heaved himself into it. He could no longer hear the plane then suddenly he saw it, coming around the side of the mountain and pressed himself lower into the hollow. He waited for the change in engine note as the plane turned to make another sweep but it never came. Nevertheless, it was some time before he decided to raise himself from the hollow and climb slowly down to the ledge to recover his skis.

Feeling even more stiff and weary than before, he stretched and tried to revitalise his aching legs, bringing the muscles back to life for the journey which still lay ahead. The plane had not returned, perhaps it was not looking for him; how would they know he was still alive, not drowned in the Thames; had Harrison been caught and made to talk. Reluctantly he dismissed these wild thoughts to concentrate again on reaching the village.

The snow was now falling a little heavier, making progress slower but harder for him to be spotted, if the plane returned. This thought raised his flagging spirits and he set off again in the direction of the village, but still maintaining height until it came into view.

Chapter 4

Victor Harrison had stood for a few moments watching Stuart walk clumsily along the edge of the runway, then turned to start his own tasks. His body was relaxed, his mind whirring at what he had to do and do it quickly, if the plans for the next twenty-four hours were not to be completely derailed.

First, he had to deal with the two guards, their being missing would cause concern, but their being found unconscious or dead would result in a full scale security clampdown on everyone, restricting his own movements. The nearest hanger was fifty yards away and the effort of making the journey twice, carrying the two guards took its toll on him. At the back of the hanger he found some empty crates, tied and gagged them securely, nailed down the lids, praying that they would not be discovered before this was all over.

Standing outside the hanger, he closed the door and lent back against it, breathing heavily from his recent exertions. With some satisfaction, he noticed the falling snow was beginning to cover his laboured foot prints.

He avoided going too close to the hanger where the battered plane was being worked on, as the area was brightly lit. He was heading for the accommodation block, re-entering by way of the fire escape, stamped snow from his boots and headed for his room. He took off the outdoor clothes and thrust them into the shower cubicle. He allowed himself a few minutes to warm up and go over the immediate tasks. He checked the snub nosed Mauser was still in working order, satisfied he left the room and moved quickly down the corridor. Its dim lighting throwing shadows, which made him nervous of others being close by and was relieved to find he was alone.

He went to the conference room, listened outside for the sound of people inside, then risked easing the door open a fraction. Taking a torch from his pocket, he approached the large desk in front of the screen and set about opening the locked drawers. He searched them methodically and soon found what he sought. Bechet had asked them to congregate in the room after breakfast, when they would be given details of their new home and an outline of his plans for the future. Harrison assumed there would be some sort of handout and he was right. He was pleased to find it also included a layout of the accommodation block and a map showing each building.

From the accommodation block, to the right in the direction of the control tower was a sports and leisure facility, to the left the hangers and smaller stores. Harrison decided he would investigate each building in turn, just to be sure the only weapons were in the one he'd already discovered.

This took longer than expected owing to the continuing activity between the main hanger and stores, as repair work on the damaged plane continued. Satisfied all arms were in the one store he headed for the control tower. It was set well back from the rest but its height gave a clear view to each end of the runway. On closer inspection, it was built into the side of the mountain and he suspected there would be rooms running back into the mountain itself, providing extra protection for its activities.

He turned towards the accommodation block, quickly surveyed the sports and leisure centre and slipped inside. It was much larger than he expected and well equipped with a variety of different facilities over two floors; either Bechet was expecting a long stay or everyone would be put on an intensive exercise programme. It emphasised to Harrison yet again that this place had been planned for some considerable time, in anticipation of the situation the organisation now found itself in.

The sky was lightening a little but falling snow still restricted visibility as he trudged back towards the hangers and stores. He was still cautious of being seen, retreating into the shadows at the sound of approaching voices, in case he was challenged. He entered the hanger containing weapons and searched for some means of disabling them, soon finding a club hammer, ideal for the task. He careful opened each locker and set about smashing the trigger on the rifles, sten guns, machine guns and others, returning them to their correct place in the racks and closing the locker doors securely. This took the best part of an hour, was tiring work despite pausing frequently to ensure the noise had not brought others to investigate.

Satisfied, Harrison began opening packing cases, most contained food, clothing and other items necessary to sustain them for a long stay in the mountains. He made ready to leave, when he noticed a smaller stack at the very back of the store. He opened the lid of the first and was surprised to find mortar shells; 'Christ I nearly missed these, better find the guns as well and then try to limit their use,' he thought. Reluctantly, he decided the only thing he could do was scatter them around the other packing cases and replace them with clothing, at least they could not be brought into action quickly, although still usable once found.

He looked at his watch and realised other people would soon be up and heading for breakfast. He returned to his room, welcoming the warm shower over his tired body, finishing with a cold burst to liven him for the day that lay ahead. He'd thought of some reasonable reasons as to why he'd been wandering outside, just in case anyone had seen him. He dressed and feeling refreshed and confident headed for the dining area.

Only a handful of people were already there, he joined the small group from the European operations and engaged in the light banter. Fortunately, everyone was still tired from the events of the previous day, so eating was the main priority. By the time the group had finished, the dining room was filling up, making it easier for him to leave unnoticed. He still had things to do, the briefing in the conference room was due soon, giving him some time as the majority would be attending.

He paused at the corridor window and watched as a small, two seater Piper was pulled from a hanger and the engine started. The noise of the engine brought others to the window to watch as two men climbed aboard. The engine roared and in a remarkably short time it was airborne, the passenger waving out of the window. Harrison was relieved to see Eddie's beaming face, at least the big Irishman would be out of the way for a while.

He returned to his room and donned outdoor clothing. He paused at the door waiting for the sound of footsteps in the corridor to fade away, then made for the fire escape. The snow was lighter now but he still welcomed it, as those he could see outside the hangers walked with their heads well down, giving some protection to their face and eyes.

He headed for the control tower, surprised the door opened easily but noisily. A voice to his left said, 'sorry, this area is out of bounds to all personnel, would you please......'

His voice trailed off as Harrison drove the butt of his Mauser into the man's ribs, striking the back of his neck as he doubled up in pain, crumpling into an inert heap on the floor.

