Debut for a Spy (26 page)

I was already wheeling the Jag away at a clip.

“The man I should tell is having dinner at the place where we pick up House. We'll be there in a few minutes.”

I tore through back streets to avoid lights.

“You have no idea what they are going to try or the time?” I asked.

“
No, I am sorry. But he calls me one hour ago and is not in a hurry. I am guessing it will be very late. This is the usual time for their tricks.”

We squealed left onto King's Road then a hard right, screeching to a halt at the gate. The sentry approached, saluted. I flashed my I-card.

“Major Baird! This is an emergency! Move it!”

“
Yessir!” And he moved it.

I pulled up.
“Stay here, love. I'll be quick.”

I ran into the mess, catching a glimpse of House as I hurtled by toward the dining room.

“David! What the hell?”

I waved and kept going, slowing briefly at the door. Hammond was seated at a table on the left with three others. I ignored the looks of the stewards and went straight to him. They were startled as I approached, Hammond looking surprised – the others showed annoyance at the intrusion.

“Sorry, Colonel Hammond. It's extremely urgent that I speak with you in private.”

He said nothing, rose quickly from the table, indicating an anteroom.

“What's wrong?”

“
It's tonight, sir. And an aircraft is involved. It must be the P1127, but I don't know what they're planning.”

He picked up a telephone.

“This is Colonel Hammond! Get me the Commanding Officer of the 1st battalion of the Parachute Regiment in Aldershot! Priority red, operator! I'm at extension 26!”

He dropped the phone in its cradle.

“Do you know anything else, David? Anything at all?”

“
No, sir, there's nothing more. Do you want me to do anything – go down there, perhaps?”

“
Not at all. You've done your bit. Now it's up to the security people and the Paras. If anyone shows up tonight they'll get a real shock, believe me. Away with you, now.”

The phone rang as I departed and I heard him bark his name. So be it, I thought.

House was standing outside the dining room. He shook his head as I came out.

“What next, old son? Aden? Northern Ireland? I'm sure there are some other trouble spots you could clean up by teatime tomorrow. They'll be writing scripts about you. I can hear it now: Look! Up in the sky! It's a turd! It's a pain! It's Supersong! One tune from him and it's all over, folks! Can I be your agent, please? God! I'll be rich! Rich! Beyond my wildest dreams!” He came down. “What are you standing there for? Aren't you ready to go?” And he strode out the door.

I laughed as I followed him. He was just what I needed to bring me back to earth. To hell with it all tonight!

Marijke looked at me anxiously, then glanced at House, not knowing if she should say anything.

“
Everything's under control,” I smiled, then leaned over and kissed her. “Now forget about it. Tonight is ours.”

“
Desist, lovebirds, desist, I say,” intoned House. “Off to the fair Nicki's abode. Oh, David, she wants to know if you can arrange a car chase through the streets of London tonight. You know, something to spice up the evening.”

*

By the time we reached Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club it was nearly 10:00pm. Located on Frith Street in the heart of Soho, it had recently opened to a lot of good press and much support from the jazz fans. I had phoned for a table, which was just as well, for the place fills up fast. Ronnie spotted us as we came in and came straight over. A fine tenor sax player, he had been with Ted Heath's band for years, then decided to open his club.

“
David! How are you, mate? How's the show coming?”

“
Rehearsals in a couple of weeks. Ronnie, I've got a thing coming up on the BBC in the fall. I want to talk to you about it when you've got some time.”

“
Just call me, mate. Will you sing a few tonight?”

“
Depends on the group. Who's taking over at 10:30?”

“
It's a surprise evening. Nobody knows until the intro.”

“
Come on, Ronnie! Fill me in!”

He whispered in my ear and my face lit up.

“Okay, okay! So I'll sing a few!”

He showed us to our table, and I invited him to join us later for a drink.

“Who is it, David?” pleaded Nicki. “I must know.”

“
Sorry. Mum's the word. I promised. But you'll love it!”

They badgered, but I wouldn't give in. We ordered steaks with a variety of vegetables, and a couple of bottles of wine. We ate as we listened to the group on the stand. They were good, but not spectacular. Around 10:25 they finished their last set, leaving to a pleasant smattering of applause.

A new drummer and bass player appeared. The drummer had a lot of rearranging to do – each has a personal set-up. Even the angles of the 'toms' matter, as does the clutch clearance on the high-hat.

“
David, that's Kenny Clare on drums and Johnny Hawksworth on bass,” said a surprised House. “Must be someone very special playing for them to sit in.”

“
Wait and see,” I smiled enigmatically.

Ronnie himself went on the stand, picking up the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen! It gives me great pleasure to present one of the rising stars of British jazz! Currently appearing at the Fortune Theatre in Beyond the Fringe, the greatest comedy revue to ever hit the London stage, here is DUDLEY MOORE!”

The audience went berserk as a beaming face appeared from the doorway at the left, then all 5'2
” of this remarkable young comedian/entertainer/jazz pianist bounced onto the stand, sat at the grand and went into a sequence of Duke Ellington tunes. The crowd was suddenly hushed – they knew how rare and significant this was. An electric tension filled the club with excitement.

