LONDON ALERT (22 page)

‘I understand.’

 ‘That’s all for now. I
will leave you in the capable hands of your nurse. Good luck. The next stage of
our operation should be even more fun than toppling Nelson, as well as being for
the good of the country. I must warn you it is multifaceted and designed to
make government fools look even more foolish. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye,’ answered
Holt somewhat sheepishly.

A couple or so minutes
later, the door opened and in came the nurse with a pill and a glass of water.

‘Don’t worry,’ she
said, ‘It’s not fast-acting. You’ll be conscious long enough to get back to your
room and go to the toilet. I’m so glad it won’t be the “
break
[Ma77]
 
” routine. You seem such a
nice young man, though somewhat naïve.’

Holt wondered what she
looked like under her surgical mask – could she have taken a liking to him.

Waking
up
under a
tree at the edge of a wood
,
Holt
had
,
as
certainly
intended
,
lost all sense of time
.
H
e
remembered being
woken up
several times
, given a little food, made to exercise
, going to the toilet,
and being
given a
nother
pill to put him back to sleep
.
They could have gone through this
routine several times each day to give him the impression more time had elapsed
tha
n had in reality. It was impossible to know.

There was a canvas sheet
under him, no doubt to protect his clothes, since he was dressed in the clothes
he had been wearing when abducted. His shirt and underclothes had evidently
been washed, and his suit pressed.

He could not have been lying
there for long, for he was conscious of recently having had people bustling
around him. His arm ached a little from what had evidently been a wake-up
shot. Next to him was a glass of water, a liquid that he sorely needed, as his
throat was parched due to the drugs he had imbibed over possibly a period of many
days. Also there was satchel attached to his belt; inside was the OwlPhone.

A tray with a sandwich
and Thermos flask marked ‘Strong Coffee’ was also at hand on a low camping
table. How thoughtful and considerate! After eagerly consuming the sandwich and
drinking the coffee, he felt fit enough to stand up and look around. The first
thing that caught his attention was a wooden pole with a sign saying ‘
Railway Station 5 miles
’
.
 
He would not have to buy a railway
ticket, as there was one pinned to the Thermos flask containing the coffee. The
date on the ticket, which included travel by tube within London, showed almost
a month had elapsed since his abduction.

Perhaps because of the reaction
to the strong coffee, the first thing he did was to have a pee against the
trunk of a nearby tree. Then, starting off somewhat unsteadily, he walked
through the woods and fields before coming to some big houses and a hotel,
where he asked for further directions, to be told the station was a mile
further on. It was Gerrards Cross, where Consuela had picked him up at the
beginning of his undercover mission. Small world.

Though people at
Giraffe must have been wondering what had happened to him and whether he was
still alive, he thought it better to wait until he arrived at London’s
Marylebone station before giving them a call. The phone at the local station
might be bugged; not that he would be saying anything other than that he was still
alive and relatively well and on his way to Farringdon.

The train was virtually
empty, and he had no trouble finding a seat with no one nearby. While trying to
take stock of his situation and check how much money he had, he checked his
pockets and was surprised to find the expensive-looking bracelet Consuela
had given him was still there. He took it out and looked at it wistfully. He
would keep it for memories’ sake. Not tell anyone.

On arriving at Marylebone,
he made a very brief phone call to the receptionist at Giraffe, who was clearly
surprised and overjoyed to hear his voice. Walking as instructed to Baker
Street station, he caught a District Line underground train straight to
Farringdon. With so many other things to think about, he found it odd to find he
had time to muse over the fact that at one time trains on that section of the
line had been drawn by steam engines. It was nice to be back in the real world
again, however grimy.

Considering he had always
worked independently and his interactions with the staff at Giraffe had mostly been
intermittent ones in the canteen, he was touched and surprised so many turned
out to welcome him back. To his disappointment, Celia was not of their number,
but then he noticed her hovering outside the pack. Even though they had never had
a physical relationship, she evidently feared being unable to hold back an
excessive display of emotion on greeting him that would start the office rumour
mill rolling.

