He told her then, not because he believed her, but because if she was with Mossad, then she already knew most of it, and if she wasn’t . . . Well, what did it matter? But he didn’t tell her everything. Just in case.
When he informed her of the plan to assassinate the US Secretary of State at one fifty-five that coming morning, she just sat there, a stunned expression on her face. Then she said, ‘So that was why they locked me up.’
He looked at her quizzically.
‘The missile launcher,’ she said. ‘I found it. They caught me taking photographs of it. I thought it was just another part of Gant’s testing ground – the whole estate’s riddled with testing ranges.’ She flicked her blonde hair away from her face. ‘No wonder they got so mad.’ She almost managed a smile.
‘Where was it, Holly? Where did you find it?’
‘Oh, it’s towards the shoreline,’ she pointed vaguely in the direction of the sea. ‘I’d slipped my guard – Gant wouldn’t allow me to wander around free, naturally enough, even though he was anxious I do this article on him – and I pretended I was going to take a nap. It was late afternoon and we’d been trudging around most of the day, so I guess my guide believed me when I told him I was tired. Anyway, he escorted me up here, then disappeared for a while. I sneaked out and started exploring the areas he’d taken care to keep me away from. This is a strange house, Harry. Did you know the back half is completely different from the front, as though the section we’re in now is just a façade?’
He shook his head but remained silent.
‘Well, I’d been taken in completely opposite directions before, towards the weapons plant about half a mile away, but this time I headed round the back. I was surprised it was so easy, but I guess with Gant away they’d all relaxed a little. Anyway, I got to the back of the house and took a peek in some rear windows on the way. The interior’s like a castle back there, very old, dark wood and heraldic symbols, you know? There was no way in, though, all the doors were locked. I heard guards coming – did you know he’s got his own private army here? – so I took off away from the house, towards the cliff-tops.
‘I hid behind an old outhouse for a while, waiting for the guards to disappear. It was a little way off from the main house, but was locked and the windows boarded up, so I didn’t get a look inside to see what it was used for. When the coast was clear, I took off again, staying away from the road leading to the beach, not looking for anything in particular, but curious enough to keep a look-out for something peculiar. Well, I found something peculiar, all right, but I found it by accident. I’d ducked into some undergrowth about fifty yards or so from the cliff-edge because one of their patrol Range Rovers was heading in my direction – they keep regular patrols all over the estate – and I nearly fell into a huge hole the undergrowth had been disguising. It was about twenty feet wide and had camouflage netting spread over it. I could see through the netting, and the hole looked natural enough except the sides had been smoothed with concrete all the way down, and there was a circular staircase running round the edge. I looked into it and saw it was about forty feet deep and light was coming in from one side below. It was the shaft of a cave, you see, the cave leading up, I assume, at an angle from the beach – I could hear the sea down there. The tide wouldn’t get into it because the bottom of the well was much higher than the beach. And there, at the bottom of the shaft, was the missile mounted on its launching pad. It wasn’t very big, but it looked kind of lethal.’
‘They must keep the shaft camouflaged because of all the low-flying military aircraft around these parts,’ said Steadman.
‘I guess so. Anyway, it was too good to miss. I started clicking away with the Pentax and I became too engrossed in what I was doing. Two guards snuck up on me and all but threw me into the hole. They brought me back here and confiscated my camera. Then the grilling began.’
She put a tentative hand out towards him and rested it on his arm, unsure of his reaction. He let it stay there. ‘They asked me about you, Harry: what I knew about you, who you were working for, were we working together. Then they started in on me about Mossad. I told them the same as I told you: I’m a freelance journalist trying to make some bread. They didn’t believe me, either.’
She stared earnestly into Steadman’s eyes. ‘Didn’t the other day mean anything to you? Weren’t your feelings the same as mine?’
He looked away from her, confused.
‘God, you’re like a stranger,’ she said, anger returning.
‘Holly,’ he began, trying to come to terms with his doubts, wanting to believe in her. ‘So much has happened in the last few days, I swear to God I don’t know who I can trust. Those men downstairs with Gant – Christ, they’re high-level people. And Pope. He’s with British Intelligence! Even one of my own clients has been spying on me since I left Mossad. How can I trust anybody?’