The room was the main electronics and communications hub. Two men sitting at desks on the other side of the room were absorbed by the screens and flashing lights in front of them. He moved silently towards them through the impressive stacks of grey cabinets. These were not part of the life he was familiar with, he had no idea how they functioned or why the two men were so fascinated by what they were seeing. As he drew nearer, most of the screens seemed to be showing stock, commodity and bond prices from various stock exchanges around the world. Bechet may be isolated at a remote mountain retreat but he was obviously getting as much financial information as if he were in London, New York or Tokyo.

An excited voice from the other side of the room made him start. He had not seen the third occupant of the room. The other two left their work and went to join the third. Harrison followed more cautiously, crouching low amongst the grey boxes.

'Look at this in room 217.' Harrison recognised his room number. 'I've just started this tape, not quite as good as watching the lady in 213 get ready for bed, but interesting. See he's got a gun and seems to be threatening the other fellow... I've identified him as Victor Harrison, from the European operation but can't identify the one he's waving it at. Listen up, their talking.'

Harrison watched and listened painfully as his conversation with Stuart Clay was relayed loud and clear. One of the operatives said, 'better let Bechet or Manadous see this,' and reached for the phone beside him.

'Don't move.' Harrison's voice was louder than he'd intended, the Mauser pointing at them. 'That's an interesting device you have there, does it record what goes on in every room?'

No one answered, he moved closer, raising the gun as he did so, repeating the question.

'Yes, every room in the accommodation and sports block.' Came the reluctant reply.

'Assume it can show what's happening now?'

The operator nodded.

'Good, switch it to the conference room.' Bechet was still on his feet addressing the assembled audience. 'Leave it on that, please. Tell me what goes on in this room.' Again no reply. 'If you don't talk, you're no use to me so...' he began to screw the silencer onto the Mauser. 'After I've shot you I will start destroying all this equipment but obviously that will not matter to you. On the other hand, if you prove useful....' He left the statement hanging in the air.

One the men moved forward a little, stopping as Harrison raised the gun. Hesitantly he began. 'It's quite straightforward, basically this room is an information centre receiving stuff from the outside world and keeping a close watch on what goes on here. We can monitor financial markets, news channels, contact our operations around the world, that sort of thing. Mr. Bechet has large holdings in a variety of interests and likes to have regular updates throughout the day on anything significant.'

'Surely there is some delay in getting this sort of information and therefore its use to Bechet is limited?'

'No that's not the case, the sources are not the usual commercial ones...... We don't know the full story'

'But?' Harrison snapped.

'We know that when Mr. Bechet was planning this place some time ago, he discovered that the Russians were listening in to confidential information not in the public domain, political, financial and so on, through one of their satellites. We don't know how but he's accessed that satellite and has the same information.'

'What about communications out?'

'We use a combination of direct cables and short wave radio to piggy back the Norwegian telephone system.'

'Surely, they can detect their systems are being hijacked.'

'Possibly, but we limit all communication to a maximum of two minutes, scrambling it, makes it very difficult to track. Normal telephone traffic is not allowed externally, what we do send goes to a secret location where its decoded and send on, and no we have no idea where that secret location is.'

'What else goes on in this electronic maze?'

'Close circuit recording as you've already seen, aircraft monitoring and some security cameras beyond our immediate boundary. Reduces risk of anyone knowing what's going on here.'

And perhaps caught view of a lone skier, a little closer than expected, hence the Piper, thought Harrison.

'What's in the room above?'

The operators didn't answer gazing at their feet. Again, the Mauser was aimed threateningly.

'Guns.'

'Guns! Well, let's take a look. Doesn't need four of us to do that.' and in a swift movement knocked two unconscious. 'Tie them and gag them.' The third operator was scared, did as he was told and then led the way upstairs.

Harrison whistled softly at the sight of the guns. They were undoubtedly German, old now but obviously in pristine condition.

'Left over from the war I imagine?'

'That's right, Mr. Bechet has had them refurbished to the highest standards. In good working order, I'm told.'

'How are they operated'?

'Gun crew up here for reloading but all movement, range etc. is controlled from downstairs electronics.'

'And firing them?'

'Downstairs with radar monitoring as part of the setup. Their location restricts the movement because of the overhang but the radar helps line up on any unidentified plane, should it attempt a landing.'

'This changes things,' muttered Harrison as they made their way to the top of the tower. Nothing of interest there, mainly for visual sighting of approaching aircraft and the usual radio and radar screens.

They headed back downstairs. He checked the screen, the conference was still in progress.

'Give me that tape you were showing of my room. Hurry.'

The operator pulled a tape reel from the back of the unit and handed it over.

'Is this the only copy?'

The Mauser moved closer to the operator's forehead. 'Yes, I swear, there's only one copy kept.'

'Good, come on we've work to do. Where are the controls for the guns?'

'In the locked armour plated room behind you. Only Bechet and Manadous have keys, us three are electronics experts we can fix things, interpret things but, we have no idea how to operate the guns. There is a small team of gunnery experts and no one is allowed into the room unless Bechet and Manadous are present, I swear it.'

The fear on the man's face convinced Harrison he was probably telling the truth, anyway he was running out of time to interrogate further, so he pushed him roughly towards the door.

Outside the snow had stopped and dawn was breaking. With the Mauser in his pocket and thrust into the operator's back, they made their way towards the hangers. The first revealed two executive planes, probably accommodate ten. No one was in this hanger, they were either working on the damaged plane, attending the conference or relaxing somewhere else. The engine covers came off easily and a couple of blows from a heavy wrench, shattered the distributors on both planes; they were going nowhere.

They skirted the large hanger with the damaged plane, it still resembled a stranded whale and didn't look likely to move for a long time yet; they headed for the third hanger. He was surprised when a couple of armed guards came around the corner of the building. He thrust his hand over the operator's mouth, stifling a cry for help and hit the ground. The fall on top of the operator winded him but the guards moved on, oblivious to their presence. Approaching the hanger door, he found the door locked. It seemed to have some electronics attached to it. He looked quizzically at the operator.

