He leaned closer. “Look, Doctor, what I’m saying is, we want to help him. He’s done great work. I can’t talk about it, but he’s risked his neck. He’s been under terrific strain. Never knew when he’d get a buDet in his back.”
Perriton raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve got no idea what Captain Tower’s been through. The pressure on him … Jesus, I’d crack, that’s for sure. I can’t ten you more. It’s highly classified. You can guess how secret. But the least we owe him is to try and help him.”
“So why try him at all?” reasoned Perriton.
“He broke the law.” Duval sighed. “Crazy guy. Gets involved with this English girl, shacks up with her. The whole thing leaves a bad taste, but we’ve got to enforce the law. If every married guy in the service thought lee could get away with adultery “
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“A lot do and nothing happens,” interrupted Perriton. His smile was chilly.
“Poor Tower got caught. But we want him off the hook.”
The bald man looked at his watch. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“All I’m trying to find out, strictly unofflcial1y, is if you’d cooperate?”
“To find him mentally unstable?”
‘Do take the appropriate action so we can get him out of trouble.”
“I don’t know….”
“It would also protect national security,” Duval added softly.
Perriton looked up. “How is that?”
“I can’t tell you any more, Doctor. But believe me, it might be very much in the interests of the United States.”
Perriton stood up. “I’ve got to get back,” he said. “Anyway, I can’t answer hypothetical questions. If a request for a board comes through channels, I’ll consider it. That’s all I can say.”
“That’s all I wanted to know, sir,” said Duval.
He drove the psychiatrist back to the hospital. Ho nearly asked if he could have a look at Ward 10, but he realized they wouldn’t want visitors there at any time. What happened behind its locked doors was not discussed outside Burderop Park.
He was pleased with himself on the return drive to Laconbury. After all, it was a basic military principle to have a contingency plan. You never knew when you might need it.
Although he knew that the file he never saw also had other proposals about how to deal with Captain John Tower.
He was almost relieved that he didn’t have to know about them.
London
It was twelve forty when Arthur Rippon got out of the cab. Not only the invitation but the venue puzzled him. Cushion Street was not lawyer’s locale, and the Mirabelle certainly not their stamping ground.
Daventry was already sitting in the lounge when Mr. Rippon entered, and welcomed him with a charming smile.
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‘1 hope the traffic wasn’t too bad,” Daventry greeted the solicitor. “Do sit down. What would you like?”
Mr. Rippon blinked. Daventry was always polite, correct to him, if somewhat distant. This friendliness was something quite new.
“Gin and dry ginger,” said Mr. Rippon.
Daventry did not even wince.
“Well, this is a pleasure, Mr. Daventry,” said the solicitor. “Especially,” he added pointedly, “as you’re always so busy.”
“Yes, I’m sorry we haven’t managed to do it before.” Daventry nodded. He was very much at ease.
The menus came, and Mr. Rippon opened his. He was impressed.
Daventry was an attentive host, chatting urbanely about all kinds of insignificant topics. As Mr. Rippon toyed with his Dover sole, and he ate almond trout, Daventry spiced the conversation with a few gossipy bits about legal figures and court gaffes that both amused Mr. Rippon and gave him a growing sense of equality with the barrister.
“A little Armagnac perhaps? Or a Napoleon?” suggested Daventry over coffee.
“I have to work this afternoon,” said Mr. Rippon. But he quickly added, “Yes, please. I’d find Napoleon brandy very agreeable.”
It was a double in the big balloon glass, and then Daventry signaled for cigars. Mr. Rippon found himself puffing a huge Havana torpedo.
“I must say, this has been most pleasant,” he said, his face slightly flushed with good living.
“My dear Mr. Rippon, that’s the idea,” said Daventry truthfully, “I am so glad you’ve enjoyed it.”
Mr. Rippon blew out some heady Bolivar fumes. ‘I think I may have something quite juicy for you soon,” he confided, lowering his voice. “I’ll be in touch with Pettifer.”
“Oh, really?” remarked Daventry.
“You’re very much in demand with my clients,” continued Mr. Rippon. “I think some of them say a little prayer at night that you won’t start accepting prosecution briefs.”
He laughed a little throatily. Daventry ordered another Napoleon. He felt the moment had come.