The next two hours went by like a whirlwind. Dudley's improvisations and dry wit held everyone spellbound, and when he introduced me I grooved into the mood and couldn't do anything wrong. I sang my songs with an abandon I could rarely use in a studio or broadcast, and the audience sensed something special.

When it was all over Dudley and Ronnie Scott came to sit with us for a while and have drinks, Nicki was just about beside herself with excitement. Dudley gave her and Marijke his autograph with a personal greeting, and the ladies were thrilled.

“
I've seen you in Beyond the Fringe twice,” said Nicki. “I think your sketches are marvelous.”

“
Had I learned to draw instead of play the piano they'd be even better,” quipped Dudley. “Sketches – draw? Did you get that? Shall I flutter my eyelids? Would that help?”

While everyone was distracted by Dudley, Marijke leaned over casually with her mouth close to my ear.
“David, there is a man at the bar I see at the embassy today. He is second from this end.”

I took a casual look, masking it by signaling the waiter. Thin, with a cadaverous face, he wore an ill-fitting dark suit. Not exactly a jazz regular.

“Did he see you at the embassy?”

“
No, he is outside. I see him from my window talking to one of third secretaries.”

“
Have you seen him before?”

“
No, he is not with embassy staff.”

“
Could be just a coincidence.”

I said it but I didn't believe it. I didn't want Marijke to panic, but I would watch this man. After another round of drinks Dudley and House got into a Goon Show routine which not only broke us up, it entertained everyone in the club. They were hilarious together, and were both obviously keen students of the Goons.

“House,” said Dudley, “If Peter Cook is ever unavailable, you come and fill in. Forget about all those bearskins and bandsmen! What d'you say?”

For the first time in his life House was speechless.

It was nearly one a.m. when we left, still full of the fun we had shared. Dudley had kissed the ladies good night, and Nicki was in seventh heaven.

“
Do you know,” she said as we drove off, “he's as funny in real life as he is on the stage.”

“
The mark of a true genius,” replied House. “You don't have to act it – you are it.”

We dropped House and Nicki at her place, then Marijke and I headed back toward the centre of London.

“What now, love?” I asked.

“
Can we walk for a few minutes? It's a lovely night.”

I headed down Queen Victoria Street and found a place to park near Temple Lane, just past Blackfriars Bridge. We began walking along the embankment, looking at the lights from the river. We passed the four historic ships in their permanent berths, and soon reached the obelisk called Cleopatra's Needle. We stopped to lean on the abutment, looking up-river toward Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

“You sing wonderful tonight, David. I don't know you sing so free. I only hear records, and you are more under control.”

I laughed.
“Do you mean I was out of control tonight?”

I kissed her to show that I was teasing.

“No, no – I only mean that – oh, I can't explain it!”

“
I know what you mean. When I'm with a group like tonight, it inspires you to take liberties with the songs, to let them swing more. But you need someone like Dudley to light the fire.”

“
I'm glad to hear you sing like this. Now I think I understand. Music for you is everything, is this so?”

“
Yes. And I'm glad you see it. Music is part of me – I can't be without it.”

“
Sing for me, please, right now.”

“
Okay, but you'll have to imagine the violins, just like in the movies.”

I put my arm around her, thought for a moment, and began to sing the song which seemed to fit the occasion –
Love
of
My
Life
.

“
The time of endless twilight, when I was without you,

Those lonely days still haunt me, if ever I doubt you;

Before we met my life was just illusion,

So much delusion – a passer-by life;

But now with you beside me, to guide me wherever,

To share each carefree moment, each joyous endeavor;

And in your eyes I see the love, the promise of forever,

You are, to me, the love of my life.
”

She was pensively quiet when I finished, then turned abruptly and gave me a long, searching kiss.

“I love you. I stay with you tonight. Is this all right?”

“
Yes.” I hesitated, but had to say it. “Did you know that my phone is tapped by the KGB?”

“
Yes. I know this before I meet you. It is about a man named Fletcher. He has your flat before. This is correct?”

“
More or less. Do you know what happened to Fletcher?”

“
No. I hear he is dead. I don't know how it happens.”

“
His flight was bombed by the man I met in Paris.”

“
Szrubek? He did this?”

“
Well, not by himself. He hired some half-witted baggage handler in Gibraltar to do the dirty work.”

“
I don't know this, David. My job in KGB is not this section. I only can hear things if other people speak too much, or maybe leave piece of paper and I see it. I ask not many questions.”

She hesitated. Her English was sometimes better than others, and it seemed to be worse when she was under a degree of stress.

“You don't trust me, David?” she asked, softly.

“
I trust you completely. And I love you. I just don't know where this is taking us. Do you?”

“
No,” she answered quietly. “I know I am happy with you as never I am before. I know I love you. Is this enough?”

“
Yes, it's enough.”

“
Tonight we can be together?”

“
Yes, if there are no other listening devices.”

“
No. Only the telephone.”

I drew her close.

“Let's go.”

We approached the car. A figure stepped from the shadows, startling us both. I froze, pushing Marijke behind me, wishing I had a weapon. It was the cadaver from the jazz club.

“Please excuse,” he said with a heavy accent. “I am wisitor. You can tell me at what time pliz is changing of guard?”

I was about to tell him to go to hell when Marijke launched into Russian. The phrases flew back and forth, then stopped.