Chapter 66
While Ashby drafted his press release for Insurance World, the Financial Times and the broadsheet newspapers, one of the telephones in his office suddenly rang.
There were two handsets on his desk. The one which was ringing had never rung while he’d occupied the office.
The call had bypassed the switchboard operator : it was on a private, direct line whose number was known only by a few confidantes of his father.
“Robert Ashby.”
“Cleopatra’s Needle, two o’clock.”
That was all the caller said and hung up. It was a deep, male voice and rather brusque.
Later that afternoon, Ashby sat on one of the raised benches on the Embankment with a clear view across the Thames. He was near the Egyptian obelisk attributed to Cleopatra.
His telex that morning had found its mark. He was finally going to meet ‘Malory’ whom he’d imagined several times. The name itself carried overtones of Sir Thomas de Malory, the author of ‘La Morte d’Arthur’ who had written of the exploits of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table while imprisoned in a French dungeon. Ashby had read the book in the original Norman French and was curious to see whether this representative of the Security Service was as chivalric and heroic as his namesake. ‘Malory’ was no doubt his cover, not his real name.
A light drizzle began to fall, forcing him to put up his umbrella. Two o’clock was faintly heard to strike on Big Ben four bridges away. There was the odd passer-by, hurrying back to his office after lunch ; a couple walking a dog ; tourists taking pictures of their grey afternoon by the Thames and an old gent ambling across the road from the Savoy Hotel.
He had a certain stateliness about him, like an old cruise liner which had once been the fastest across the Atlantic but was now in permanent dry-dock. You could tell that he’d been a military type in his younger days, perhaps a colonel or something higher. His face was weather-beaten and slightly tanned with his grey hair swept back over his broad forehead. A ruddy, red complexion – blood pressure a touch too high, added a certain solemnity to his face and one could imagine him with a service revolver, swagger-stick, brass buttons and khaki uniform directing operations in wartime, probably in the Far East. In place of them, he was sporting a navy blue blazer and regimental tie, his Burberry raincoat wrapped closely around him against the wind. Appearing in this way, he strolled up to Ashby as if they were in the officers’ mess.
“Malory,” he said while extending a hand. “We meet at last, Mr Ashby – or may I call you, Robert ?”
“Yes, of course.”
After shaking hands, Ashby made room on the bench and spread the shelter of the umbrella to cover his visitor.
“Was it you that I rang when I was in Brazil last year – just before the Falklands War started ?”
“It was – and you were able to remember all of the invasion plan of the Argentine Military Council in Spanish ? Remarkable.”
“It’s not difficult once you pick it up. I hope it was useful to you. It took some getting.”
“We found it extremely useful – as did some of our friends,” said Malory with a smile.
“And you sent a telex to my father just after he died – about some ‘information’.”
“Ah, you deciphered it ? Well done. It was just our little joke.....a bit like doing crossword puzzles. But also useful against prying eyes. I didn’t know he’d gone until I read of it in the newspapers.”
“How did you get to know my father ?”
“We worked together.....he wouldn’t have told you about it. Official Secrets Act – others ignored it but we didn’t.”
“He worked with you ?”
“All I can say is, yes we briefly worked together years ago – even before the war. And....well, I won’t go into it....but we kept in touch. But anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about that, did I ?”
“No, but I’d still like to know whatever you can tell me.....my father passed away only the week before last and I was going through some of his papers. I noticed your telex number. When I saw a reference to your name in my father’s notebook, I wondered if you were the same Malory I spoke to last year.”
“Oh yes – it was me. Your father couldn’t say anything to you but.....we were both in intelligence together. I stayed in until I was pensioned off some years ago but he left after the war to start a business career. It’s ironic that he chose something based on risk because that’s what we’d been doing all the time – taking risks. Occasionally, he’d get in touch with me about something he’d come across – your tour of South America...”
“My father set that up with you ?”
“Not just with me. It was a subject of interest at the time – they liked what you passed on. It had persuasive value ‘further down the line’ shall we say....those people never take warnings seriously, I’m afraid, just like before the war. But I digress. Now, how can I help you ?”
“I only returned to London the week before last. My father apparently told you about the problems he’d been having in the last year or two.”
“I know something of them.....Caspian is one.....North Eastern Steel is another.....the West Berliner Art Akademie.....Stirling Limited – what of them ?”
“My father spoke to you about them ?”
“Yes, he did. Where there are large commercial interests at risk due to criminality or commercial espionage, we rarely get involved. That’s for others to sort out. But various dealings involving Plantation interested us....”
“In what way ?”
“Well....” Malory contemplated the ground for a few moments before continuing. “I suppose to some extent, I’m going to have to trust you – seeing that you helped us in South America somewhat....we on our side don’t have much choice – we’ll have to rely on you for the information we need......Well, there were two different categories of information we were interested in – firstly, finding out about those who are keeping an eye on us here, in our own country. And secondly, where our national security is being undermined by large-scale criminal activity or a foreign government.”
“In other words, counter-surveillance and commercial espionage.”
“Let’s not over-dramatize, shall we.....”
“You know about Stirling ?”
“Yes, we know about Mr Black and from what your father told us.”
“And of his dealings with the Russians – Sovyet Export ?”
“Yes, we know about them too – there was interest in learning more. I read for example in today’s newspaper about Caspian’s court case against you. Not good. I expect you’ll be doing something about it ?”
“Of course. We hope to have fended them off before the end of the week. But your telex to my father mentioned Hellas Global. I saw in his papers that he thought they were criminals. Do you know about them ?”
“Ah yes, I also read about the hearing in the High Court last Friday. Not good. Anyway, Hellas Global.....yes, Jim and I did talk about it and....it may come as no surprise to you that they have form.....there was mention somewhere, so I heard, that they were part of a contraband syndicate......that’s right, I seem to recall.”
“Why haven’t the police arrested them ?”
“Difficult to prove, is probably the answer. To be frank, I don’t know that much about them. There’s been greater interest expressed about the others, especially Sovyet Export and North Eastern Steel. Smuggling is for Customs & Excise or Interpol to worry about. But all the same, I tried to help where I could – and that was all the information I could get. So, I’m afraid, old chap, you’re on your own.”
“If Plantation is wound up, any information on the Soviets will disappear. My problem at the moment is trying to get evidence of the Hellas Global fraud. Tomorrow, I may be in Athens. Would you know someone there who could help me at all ?”
“Quid pro quo, eh ? Well, we do have our associates – core, inner and outer ring – I imagine there’s someone down there who could
point you in the right direction. Let me have a word and see what I can come up with – I’ll ring on your private line shortly, at say 1600 hours.”