Every spy a traitor, p.18
Every Spy a Traitor, page 18
‘And you’ve kept it with you the whole time since then?’
‘Absolutely, yes.’
‘Please…’
The man held his hand out in the direction of Cooper’s briefcase, so he opened it and handed the package to the man who smiled and held it gently in an admiring and even loving manner before starting to unwrap it, which shocked Cooper because he thought a park was the last place in the world where you’d open something like this.
‘It’s a Smith and Wesson Model 27 revolver,’ said Murray, slowly running a finger along the barrel. ‘Also known as a Magnum. The Americans only began to manufacture it last year and it’s an outstanding weapon. A significant improvement on our Webley.’
He stroked the revolver one more time and then wrapped it up, putting the box containing the cartridges in his pocket. He seemed much more relaxed now, even quite jovial.
‘Now, I need to tell you what this is all about. Listen carefully.’
Cooper did listen carefully, reacting with a mixture of shock and incredulity.
He was to be a party to murder.
* * *
It was the seventh time Percy Burton had met the man he knew only as Murray and as on the previous seven occasions, he was astonished how different he looked.
Burton prided himself on having a good memory and an accurate sense of recall, but with Murray it was hopeless: if he was asked to describe Murray he’d come up with some vague description, which he realised, of course, was the point. The last time they’d met – just one month before – Murray had appeared to be over six foot and held himself in an upright, military bearing. He’d been hatless, with his thick fair hair catching in the wind – Murray always insisted on meeting outside – and had spoken with a soft Scottish accent. The time before that Murray looked more well-built, rather too-well-fed, as his mother would have put it, and was wearing a trilby and spoke with a hint of a northern accent.
And now, the man who sidled up to him as he reached the part of Fulham Palace Road where it approaches Putney Bridge, looked quite different: dressed slightly shabbily with a broad-brimmed cloth cap – the type one wears when shooting – and a mud-spattered raincoat.
‘We’ll turn left here and walk through Bishops Park.’ It was unmistakably Murray, but with an accent he’d not heard before – possibly Welsh, and if he was pushed Burton would have said North Wales. They walked towards the park and then alongside the river bank in the direction of Hammersmith and Percy Burton didn’t say anything yet because he was only too well aware that the man he knew as Murray would decide when it was safe to speak.
Close to Craven Cottage, the ground of Fulham football club, Murray stopped under the enormous bough of an oak tree and leant against the iron railings and Percy Burton joined him. Both men gazed out over the Thames, staring straight ahead at the opposite bank. This was how Murray liked to conduct business, with minimal eye contact.
‘The last job went well, thank you.’
‘Really?’ Murray sounded annoyed.
‘Well, we certainly thought so… yes.’
‘This was the fourth job I’ve done for you and I’ve told you: I require the information you give me to be unerringly accurate, as was the case with the first three. The information I was given for the last person was inaccurate.’
Percy Burton spread his hands out apologetically and was minded to reply that surely it didn’t really matter, did it, because he’d killed the right person, but the last thing he wanted now was to rile Murray, not as he was about to tell him about another important target.
‘The information I was given was that the target would be driving a black 1932 Austin 7, registration number BCA 313. In fact, he was driving a dark blue 1934 model Austin 7, registration number BCR 313.’
Percy Burton didn’t reply because he knew full well that if he said that surely it was close enough Murray would be furious.
‘It meant that when he got out of the car I was in the wrong position. It was fortunate that I was using a Polish Nagant revolver which has seven chambers: I had to use all seven. Normally, I expect to finish someone off with two shots, three at the very most.’
‘You haven’t used that gun before?’
‘Of course not. I’ve told you this before, I use a different weapon each time. This was the first time I’ve used a Nagant.’
Murray said nothing as he gazed across the river. The wind was blowing into their faces and Burton was worried his voice may carry in an unwanted direction.
‘I take it you have another job for me?’
‘I do, actually: all the details are in this envelope.’ Percy Burton palmed a brown envelope to Murray who slipped it straight into his inside jacket pocket.
‘And the money?’
‘There’s eighty pounds in there, with a further eighty to follow in the usual manner upon completion – as per usual.’
‘As per usual indeed – and, as per usual, the name and address are in the envelope?’
‘Of course, along with details of their routine and photographs.’