'It's controlled by Bechet himself, no one goes in there unless he or Manadous are with them.'

'Cautious, why, what's in there?'

'Helicopters, rumour is its Bechet's and his henchmen's escape route if this all goes tits up. Security's tighter than Fort Knox, or so they say.'

'Damn and blast.' For a moment Harrison lost control, the exertions of the last few hours catching up with him. 'Okay move on,' and motioned forward with the hidden Mauser.

He opened the hanger door, the lockers containing the smashed guns were still as he'd left them. 'Have you ever fired a mortar.'

'Fired one, I'm not even sure what it is,' came the terse reply.

'Well you're going to learn and fast. Help me unload these packing cases.'

'Why should I, done enough for you already.'

'Help me now and you might live, refuse and you die now.' The tension and annoyance in Harrison's voice made it clear this was no idle threat.

They struggled to get three mortar units set up within the store, at what Harrison judged was an approximate position towards the control tower. He went outside several times, trying to get a better fix, but realised he wouldn't be able to make final adjustments until the first one had been fired, blasting a hole in the corrugated iron store and monitoring its projectory. The operator would have to fire the first shell so he could watch and setup the second one, whilst the first was reloaded.

They stacked more shells beside them and Harrison now regretted smashing all the machine guns, as the first mortar would reveal their location making them very vulnerable to any attack. The effort of the last few hours left him physically and mentally drained, he felt exhausted as they settled down to wait.

\----------------

In the meantime, relief operators arrived at the control tower to find the electronics area deserted but the screens and lights were still flashing, all appeared to be operating as normal. The gun control room looked as it always did. They rushed upstairs to where the guns were, nothing had changed, so where were the operatives? A quick look in the top room revealed nothing unusual.

Returning to the electronics area, the senior operative went towards the gunnery control room and pressed a red button on the adjacent wall. The monitor in front of him immediately came to life and Bechet's face soon filled the screen.

'What?' he demanded over the intercom.

Having listened to the brief explanation of the missing men, came the sharp reply, 'Manadous and I are on our way over, secure the door make sure no one gets in or out.' The screen went blank.

Bechet was in a foul mood by the time he arrived at the control tower, it was still bitterly cold outside and he hated anything that might reveal a flaw in his plans. He pushed passed the waiting men and headed for the gunnery control room. He brought the controls to life and watched the screen to see the guns move at his command.

'All seems to be working ok, satisfied Phillippe?'

'Yes, can't see any problems, let's search the building more thoroughly.' They locked the gunnery securely and left, ordering the men to investigate the upper floors again. They walked slowly around the room, nothing, it all seemed to be working, just missing the operators. They came to the storage cupboards, opened the doors and three bound men tumbled out.

Ripping off the tape on their mouths, Bechet rasped, 'who did this? Where's the fourth man?' The men looked at him blankly as they slowly recovered from their ordeal.

'Not sure sir, but probably the man in room 217, he attacked us, that's the last thing I remember.' One of the operatives nervously volunteered.

'Who's in room 217, where's his file?'

The three men, although still dazed, began to function and soon found the information requested. 'Victor Harrison, European operations sir.'

'Harrison, Victor Harrison.' Bechet repeated his eyes showing genuine surprise and shock. 'I don't believe it, of all Schnell's top men, he's the last one I'd have suspected.' He had reservations about several of Helmut's protégés but not Harrison, he was older, stable, more mature and methodical. 'What else does his file tell us?' And as an afterthought, 'can he ski?'

'Not a regular but holidays in Austria in the winter sir.'

'Blast could be miles away by now, nevertheless we'll set up a covert search, I don't want this spread around; security is top priority here, until I've got to the bottom of what's going on it remains with us and the searchers, understood? Just get on with checking the equipment and let me know any problems.' He turned to leave, putting an arm around Manadous' shoulders.

'One more thing sir, there was another man in room 217, but Harrison had a gun on him the whole time, couldn't see his face very clearly.'

'Probably means the searchers will find someone else tied and bound somewhere. The small search team will no doubt find him; remember not a word of this to anyone.'

'This is bad news Victor, one bad apple, are there more?' Manadous said. He was visibly shaken as they headed back to the accommodation block.

'I'm thinking the same Phillippe, after we've selected the search team, we'll start going through the files, see if we can identify any likely suspects. But I'm not optimistic, remember we did this as we went through the detailed information each head gave us on their entire operation. Didn't pick Harrison then, so why should anyone else stand out now?'

'True, true, perhaps we should tell the heads and let them think again about their top boys.'

'Not yet Phillippe, I want this kept under wraps for as long as possible while we think through all the possible implications. We may know more when the search teams find the mystery guest reported in Harrison's room.'

# Chapter 5

At the time Victor Harrison started to unload the mortars, Stuart Clay caught his first glimpse of the cluster of dwellings. He congratulated himself on his chosen route, hard though it had been at times to maintain height, it was worthwhile now that he was able to look down on the undulating snow covered slope towards his destination. He hadn't seen the small plane again; twice he'd taken cover at the sound of its engine, but it hadn't appeared.

He hesitated, the vista that lay before him perfect in the breaking dawn. Beyond the houses and small harbour, he could see the fjord broaden into the far distance, where it became open sea. The buildings looked vulnerable, perched on the edge of the mountainside as if ready at any time to slip into the fjord; yet peaceful as smoke rose from a multitude of chimneys, demonstrating it was coming alive - the village was stirring.

The view had temporarily banished thoughts of Bechet, and what he had to do from his mind. For a few moments he felt free, no responsibilities after the traumas of the last few weeks. As reality returned, he pushed off with the poles down the slope, the urgency and need to end this nightmare, returning.

He enjoyed the run down in the fresh powder snow, his aches and pains left behind in the exhilaration of skis swishing through the snow. Compared to what he'd been through this was an easy run, with few obstacles and easier to see with the brightening sky. As he neared the village he did a series of exaggerated turns, sending showers of snow upwards so that he momentarily disappeared from view.

