Cut to the Chase (42 page)

‘I don't follow you.'

‘We have to contact him, agreed?'

Wallace nodded.

‘We have to check that telephone of his, and now I do reckon it's bugged. We have to make sure, and if it is, we make use of it.'

‘How?'

‘We phone Ben Wakefield on that phone, when we've told him what's going on, and tell him where we're going to be at a certain time. That will alert our friends, and when they arrive they'll find a reception committee.'

‘Who are you thinking of?'

‘Firstly, Alan Kelsey will be meeting us at Stratford. I've already arranged that. Then we contact Ben, and preferably we go in as a threesome into his office, and Alan will be able to prove who he is and give credence to your story. You were lucky last time, the story hadn't been fully publicised, but with your ex-wife's back stabbing it's now been given fresh impetus, and I'd be bloody surprised if Ben Wakefield hasn't heard something by now.'

And Liz, Wallace thought. Shit! She's probably thinking right now he was a murderer. The thought that she might believe ill of him was worse than the thought of being caught by Rivera or Kalim.

‘Then we check his phone, maybe we'll stay in Stratford while Alan Kelsey goes back with Ben to Knowle, he might bring an electronics technician with him.'

‘What reception committee are you thinking of?'

‘This is a British security matter,' said McKay. ‘Ravindran was assassinated on their soil and they will have to sort it out, not us. It's their home ground and their prerogative. What we need to do is offload these computer drives. We might even use the mail service. I reckon that might be the best way, frankly.'

‘How do we contact M.I.5?''

‘We don't,' said McKay. ‘That's Kelsey's job, he has close links with CIA, MI 5 and MI 6, we all share information. Running down Kalim and his men in England is either MI 5's job or that of the police, not ours.'

‘OK,' Wallace nodded in agreement. His initial reaction had been annoyance that McKay had had his own plan and not kept him, Wallace, in the picture, but on reflection he could see why.

‘So we head for Stratford.'

‘Yes, let's go. There's a bus stop down there, let's see where it leads us.'

I
t took some time to reach Stratford-on-Avon; they took a train from Dorridge after catching a bus to the station and changed trains at Small Heath, then went to a nearby Post Office. They had been discussing the question of the computer discs and the film containing the shots of Murray Craddock that McKay had been carrying, and finally decided to mail them all to the High Commission. It was pointless taking the risk of being captured or killed by Kalim's men – or possibly by Ravindran's supporters who were still in the equation somewhere – and thus losing all the information and the Murray Craddock photographs as well. After they left the station, McKay purchased the required envelope and mailed them all by Registered Post to the High Commission for the attention of Alan Kelsey.

‘They'll get there before he does,' commented McKay. ‘He should be on his way to Stratford by now. I'll tell him what we've done when I see him, he can authorise someone else to open it up.'

They arrived in Stratford about 2.30 pm, as they walked from the station Wallace asked McKay how they were to meet up with his High Commission colleague.

‘Ever heard of Anne Hathaway?'

‘Many times,' Wallace said coldly.

‘Well, that's where,' replied McKay. ‘It's well known and well signposted; even Australian Intelligence agents should be able to find it…' he grinned broadly and continued: ‘…and possibly even political murderers.'

Wallace didn't think that was particularly funny and told him so, but McKay's chuckle was so infectious that even the political murderer reluctantly had to smile, albeit through gritted teeth.

‘The other point is this, it's a little bit out of town, and secondly, if Ben Wakefield is working as I imagine an insurance broker would work, he won't be sight seeing in the middle of a working day. He's the last person we want to meet first off, he surely must have an inkling of what you're wanted for by now so we don't want to risk him dobbing you in to the police.'

‘Ben wouldn't turn me in.'

‘Wouldn't he? You don't know what he'd do. A man wanted for murder, someone on the run that he's been sheltering in his own home? He's got a business and a reputation to uphold, he's got to protect his back. This has got to be done right, or we're in deep trouble.'