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‘Y wonder if you could do a little thing for me, Mr. Rippon,” he said.
“Anything, anything.” Mr. Rippon was warm, contented.
“I’d like you to brief me on behalf of a client.”
Mr. Rippon stared at him. “What client?”
“A Miss Howard.”
Mr. Rippon’s brow furrowed. “Howard1 Miss Howard? I don’t think I “
“No,” interrupted Daventry. “You don’t know her.”
Mr. Rippon sipped the brandy, but his eyes were surprisingly alert. “What is the case?”
“She would like me to represent her in an application to a judge in chambers.”
Mr. Rippon waited.
“To set aside a subpoena,” added Daventry.
“She’d better come and see me,” said Mr. Rippon.
“Well,” said Daventry, “as it so happens, I have all the facts. She’s already consulted me. Quite unofficial, you understand.”
“Oh, yes?”
“But I feel that as I will act for her, it is time to regularize the position. I should now be formally instructed. So if you could oblige me….”
“Hmm,” said Rippon, savoring the delight-of being asked to do Daventry a favor. “Rather unusual, is it not? A member of the bar asking a solicitor to brief him?” He winked. “Not that I mind, of course. Not among colleagues.”
“It’s perfectly correct procedure, I assure you, Mr. Rippon,” said Daventry, and for the first time there was a hint of the old formality in his tone. “As you know, it is no breach of etiquette to advise a personal friend.”
Mr. Rippon’s eyes narrowed. “The lady is a personal friend, then?” Daventry regarded him stonily. “Not that that is my business, of course. Perhaps I should know what this subpoena is all about?”
“It is a witness summons for her to give evidence at an American courtmartial.”
“Oh, really? A British national?” Mr. Rippon swallowed some more brandy. “What is the case?”
“An officer is being tried for adultery,” said Daventry almost reluctantly.
Mr. Rippon exposed yellowing teeth in a wolfish smile.
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“Goodness met If our courts could try people for adultery, I’d have to treble my practice. What a lark.”
“Anyway, she doesn’t want to give evidence,” said Daventry.
“Naturally not.” Mr. Rippon nodded as if he knew everything. “Well, I’ll get in touch with Pettifer …”
“No,” said Daventry. “I will not require that.”
“Oh.”
“But ~ assure you that you will not be out of pocket, Mr. Rippon.”
“The lady has means?”
“All your costs will be met,” Daventry assured him.
“Well, then….” Mr. Rippon hastily gulped down the remainder of the brandy.
“Good,” said Daventry. “That’s settled then. You have formally instructed me.”
“Yes.” Mr. Rippon inclined his head. “On behalf of Miss … oh yes, Miss Howard.”
“And I accept your instructions,” said Daventry. “And I am now acting on her behalf.”
He signaled the waiter for the bill.
“I would like to meet the lady,” said Mr. Rippon.
“Perhaps there’ll be an opportunity,” Daventry replied carelessly, and regretfully Mr. Rippon started to feel shut out again.
“Does Pettifer know about our … er … arrangement, Mr. Daventry?”
“He will,” said Daventry. “He will.”
Friday, July 7, 1961
London
“I don’t understand what this is about,” protested Serena Howard, staring from one to the other.
“It’s at the request of the American authorities,” explained the shorter of the two Special Branch men.
“The American authorities …”
“Well,” he went on, with just the hint of a sneer, “you;ve had a G] staying here quite a lot, haven’t you
She flared up.
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“I have a friend, yes,” she retorted. “He’s an American officer. What’s that got to do with you?”
“We’ve been asked to search your flat at the request of their authorities. Since you’re a British national, it has to be done by us,” stated the short one, as if that answered everything.
In the corner of the room, remarkably-inconspicuous for a man of his bulk, stood Unterberg. Despite his size, he had a knack of merging with his surroundings.
She moved toward the phone.
“I want to call my … my lawyer,” said Serena.
The taller Special-Branch man was there before hen “Certainly, miss,” he said, “but not right now. We only want to look around. It won’t take long.”
“Have you got the right?”
“Yes, miss. We have a warrant.”
She sat down, pale-faced.
Unterberg sat down opposite her, uninvited.
“It’s nothing to do with you at all,” he confided, leaning forward almost conspiratorially. “I’m sorry you’re being inconvenienced. All we’re interested in is Captain Tower.”