They had seen him coming and stood in a small group at the bottom of the slope. He stopped a little away from them, wary now; they didn't move so he pushed slowly towards them. When a few feet away, a burly man stepped forward, the small group spread out to ensure Stuart went no further.

'Hello,' Stuart said, his voice hoarse from the cold air and hesitant as he gasped a little for breath. 'Do you speak English?' It seemed no one had heard him, no one had moved, he was about to repeat the question.

'Where have you come from, what do you want?' The burly man's accent was heavy but understandable.

Stuart released the bindings on the skis and walked the short distance between him and the speaker, taking off his glove he offered his hand. Reluctantly the man took it.

'My name is Stuart Clay, as to where I've come from that may take some believing. Did you hear a plane last night and a smaller one this morning?'

Again, there was silence for a while. 'I'm called Peter Lars,' the big man replied, 'yes we heard the plane last night, although the avalanche blocked most of it. The rumour is the government has been carrying out some top secret work at the old German base for months now, part of a NATO exercise, or so the story goes. We keep ourselves to ourselves here, war has always been bad for us, we're too near the Russian border for comfort in these troubled times.'

This time Stuart was silent, he'd been given an opening for an easy explanation and gaining the co-operation he needed, without having to explain much of the real picture, resulting in his arrival at their village. 'Yes, that's right, the plane crashed last night on landing and it demolished our communication network. I need to contact London urgently, have you a radio transmitter?'

'Lots, all the boats have them and most of our homes, it's the only way we have contact with the outside world, apart from the regular supply ships. Come to my house.'

He led the way down into the village with the rest of the group following, muttering amongst themselves in Norwegian. Stuart hadn't a clue what they were saying and didn't particularly care, now he was in front of the transmitter.

'I don't know how these things operate, I was sent for my skiing ability not radio skill, perhaps you can help?' He said turning to Peter Lars.

'Sure, who are we trying to contact?'

Stuart handed over the details Harrison had given him and Lars set to work. Once connected he explained it was a secret matter and asked if he could be alone. Peter Lars looked unhappy but, nodded agreement and left him.

\------------------------

In London Leonard Manley was at a briefing meeting when the message reached him. Relieved to receive contact at last, as the operation was already underway in various countries around the world; the net was cast and being closed around identified drug operations. But the big catch remained Bechet and his immediate top men. He read the message to the assembled audience, the sense of relief in the room was almost tangible.

'As we suspected the bird has flown but not it seems downed off Greenland, very much alive in Norway. Call off the search for signs of the wreckage immediately, you now have the coordinates for the strike attack. Limited detail, but it's an old German airbase, so we'll have more info in the files. Lots to do and don't know how much time we've got before Harrison is discovered and the target moves on. Suggest we meet in an hour to finalise the plan. All necessary operatives are on standby, they can be advised of the new destination, and get in the air as soon as possible, we can relay final instructions to team leaders later. Catching Bechet and immediate aides is now our priority, as this part of the whole operation will be the measure of success on which we are judged by our international friends. At the moment I believe we have the advantage, we can catch him unawares, so get to it.'

The meeting broke up, each one knew their role and started revising their plans accordingly.

In fact, it was only half an hour later when Manley and the six men met again, the plan agreed and instructions issued.

The commanders of the five fighter planes and five troop and tank transporters read them quickly. The fighters were already over the English coast and the transporters not far behind. Each of them read the details of the approach to the landing area with some trepidation. It didn't seem easy with snow as an added hazard.

\-----------------------

Harrison heard the low drone of the transport planes first and then the higher pitch of the fighter engines. 'And so it begins,' he whispered under his breath.

The noise of the fighter engines increased as they left the transports to make a first sweep.

Although he was expecting it, the noise of the Klaxon made him jump, each building relayed the sound, amplifying it as it bounced around the mountain. Very soon men would arrive in the hanger to break out more weapons, he could picture the big guns being made ready.

The roar of the fighters, as they streamed across the mountain side to get a better view of the runway, was followed almost immediately by the big guns firing. Two of the fighters disintegrated as the shells struck home, flaming wreckage flying in all directions. A third fighter was hit by the debris and looked damaged, but soon it was climbing again, underside exposed, but the big guns couldn't swivel sufficiently to deliver a knockout blow. It successfully joined the others, surveying the destruction inflicted on their comrades below.

From one of the approaching transports, the co-pilot's voice shouted into the intercom, 'Christ, they've knocked out two of the fighters already, nobody mentioned those bloody guns.'

Group Captain Stevens voice was calmer, 'Easy Jimmy, they told us to expect anything, so now we know what that means. Team leader calling all transports, get higher don't attempt to land on this approach. Those guns might be vulnerable from above, despite the overhang. Let's circle and take a look. If we can't do anything about them we'll go in one at a time. That overhang means the angle of those guns is limited and they will only be able to cover the one end of the runway. We'll wait for each plane to land and get into the safe zone before the next one goes in. So, four minute intervals please; I'll go in first next time around. Good luck, over and out.'

As soon as he heard the first boom from the guns, Harrison signalled for the first mortar to be fired. It blasted a hole in the corrugated iron wall, smashed into the mountain cascading rock down the overhang. He quickly made adjustments to the second mortar and fired. 'Better, but now a bit low,' he muttered.

He watched in awe as the debris, from the two fighters lit up the whole area. Men were running everywhere, there didn't seem to be much co-ordinated action; except for those guns. He hastened to adjust the first mortar, gesticulating for both to be reloaded.

The guns had fired once more, demonstrating the need to put them out of action and soon. He fired the first mortar again, saw it explode into the control room. Satisfied he adjusted the second one and fired.

'Reload, reload.' He yelled at his reluctant assistant. This time he saw the shells had damaged the concrete and steel of the control area, it all looked very unstable as he rushed to prepare to fire again.

The fighters screamed overhead, the pilot's intercom spluttered into life. 'What's happening to those bloody guns, they're self-destructing, look they're toppling over!' The long barrels were now pointing towards the ground swaying slightly as if affected by the wind.

