(1995) By Any Name (35 page)

‘You have to formally arrest us.’

‘We don’t have to do anything,’ McKenna’s voice cut through the still cold air.

‘The CO on this post… ’

‘Major Simmonds and Dr Santer saw the sergeant try to kill us, on your orders. Both of you could have been carrying concealed weapons. Captain Chaloner and I have every right to defend ourselves.’

‘Are you sure you have nothing else to tell us?’

Chaloner was concerned about McKenna who was far too calm and rational for a man who’d just recalled his wife and child’s murder.

‘I swear I know nothing else,’ the brigadier pleaded.

‘Heddingham?’

‘Nothing,’ he echoed sullenly.

‘How many conspirators are stationed here?’

McKenna asked.

Chaloner counted a series of strokes he’d made with his pen on his wrist. ‘Fifteen, if the brigadier’s right.’

‘The CO?’

‘Not on the list.’

Knife in hand Chaloner leaned forward. He cut through the bonds on the brigadier’s and Heddingham’s chairs, and threw them their clothes.

He sat on the edge of the table, gun in hand and waited while they dressed. They had five minutes, just as McKenna had prophesied.

McKenna sat coldly eyeing the two men, who stood nervously in front of their chairs as soon as they were dressed. When Chaloner motioned them to the steps at gunpoint McKenna moved like lighting.

Dropping his gun he pounced on Heddingham, slamming his head one handed against the edge of the concrete step.

‘That’s for my wife, and my daughter. If ever you get out of wherever they send you, start looking over your shoulder. One day you’ll walk around a corner and I’ll be waiting. And you won’t die quickly, I promise you.’

Chaloner hauled him off the lieutenant-colonel.

The brigadier had opened the door and Simmonds was standing at the head of the steps.

‘Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham fell over, Colonel McKenna was helping him up,’ Chaloner explained. ‘Stay in here and keep your gun trained on these men until you are relieved, Major. I’ll organise it as soon as I’ve seen the CO.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chaloner clung to the side of the helicopter and gazed down at the country house that had been chosen to host the International Peace Conference. It appeared quiet and peaceful in the frosted dawn light. He wondered how many of the security and domestic staff still slept. After his fraught few days and nights, he’d had to fight hard for his place on the team his CO

had sent out to detain the men Brigadier Cullen-Heames had listed as conspirators.

Seven NCO’s and junior officers out of the hundred strong security force had been named as targets, as well as the false “McKenna”, who, according to Cullen-Heames, had already planted a bomb in the oak panelling that lined the conference room.

If the brigadier’s information was correct, it was timed to explode at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Four hours after the delegates were due to arrive, one hour after the conference had convened after lunch and fifteen minutes after the minister had been called away by “McKenna” to take an important telephone call.

And, courtesy of intelligence received before leaving base, they knew that the false “McKenna” was already up, dressed and working in the office assigned to him, next to the conference room.

The CO had given in to the pressure he had exerted on him and assigned him and his partner to apprehend O’Gallivan – if indeed that was his target’s real name.

He had asked for the privilege as much for the real McKenna’s sake as his own.

The statement the brigadier had signed detailing the events in the house Richard McKenna’s wife had rented, had sickened every member of the regiment.

Army personnel knew what to expect if their application to join the elite corps was successful. The training was demanding, tough and uncompromising.

No quarter was given to those too weak – mentally or physically – to stand the gruelling pace.

But their families were sacrosanct. And every time he thought – and imagined – McKenna’s eight-week-old daughter being shot to death, he pictured his own son. Lewis was two years old but he could still remember how small and helpless he’d been at two months…

The helicopter lost height. Chaloner’s radio crackled as silence was broken. The signal was given.

He jumped alongside his men before the helicopter landed. They hit the ground running, a closed circle of armed officers from dozens of helicopters. Guns hoisted at the ready they moved in on the house, every inch of the building in their sights.

Two more helicopters hovered above the roof; dark figures abseiled down from them. The first men to reach the building moved to the doors and windows. They raised weapons designed to shatter bullet proof glass and steel doors and blasted in smoke bombs.