She drew his hand towards her and at that point he wanted to give in, to hold her, to believe. But another part of him held back.
‘Okay, Harry,’ she said, no longer angry. ‘Don’t trust me, be as suspicious as hell. But what it all boils down to is that we – just you, if you like – are in big trouble and have to get out. Now, does anyone else know you’re here?’
He shook his head, still doubting.
‘That’s kind of dumb, but okay, we’re on our own. So, let’s think of a way.’ She tried to smile. ‘Like the movies, huh?’
‘Some movie,’ he said, extricating his hand and moving away from the bed and towards the curtainless window. She watched him peering down into the grounds below.
‘There’s a guard out there all the time,’ she said, ‘and the window can’t be opened – I’ve tried. You’d break a leg jumping, anyway, and the guard would put a bullet through you before you even reached the ground.’
The guard was looking up at him, face expressionless, but his pose menacing. Steadman looked back at Holly. She seemed calm enough now. Did she have reason to be or was it just a natural facet of her character?
‘Any ideas?’ she asked, conscious of his gaze.
‘We wait,’ he said. ‘Gant wants me to meet someone later tonight.’
He grinned without humour at her surprise and suddenly felt she had been telling the truth. But still he remained withdrawn. He could be wrong.
Major Brannigan’s face was flushed with a brooding sulkiness as he tapped lightly on the door. He wanted to rap hard at the wood with his fist, for he knew she would be laughing inwardly at his mood. He wanted to throw open the door and slap away the smirk she would have on her face. He held his anger in check, however, for he was both afraid and in desperate need of her.
Kristina’s voice came to him from inside the room: ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me – Andrew,’ he said, leaning close to the wood, his voice already losing its rancour. ‘May I come in?’
‘It’s open, Andrew.’
He entered and closed the door quickly behind him. He hesitated before approaching, the mere sight of her filling him with the usual desire – and shame for being in bondage to such a creature.
She was sitting before a mirror, deftly tucking strands of damp hair beneath a towel worn around her head. The long, white bathrobe she wore was parted around one thigh, and he could not help but stare at the smooth skin, wanting to touch its softness, stroke it, to reach for her and hold her close.
She knew his look, and knew his desire; and laughed at him.
He looked down at her, resisting the temptation to reach out for her elegant neck, the neck he had caressed with his lips so many times, wanting to choke the life from it now, but knowing his hands would never have the strength. They would squeeze until the knuckles were white, until her eyes showed panic, fear, laughter gone from them; then his grip would loosen and his hands would reach down, across the smooth flesh, down until they cupped her hard-nippled breasts – for her very fear would have aroused her, made her want him as much as he wanted her. That was the kind of perverse creature
Kristina was. And her fear would have aroused him – that was the kind of perverse creature he was. He would sink to his knees and beg forgiveness, his hands still clutching her breasts as though afraid to let go. And Kristina would sink down beside him and they would make love in their unnatural way.
‘No, Andrew,’ she said, reading his mind. She turned from him and resumed tucking away the damp strands of hair, watching the reflection of his clenched fists in the mirror, smiling at the conflict of desires he was going through.
‘Please, Kristina, I . . .’ He fell to his knees and pushed his cheek against the roughness of the bathrobe, a hand resting on her exposed thigh, fingers spreading and moving inwards towards the even softer flesh on the inside of her leg.
She snatched his hand away and drew the bathrobe over her nakedness. ‘You know what has to be done later,’ she said scornfully. ‘We’ve no time for this.’
‘Why?’ Brannigan said, almost wearily. ‘Why does it have to be you?’
Her eyes flashed angrily. ‘You know why. He has to be debased.’
‘As I was? As I am now?’
‘This is different, Andrew. It’s nothing to do with . . .’ She stopped abruptly, but he completed the sentence for her.
‘Blackmail? No need to blackmail him as you did me?’
‘It began as blackmail, Andrew. But you believe in our cause now, don’t you? You’ve told me so many times that you do, and you’ve done so much for us.’
‘Of course. But why Steadman? For God’s sake, Kristina . . .’
