Authors: Bill Aitken
Hubert started in surprise. “What? What’s wrong now?”
“
That’s where I’ve seen Boissier before!
”
Hubert stared at her. “You’ve met him before? Where? Why didn’t you say?”
“That Bank of England job – I saw him there. It was two years ago and only for a few minutes but the swine left me in a real bad way – God, when I remember … I could kill him. What
was
the name he used? It wasn’t Boissier, then.” She paused in unhappy thought for a moment and then looked sharply at Hubert. “And what the hell were your lot doing there? And then
leaving
me!”
“Search me. It was before my time. What do you mean – ‘bad way’?”
She shook her head in dismissal. “I’ll tell you about it some other time. Let’s get back to the trawler I mentioned yesterday – we used it to patrol the north-eastern coastline. It belongs to Special Branch and the skipper is one of our officers. I got to know him fairly well in my time there.”
“Fairly well, eh?”
“Yes,
fairly
well! What of it?”
Hubert shook his head innocently. “Nothing, nothing.”
“His name is Andrew MacDonald and he’s from that part of the country. The trawler’s been based out of Wick since the start of the War. Remember, the Guard told us that there’s a train leaving Georgemas for Wick about fifteen minutes after this one continues on to Thurso. I had hoped that you and I could get to the trawler and persuade Mac to take us to Scapa. It might have been too late to stop Henry leaving on the
Hampshire
but we could perhaps have intercepted it or picked him up if it went down.”
Anyway, even if we sail off into the sunset with Mac, how would we find the
Hampshire
?”
“
Howard!”
she shouted. “That was the name he was working under! Total swine.”
“Boissier? OK, well, let’s put that to one side for the moment and think about it later. What about the trawler?”
“Right, the trawler. One of the great things about
this
trawler is that it has some seriously powerful radio kit. We’d have been able to hear the
Hampshire’s
transmissions had she been on the far side of the moon. If we had been too late, the trawler would have picked up the Captain’s distress message.”
“And if this ‘Mac’ chap isn’t at Wick – if he’s at sea.”
“
Now
you’re a glass half empty sort of person? Think happy thoughts.” She looked away, tears in her eyes. “Anyway, it’s all been for nothing now. We’ll never get to him like this – we can’t be far from Inverness and that’s the last chance of our getting out of this van.”
**********
The train ground its way into the quaintly-styled station of Inverness. The gentle screech of the side door sliding cautiously open startled them both upright.
“Miss? Miss? It’s me – the guard – we’ve just stopped at Inverness.”
“Oh, God bless you, you darling man,” said Anne. “Quickly, slide it behind you in case any of our ‘friends’ decide to take the air or get a newspaper.”
The guard did as he was told and then trotted over to where they were lying trussed up like chickens for the pot. “I suppose this is the work of your ‘friends’, as you like to call them? Spun me a pack of lies about the two of you.”
Anne, now free, helped him untie Hubert. “Why didn’t you believe them?”
The guard looked pityingly at her. “Miss, really, I know a fare-dodger when I see one – or two in this case.”
“We’re really grateful to you, sir. I wish I could tell you just how important your help is,” said Hubert, grasping the other man’s hand in sheer gratitude. “Now, the best thing is for you slink back out the way you came, leave the padlock on the other side of the hasp and keep your head down as you walk back up the platform. Don’t let them see you, whatever you do.”
“Best of luck, whatever it is you’re up to.”
**********
His feet on the other bench seat of the compartment, Boissier reached over and prodded Pickup with a toe, who duly woke up with a grunt.
“We can’t be far from Georgemas. That’s supposed to be the last stop on this bloody camel train before we get into Thurso. Get back there to the guard’s van and check our guests. Dump them out of sight at the back of the van. We don’t want any virtuous railway workers – be there such a creature – ‘discovering’ them before the train heads back up to London and civilisation.”
Pickup groaned upright and made to leave the compartment. “But make sure you leave Banfield alone.” Seeing the other man’s eyes light up, he hardened his voice. “I mean it, Pickup. She’s Special Branch and we don’t want any problems with them after this is over. Kell will have your balls – mine, too.”
“You really know how to spoil a party, Boissier,” he said, moving out into the corridor.
Bouncing from wall to wall as the carriages negotiated the rural, single-track line, Pickup reached the guard’s van in a couple of minutes. As he opened the door, Anne hit him a hard as she could with a leather-bound cosh she had hidden in her bag. Pickup staggered to his knees, momentarily stunned, but with a roar of rage he got back up and charged at her, arms outstretched to throttle. Hubert managed to rugby tackle him, bringing him to the floor where Anne hit him repeatedly. Hubert stood up and, marshalling every ounce of strength he had left, kicked him on the side of the head. Pickup gasped and slumped into an untidy heap.
“Grab some more of that string,” gasped Anne. “See how he likes it.”
A few moments later, the unconscious Pickup had been dumped unceremoniously behind the trunks at the back of the van.
Hubert stood up, gripping his ribs. “Fine – now we have to be clear on what we’re doing next. Georgemas can only be minutes away. If Boissier comes down to investigate, we’ll have a harder time of it. He’ll be suspicious, for a start.”
“You know what we have to do,” she said.
“Well, thank God for the guard. My faith in the human race has been restored. Even Boissier’s lies weren’t enough for him. I hope they won’t take it out on the poor chap after we’ve left.”
“If he keeps his head down like I told him, they shouldn’t discover it was him. With any luck, they’ll think the door was always open. They never tried it.”
Both felt the jolt of the train slowing down for Georgemas Junction and Anne slid open the side door and they stood on the edge of the step. Anxiety made her voice tremble. “This is where we should wish each other luck, I suppose.”
