Blackest of Lies (23 page)

“Sorry?”

Anne brushed away the beginnings of a tear and sniffed.  “Tennyson, I think.  ‘
A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies’.

“Damn right,” he said

Anne looked over at Hubert.  “We still haven’t considered how you are going to get on board the
Hampshire
.
”

“Well, I’m not going to be stealing any sailor’s uniform, so it will have to be by hiding somewhere but I’ll be damned if I can think of a way to get off this train without begin seen, get on the road transport and travel to Scrabster.  Ditto as regards getting off there and on to the boat that takes me to the
Hampshire
.  And as for getting on board …”

“What if we were to get a boat at Thurso and go over to Scapa from there?”

“And then bang on the side of the
Iron Duke
and say ‘please can we speak to the Admiral?’ – no, I don’t think so.  For a start, there are mines and booms and, bearing in mind that they’ve just had a God-awful scrap with the German Fleet, I’d say they’d be in no mind to offer hospitality to passing strangers.  Even
with
warrant cards.”

Anne stuck her tongue out at him and thoughtfully drummed a quiet tattoo with her heels on the trunk then stood sharply up as the door of the luggage van opened.  It was only the Guard.

“I thought you might like some tea,” he said, depositing a tray loaded with the necessities of life on to the top of a flat tin trunk.

“You life-saver,” said Hubert in heart-felt gratitude.

“There’s something else,” he continued. “I don’t know if it’s important or anything but did you know that two other men got on the train just before we left?”

Chris and Anne looked at each other.  “Can you describe them,” she said, faintly.

“One was a middle-aged gentleman, very well-dressed but not someone you’d want to cross, I think, and the other was a younger chap.  He was quite tall and looked a bit of a bruiser.”

“Thanks for that,” she said. “Don’t let them know we’re here, would you?  And keep the door locked so that they don’t accidentally wander in.  My job is a highly sensitive one looking out for anyone tracking Lord Kitchener.  If they get a whiff of the fact that I’m on the train, it could spell the end of the game and put him in danger.”

The guard, like guards the world over, puffed himself up.  This was important stuff – he might even get his name in the papers if he did well.  “Just leave it to me, Miss.  You won’t be bothered.”

He made to leave but Anne held him back.  “The loading door – this sliding one here on the side of the carriage – is it unlocked?”

“No, Miss.  That’s locked from the outside for security’s sake.  We have to stop a few times on the way up to Thurso for coal and water and to change drivers.  We don’t want no-one on the platform just helping themselves to the luggage.”

“Look,” she said, “I need that door open.  Not right now but near the end of the journey because this officer and I will not be here when the train pulls into Thurso.  We’ll be off chasing some bad people but I don’t want anyone up front knowing that we’re getting off.  What’s the last station we stop at before Thurso?”

“We'll be stopping at Edinburgh, Inverness and then Georgemas – we get a new driver and take on water.  The old one gets off there and takes the branch line the long way down the east coast back to Inverness.”

“Does that east coast train call at Wick?"

The guard ostentatiously consulted a timetable before intoning, "It does, Miss."

"Perfect!  Right, then,” she said, “when we stop at Inverness, unlock the padlock from its hasp and close it again on the other side of the bolt so that it still looks as though it’s secure.  Anyone seeing a missing padlock will come and take a look.”  Anne held up a warning finger, “But make
absolutely
sure no-one sees you.  Are we clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”  The guard gulped and left to make his way forward to his den.

Anne leaned over Hubert’s seated body to pour a cup of tea just as the train swayed violently from side to side over the points at a junction, depositing her firmly in his lap.  “Well,” he said, “this is turning out to be a real nice journey.”

**********

At 1035 the following morning, 5 June 1916, Farmer’s train pulled slowly in to Thurso station at the end of its long journey.  Fitzgerald had already been busy getting everything in order, just as he would have done if it had been the real Kitchener.  Farmer looked up at him, “Oswald, just stick your head out and see if Chris is there.”

“He isn’t.  I have already checked.”

“Dammit!” he muttered.

The compartment being clear as the rest of the party disembarked, Fitzgerald sat back down beside him and patted the other man’s arm.  “You know, Henry, I behaved like an old woman, back at Broome.”  He held up a hand at Farmer’s protestation.  “No, let’s be clear about things – to begin with, I didn’t make it easy for you and I humbly apologise.”  He plucked a thread from Farmer’s uniform and brushed the shoulder with his gloved hand.  “You have carried out a very difficult task which was not of your making and you've done it in a way that I know ‘he’ would have been proud of.  I don’t suppose you know too much about my work with Lord Kitchener but he was more than just my commanding officer – he was a ... a dear friend – and I suppose that’s what was at the bottom of my antagonism.”

“My dear chap, there’s no need to explain yourself to me.”

“But there is, Henry, there is.  It looks as though you and I are to be alone in all this crowd heading for Russia.  It won’t be an easy task but I want you to know that I am absolutely on your side. You have my greatest admiration for all your efforts and I promise to do my utmost to help you make a … a great success of it.”

Farmer mumbled something inaudible while the other continued, “It
is
a great pity Hubert isn’t here.  As I say, he’s a very resourceful young man and we could have done with him if things were to go a little off-piste – but we’ll manage, you and I.”  Fitzgerald smiled encouragingly. “And, you never know, he might make it yet.” 

He patted Farmer’s arm again and stood up.  “At any rate, we’d better shift ourselves and get onto the platform to meet the welcoming committee.”

Farmer sputtered and dropped the contents of a small valise all over the floor. “What welcoming committee?”

