Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (52 page)

I said tiredly, ‘What’s happening to
Artina!’

She moved away and I saw
Artina
in the harbour beyond. All the sea was on fire about her and above the yellow flames rose the roiling cloud of greasy black smoke that could only come from oil. The ram had done its work. Even as I watched there was a red flash just under the wheelhouse and then the wheelhouse vanished as an oil tank exploded in her vitals and blasted through the deck. A deep boom came across the water, echoed and re-echoed from the cliff-like fortifications of Valletta.

‘That’s it, then,’ I said abstractedly.

Alison leaned over me. ‘Can you walk?’

‘I don’t know. I can try.’

She put her hand under my left arm. ‘You’ve been leaking blood like a stuck pig. You need a hospital.’

I nodded. ‘All right.’ It didn’t really matter now. The job had been done. Even if Slade or Wheeler had survived they were done for. I would be asked why I had destroyed
Artina
and I would tell the truth, and I would be listened to very carefully. People don’t wander around blowing up millionaires’ yachts for nothing and what I had to say would be heard. Whether it was believed or not would be another matter, but enough mud would stick to Wheeler to make sure that hard, professional eyes would be on him for ever more. As for Slade, I had escaped from prison with him and if I was on Malta and said that Slade was around then he would be picked up in jig time. It’s a small island and strangers can’t hide easily.

As for myself I didn’t know what would happen. Alison might give evidence
in camera
as to my part in the affair, but if Mackintosh was dead I didn’t know how much weight that would carry. There was a strong possibility that I would spend the rest of my life in the maximum
security wing of Durham Gaol. Right at that moment I was past caring.

Alison helped me to my feet and I staggered like a drunken sailor up the slipway, hanging on to her arm with a flabby grip. We had just reached the top when I paused and stared at the man who was waiting. He looked remarkably like that tough, young copper, Sergeant Jervis, who had taken such a strong dislike to me because I had stolen some diamonds and had not the grace to tell him where they were.

I turned my head and looked in the other direction. Brunskill was there with Forbes just behind him. Already they were striding out and coming towards us.

I said to Alison, ‘The end of the line, I think,’ and turned to face Brunskill.

He stood in front of me and surveyed me with expressionless eyes, noting every detail of my disarray and the bandage on my shoulder. He flicked his eyes at Alison, and then nodded towards the harbour where
Artina
was going down in flames. ‘Did you do that?’

‘Me?’ I shook my head. ‘It must have been caused by a spark from the fireworks.’

He smiled grimly. ‘I must caution you that anything you say may be taken down in writing and used in evidence.’ He looked at Alison. ‘That applies to you, too.’

‘I don’t think Malta is within your jurisdiction,’ she said coolly.

‘Not to worry about that,’ said Brunskill. ‘I have a platoon of the local constabulary on call.’ He turned to me. ‘If you had as many lives as a cat you’d spend them all inside. I’m going to wrap you up so tight this time that they’ll have to build a prison just for you.’

I could see him mentally formulating the list of charges. Arson, murder, grievous bodily harm, carrying weapons—and worse—using them, driving a horse and cart through the Explosives Act. Maybe, with a bit of twisting, he could
toss in piracy and setting fire to the Queen’s shipyards. Those last two are still capital offences.

He said, ‘What in hell did you think you were doing?’ There was wonder in his voice.

I swayed on my feet. ‘I’ll tell you after I’ve seen a doctor.’

He caught me as I fell.

I woke up in the nick. It was the prison hospital, to be sure, but still inside thick walls, and they build walls thicker in Malta than anywhere else. But I had a private room and came to the conclusion that the local coppers didn’t want the simple, uncomplicated Maltese criminals to be corrupted by contact with such a hard case as myself. This proved to be a wrong assumption.

An uncommunicative doctor performed a simple operation on my shoulder under local anaesthetic and then I lay waiting for the arrival of Brunskill and his inevitable questions. I spent the time thinking out ingenious lies to tell him; there are certain aspects of HM Government it is better for the ordinary copper not to know.

But it was a stranger and not Brunskill who was ushered into the room. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a smooth, unlined face and an air of quiet authority who introduced himself as Armitage. His credentials were impressive; I read a letter of introduction from the Prime Minister and pushed back the rest of the bumf unread.