She pecked him lightly on the cheek.
**********
“God
save
us!” Boissier threw his newspaper onto the facing seat in his compartment and stood up. Where the Hell was that idiot? “I’ll lay odds he’s enjoying himself with that Banfield chit.” Irritably, he threw open the door, stalked down the corridor and stormed into the guard’s van. Pickup was trying to vomit and groan at the same time, somewhere at the back but, apart from him, there was no-one else.
“Bugger!” he roared at the top of his voice.
Sliding trunks, suitcases and packing boxes aside, he dragged Pickup into the middle of the floor and cut him loose with a pen-knife. He grabbed him by the lapels and shouted at him in fury, “Where are they? Where the
hell
are they, you moron?”
Pickup could only slur a ‘what?’ Boissier examined a serious contusion on the side of Pickup’s head and guessed there was probably a pretty severe concussion to match. There would be no getting any sense out of him – if that were possible in the first place. “Should improve your work immeasurably,” growled Boissier, releasing him to fall heavily back onto the floor.
Plans would have to change now.
**********
Anne was on the Wick train, having called ahead from Georgemas to the dockside offices to find out if MacDonald was ashore or at sea. Annoyingly, he was out with the trawler but he was due back in by about two in the afternoon. She left a message for him to refuel and not to go off for a pint after landing. Another couple of hours should see her in Wick and she’d run directly down to the quay.
The only worry at the back of her mind was Hubert – how in God’s name was he going to survive her lunatic plan? The chances were that he’d die before even getting to Henry. For the first time, she wondered how she’d feel about that and surprised herself by realising that it would not feel good. Somehow, she and MacDonald would have to get Farmer and Hubert off the
Hampshire
before she got under way. “We’ll have to tell the Navy
everything
!” she thought. “What other excuse could we have for stopping the journey to Russia?” Unless, of course, MacDonald could come up with something – but then thinking had never been his strong point.
She sat back and looked at the rain streaming diagonally down the carriage window and tried hard to remember precisely what
had
been his strong points.
**********
The journey over to Scapa, on a battleship – even for Farmer – turned out to be a fairly undemanding business. MacLachlan had given them a balanced view of what had gone on at Jutland and bemoaned the fact that it had not been the decisive affair that it should have been. Fitzgerald politely declined the Captain’s offer of a tour around the ship, suggesting that there was insufficient time to do her justice. Privately, he knew that a tour of the Iron Duke followed by another on the
Hampshire
were inevitable and unavoidable. Wandering round three ships in close succession in this weather would have been more than his patience could have borne.
When a suitable moment presented itself, Farmer leaned unobtrusively over to Fitzgerald and murmured, “Anything I should know about?”
“You mean the telegram I received at the dockside?”
“Just so.”
Fitzgerald paused for a moment and looked sheepishly down. “I was debating with myself whether I should mention it or not – you have enough on your plate. It was from Kell. It seems, Heaven knows how, that Gallagher is back on our tracks. He has discovered that you’re leaving from Scapa.”
Henry turned pale. “God Almighty.”
Fitzgerald gripped Farmer’s upper arm. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll never get on board any of the ships – but it’s his ability to suborn others who
do
have access that worries me. The persuasive power of cash is a universal constant and I’ve absolutely no doubt that the IRB has supplied him well in that respect. Kell suggests that we get to sea as quickly as possible. I presume he’s thinking along the same lines that the less time we give Gallagher to sort something out, the better.”
At around mid-day, they found themselves in the impressive natural harbour provided by the rolling hills and islands of Orkney. The majority of the Home Fleet, some showing dismal signs of their engagement with the Imperial German Navy, lay spread around them as they slowly edged in to tie up the
Iron Duke
and run out a gangplank between the two ships. Fitzgerald pointed out the
Hampshire
lying a hundred yards away. MacLachlan, who had been on the bridge during the approach, slid expertly down the ladder. “My Lord, we are ready to transfer you over to the flagship by gangplank. Do take care – the decks are pitching a little, as you can see. I’ll join you shortly, if I may, after operations are completed here.”
Farmer smiled at the Captain and his assembled officers. “Thank you, Captain and you gentlemen, for your hospitality.” He nodded to MacLachlan, “I look forward to seeing you soon.” To the ear-piercing shriek of the bo’sun’s pipe, Farmer and his party positioned themselves, ready to make their way across the rickety planking, protected only by some rather sulky-looking ropes.
“You know, Henry, your performance is getting a little ...
uncanny
. You’ve become
very
good. This Russian thing will be a cakewalk for you.”
Farmer turned around, almost falling overboard in the process. “Bloody hell”, he gasped, under his breath. He steadied himself and muttered at Fitzgerald, “Glad you think so but, to be frank, I don’t even think about it now. It comes automatically – Chris said it would.
Chris!
I wish to God he were here. The little scamp.”
Moments later, they were able to step onto the main deck of the
Iron Duke
to meet Jellicoe himself. “Welcome aboard, Sir,” he said, genially. “Would you like to take a short tour of the ship before lunch?”
Farmer groaned internally – he was already feeling fairly green and the ship, at anchor, was rolling and plunging fairly vigorously by now. “Delighted,” he replied.
Accompanied only by Fitzgerald, Farmer walked along with Jellicoe, mentally praying that the rain would hold off just a little longer. As it turned out, the tour was more interesting that he had expected.
Jellicoe held a hatch open for Farmer to step back out on to the main deck after seeing the engine room and said, quietly so that no-one else in the naval party could hear, “Your Lordship is not looking quite as I remember him, if I may say so.”