Fitzgerald was squinting out of the window again.  “Well, for a start, there seem to be an inordinate number of police officers present and what could only be representatives of Special Branch.  I do so wonder why they call it ‘plain clothes’ – there’s nothing plain about it and you can spot them a mile off.  There is also a gentleman wearing what appears to be the country’s gold reserve around his neck so I’m going to make a leap in the dark and assume he’s the Mayor of Thurso, if there be such an office.”

Farmer stood up and joined Fitzgerald at the carriage door.  Farmer sighed. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends.”

**********

Anne dozed off as the evening drew in, swaddling herself in her coat and a blanket provided by the guard.  Hubert had been in too much pain to sleep and, when he heard the key turn in the door, he sat gingerly up in the first light of dawn, collecting the guard's tea things in the process.

"Thank you but I
have
breakfasted."  Boissier was at his most amused but the gun in his right hand implied something quite different.

The crash of the tray hitting the floor of the van woke Anne with a start.  "What’s happening?" she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Yes, dear girl," grinned Boissier, as he the saw recognition dawn in her face.  "It is I."  He shook his head in sorrow, "Did I not say when we last met to
let it lie
?  You didn’t and now things have come to this unfortunate pass."

"Where's Mr Hyde?" she said.

"Please don't be truculent
and
…" He waved the gun to his right as he saw her slide her hand towards her bag.  "… keep your hands where I can see them.  I don't doubt you have something nasty and effective in there for me.  That's it - sit up straight.  Now, you were asking about Mr Pickup.  He's having a few words with the guard, explaining how both of you have gone rogue, so to speak."

Hubert quietly slid his legs underneath him.  God knows if he had the strength left to launch himself at Boissier but it was now or never, before Pickup joined them.  It was a pointless exercise anyway – Boissier spotted the movement and the gun was on him in an instant.

"Hubert – sit still, there's a good cripple.  Kell has made it clear that you and this lovely lady are not to be harmed –
if at all possible –
but, whatever it takes, you're both to be stopped here.  Don't make me do anything incurable."

Chris relaxed back against the packing case and turned to look at Pickup as he swaggered into the van.

"Well," sneered Pickup, "the gang's all here."  Exultantly, he gave his Cheshire cat grin as his eyes lit on Anne, "I just
knew
you were going to be a bad girl."

"Play nice, Pickup," Boissier said warningly.  He tilted his head to point just behind the other man.  "There's some parcel string over there.  Tie them up."  He looked around the van disparagingly.  "There's no way I want to be stuck in here for the rest of the journey – smells like a wet dog."  He looked down at Chris and Anne.  "Pickup and I have a date with destiny on Orkney but you two will be returning the way you came, accompanied this time by a couple of Scotch coppers we're to pick up in Thurso." 

His mouth drooped in mock sadness.  "I'm afraid the good healer's hours are numbered – about twelve, I believe."

**********

As they pulled into Thurso, conversation drifted around the usual subjects of the length of the journey and how the war was going from Kitchener’s perspective up in London.  All very banal stuff but the police presence was curious.  Thurso was not internationally known as a hot bed of spies and assassins.  Farmer made a mental note to ask Fitzgerald about it – were they expecting something to happen?  As soon as they were able, the party made its way over on to the other train and settled themselves down.

The journey to Scrabster was only a matter of a few miles along the coast and the entourage was soon standing at the docks about to board the
Royal Oak
.  Fitzgerald approached from behind and whispered in Farmer’s ear, “It seems that O’Beirne and his people have made good speed and they’re only a couple of hours behind us.  They’ll be making their way across to Scapa in the Fleet pinnace – dammit, what was it called ...” he consulted his notes, “
Alouette.
It’ll take them about an hour and a half.”

“Fair enough.”  Farmer looked up at the ship tying up in front of him.  “So, this ship – do we know anything about her?  I don’t want to appear a
complete
Pongo.”

Fitzgerald suppressed a laugh.  “She’s brand new – commissioned only a few weeks ago.”

“Did she fight at Jutland?”

“Indeed, she did.  And gave the
Derfflinger
a few thumps, not to mention the
Wiesbaden
– came out of the battle without a scratch.”  Hearing his name called, Fitzgerald turned to see a very young sub-lieutenant approaching him with an envelope in his left hand and his right in a perfect naval salute.

“Telegram for you, Sir”, he said.

Fitzgerald thanked him, acknowledged the salute and broke open the envelope.  It was from Kell and simply read,

GALLAGHER KNOWS DEPARTURE POINT – STOP – GET TO SEA WITHOUT DELAY – END

They both looked up at the sound of an officer being piped off the ship by the bo’sun.  “This is the Captain – Crawford MacLachlan,” said Fitzgerald in Farmer’s ear.

Farmer acknowledged the salute of the officer stepping off the gangway and held out his hand.  “Captain MacLachlan, how do you do?  I understand I am to congratulate you on your ship’s conduct at Jutland.  I’d very much like to hear about it.”

**********

Edinburgh had come and gone without Anne having been able to free herself.  Hubert was in no condition to do anything physical and, in fact, had taken half an hour to regain consciousness after a vicious kick from Pickup.

“I’m really sorry about Henry,” said Anne.

“I know you are.  But never say die – there’s a lot that can still happen.”

“Optimism runs in your family, then.”

“No, just a blind inability to accept the facts.  Anyway, now that we have some time on our hands, I think I ought to mention that I’m still waiting to hear about this ‘Wick’ business you’re so modest about.”

Anne growled quietly.  “
Very well.
  Before the War, I did some work for the Bank of England which involved my being attached to the Fisheries people in Arbroath.”

“My God,” he rasped in mock horror, “what had you
done
?”

Anne sighed in exasperation.  “The point of what I’m
trying
to say …
damn it!”