Peter cut short the
congratulations, saying Sir Charles wanted to see him right away, but first Blackwell
would have to check him over to confirm he was physically okay.

‘I have told Blackwell
you are not allowed to give any details other than that you were interrogated
after being softened up by a woman who cannot be named. To stop him getting too
interested, I gave the impression she was an unattractive monster like Rosa
Klebb in
From Russia with Love
.
Above all, do not mention your role in the toppling of Nelson or the word “owl
”.’
 

‘Blackwell’s the last
person I want to see after all I’ve been through.’

‘I understand, but in
this case regulations stipulate you be looked over physically – a kind of
health and safety thing so you cannot sue us. Just keep shtum.’

So it proved. Blackwell
wanted the details of what he had done with the woman rather than undercover in
general. However, thanks to Peter he was able to stonewall him. As a result, Blackwell
had to make do with reporting Holt was in such good condition he must have had
an easy time of it, a holiday almost, which in fact had been true initially.

If Holt had described
how intensive and stressful the subsequent interrogation part had been, that would
have given Blackwell a pretext for saying he was damaged goods, suffering from post-traumatic
stress disorder and therefore a liability.

It fell to Peter to recognize
his fragile mental state and insist that Celia accompany him on the journey to
Sackville Street in case a reaction set in. For Holt, this was a bittersweet
choice of minder, for though pleased to see her, he felt guilty about his intense
sessions with Consuela, for whom he still had lingering feelings and yearnings.
He felt he had cheated on Miss Innocent, even though they were not in a formal
relationship.

As the black cab sped through
the midday traffic towards the West End, Celia inevitably questioned him about
the ‘
hoity-toity’
woman she had seen him with
at the US ambassador’s reception.

‘You seemed very close,
even though she was somewhat older than you. Did anything happen?’

‘We were not together
long enough for it to be meaningful. I was only with her up until the initiation
test, which of course you know about. Most of my time undercover was spent
drugged out of my mind or being interrogated.’

Their arrival at Vigo
Street at the top of Sackville Street fortunately, or so he thought at the
time, prevented Celia from asking him to define ‘
meaningful
’
.
 
Relieved, he got out,
slammed the door shut, and stood at the kerb watching her taxi disappear into
the distance before walking down the street to number 45.

As on previous
occasions, he rang the bell and pushed open the first door and then the second
after the first had clicked shut. Cut-Glass was standing at the top of the first
flight of stairs, and – surprise, surprise – seemed genuinely delighted to see him.

‘Come on up, Jeremy.
Sir Charles is waiting impatiently. So glad to see you made it safely back. We
were all getting concerned about you when you disappeared into thin air after
the Nelson thing. We guessed you had been rumbled and feared the worst.’

‘I was rumbled, but not
due to any mistake on my part.’

The door to Sir Charles’s
room was ajar, and on seeing Holt and Cut-Glass, he beckoned them to come in. Usually
so calm and poised, he looked tired and strained as he walked over to shake
Holt’s hand.

‘Welcome back, Jeremy,
and let me say how much we all appreciate what you did for the country at great
risk to your person.’

Holt put his fingers to
his lips, walked to the far side of the large room, and put the OwlPhone under
a cushion on the sofa. He walked back to Sir Charles and spoke in his ear.

 ‘We must speak in a
low voice.’

‘Understood,’ whispered
Sir Charles, bringing a chair up to one Holt was sitting on and sitting down. Holt
then proceeded to brief him on all that had happened.

‘Sir Charles, before
going into detail I must warn you that they have someone or even several people
on the inside who tipped them off that the PM knew about the plan to topple
Nelson beforehand. As only I could have revealed their intention, my cover was
blown even before they launched the missile. That’s why they abducted and interrogated
me. I am sorry to say I must have given away some information when drugged and
pressured.’

