The Avenue of the Dead (51 page)

‘Thanks.' Harrington took it from him, flipped open the title page, and his jaw went slack for a moment. ‘Our friends have arranged the move. You will be collected.'

‘You haven't read it, have you?' Wood asked anxiously.

‘No, no, I haven't. But there's not much point in your lending it to me because I'll be leaving in a couple of days' time. I expect they have woodwork at this new place. I'll make you something, just to remind you of the last few years.'

‘It's supposed to be very good,' Stephen Wood said seriously. ‘If you settle in as well there as you've done here, you'll be considered for parole. That's what I hear about it. So you may not have to stick out the whole sentence. That's something to hope for, anyway.'

‘It certainly is,' Harrington said. There were times when he listened to that rather unctuous voice saying the right things, and wondered whether he was imagining the books and their messages. At that last moment he stared directly into Wood's brown eyes, beaming a communication at him. Come on, for Christ's sake. Look at me, we both know what you are. Nobody can see, if you just
look
. There was no response. Nothing changed; the dull face didn't alter in expression, the eyes didn't blink, and the annoying voice went on talking.

‘I don't know who I'll be seeing instead of you. I hope it's a pleasant chap. Personally I've enjoyed our weekly chats. Well, I suppose I'd better be on my way. I'll say
bon voyage
then, and good luck.' He held out his hand and Peter shook it. Every cliché in the English language except God is love and gentlemen please adjust your dress before leaving. Churchill had said that about one of Attlee's speeches. He ought to have listened to Stephen Wood for the last four years …
bon voyage
. Oh, Jesus Christ … he was actually laughing as Wood was let out of the cell. Over his shoulder, Wood looked back at him with disapproval. Then the door closed and locked, and Harrington was alone. He laughed till the tears stung in his eyes.

‘Colin – he's gone! He's been moved!' Davina shouted through from the bedroom. She still had the phone in her hand, although the connection had rung off. He came quickly to the door.

‘What? Moved where?'

‘To Shropwith Open Prison,' Davina said. ‘I've just spoken to the governor!'

‘Wait a minute,' Lomax said slowly. ‘Wait a minute, this doesn't make sense – you told Grant you couldn't find out anything. The whole thing was washed out so far as he knew. Harrington the same. For Christ's sake, why would he be moved now?'

‘Humphrey must have set it in motion,' she said at last. ‘The Home Office just went ahead. That must be it. But it isn't, is it? He never said a word about moving Harrington from the Scrubs! But somebody arranged it. Somebody's got Harrington out of the top-security prison and into an open one. And that means one thing. He's going to be got out.'

Lomax came and sat on the bed beside her. ‘Before he can talk,' he said quietly. ‘Humphrey was the only one who knew you were seeing him.'

‘How do we know that?' she countered. ‘We can't be sure of anything. The files were doctored. Now Harrington's moved so he can be lifted out. That's what is going to happen, isn't it, Colin? He'll disappear, and we've lost our best chance of finding who this rotten bastard really is. We've got to do something!'

‘Yes,' he said quietly, ‘we have. And pretty quickly.'

‘Colin,' she said, ‘I know that look on your face – I know what you're thinking. It wouldn't work!'

‘I think it would,' he said. ‘If Harrington's going to be lifted, then we're going to do the lifting. Or rather I am. Before the opposition gets there first. There's no other way. And you know it.'

‘It's the risk.' Davina looked at him. ‘The risk to you. And the idea of doing something like this without official back-up –' She hesitated and then said simply, ‘We're breaking the law, and I don't like it.'

‘Listen, darling.' He reached out and held her hand. ‘We talked this over before we saw Harrington, didn't we? And we agreed then that if you were going to find this traitor, you couldn't work with anyone. You can't trust anyone. You realized that yourself after you found those files had been doctored. The very man who sent you in to look at them could be responsible. Or your own brother-in-law. Or the head of the whole damn organization. It's an impossible position. The only way to do it is this way.'

‘To break Harrington out ourselves? Colin, if it goes wrong, we'll go to prison for the maximum sentence!'

‘You won't,' he said quietly. ‘You're having no part in any jail break. Your job is to use your brains, my love. I'll be the brawn. There won't be any problem.' He squeezed her hand. ‘You want to find him, don't you? You don't want to give up?'

‘You know I don't!'

‘Then stop worrying about my end of it.'

Davina said, ‘You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?'

‘I suppose so,' he admitted. ‘I've been out to pasture long enough. I could do with a bit of excitement.'

‘God help us.' She shook her head. ‘Are you going to tell me how you're going to do it?'

‘No, I'm not,' he said firmly. ‘The less you know the better.' He saw the expression on her face and smiled. ‘You'll have to sit back and be the little woman waiting at home till it's done!'

‘You really are the worst kind of macho idiot,' she said. ‘Thank God.'

It was a noisy pub. Colin pushed his way through the crowd at the bar and ordered two whiskies. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and body heat; a juke box was playing in the corner, and he had to squeeze between the little tables to reach the one nearest the door and farthest from the crowd of people standing at the bar.

‘Thanks,' the man said, taking the drink from him. He was older than Lomax; thick-necked and heavy-set, with cropped dark hair and a nose that had been broken at some time. It had taken Colin several telephone calls to old comrades retired from the regiment to find him. His name was Fraser, and he had reached the rank of captain before he left the Army and set up his own business.