Wallace subsided into silence, though he would still trust Ben Wakefield, he had to admit that McKay had a point, a man who had painstakingly built up a business and a reputation would not welcome a charge of harbouring a criminal and finishing up in jail. Further, Wallace couldn't rely on Ben confining his newspaper reading to the sports pages forever. Liz was not so sports addicted, and may well have read something by now; if she had then she would have told Ben.

‘So what do we do then?'

‘Either we sit outside and wait, or else we go in and enjoy a bit of culture while we are waiting.'

Wallace considered the prospect then shook his head.

‘I'd sooner stay out here, preferably under the trees over there, well out of the way. If I'm seen by someone in a confined space it's possible for them to associate me with a picture they've seen in the papers.'

‘And sitting around outside may attract the attention of any passing policeman,' said McKay pointedly. ‘Two men hovering under trees at a well known tourist site could also attract attention. Be ironic if we were picked up as possible sex offenders or car thieves.'

‘Damnation!' Wallace exclaimed irritably. ‘I don't know then.'

‘We go in, and we go in as two separate individuals. And don't get into conversation with anyone or say G'day, no worries or my oath.'

‘Nor fair dinkum?' Wallace suggested, and smiled despite himself when McKay agreed, saying: ‘My oath!'

They entered the establishment and paid their entry fees, but separately. Wallace went in first and McKay followed about five minutes later. Nobody took any notice of them and they wandered around the cottage. Despite the serious situation Wallace found the tour quite interesting, and was particularly interested in the small size of the house. He wasn't sure how many people lived in it at the time Shakespeare or Anne Hathaway were around the place, but was tending to judge living space by Australian standards where mainly single storey house design and building had developed into an art form with many innovations.

He had an awkward moment when a small boy ran into him, not looking where he was going as small boys do, or do not! His mother was most apologetic and gave him a telling off but as Wallace saw his lower lip pucker he felt he had to say something to re-assure him. He remembered McKay's injunction to speak to nobody but this wasn't going to be easy. Wallace recalled Fred Hackett's accent and gave a passable imitation of it as he insisted that there was no problem and went down on one knee to chat with him.

‘Doa let it wurry you,' Wallace said, flushing crimson at the thought that McKay might hear it. ‘It ay nuttin'.'

Wallace smiled reassuringly at his mother, who returned the smile and then they parted. He watched anxiously in case she went out in a hurry fumbling for a mobile telephone but she went into another room to examine all the furniture and accoutrements. He then lost sight of her and the boy and the anxious moment passed. She was still somewhere in the cottage when McKay caught his eye, and gave a brief sideways inclination of his head. Wallace nodded in response and made his way out slowly, taking his time. Wallace agreed with him that they didn't want to present as a twosome too frequently.

Then he struck a problem, as he passed out through the entrance he bumped into a woman coming in. He backed off and she said: ‘Sorry' and Wallace said ‘G'Day! No worries.' He hastily added: ‘That's OK!' but as he said the ‘OK' realised his Australian accent could have come through strongly. He saw her eyes tense, and then they parted, she went in and Wallace went out to the car park. He looked back and realised she was still looking in his direction then she disappeared inside. He then saw her through one of the windows. She was talking to the receptionist inside whereupon she too looked out of the window. As Wallace walked off he looked back, the receptionist had her ear to a telephone.

‘Shit!' Wallace ground out to himself, and headed for McKay who was with another man, a fair haired man of medium height, who was wearing a parka jacket.

‘This is Alan Kelsey…' he began but Wallace kept on walking.

‘Can't stop…I think I've been rumbled, that bloody woman I bumped into gave me the once over and I think she's told the staff inside.'

‘Bugger it!' McKay said. ‘Get out on the road way and turn left and start walking. We'll turn to the right, and we'll keep turning right and pick you up if you keep turning left and left. We can't pick you up here, they'll get the registration of Alan's car. Make a note of Alan's car, this one here, got the rego? Good. Now go… go…go!'