He pulled up a chair to the bedside and sat down. ‘Well, Mr Stannard; how are you feeling?’

I said, ‘If you know my name is Stannard then you know most of the story. Did Alec Mackintosh send you?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said regretfully. ‘Mackintosh is dead.’

I felt a cold lump settle in my stomach. ‘So he never came out of hospital.’

‘He died without recovering consciousness,’ said Armitage.

I thought of Alison and wondered how she’d take it. The love-hate relationship she had with her father made it difficult to estimate her reaction. I said, ‘Has Mrs Smith been told?’

Armitage nodded. ‘She took it quite well.’

How would you know
? I thought.

‘This is all going to be difficult,’ said Armitage. ‘Your activities—particularly in the Irish Republic—could put the Government into an awkward position.’ He paused. ‘Should they be fully disclosed.’

I could imagine that they could. Relations were already strained over what was happening in Ulster and the Press would have a field day with garbled stories of a British agent on the rampage in the sovereign State of Ireland.

I said ironically, ‘Not to mention my own awkward position.’

‘Just so,’ said Armitage.

We stared at each other. ‘All right,’ I said at last. ‘Who blew the gaff? This operation had the tightest security of any I’ve been on. How did it fall apart?’

Armitage sighed. ‘It fell apart
because
of the tight security. It fell apart because Mackintosh was constitutionally unable to trust anyone.’ He held me with his eye. ‘He didn’t even trust you.’

I nodded, and Armitage snorted. ‘He didn’t even trust the Prime Minister. All through he played a lone hand and deceived everyone regarding his motives.’

I said quietly, ‘I have a big stake in this. I think you’d better tell me the story.’

It all started with the spate of prison escapes which worried the people at the top. Mountbatten investigated the prison service and security was tightened, but the vague rumours of the Scarperers’ organization kept the worries on the boil and Mackintosh was put in charge of doing something about it.

‘I didn’t like that,’ said Armitage disapprovingly. ‘And I said so at the time. It ought to have been left to the Special Branch.’

‘Mackintosh told me they’d tried and failed,’ I said.

Armitage nodded impatiently. ‘I know—but they could have tried again. Mackintosh was too much the lone wolf—too secretive.’

I could see what stuck in Armitage’s craw. He was a top-level civil servant—a Whitehall mandarin—and he liked things to go through channels in an orderly way. In particular, he didn’t like the idea of the Prime Minister having a private hatchet man. It offended his sense of what was fitting.

He leaned forward. ‘Unknown to anybody Mackintosh already had his eye on Wheeler but he kept his suspicions to himself. He didn’t even tell the PM. We’ll never know what went through his mind, but perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be believed. Wheeler was coming up fast in popularity and influence; in fact, the Prime Minister was on the point of making him a Junior Minister in the Government.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can see Alec’s problem. How did he get on to Wheeler?’

Armitage shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I believe the Prime Minister reposed full confidence in Mackintosh regarding certain measures of top-level security.’ He sounded even more disapproving.

So Mackintosh was running security checks on the Ălite. That was one answer to the question:
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
I could imagine the Prime Minister might expect Mackintosh to turn up some member of the radical Left or Right as a potential risk, but who would suspect a bourgeois capitalist who firmly trod the middle road of being a Maoist? The idea was laughable.

‘So Mackintosh had unprovable suspicions,’ I said. ‘He didn’t want them getting back to Wheeler so he kept his mouth shut until he could catch Wheeler in the act.’

‘That must have been the size of it,’ conceded Armitage. ‘He brought you in and put you next to Slade by means of the diamond robbery.’ A slight smile mitigated his severe expression. ‘Most ingenious. But he didn’t tell you about Wheeler.’

‘I wouldn’t expect him to,’ I said flatly. ‘At that stage I didn’t need to know.’ I rubbed my chin. ‘But I’d expect him to tell Mrs Smith.’

‘He didn’t—but I’ll come to that later.’ Armitage leaned forward. ‘When you and Slade escaped Mackintosh went to see Wheeler. We have established that he saw Wheeler at his club. They had a conversation in the course of which Mackintosh disclosed who you were. That’s how…er…the gaff was blown.’

I blinked, then closed my eyes and lay back on the pillow. ‘He did it deliberately?’ I asked softly.