‘God? What has He got to do with this?’
Brannigan was silent.
‘Dr Scheuer says the legend has to be refuted,’ Kristina said impatiently.
‘And Gant believes all this nonsense.’
‘Nonsense? You can say that after all you’ve seen?’
‘I . . . I don’t understand all of it, Kristina. I don’t understand how these . . . things happen.’ His voice was pleading. ‘You said you loved me. Was that also just for the cause?’
She dropped a hand to the back of his head and stroked his hair. Her voice softened. ‘Of course not. You know how much I think of you.’ The major could not see her smile at her own reflection in the mirror. ‘I have to do this, Andrew. Our Parsifal has to be – ’ her smile was filled with malice ‘ – corrupted.’
Without force, she pushed Brannigan away, then tilted his head up so she could look into his eyes. ‘Now go away and check that everything’s secure for tonight. This is the beginning, Andrew, and nothing must go wrong.’ Kristina kissed his lips, holding herself back from his passion, restraining him with a gentle hand. ‘I must rest,’ she said. ‘Tonight is important to us all.’
Major Brannigan rose clumsily and, with a last penetrating look at Kristina, left the room. He walked towards the right wing of the house and entered a room next door to the one in which Steadman and Holly Miles were being held. A green-uniformed man wearing headphones, seated next to a tape-recorder, looked up and acknowledged him with a respectful nod.
‘Anything?’ Brannigan asked.
The man shook his head. ‘They’ve been quiet for some time now. He asked her direct if she worked for Mossad when he first went in and she denied it. Looks like she really is clean.’
‘Unless she suspects the room is bugged. What else did Steadman have to say?’
‘He told her quite a bit – about Mr Gant and the organization, about tonight’s op – but he doesn’t know the whole story himself.’
Brannigan nodded briskly and turned to leave. ‘Keep listening till he’s taken out of there. I still don’t think that woman is what she seems. If anything does slip out, let me know immediately.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The eavesdropper saluted and Brannigan left the room, making his way towards the main stairway and the front entrance. A check on the guards, posted at various spots around the estate’s boundaries, then a visit to the missile site to make sure everything was set for tonight’s – or more accurately, tomorrow morning’s – launching. Things would be moving at last and they’d begin to see some fruition of their dream. The Society had remained in the shadows for so many years, but the time was coming for the strong leaders to emerge. They would rule and the military would no longer be the puppets of weak men. No longer would the country’s defences be whittled away by the weaklings in government. No longer would the leftists be allowed to dominate. That kind of destructive freedom was to end in England. It had to if the nation was to survive. Of course, the identity of their true leader would never be revealed, for it would be abhorrent to the people who had so misguidedly fought against his great ideals in the last World War. And they would never allow themselves to be ruled by someone they thought had perished so many years before.
Dusk fell and the white house was silent. The drizzle had ceased, but it seemed all life, animal and human, was still sheltering from its dampness. Only the roar from the ocean could be heard, the sound of cruel Atlantic waves breaking on the rocky beaches, their thunderous crashes drifting up the cliff-faces and rolling over the grassy slopes.
The night slowly closed in around the house and its whiteness turned grey, the windows black and impenetrable. A cold wind stirred the grass in spreading ripples and disturbed the tree branches, dislodging the final stubborn leaves.
The darkness became solid and a heaviness, despite the just-fallen rain, seemed to hang in the air. It was as if the very night was waiting, and time was a creeping thing.
16
‘But the day will come when we shall make a pact with these new men in England, France, America. We shall make it when they fall in line with the vast process of the re-ordering of the world, and voluntarily play their part in it. There will not be much left then of the clichés of nationalism, and precious little among us Germans. Instead there will be an understanding between the various language elements of the one good ruling race.’
Adolf Hitler
‘Come along, Harry, separate rooms for you two, dear boy.’
Pope’s gross figure stood in the doorway, a grin on his face and a gun in his hand. When he saw the investigator was a safe distance away from him and not lurking near the door he returned to gun to his jacket pocket. He always felt ridiculous holding the ‘Baby’ Parabellum .25 in his immense hand anyway, but it was a convenient and unobtrusive size for his pocket.