Wallace threaded his way through parked cars and headed for the exit into the street. Wallace heard a car start up behind him that he assumed was McKay and Kelsey. He turned to the left and once out of sight of the cottage commenced jogging. He heard the car come out of the car park and then the sound of the engine receded, they had obviously turned in the opposite direction.

Wallace turned left into another road and jogged down that. It stretched before him and he couldn't see another turning. He could hear a car engine in the distance revving and assumed it was McKay and Kelsey. As he continued jogging a car turned into the road in front, about three hundred yards ahead. Despite McKay's instruction he had been in such a panic that he had failed to take a note of Kelsey's car, it could have been a Rolls Royce for all he knew, but luckily they caught sight of him and screamed to a halt.

‘Get in quick!' McKay snapped urgently. ‘Lie on the floor and put that rug over you.'

There was another man in the back, Wallace fell to the floor and curled up. He flung a rug over him and said ‘G'day.' Wallace didn't have time to register much about the third man as the rug enveloped him.

The car turned left at the end of the road and headed away from Anne Hathaway's Cottage; that much he could tell from the way the car swung around. Then he lost all track of direction as the car twisted and turned, and then felt an upward incline.

‘Lie still' commanded McKay. ‘We should be all right now. We're in a multi storey car park; just let us look around first.'

There was a brief delay and then the rear door opened.

‘Put that on,' said a voice. Wallace grabbed hold of a baseball cap and pulled it over his eyes. The fair haired man who had been chatting to McKay at the car park nodded to him.

‘G'day! My name is Kelsey, Alan to you. We've spoken on the telephone.'

Wallace felt a hand seeking his, he grasped it and they solemnly shook hands.

‘What the hell do we do now? That bloody woman…!'

‘Are you sure she cottoned onto you?' McKay asked.

‘No, not certain. But she looked at me twice and then disappeared inside at a fast rate. I saw her talking to one of the staff and then they both looked at me out of the window, next time I looked the receptionist was on the telephone.'

‘Damn!' Kelsey said irritably. ‘We could do without this, but I agree, we can't take any chances.' He turned to the third man. ‘Dick, get those sunglasses out of the glove box, and Harry, put this sweater on, if that woman did recognise you she'd have told them what you were wearing.'

Wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat certainly prevented Wallace from being casually recognised from any picture that Elsie might have supplied to the English police or press or to Kalim, but when coupled with a loose fitting sweater it also had the effect of making him look like a street corner drug dealer. If he had been a country town policeman and spotted anyone dressed like that he would have arrested him on sight. But he agreed with Kelsey, what else could they do?

‘This is Dick Jackson,' Kelsey said and indicated the other man who had been in the back seat. The other man nodded and raised one hand in salute and said ‘G'day, Harry!'

He was dark haired, aged around 45, was about 5'10” in height and had a receding hair line. He had a large nose and big ears and wore spectacles which gave him a studious look. Wallace returned the greeting and turned to Kelsey.

‘What now?' he asked.

‘We'll stick to the original plan,' said Kelsey. ‘Which you don't know about as yet but it's simple enough. I have been in touch with Wakefield, I telephoned him yesterday. I am a potential client and I have an appointment with him at 3.30. I have a small factory nearby and I am dissatisfied with my present insurers… so he's seeing me this afternoon to get details.'

‘He won't fall for that!'

‘Why not? He already has. He must have quite a few calls like that in the course of a twelvemonth,' Kelsey said sharply. ‘Your friend is an insurance broker isn't he?' He needs business'

‘He'll check the location and the name of the factory, it would be the first thing he'd do.'

‘He hasn't got a location. I told him my name was Johnson, which is common enough around here.'

‘What if you don't see Ben? He's got a few staff in there.'

‘I told him I had to see him, I didn't deal with minions, or words to that effect.'

Wallace subsided into silence, he couldn't think of any further objections. As a plan it was simple, yet he could see its merits. Introducing himself as a member of the Australian High Commission would have caused complications, had Wallace been Ben he would have immediately associated it with Harry Wallace the political murderer.