Group Captain Stevens was faintly aware of the intercom chatter but his concentration was fully on trying to land the first transporter. He spoke over the intercom. 'Team leader here, the guns appear to have been put out of action so reduce landing interval, unless you see they're back up and blasted me off the runway, over.'

Please god no, he said to himself, let's get this thing down.

Harrison switched the attention of the mortars to the men streaming through the door of the hanger, eager to arm themselves. The shell blew a hole through the middle of them, men on both sides showered in blood and flesh from what remained of their colleagues. Initially, they froze in horror then beat a hasty retreat, as the first transporter was on the point of landing.

The wheels touched but the angle of descent had been too steep causing the plane to shake visibly and bounce up nearing the overhang above the runway. The engines screamed with maximum thrust in reverse and several high bounces later it settled and looked as if it would come to a stop, way beyond the control tower. Suddenly the runway exploded, ripping the plane apart, spilling a tank and men into the snow.

'Christ the runway's mined!' Flight Lieutenant Chris Nichol, the pilot of number three in the transporter line to land, shouted.

The second plane was committed to landing, concentrating on the approach, when the carnage of the first plane came into view. It tried to abort but remained too low and clipped the tail fin of the wreck, damaging its landing gear and dragging it lower. The pilot tried again to rise but not high enough to clear the trees beyond the runway, rushing into them and soon ploughing a wide furrow through them, as the plane descended down the mountain.

Chris Nichol while fighting to pull his plane out of its approach, watched the second plane's descent. Its pilot had been his best friend, he was godfather to his children, now he was dead, so sudden, the excitement of a mission totally obliterated by the reality unfolding before him.

With the runway considerably shortened by the wreckage, the fourth plane pilot, Rob Newman, reconsidered his approach. He had to land at the very start of the runway to have any chance of stopping in time; this ran the risk of being too low and hitting the mountain edge. His eyes were glued to the windscreen, visibility was reasonable. The co-pilot shouted out the altitude at each drop of fifty feet.

With some relief, he felt the retardation of the wheels through the thick snow as they sought the tarmac underneath; at first believing he'd hit the mountain and waited for the inevitable crash. He fought the controls as the snow tried to turn the plane from a straight run down the runway. He'd fed reverse thrust in gradually, to avoid this adding to the difficulty of controlling the plane. Now it was at full throttle and he released the parachute behind it. The additional drag causing the plane to slew sideways, but soon it rolled slowly towards the control tower. Newman sought somewhere to pull off, so the remaining three transports would have a chance of landing.

As soon as the plane came to a stop, the big rear cargo door was lowered allowing the first centurion tank to roll out, swiftly followed by two more and a stream of armed men.

\------------------------

Harrison was crouching behind a pile of packing cases and saw the men regrouping to take out the mortars. They were cautious and had spread out into small groups, lessening the chance of a repeat of the previous encounter. He watched one group moving slowly down the far wall of the hanger. Recognising the urgent need to move on, he lined the mortar up on the nearest point of the side wall, then waited. As the group entered the target area, the mortar shell flew towards them and blasted a hole through the wall.

Harrison was running as soon as he fired the shell, Mauser in hand, he raced for the opening he'd blasted in the wall. He saw two men running to cut him off but didn't break stride or direction. As the first man attempted to block his path, Harrison leaped towards him feet together and connected on the man with such force, he knocked him heavily to the concrete floor. Struggling to regain his balance on landing, the second man was waiting but too slow as Harrison drove the Mauser into his face, smashing teeth in the process.

The commotion caused by the first plane landing had distracted his attackers, they had turned around at the initial noise and continuing explosions, allowing him to leave the hanger and run for cover towards the next building, without being followed. Looking towards the runway, he was utterly shaken by the destruction he saw. He paused thinking about his next priority; Bechet, he had to find him to ensure he didn't escape. He was certain Bechet would have a plan, so he and his cronies escaped from this mayhem. He headed back towards the accommodation block.

As he raced towards the sports centre he saw the third plane land. Three planes safely on the ground and centurion tanks already on the move and firing into the hangers. Some men were already laying down arms and surrendering to the troops, overwhelmed by the odds against them and clearly no appetite to fight on. Overhead, he could see the fighters circling, keeping a watchful eye on the drama below.

Surely it wouldn't be long now before Bechet had to surrender; he couldn't possibly have any aces left up his sleeve, could he? On reaching the sports block he turned at the sound of firing coming from the hanger, men armed with sten submachine guns were streaming through the hole in the wall. There must have been more arms he'd failed to find, possibly resulting in more deaths before this battle draws to a close; bullets hitting the sports centre made him acutely aware one of the deaths could be his. He ran on to the accommodation block.

One tank hadn't followed the others, turning towards the control tower, which was a hive of activity as men struggled to raise the big guns and others worked fervently on the damaged electronics. The tank was fifty yards away when the guns began to move slowly upwards and turn towards the approaching tank. It fired, without having much impact, one of the big guns had the tank in its sights, fired and the exploding tank caused more mayhem with body parts smouldering in the wreckage, leaving the stench of burned flesh lingering in the air.

From their vantage point in the sky, the fighter pilots watched in horror. They had not seen the small movements of the guns, in frustration one of them broke formation and flew low firing into the gun area, didn't make much impression on the guns, but men scattered at the onslaught.

The second fighter followed, preparing to launch a missile directly at the guns. Flying straight at the gap under the overhang, the pilot fired the missile, watched its flight straight at the guns, pulling up, screaming for height to avoid smashing into the mountain. The last fighter flew low to review the damage, the pilot could see nothing of where the guns had been, just a pile of rubble with the guns lying helpless on top, like basking sharks, once hungry but now all washed up. The fighter returned to join the others high in the sky and reported his findings to Squadron Leader Finley.

'Good, with the guns silent, focus on those hangers, I'm betting they contain light planes or copters and that's their only escape route now.'