Chaloner adjusted his respirator. The moment –

‘Foyer clear,’- echoed from his radio, he and his partner ran inside. Referring to the ground floor plan he had memorized, he headed directly for McKenna’s office

– into the main entrance – turn right – run twenty five yards – turn left – second door on the right –

He stood to the side of it and nodded to his partner.

They knew that a smoke bomb had already gone through the window but they blasted the door and tossed in another.

One minute later they burst in. The empty room yawned back at them as the smoke cleared. Chaloner ran to the shattered window. One of his fellow officers was lying outside on the grass. He had been stripped of his uniform, but his weapon was still in his hand.

His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

Six hours later, still dressed in his combat suit, Chaloner sat in his CO’s office facing his superior and a bland-faced individual who had been introduced simply as “Mr Masters.”

‘Your men let him get away,’ Masters said unemotionally, directing the statement at Chaloner as well as his CO.

‘We’re looking for him.’ The CO glared at Chaloner.

‘Given O’Gallivan’s resourcefulness and chameleon qualities, he will be long out of the country by now.’ Masters took a cigar from a pack in his pocket and lit it.

‘All the other conspirators have been rounded up,’

the CO pointed out defensively.

‘It’s just as well we prepared more than one venue for the conference given the mess your men made this morning. I trust the new man in charge of security is up to the job,’ Masters drew on his cigar.

‘He is,’ the CO confirmed briefly.

‘Ingenious plot,’ Masters mused. ‘We must never forget that McKenna was perfect for their purpose.

Deceased parents, married to an American wife. Not stationed in this country for ten years, leave breaks taken in the States, worked as an independent undercover operative in the Middle East for the past two years, and his only living relative – apart from his wife and daughter, his brother, who was easily disposed of on a training mission.’

‘It’s strange that McKenna remembered the flat he and his brother had inherited, when he couldn’t even remember his own name.’ The colonel shuffled the papers on his desk.

‘Did Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham have definite information that McKenna was holed up in that flat, sir?’ Chaloner asked.

‘Cullen-Heames said Heddingham made a lucky guess,’ Masters answered.

‘But thanks to your efforts, Chaloner, the conference will go ahead as planned without interruption.’

Chaloner knew the statement was as close as he was going to get to a “well done” from his CO.

‘But the situation remains unresolved,’ Masters qualified. ‘And it will continue to remain unresolved until we have O’Gallivan in custody. What we need now is your assurance, Captain Chaloner, that what has been said within these walls will go no further.’

‘I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act,’ Chaloner concurred.

‘Look at these press releases. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them.’ His CO

pushed two sheets of paper across the table. The headlines loomed black and large.

JOHN WEST – MY STORY BY THE MAN WHO

SHOT HIM.

and further down the page.

MINISTER RESIGNS. ADMITTED TO REST

HOME. RUMOURS OF DRUG AND DRINK-

INDUCED MENTAL BREAKDOWN.

‘Other resignations will be announced over the next few days,’ Masters flicked his ash into the tray on the desk. ‘There will be vacancies in the upper echelons, some of which will undoubtedly suit a man of your capabilities, captain.’

‘What steps are being taken to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again, sir?’

‘It’s in hand, captain.’ Masters firmly closed the subject.

‘Any questions, Chaloner?’ His CO reiterated.

‘No, sir.’

‘Twenty four hour rest period.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Chaloner left the table. He thought of McKenna as he walked out of the door.

‘Poor bugger,’ he muttered to himself as he headed to his quarters. ‘The poor, poor bugger.’

* * *

Elizabeth sat alone in the suite she’d been given when she’d been escorted from the conference room in Stirling Lines thirty-six hours before. There was a large double bedroom, a luxurious en suite bathroom and a comfortable, if unimaginative, sitting room.

