Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4 (3 page)

‘Have you been able to question any of the three lorry drivers?’ asked Emma.

‘No. We’ve been unable to track down any of them, Mrs Clifton. And don’t think we haven’t tried.’

‘But what you’re suggesting is unthinkable,’ said Harry. ‘Who would want to kill two innocent boys?’

‘I would have agreed with you, Mr Clifton, if we hadn’t recently discovered that Bruno Martinez didn’t originally intend to accompany your son on the journey to
Cambridge.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’

‘Because his girlfriend, a Miss Thornton, has come forward and informed us that she had planned to go to the cinema with Bruno that day, but she had to cancel at the last moment because
she’d caught a cold.’ The chief inspector took a pen out of his pocket, turned a page of his notebook and looked directly at Sebastian’s parents before asking, ‘Do either of
you have any reason to believe that someone might have wanted to harm your son?’

‘No,’ said Harry.

‘Yes,’ said Emma.

‘J
UST MAKE SURE
you finish the job this time,’ Don Pedro Martinez almost shouted. ‘It shouldn’t prove too difficult,’ he
added as he sat forward in his chair. ‘I was able to stroll into the hospital unchallenged yesterday morning, and at night it ought to be a whole lot easier.’

‘How do you want him disposed of?’ asked Karl, matter-of-factly.

‘Cut his throat,’ said Martinez. ‘All you’ll need is a white coat, a stethoscope and a surgeon’s knife. Just make sure it’s sharp.’

‘Might not be wise to slit the boy’s throat,’ suggested Karl. ‘Better to suffocate him with a pillow and let them assume he died as a result of his injuries.’

‘No. I want the Clifton boy to suffer a slow and painful death. In fact, the slower the better.’

‘I understand how you feel, boss, but we don’t need to give that detective any more reason to reopen his inquiries.’

Martinez looked disappointed. ‘All right then, suffocate him,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But make sure it lasts for as long as possible.’

‘Do you want me to involve Diego and Luis?’

‘No. But I want them to attend the funeral, as Sebastian’s friends, so they can report back. I want to hear that they suffered every bit as much as I did when I first realized it
wasn’t Bruno who’d survived.’

‘But what about—’

The phone on Don Pedro’s desk began to ring. He grabbed it. ‘Yes?’

‘There’s a Colonel Scott-Hopkins on the line,’ said his secretary. ‘He wants to discuss a personal matter with you. Says it’s urgent.’

All four of them had rearranged their diaries so they could be at the Cabinet office in Downing Street by nine the following morning.

Sir Alan Redmayne, the cabinet secretary, had cancelled his meeting with M. Chauvel, the French Ambassador, with whom he’d planned to discuss the implications of Charles de Gaulle’s
possible return to the Elysée Palace.

Sir Giles Barrington MP would not be attending the weekly shadow cabinet meeting because, as he explained to Mr Gaitskell, the Leader of the Opposition, an urgent family problem had arisen.

Harry Clifton wouldn’t be signing copies of his latest book,
Blood is Thicker than Water,
at Hatchards in Piccadilly. He’d signed a hundred copies in advance to try to
placate the manager, who couldn’t hide his disappointment, especially after he’d learnt that Harry would top the bestseller list on Sunday.

Emma Barrington had postponed a meeting with Ross Buchanan to discuss the chairman’s ideas for the building of a new luxury liner that, if the board backed him, would become part of the
Barrington shipping line.

The four of them took their seats around an oval table in the cabinet secretary’s office.

‘It was good of you to see us at such short notice,’ said Giles from the far end of the table. Sir Alan nodded. ‘But I’m sure you can appreciate that Mr and Mrs Clifton
are worried that their son’s life might still be in danger.’

‘I share their anxiety,’ said Redmayne, ‘and allow me to say how sorry I was to learn of your son’s accident, Mrs Clifton. Not least because I feel partly to blame for
what happened. However, let me assure you that I have not been idle. Over the weekend I spoke to Mr Owen, Chief Inspector Miles, and the local coroner. They couldn’t have been more
cooperative. And I have to agree with Miles, there just isn’t enough evidence to prove that Don Pedro Martinez was in any way involved in the accident.’ Emma’s look of
exasperation caused Sir Alan to quickly add, ‘Nevertheless, proof and not being in any doubt are often two very different animals, and after learning that Martinez wasn’t aware that his
son was in the car at the time, I concluded that he just might consider striking again, however irrational that might seem.’

‘An eye for an eye,’ said Harry.

‘You could be right,’ said the cabinet secretary. ‘He clearly hasn’t forgiven us for what he sees as stealing eight million pounds of his money, even if it was all
counterfeit, and although he may not yet have worked out that the government was behind the operation, there’s no doubt that he believes your son was personally responsible for what took
place in Southampton and I am only sorry that, at the time, I did not take your understandable concern seriously enough.’

‘I’m at least grateful for that,’ said Emma. ‘But it’s not you who is continually wondering when and where Martinez will strike next. And anyone can stroll in and
out of that hospital as easily as if it were a bus station.’

‘I can’t disagree,’ said Redmayne. ‘I did so myself yesterday afternoon.’ This revelation caused a momentary silence that allowed him to continue. ‘However,
you can be assured, Mrs Clifton, that this time I’ve taken the necessary steps to make sure that your son is no longer in any danger.’

‘Can you share with Mr and Mrs Clifton the reason for your confidence?’ asked Giles.

‘No, Sir Giles, I cannot.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Emma.

‘Because on this occasion I had to involve the home secretary as well as the secretary of state for defence, so I am therefore bound by Privy Council confidentiality.’

‘What sort of mumbo jumbo is that?’ demanded Emma. ‘Try not to forget that we’re talking about my son’s life.’