Harrison hadn't yet reached the accommodation block, having to take cover as best he could to avoid his pursuers; peering out from his latest hiding place he saw the small group leaving. Despite his camouflage of outdoor clothing, he was spotted and a burst of fire had him diving for cover again. Had to move on, so in desperation ran towards the accommodation block, as the others moved away towards the hangers. He reached the fire escape and was soon in the comparative safety of the corridor. From there he watched the small group's progress towards the hangers. Clearly wishing to avoid attracting anyone's attention, they moved from one sheltered spot to the next. Having assured himself where they were heading, he set off back down the stairs and gave discrete chase.

The group had reached the first hanger and passed inside. The two light planes were just as Harrison had left them, the engine covers removed revealing the smashed distributors. Bechet swore and with a quick glance towards the one Eddie had used for reconnaissance announced, 'too small and maybe the runway is too messed up to take-off anyway.' He led the way out towards the second hanger, the one Harrison hadn't been able to break into.

They briefly saw the final destruction of the big guns as they approached the hanger. The electronic controlled access still worked, much to Bechet's relief.

'Get those doors open and tow the helicopters forward using the Land Rover; hurry we don't have much time.'

With all this activity, Harrison slipped inside without being noticed. Bechet and Manadous were inspecting the machines, as the first was hooked up to the Land Rover, as far as they could tell they hadn't been sabotaged.

'Stay where you are, all of you.' Harrison's voice boomed around the hanger. His request fell on deaf ears and was answered by a burst of automatic fire, causing him to dive for cover. The doors were still rolling back, he took careful aim, pulled the trigger and Helmut Schnell lay dead in the widening gap.

The Land Rover burst into life, filling the surrounding area with diesel fumes, as the first helicopter moved forward, Harrison raced from his cover, pumping bullets towards the Land Rover but it continued its slow progress.

Taking cover from the burst of automatic fire, he was now even further away from the opening doors but had to stop the Land Rover. Moving quickly, taking what little cover there was from the vehicle and helicopter behind, he reached the driver's door and yanked it open, preparing to fire again. Instead the driver slumped towards him. He pulled the man from the seat and took his place, pressing the accelerator to the floor, intent on crashing the vehicle and the helicopter to block the doorway.

Without releasing the accelerator, he swung the wheel hard to the right, the left wheels leaving the ground and with the heavy weight behind, causing the vehicle to crash onto its side. He fell heavily against the passenger door, momentarily winded, but his feet were soon pounding the already broken windscreen, seeking a way out. Shaken, he managed to roll through it and scrambled for cover, accompanied by another burst of automatic fire.

He felt the burning feeling as small pieces of lead penetrated his leg, he rose and despite the pain moved towards the door, another burst and his legs stopped moving pitching him into a pile of open crates.

Bechet wasted no time, a second Land Rover pulled the helicopter clear of the damaged one. As soon as it was clear of the doors, the blades began to turn forcing the engine into life. The Land Rover already hitching up the second helicopter and moving it towards the doors.

Bechet took the controls as some of the group piled into the waiting seats. With Sylvana D'Estrange beside him, he moved the controls to drive the machine forward and up, briefly masking it in a snow storm.

Squadron Leader Finley watched its ascent. 'Leave this one to me boys, watch for more birds trying to fly the nest.'

The fighter left the group, looping upwards and then down to seek its quarry.

The helicopter veered straight towards the mountain. Bechet knew he had to make the small, vulnerable machine as inaccessible as possible to escape the fighters. By flying along the side of the mountain he hoped to be able to keep the fast planes at bay. Finley levelled the fighter, heading straight for the wall of rock rising into the sky. The fighter was only seventy yards away when it opened fire on the helicopter. One second it was flying precariously close to the mountainside, the next it was a ball of fire, wreckage falling to the cooling snow below.

The rotor of the second helicopter was already turning but it never left the ground. The tanks were exploring each hanger looking for signs of resistance. The massive gun turret swivelled towards the helicopter and as the engine caught the shell hit it, demolishing the machine, a large part of the hanger and its occupants.

The battle was over, sporadic gunfire greeted the tanks and troops working methodically through the buildings, but it was in vain. The windows of the accommodation block provided panoramic views of the rise and destruction of Bechet's helicopter and, the devastation of what had been planned as their home. Initially some had returned to their rooms, seeking weapons to continue the fight, but the sight that lay before them rendered these thoughts pointless.

The toll on machines and life had been heavy. Now an eerie silence fell over the complex, smoke rising over the scene. It was beginning to snow again and soon the horror of what had taken place would be partly covered, before final demolition, followed by the long process of clearing up.

The transport planes were already being loaded, tanks clearing the runway as they prepared to leave. Troops remained, guarding the survivors but knowing their transport home was already on its way.

# Chapter 6

'I believe you know Victor Harrison, Mr. Clay.' Stuart stood up as Harrison entered Leonard Manley's office, walking stiffly, leaning on a single crutch, his smile filled with pain. He offered his hand which Stuart shook warmly.

'Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Paula Jackson. I'm afraid she's partly responsible for your present disabilities, it's not all down to me.'

Harrison laughed, then clutched his chest to alleviate the pain. 'Lovely to meet you at last, Miss Jackson, don't think blame is quite the right word. Certainly, you two have caused us a few headaches but, overall you've proved very helpful. After all, it's probable that without your grit and determination, Bechet and his cronies might still be operating their nasty business.'

'From my understanding of the injuries you suffered, I'm surprised to see you up and about so soon Mr. Harrison.' Paula had on her sympathetic face, but was sincere. 'Before you came in we were just talking about my earlier meeting with Mr. Manley – my guardian angel at Del Mario's.'

'Yes, we needed to keep tabs on you two, not realising you would prove so inventive. As for me, I've used up all my sick leave, so if I don't come into work, HM Government won't pay me!' Harrison jested. 'More seriously, when Leonard said he was meeting you two today, I wanted to come in and help with the debrief. How's the clearing up operation going Leonard?'

'Be honest Victor, wild horses couldn't keep you away! Let's start at the end, with that setup in Norway. You know I almost admire the man, a great deal of work took place over many months, he fooled the locals, including police, that it was a secret operation for NATO - hush, hush and all that. Pity a brain like that couldn't have been used for a better purpose. We're certain Bechet, Manadous and Lopez were killed in the destruction of the helicopters. However, there wasn't much left to examine to be sure of positive identifications. It looks like one was a woman, probably the beautiful, but dangerous, Mrs. D'Estrange. You know about Schnell Victor; it appears your aim was better than I remember. From the size of one, big Eddie was on board.'

'Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow,' Stuart interrupted, 'He not only admitted he killed Jeremy Palmer but showed me how; an experience I won't forget in a hurry.'

'Glad we have that confirmed, it was our assumption someone in that organisation dealt with him but we hadn't proved it.' Manley continued.

Harrison interrupted, 'What about Marcia Lopez and the children, they can't be considered totally innocent, considering the lifestyle her husband's activities gave them, did they survive?'

'Yes, with his usual ruthlessness and practicality, Bechet only took his top men and a few others he considered useful for different reasons on their final journey in the helicopters. We have a full list of everyone taken to Norway, curtesy of the papers Bechet left behind. Most of them remained in the accommodation block and were taken with only a few minor injuries. They had a good view of the destruction around them, so most decided against any form of resistance, except a few brave souls who paid the price. Marcia and the kids are in custody, but not for long, they'll probably be more use to us back home, where we can monitor who they contact and dig a little deeper into that operation'

'What about the clean-up actions in the various areas?' Victor asked.

'In the States and Europe, better than expected, we've picked up a lot of those involved, right down the chain into the supply points. Everyone's confident those particular drug activities are closed down for a very long time. Of course, there are always others, but we've some good leads into them now, so the operation will continue for a long time yet.

Lopez's back yard is pretty untidy as you know. Lots of operators, so that's going to be a long haul, but Marcia may unwittingly help. One result is the Mexicans and Columbians are now convinced of the benefits of working with other international organisations, so that's good news. Again, I'm almost forced to admire Bechet and perhaps Manadous for the way they planned to shut down and disappear for a while, it was implemented quickly and effectively, I'm surprised the natural greed of the individuals involved didn't make it less effective, shows the discipline that man imposed. I forgot to mention Mr. Clay, that address book you confiscated was really useful, certainly added to the detail we had, so thank you on that score.'

'What about the other areas?' Harrison asked.

'Ah, bit of a mixed bag let me take them in order of success. With Ferguson's activities in the Caribbean, you may be aware we have been a little bit naughty. For some time, it's been infiltrated by CIA operatives, mixing with Ferguson's team very effectively. There's now a full-scale gang war going on, every petty mobster in the Islands trying to increase their share of the action. They're killing each other almost quicker than we can count them and, the best bit is there's been no protests from the ordinary folk about the increase in violence, they seem to welcome it, when they see who the victims are. The various governments have recognised this as a great opportunity to make real changes in their society and are acting accordingly. So, whichever of the drug barons comes out on top, it's not going to be an easy life reaping any remaining spoils.

Salem is a very different story. The Pakistani authorities are still reluctant to fully co-operate. As you know they think they're managing perfectly well on their own, at least that's their story and they're sticking to it. Our concern is with the progress we've made in closing down parts of Salem's operation, to ensure they stay closed. With the level of corruption, we know exists, this won't be easy. The good news here is, with the information we have, if some of the activities do come to life, the net will be closing on those corrupt officials involved.

We have a concern about Turkey, Manadous will be missed and as a result the whole activity is seriously compromised, particularly with the information from the infamous address book. But, Turkey is accessible from Pakistan by road and border controls could be a lot better, these routes are already part of significant supplies from Afghanistan, so we will be watching closely for Salem to spread his wings. In this part of the world people are prepared to take excessive risks to smuggle small packages, for little reward.

Fortunately, the Turkish government is on board with all this and expresses a genuine desire to keep drugs off the streets, which is very helpful. From the discoveries we've made and new ones found every day, the network Bechet and Manadous built up over the years is very impressive, so it will take real vigilance to prevent it growing again from these deep seated roots. It appears anything capable of movement was called into service to transport the stuff; we even found kid's roller skates with hollowed out wheels, not only in large crates for bulk delivery but on kids' feet for the local service.

You know that ships are used Mr. Clay, to supply London and elsewhere, well the one you saw being loaded is being taken apart at Tilbury; many false pipes and compartments. Clearly during the voyage, the lorries were being unloaded into smaller distribution packages.

Anyway, progress is good, we reckon we've discovered most of the routes for getting drugs out of Turkey, not closed them all down yet, but with the help of the Turkish government, I'm sure we can advance this. If Salem tries to expand his activities in this way, he'll find it difficult. However, stopping drugs getting into the country is a different matter. Lot's to do, but at least we know significantly more than we did. In time, we may even get the Pakistanis on side and Salem will feel the full force of the law.'

Manley took a long swig from the cup of coffee on his desk before continuing.

'Now, Chin Li Kung and Hong Kong is proving difficult. We've established supplies come through China into Hong Kong and are distributed throughout his network from there. His decision to move into China as a supplier is an interesting one, he already had Chinese competition in Honkers and none of them are exactly friendly, so perhaps moving into the mainland will be a step too far – Triads and all that. Having said that, the border is like an open door to him, so bribery of officials is alive and well, unlikely we'll stop him in a hurry through the usual channels. Maybe, as per old Chinese proverb says; slowly, slowly, catchee monkey – at least I think it's Chinese.

That's about it in overall terms, I'll let you have the detailed file we're compiling in due course Victor. Understand you've already been asked for your report to fill in some of the gaps. One of those is your views on how the Norway end went as you were on the inside, on the ground and in the thick of it. You know our losses were heavy and we need to identify if there any lessons to be learnt?'

'Yes, I'm aware that needs doing, not exactly eager to deal with it but I will, as I want to go through the report in detail in the not too distant future, to help plan next steps. Don't want anyone resting on their laurels. One immediate thing I am interested in is Richard Anders, what happens to him?'

'Hmm sad that, easy to understand how he was duped into that relationship. He wasn't the only one, Bechet had managed to place a number of, shall we say contacts, in several high places; so he was surprisingly well informed about what authorities in various countries were up to.'