She’d been given everything she’d asked for and some things that she hadn’t. Clothes, make-up, a television connected to a DVD with a selection of pre-recorded discs, even a hairdresser and a telephone to contact her family. The calls had been monitored and she’d been warned to restrict the conversation to personal matters or risk disconnection. The warning had been unnecessary, the conversation with her mother had been emotional, and personal enough, even for the senior officer who’d remained in the room, but she’d taken the telephone with her when she’d left, telling her that if she needed it again, she had only to ask the guard outside the door.

The things the army hadn’t seen fit to give her, were what she wanted most; newspapers, access to news bulletins, and answers to her questions. But she wouldn’t have minded the absence of news so much if she’d been allowed to see John.

As it was, she didn’t know whether he was alive or dead and the silence that was generated whenever she mentioned his name, only served to confirm her worst suspicions.

She continued to sit and stare out of the window, watching the compound fill with men and vehicles.

She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Expecting lunch she called out,

‘Come in.’

An officer entered.

‘Dr Santer, I’m Captain Wentworth.’

‘How is “John West”?’ She expected him to ignore her question as all the others she had asked had done.

‘Colonel McKenna is physically well and in good hands. Captain Simmonds, whom I believe you’re acquainted with, is caring for him.’

‘Can I see him?’ she pressed.

‘That wouldn’t be advisable.’

‘I have to see him, he saved my life. I owe him that much.’

‘Owe him?’ he enquired quizzically.

‘He believed that once he was in custody he would be killed.’

‘I assure you, Colonel McKenna is not in custody.’

‘He was wanted for murder… ’

‘The only person he killed was Sergeant Price, but, as Captain Chaloner and Major Simmonds testified, the sergeant was trying to kill them as well as Colonel McKenna and you, it was self-defence. Colonel McKenna will not be charged with any crime.’

‘If he’s not in custody why can’t I see him?’ she persisted.

‘He’s traumatised… ’

‘It was me who diagnosed trauma-induced amnesia.’

‘Did you know that he witnessed the murder of his wife and his eight-week-old daughter?’

She knew he was evaluating her reaction. ‘No.’

She bit her lip and turned away.

‘I can’t tell you what all this has been about. But I promise you Colonel McKenna is a valued and valuable member of the armed forces.’ He changed the subject and lightened the tone of his voice. ‘We can offer you counselling, but we won’t be able to release you until you sign the Official Secrets Act.

After you’ve been fully debriefed – a painless procedure,’ he added, concerned lest she’d witnessed the “debriefing” Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham and the brigadier had been subjected to at McKenna’s and Chaloner’s hands.

‘And Richard McKenna?’

‘Will be rehabilitated.’

‘How can he be after the manhunt and nationwide search?’

‘It’s been announced that John West was killed while resisting capture.’ He took a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘People soon forget. Any resemblance between Colonel McKenna and John West will be assumed to be coincidental.’

‘How do I know that this,’ she looked down at the newspaper headline, ‘isn’t true, and the man I knew is dead?’

‘You have my word.’

‘Not good enough. I won’t sign any act until I see him for myself.’ She hoped that he didn’t know she’d already signed the act in the hospital at Major Simmonds’ insistence.

‘The army is not in the habit of murdering its own colonels.’

‘I won’t be convinced until I see for myself.’

‘Very well, you can see Colonel McKenna,’

Wentworth capitulated irritably. ‘From a viewing room.’

‘I want to talk to him?’

‘Absolutely not. Apart from the question of national security there’s his condition to consider.

Seeing you, could set back what little progress he’s made.’

‘I
was
his psychiatrist.’

‘I’m exceeding my authority in allowing you to see him. I can offer you no more.’

She swallowed her pride. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’ll have to come with me now. He’s about to be moved.’

‘Where?’

‘That’s classified.’

He led the way out of the room. The guard jumped to attention outside her door. They walked along a corridor, and turned a corner. Wentworth unlocked a door flanked by yet more guards and ushered her into an office. He pressed a button set below a dark glass panel in the wall. The glass cleared.

‘It’s one way,’ Wentworth informed her.

She stepped forward. “John” was sitting up in a bed, paler than she had last seen him, a drip in his arm. Simmonds was sitting beside the bed.