‘Should any of this ever become public,’ said Giles, turning to his sister, ‘even in fifty years’ time, it will be important to show that neither you nor Harry was aware
that ministers of the Crown were involved.’

‘I am grateful, Sir Giles,’ said the cabinet secretary.

‘I can just about stomach these pompous coded messages you two keep passing to each other,’ said Harry, ‘as long as I can be assured that my son’s life is no longer in
danger, because if anything else were to happen to Sebastian, Sir Alan, there would only be one person to blame.’

‘I accept your admonition, Mr Clifton. However, I am able to confirm that Martinez no longer poses a threat to Sebastian or any other member of your family. Frankly, I’ve bent the
rules to breaking point to make sure that it’s literally more than Martinez’s life is worth.’

Harry still looked sceptical, and although Giles seemed to accept Sir Alan’s word, he realized that he would have to become prime minister before the cabinet secretary would reveal the
reason for his confidence, and perhaps not even then.

‘However,’ continued Sir Alan, ‘one mustn’t forget that Martinez is an unscrupulous and treacherous man, and I have no doubt he will still want to seek some form of
revenge. And as long as he abides by the letter of the law, there’s not much any of us can do about it.’

‘At least we’ll be prepared this time,’ said Emma, only too aware what the cabinet secretary was getting at.

Colonel Scott-Hopkins knocked on the door of number 44 Eaton Square at one minute to ten. A few moments later, the front door was opened by a giant of a man who dwarfed the
commanding officer of the SAS.

‘My name is Scott-Hopkins. I have an appointment with Mr Martinez.’

Karl gave a slight bow, and opened the door just enough to allow Mr Martinez’s guest to enter. He accompanied the colonel across the hall and knocked on the study door.

‘Come in.’

When the colonel entered the room, Don Pedro rose from behind his desk and looked at his guest suspiciously. He had no idea why the SAS man needed to see him so urgently.

‘Will you have a coffee, colonel?’ asked Don Pedro after the two men had shaken hands. ‘Or perhaps something a little stronger?’

‘No, thank you, sir. It’s a little early in the morning for me.’

‘Then have a seat, and tell me why you wanted to see me urgently.’ He paused. ‘I feel sure you’ll appreciate that I’m a busy man.’

‘I am only too aware how busy you’ve been recently, Mr Martinez, so I’ll come straight to the point.’

Don Pedro tried not to show any reaction as he settled back into his chair and continued to stare at the colonel.

‘My simple purpose is to make sure that Sebastian Clifton has a long and peaceful life.’

The mask of arrogant confidence slipped from Martinez’s face. He quickly recovered and sat bolt upright. ‘What are you suggesting?’ he shouted, as he gripped the arm of his
chair.

‘I think you know only too well, Mr Martinez. However, allow me to make the position clear. I’m here to ensure that no further harm comes to any member of the Clifton
family.’

Don Pedro leapt out of his seat and jabbed a finger at the colonel. ‘Sebastian Clifton was my son’s closest friend.’

‘I have no doubt he was, Mr Martinez. But my instructions could not be clearer, and they are quite simply to warn you that if Sebastian or any other member of his family were to be
involved in another
accident
, then your sons, Diego and Luis, will be on the next plane back to Argentina, and they won’t be travelling first class, but in the hold, in two wooden
boxes.’

‘Who do you think you’re threatening?’ bellowed Martinez, his fists clenched.

‘A two-bit South American gangster, who, because he’s got some money and lives in Eaton Square, thinks he can pass himself off as a gentleman.’

Don Pedro pressed a button underneath his desk. A moment later the door burst open and Karl came charging in. ‘Throw this man out,’ he said, pointing at the colonel, ‘while I
get my lawyer on the line.’

‘Good morning, Lieutenant Lunsdorf,’ said the colonel as Karl began to advance towards him. ‘As a former member of the SS, you’ll appreciate the weak position your master
is in.’ Karl stopped in his tracks. ‘So allow me to also give you a word of advice. Should Mr Martinez fail to abide by my terms, our plans for you do not include a deportation order to
Buenos Aires, where so many of your former colleagues are currently languishing; no, we have another destination in mind, where you’ll find several citizens who will be only too happy to give
evidence concerning the role you played as one of Dr Goebbels’ trusted lieutenants, and the lengths you went to in order to extract information from them.’

‘You’re bluffing,’ said Martinez. ‘You’d never get away with it.’

‘How little you really know about the British, Mr Martinez,’ said the colonel as he rose from his chair and walked across to the window. ‘Allow me to introduce you to a few
typical specimens of our island race.’

Martinez and Karl joined him and stared out of the window. On the far side of the road stood three men you wouldn’t want as enemies.

‘Three of my most trusted colleagues,’ explained the colonel. ‘One of them will be watching you night and day, just hoping you’ll make a false move. On the left is
Captain Hartley, who was unfortunately cashiered from the Dragoon Guards for pouring petrol over his wife and her lover, who were sleeping peacefully at the time, until he lit a match.
Understandably, after leaving prison he found it difficult to secure employment. That was until I picked him up off the streets and put some purpose back in his life.’

Hartley gave them a warm smile, as if he knew they were talking about him.

‘In the middle is Corporal Crann, a carpenter by trade. He so enjoys sawing things up, wood or bone, it doesn’t seem to make any difference to him.’ Crann stared blankly
through them. ‘But I confess,’ continued the colonel, ‘my favourite is Sergeant Roberts, a registered sociopath. Harmless most of the time, but I’m afraid he never really
settled back into civvy street after the war.’ The colonel turned to Martinez. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him that you made your fortune collaborating with the Nazis, but of
course that’s how you met Lieutenant Lunsdorf. A titbit I don’t think I’ll share with Roberts unless you really annoy me, because, you see, Sergeant Roberts’s mother was
Jewish.’