‘Long time,' he remarked to Lomax. ‘Nearly three years, isn't it?'

‘Four,' Lomax corrected him. ‘You left just after we went to Ireland.'

‘Bloody right, too,' Fraser grinned. ‘It wasn't too healthy for you, old friend. You got through all right though.'

‘Up to a point,' Lomax said. ‘Off I went into civilian life and got into more trouble than I ever did in the regiment.'

‘What sort of trouble?' Fraser asked the question quietly.

‘Legitimate trouble,' Colin answered. ‘I'm still in it. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. First, drink up, and tell me how it's going.'

‘I've got a good business,' Fraser said. ‘And a very good staff. All top-class men, absolutely straight; they have to be, as you'll appreciate.'

‘The bloody world's gone mad,' Lomax remarked. ‘Mugging, kidnapping; in the old days the burglar ran away if anyone disturbed him. Now he bashes you on the head with an iron bar. Do you do any banks, or just private businesses?'

‘Jewellers mostly,' Fraser answered. ‘Hatton Garden. My chaps escort the buyers to and from the office and on the monthly buying expeditions to the Diamond Corporation. We drive the cars and if anyone's got a valuable consignment coming in, we stick with them till they leave the office and see them home. One poor devil last year found a couple of heavy types waiting for him in his flat. They'd tied up his wife and daughter and they grabbed him and got the keys of his office and the safe. And
then
they beat the hell out of him just for fun!'

Lomax scowled. ‘It makes me boil when I read some of the things that happen. Old women, kids, anyone who can't stand up for themselves is fair game. By Christ, if I were a magistrate –'

Fraser grinned. ‘You'd go easy on probation,' he said. ‘That was my biggest headache when I started the business. I had to be sure of every man. A few no-goods slipped into the security firms when they first started. There were big pickings for inside information. They got weeded out pretty quickly, but not before there'd been some big robberies and a Securicor man put in hospital with bloody awful head injuries. This kind of job is all personal. One man looking out for a man and his family. They've got to feel involved, because it's people, not just money they're protecting.' He leaned forward. ‘Most of them are from the regiment.'

‘That's what I hoped,' Lomax said quietly. ‘I need help.'

‘What kind of help?'

‘I need three top-class men, in combat condition.'

Fraser finished the last of his whisky. ‘What does “legitimate” trouble mean? I've got to know that before I listen to any more.'

‘Government service,' Colin answered. ‘The civilian branch of what we used to do.'

‘Then why come to me for recruits?' Fraser was watching him warily. Major Colin Lomax, George Cross. Invalided out of the Army after a booby-trap bomb in Northern Ireland. Even men with that kind of record could go wrong.

‘Because I have to get a man out of jail,' Colin answered. ‘And it can't be official. Or traced back to the department.'

Fraser half pushed his chair back. ‘Doesn't sound like my sort of job. You'll have to try someone else.'

‘You don't trust me?'

‘I didn't say that. I don't like the idea, that's all.'

‘There isn't any money in it,' Lomax said quietly.

‘Wouldn't make any difference if there were,' Fraser said bluntly. ‘I run a respectable, registered security service. We're not bloody mercenaries for hire. Sorry, Colin. Not interested.' He prepared to get up when Lomax reached over and put a small brown plastic card face down on the table. Fraser hesitated, then picked it up and turned it over.

‘You'll remember those,' Lomax said. ‘I told you, it was legitimate.'

Fraser passed it back to him. The bearer of those special ID cards was entitled to help from any member of the armed services or the Diplomatic Corps. They were rarely used.

Fraser said slowly, ‘I'm sorry, Colin. But I had to be sure.'

Lomax grinned, putting the card away. ‘Too right. You can get the next round.'

‘It'll be a pleasure,' Fraser said. He came back with their drinks and said, ‘I've got just the men in mind. You know two of them. Both sergeants; Hicks and Sutton – remember them?'

‘I do,' Lomax answered. ‘Why did they leave? They were good types.'

‘Got married,' Fraser said. ‘It's not an outfit for married men. They've worked for me since I started. There's another lad, ex-Marine Commando. Simpson. He'd do for you. How much can you tell me, or is it an in-and-out job, no explanations?'

‘I can tell you where the prison is, but that's all. Shropwith Open Prison. In Lancashire, five miles outside Shropwith.'

‘That'll do. How long will you want my blokes?'

‘From the 18th to the 20th. I'll come in on Wednesday and see them, if that's all right with you. You brief them first, and say as little as you can get away with. I'll tell them the details of the job when we go up there.'

‘That's fine,' Fraser said. ‘They won't let you down. And don't you bloody well drop them in it, either!'

‘“Who dares, wins.”' Lomax raised his glass and they drank together to the motto of their regiment.

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About the Author

Evelyn Anthony is the pen name of Evelyn Ward-Thomas, a female British author who began writing in 1949. She gained considerable success with her historical novels—two of which were selected for the American Literary Guild—before winning huge acclaim for her espionage thrillers. Her book,
The Occupying Power
, won the Yorkshire Post Fiction Prize, and her 1971 novel,
The Tamarind Seed
, was made into a film starring Julie Andrews and Omar Sharif. Anthony's books have been translated into nineteen languages. She lives in Essex, England.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1981 by Evelyn Anthony

Cover design by Tammy Seidick

ISBN: 978-1-5040-2192-0

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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