‘Oh, yes. He wanted to stampede Wheeler into ill-advised action. He wanted to catch him
in flagrante delicto.
Apparently you were expendable.’

I opened my eyes and looked at Armitage. ‘I always was. It’s an occupational hazard.’ All the same I thought that Alec Mackintosh was a ruthless son of a bitch.

‘Wheeler was stampeded, all right, but I’m not sure that Wheeler’s action was ill-advised,’ said Armitage reflectively. ‘Mackintosh was run down by a car the same day. We’ve impounded all Wheeler’s cars for forensic examination and I’m pretty sure we’ll turn up some evidence even at this late date. I think the job was done by his Irish chauffeur.’

‘Or his Chinese cook.’

Armitage shrugged. ‘So Mackintosh was unconscious in hospital. He was run down on his way to his office where Mrs Smith was awaiting him. Whether he was going to tell her what he’d done we’ll never know. At all events, at this time no one in the Government knew about Wheeler. Do you see what I mean about the security of the operation being too tight?’

I said, ‘A top-rank Whitehall man, such as yourself, doesn’t turn up in Malta out of the blue so opportunely. Something must have come up.’

‘It did. Mackintosh died. He’d taken out insurance. He wrote out a full account of his actions and posted them to his lawyer just before he saw Wheeler. The snag about that was that the sealed envelope was inscribed, “Only to be opened in the event of my death.”‘

Armitage stared at me. ‘And Mackintosh was in the hands of the doctors. He wasn’t dead, but you’d hardly call him alive although in the legal sense he was. He was a vegetable maintained by modern medical techniques and the doctors’ duty by the Hippocratic Oath, and that was something he hadn’t calculated for. That damned envelope was in the lawyer’s hands for two weeks before Mackintosh died and by then it was nearly too late. It would have been too late were it not for your actions.’

‘That’s all very well,’ I said. ‘But how did that lead you to me? Mackintosh didn’t know where I was.’

‘We went straight for Wheeler,’ said Armitage. ‘We were just wondering how to tackle him when you took the problem out of our hands.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Your methods are direct, to say the least. It was thought that you might be around, so we brought along people who could recognize you.’

‘Brunskill and company,’ I said. ‘So you’ve got Wheeler.’

He shook his head. ‘No; Wheeler is dead, and so is Slade. You saw to that very effectively, if I may say so. The Special Branch is working on the ramifications of Wheeler’s organizations—those that are legal and those that are not. I think it will be a lengthy task, but that is none of your concern.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘However, you do present a problem to the Government, which is why I am here.’

I couldn’t suppress the smile. ‘I bet I am.’

‘It’s no laughing matter, Mr Stannard,’ said Armitage severely. ‘Already the Press has become alerted to the fact that there is something in the wind.’ He stood up and wandered over to the window. ‘Fortunately, the worst of your…er…crimes were committed outside the United Kingdom and to those we can turn a blind eye. But there is the matter of a diamond robbery which may well prove awkward to handle.’

I said, ‘Were the diamond merchants paid out by their insurance company?’

Armitage turned and nodded. ‘I should think so.’

‘Well, why not leave it at that.’

He was affronted. ‘Her Majesty’s Government cannot connive in the cheating of an insurance company.’

‘Why not?’ I asked reasonably. ‘Her Majesty’s Government is conniving in the murder of Wheeler and Slade. What the hell’s so sacred about a few thousand quid?’

That didn’t sit well with him. Property rights come before human rights in British law. He harrumphed embarrassedly, and said, ‘What is your suggestion?’

‘Wheeler is dead and Slade is dead. Why shouldn’t Rearden be dead, too? He can be killed while evading arrest—it shouldn’t be too difficult to stage manage. But you’ll have to gag Brunskill, Forbes and Jervis, and you can do that under the Official Secrets Act. Or you can throw the fear of God into them; I don’t think any of that gang would relish being transferred to the Orkneys for the rest of his days.’

‘And Mr Stannard comes to life again?’ he queried.

‘Precisely.’

‘I suppose it could be arranged. And how do we explain the spectacular death of Wheeler?’

‘It must have been those rockets they were shooting over the harbour,’ I said. ‘One of them must have gone out of whack and hit the ship. It was being repaired at the time—I’ll bet there was some fuel open on deck. I think the
Maltese Government ought to be ticked off for not keeping proper control.’