Steadman swung his legs off the bed, his hand squeezing Holly’s as he stood, his eyes warning her to keep quiet.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked Pope.
‘Mr Gant felt that now you’ve been assured of Miss Miles’ well-being, you should be kept apart just in case you should get up to any mischief.’ Griggs and Booth leered from their position behind the fat man.
Steadman walked towards the trio crowded in the doorway and Pope stood aside to let him through.
‘Harry, don’t go with them!’ Holly suddenly shouted, leaping from the bed.
Pope turned his huge bulk towards her and held up a hand to keep her at bay. ‘He has no choice in the matter, my dear. Now go back to where you were and keep quiet!’
Holly glared at him defiantly. ‘What are you bastards going to do with him?’
‘Nothing, dear lady, absolutely nothing.’ The smoothness had returned to Pope’s voice. ‘Until midnight, that is. In fact, it should be rather pleasant for him until then.’ One of the men in the doorway chuckled aloud, but there was no amusement in the fat man’s eyes. ‘Now, move!’ he ordered Steadman.
With a last backwards glance at Holly, the investigator stepped into the hallway and began to follow Griggs and Booth with Pope close behind.
She looked scared, Steadman mused. Genuinely scared for him. Was she really innocent in all this or was it merely an elaborate ploy to get him to talk to her, to make sure he knew only what they wanted him to know? And to make sure he was completely alone?
He was led up a flight of stairs on to the next floor, taken along another corridor and finally shown into a room
that was infinitely more comfortable than the one he had just left. The decor was still stark, but a fire blazed in the grate, throwing a warm glow around the walls. A small lamp gave the room an intimate atmosphere and a long pin-buttoned couch stood at right-angles to the fire. A four-poster bed dominated half the large room and its soft, inviting quilt reminded Steadman how tired he was. It had been a day full of tension. He fought against the tiredness that suddenly dragged him down.
Turning to the big man, he said bitterly, ‘Why, Pope? Why did someone like you get involved in all this?’
The fat man laughed hollowly, then motioned his two henchmen to leave the room. When he and Steadman were alone, he said, ‘I’ve always been involved, Harry. The British Secret Service was never much before the last war, and after . . . just a shambles, a complete bloody shambles.’
Pope crossed the room and gazed into the fire, one pudgy hand resting on the mantelshelf above. ‘You were in Military Intelligence,’ he said, his face lit by the flames, ‘so you must have been aware of the general incompetence that was rife throughout the whole of the British Secret Service.’
Steadman nodded unconsciously, remembering the frustration he had felt over the apparent idiocy of many of his superiors. At the time, he had forgiven their seemingly senseless directives on the assumption that there was some deeply hidden motive behind them, and when he had often later discovered the motive was just as senseless as the directive, he’d almost given up in despair. That was why the Shin Beth had been so attractive to him. Israeli Intelligence had been, and probably still was, the most respected intelligence organization in the world, the British equivalent paling in comparison. However, some sense of loyalty forced the investigator to refute Pope’s damning statement.
‘But it’s changed now – the dross has been cleared out, the “old school tie” network doesn’t work any more.’
‘Hah!’ Pope faced him, amusement and scorn turning him into a jovial gargoyle. ‘I am part of the “old school tie” network, dear boy. Only I do not choose to socialize – ideologically, of course – with my peers at the Ministry. Even after the outrageous attempts by the SIS to protect traitors like Philby in the sixties, the “old boy” network was allowed to go on ruling the roost. Even when Burgess and Maclean defected and it was evident Kim Philby had tipped them off, they went on protecting him – and were allowed to. God, it was no wonder the CIA lost all confidence in us after that débâcle – after all, they suffered as much as us through our incompetence. Cooperation between our two organizations has been slight, to say the least, after the sixties. The exposé of spy rings such as Lonsdale’s, and the internment of men like Vassal, far from gaining our security service glory has, in fact, cast serious doubts on our reliability in matters of State secrecy. And these are only our publicized defections! You’d be amazed at the disasters that have been swept under the carpet in the interest of national confidence in the department! You can’t blame the bloody Americans for not collaborating with us any more!’