‘What did you tell
them?’

‘I can’t remember
exactly, but according to their boss, called the Owl, as you are aware, and who
seems to know you personally, even claiming you are a chum, I admitted that I worked
for you. In fact, he knew all about Giraffe and you being in charge, so I was
not giving much away – not like giving a list of secret agents – and anyway, I don’t
know the real names of the people working for you. I am sorry all the same.’

‘Don’t worry. You’re
lucky they let you go. It was your call. We couldn’t help you.’

‘There’s much more to
it than that. He wants me, and you – the two of us – to be intermediaries
between his organization and the government. As you thought before I undertook
the mission, something big
is
definitely about to happen in London, but I have no idea what it is.’

‘Why do you think the
Owl knew me personally?’

‘He talked as if you
had been chums at school – in very familiar terms. He even knew your nickname.’

‘Anybody could have
found that out.’

‘He said you, like he, could
have been prime minister had you so wanted.’

‘He has quite an
imagination, but it sounds as though all that may be a red herring to throw us off
the scent.’

Sir Charles, evidently
pleased at the back-handed compliment about him being a potential prime
minister, knew it might all be a bluff, and that the Owl’s main intention might
simply be to make money speculating against the pound.

‘Before I give you the
details of what happened to me undercover and during my interrogation, I must
tell you about the special phone I put over there just now. He calls it the OwlPhone,
and its main purpose is for us to be able to communicate with him. I put it
under the cushion because I suspect he could use it to listen in to our
conversations.’

‘We can easily check
that,’ commented Sir Charles. ‘But possibly he would only activate it – the
listening in – at certain times.’

Holt went over to the
sofa and collected the OwlPhone to show it to Sir Charles.

‘It is rather large,’
explained Holt, talking in a normal voice, ‘because it has multiple SIM cards
and communication modes, which switch automatically, making it impossible to
track the origin of the communications, not forgetting a self-destruct charge
that will go off it is tampered with. His Wisdom says I should keep it with me
at all times and not allow anyone to X-ray it or subject it to any form of
radiation or strong electromagnetic force. It contains C4, by the way, so he
could blow us up anytime. He is going to call us on it at 2 p.m. on Monday.’

Holt picked up a pen
and a piece of paper from Sir Charles’s desk and wrote, ‘Tell Sandra to
put this in the broom cupboard and not to speak,’
on a piece of paper, which he handed to Sir Charles,
who then called Cut-Glass and gave her the sheet of paper and then the phone,
which she clutched somewhat nervously.

Holt proceeded to fill
in the details of what had happened undercover, only leaving out the specifics of
the amorous sessions with Trophy Wife. He explained Consuela was not part of the
Owl’s organization, knew nothing about it, and had in fact worked for them on a
one-off basis for a bit of adventure, believing they were a US secret agency
like the CIA. He was glad Sir Charles was not interested in her and only in the
Owl himself and his organization.

‘Who do you think the
Owl could be? Maybe it’s a she.’

‘I don’t think so, as
the nurse kept on referring to the Owl as he. The only concrete information is that
the Owl learnt that the government had been tipped off about the toppling of
Lord Nelson. This means that either the Owl’s statement that he has
sympathizers at the highest levels of government is true, or that he himself is
a cabinet minister, high official, political adviser, or someone in the
security services. The great lengths the Owl went to in order to make it impossible
to determine the exact moment our meeting took place and the use of his underlings
in future dealings suggest he is someone operating in the centre of things, but
of what things?’

 Sir Charles asked Holt
whether he had been able to gauge what type of person the Owl was.

‘I hesitate to say it,
but at times it seemed as if I were talking to you – perhaps it was because of
similar backgrounds, and you both wanted to use me in similar ways. Perhaps an
establishment civil service or secret service figure, to put it bluntly.’

‘Really?’

‘I do not think he is an
evil person – for instance, he took measures to ensure no one was injured in
toppling Nelson.’