'Will he stand trial or just disappear into the ether?' Harrison persisted.

'No, you obviously don't know – he committed suicide yesterday, found in the bath by a cleaner. So far, we've kept it under wraps and plan to do so if at all possible. The less publicity we get about that side of the operation the better. He'd been interviewed by Special Branch only hours before he did it. Knew his career was over, probably very ashamed he fell into the age old honey trap, so couldn't see any future; shame bright chap, hardworking, could have made a real difference.'

'Has any of the media got hold of any of this so far?' Inquired Harrison.

'Ah, that reminds me,' Stuart interrupted. 'I know I've no real say in this but, I did indicate to Tony Venner and Paul Simmons they would have an exclusive for all the help they gave me.'

Leonard Manley lent back in his chair looking at Victor Harrison as if seeking some guidance. He finished his coffee before replying.

'They can have the bones of the story as an exclusive, we don't want to hide our light totally under a bushel. However, a lot of the detail is covered by the Official Secrets Act. I'll contact them, ask them to come in and sign the Act, then I'll give them a prepared statement. Appreciate they may want to embellish it a little, but I'll insist on seeing the final version before publication, and will veto it if necessary. You may want to think very carefully about whether you want your name revealed, you too Miss Jackson, in any dramatic embellishments journalist use to make the story more appealing –model and boyfriend help break drugs ring etc. There will be no mention of any names involved from the operational side including Richard Anders and his part in it. Great care has been expended in building up my cover over the years, to make it easier to stick my nose where it's not wanted. All that work could be demolished by a seemingly innocuous statement and someone out there putting two and two together.'

'What about us, will we have to sign the Official Secrets Act? Stuart asked

'Ideally yes, and I hope you will, we acknowledge you already know far more than we are prepared to make public, so its in all our interests you're bound by the Act. Your journalist friends don't really know that much, they may have worked out more than we think, that's their job and why we are taking a cautious approach with them; if they want an exclusive.'

Stuart looked at Paula for confirmation. 'We'll sign, after what we've been through we're grateful for the long arm of the law and don't want to do anything to undermine it. What about Inspector Barrett, you said he has been a naughty boy Victor, as I recall?'

'That's true, one of a number lower down the pecking order wrong footed by Bechet and his scheming.'

'I admit I had trouble knowing who to trust, but eventually convinced myself Barrett was one of the good guys, an old fashioned, reliable copper who'd get his man in the end. Had suspicions when Bechet's lot always seemed to know where we were, often one jump ahead but in the end decided I had to trust someone.'

'He was a good copper until about two years ago, didn't get a promotion he thought he'd been promised, turned to drink, marriage of many years was hitting a difficult patch. Started regular visits to a whore house, unluckily for him it was one of Bechet's with the photos to prove it; threats to show his wife and children. They played him carefully at first, small time villains let go, minor competition put away on trumped up charges etc. The lack of a thorough investigation of Jeremy Palmer's death, was probably the most serious thing he'd done. Then you turned up and opened a whole can of worms which drew him deeper and deeper into their world. I suppose the fact they didn't actually ask him to kill you, enabled him to ignore the consequences of those who would, when notified of your movements. But he clearly had a conscience, through his chain of command, keeping me informed of what you were up to as well, once a policeman, always a policeman; I suppose he felt telling me was a way of assuaging his guilt.'

'Amazing what we don't know about those supposedly protecting us.' Stuart responded.

Manley was quick to reply. 'They're human beings just like the rest of us Mr. Clay, they have the same successes, failures and frustrations. We expect and try to maintain high standards but as with any organisations, there are bad apples, those that get onto a slippery slope without knowing it, those that are basically corrupt and looking for an opportunity to use it to their advantage and those that are corruptible, in essence the whole spectrum of human failings we are all too familiar with. I can assure you...'

Harrison interrupted. 'Come on Leonard you're giving Mr. Clay a hard time. This is a time for celebrating, a successful operation and the part these two young people played in it and, in addition, they're soon to be married.'

'Sorry, it's something I'm super sensitive about, when you've had your reputation sullied as many times as I have to keep my cover going, I can get on my hobby horse, sorry.'

He opened the door of his desk and drew out a package, 'here this belongs to you.'

Stuart looked quizzical but took the package.

'It's the hundred pounds one of my men extracted from you for false information. Trying to encourage you to spend all your time looking into me, knew that would keep you occupied with quite a few dead ends, while we got on with the main event. Unfortunately, Miss Jackson also decided to get involved, a development we weren't expecting and threw a spanner in the works, but all's well that ends well. Don't suppose you'd be interested in a job would you?'

'No he wouldn't.' Paula was first to reply.

'Ah well I tried, always looking for intelligent, belligerent and nosey young men and women who don't give up easily, so how about you Miss Jackson?'

'Give me a ring when I get back from honeymoon, depending on how that goes, I might be interested.'

They all laughed as Leonard Manley opened the desk door again and produced a bottle of whisky and four glasses.

'Time for a toast,' he announced, pouring generous measures into each glass.

Victor Harrison proposed, 'to a satisfactory outcome for all our work and a long and happy marriage for you two'

'I'll drink to that,' Stuart spoke then added. 'Goodbye Jeremy, rest in peace, hope we've helped give you that.'

They all raised their glasses more solemnly this time and nodded approval.

\----------------End--------------------

If you enjoyed this book, perhaps you would take a moment to leave a review with your favoured retailer

Thank You

Steve Horner

About the Author

Following retirement in 2014, Steve Horner rediscovered a typed copy of a book he'd written 40 years earlier, when commuting to London on a daily basis. With more time available, the book Goodbye Jeremy, was retyped into Word, reread and edited on and off over the next 3 years. Having made this effort, self-publishing provided the means to make the book available to family, friends and a wider audience who might be interested.

Writing is an enjoyable activity, particularly over the winter months, so another book will be completed soon. The new book is not a continuation of the theme of Goodbye Jeremy, but will again be in the thriller/action genre.

Perhaps you'd consider pre-ordering the book – Troubled World, to be released in time for the Summer holiday reading season.

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