“Who are you?” demanded Serena The shock was be. ginning to wear off a little.
“My name is Unterberg.”
“Well, Mr. Unterberg, I am not going to answer any questions. I want you people out of here. I ” She paused. “Do I make myself clear?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the taller policeman pulling out books and shaking them, opening sideboard doors and drawers.
“Tell him to keep his bloody hands off my things,” she shouted, half rising.
The short one sighed. “We do have a search warrant.”
“You’re the bastards who’vebeen plaguing me, sneaking after me, following me,” she burst out.
“I’m sorry,” said the short one, “l don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Unterberg said nothing. His smile was very faint.
The short one waved a hand at the Mexican masks. “Do you smoke?” he inquired, almost casually.
“You’re all crazy,” cried Serena, her hand nervously ruffling through her blond hair. “Do I smoke? What’s my private life got to do with you? What do you care?”
Unterberg did his confidential act again. “These are British police officers, Serena,” he said in a low voice. “I
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guess they’re interested to know If Captain Tower brought you any class-six liquor. Or PX goods. That’s an offence, possessing our duty-free stuff if you’re a British national So of course is smoking marijuana”
Her eyes widened.
“My God,” she said. “You’re trying to frame me. You’re going to plant something on me!”
The short one drew himself up to his inconsiderable height. It did not make him look much taller.
“Now, look here, Miss Howard,” he began in an offlcial voice, “that’s a very serious charge to make but I will overlook it. The purpose of our visit is to see whether Captain Tower left anything on your premises which might … might be a breach of security. Now let me ask you, did Captain Tower, to your knowledge, give you anything classified? Papers, notebooks, photos, documents? Did he ask you to keep anything for him?”
She just shook her head.
“You’re sure? You won’t be in any trouble, I promise you. If he gave you anything you shouldn’t have we just want it, that’s all.”
“No,” she said quietly. “He did not.”
“I don’t have to tell you that Captain Tower is facing courtmartial charges, and it would be an offence for you to withhold evidence.”
The taller one had picked up Tower’s framed photograph. “That’s him, isn’t it?” he asked Unterberg.
“Put that down,” hissed Serena. She rounded on the smal! one. “He’s not being tried for espionage, daron you.
She was breathing heavily, furiously.
“Nobody’s mentioned espionage,” said Unterberg. “Why do you?”
“Oh, God,” she cried, and clenched her hands until the knuckles were white.
She sat slumped, watching them go about their business, swiftly, expertly, and yet she felt they weren’t as thorough as they could be. If they were looking for documents, or photographs, they didn’t look under the mattress of her bed, or under the carpet, they only casually looked over the luggage in her wardrobe. In her distress, and her indignation, she still found time to wonder why.
All the time Unterberg sat next to her, not taking his eyes off her.
“I don’t know if it’s any consolation, Serena,” he said
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unexpectedly, “but you’re not the only one who is going through this. His wife had a visit from the FBI.”
“His wife?”
“Yes,” he said suavely, “you know about his wife, of course. The lady in New York. Or didn’t he mention her?”
“I told you, I’m not saying one word.”
Unterberg inclined his head. “Your privilege, Serena.” Then he added, “At the moment.”
Two hours later they left the flat, and all they took with them was the framed photograph of Captain Tower.
Huntingdon
The moment Verago returned to his room at the George and Dragon he knew someone had searched it. The notepad he had left on his bedside table lay at a different angle. His ballpoint pen, which had been on top of it had rolled onto the threadbare carpet.
“Shit, ‘ swore Verago. They had gone through the wardrobe and the two shirts and underwear in the drawers of the tallboy.
His carryall had been moved, and when he unzipped it, he was sure somebody had gone through it. He hadn’t stuffed the three handkerchiefs in like that. The bookmark in his law manual had been stuck between the wrong pages.
“Inefficient bastards,” growled Verago. He was almost angrier that they cared so little they hadn’t even bothered to put things back as they had found them than at the intrusion itself.
Verago thumped heavily down the creaking stairs.
He found the landlord sitting in the cubbyhole that passed for an office, talking to somebody on the phone.
“Yes,” he was saying, “beautiful countryside all round. And home cooking. You and your missus will love it here. I’ll have your room ready.”