‘And I presume this is to be carried out as soon as possible, as per usual?’
He’d said ‘as per usual’ with more than a hint of sarcasm so Percy Burton nodded and then said there was something else.
‘I ought to point out that this job is to be carried out overseas.’ He spoke tentatively, nervous of the man’s reaction.
‘Where?’
‘Brussels.’
Murray nodded and didn’t appear to be concerned but said perhaps Mr Burton could go over the job because if it was to be in Belgium then he may need some extra help.
Percy Burton explained that the target this time was an anarchist, an Englishman who was linked with Irish Republicans and was believed to be behind recent bombings at British army barracks in the Midlands.
‘He’s very, very clever – we cannot pin any evidence on him – but we know what he’s been up to and we know he’s planning more attacks. We have to stop him. We’d lost track of him, but he emerged in Brussels last week.
‘If we build a case against him and tell the Belgian authorities then by the time he was arrested and extradited it could well be too late…’
‘I don’t need to know all this: as long as it’s been decided then that’s fine. But I will need someone from London to go over to help me – a French speaker. Someone good and certainly not a local. And I’ll want to collect my weapon in Brussels, I don’t fancy taking it over with me. I’ll want the new Smith and Wesson for this: get it to the embassy and the person you’ll send over to help me can collect it. I don’t want to go anywhere near there myself.’
* * *
It was only just after ten o’clock but was already a warm July morning when Cooper carefully parked the dark red Renault Celtaquatre on Chaussée de Vleurgat and remained in it for a few moments in an effort to regain his composure. He still couldn’t believe what he was being asked to do and part of him hoped this was still something devised by Burton to test his mettle.
Murray had been very clear with his instructions.
‘We will meet at nine fifteen tomorrow morning – Thursday – in Square Ambiorix and you’ll drive me to Ixelles, which is about two miles south of here. You’re to drop me on Place Flagey and then drive up Chaussée de Vleurgat and park close to the junction with Avenue Louise. Have you got all that?’
Cooper said he had.
‘Make sure the car’s facing away from Place Flagey. Leave the door unlocked and the key under the driver’s seat.
‘You’re to leave the car by a quarter to ten and enter Rue de la Vallée from Rue Vilain, which is very important because I’ll be entering it from the opposite direction. Still with me?’
Cooper nodded.
‘Wait diagonally opposite the house: when you see me you’re to go to the house and down to the basement flat and ring the bell. If the man in this photograph answers you should ask him – in French – if a Monsieur Lambert lives there. You should then apologise and leave: at that point I’ll know the man is there. You’re to wait further up the road. I’ll then go in and when I leave, I’ll hand the gun to you and you’re to go straight to Place Flagey and from there take a tram to Gare du Midi and then the train to Calais and back to London. You change at Tournai. Got that?’
Cooper nodded. He’d not eaten and had hardly slept since he’d received his instructions in the park the previous day and was feeling light-headed. He was still in shock.
‘And, of course, you’ll have taken your case to the left luggage at Midi that morning. Meanwhile I’ll leave through Rue Vilain and pick up the car where you’ve left it on Chaussée de Vleurgat.’
* * *
It was the most terrifying morning of Cooper’s life.
He’d parked the car as instructed and walked slowly towards Rue de la Vallée because Murray had impressed on him not to get there too early as he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by hanging around. And all the more so because this was a very smart area – ‘quiet and affluent’ was how Murray had described it – and when he reconnoitred the area that Wednesday afternoon, as instructed by Murray, he’d been most impressed. The streets of handsome Art Nouveau houses were set around two small lakes – the Étangs d’Ixelles – and he noticed two pairs of police officers patrolling the area, which seemed ominous, but he thought better than to mention it to Murray when he met with him the next morning on Square Ambiorix.
The Renault Celtaquatre had been a tricky car to drive – it seemed to be reluctant to leave first gear – and he noticed another pair of policemen on Avenue Louise, but carried on nevertheless and found himself trembling despite the heat. It was just before five to ten when he entered Rue de la Vallée, so he dropped his pace and when he was diagonally opposite the house he paused and took his time lighting a cigarette.
When he saw Murray enter the street from the other direction he crossed the street and went down the small flight of steps to the basement. He rang the bell and it was a good minute before the door opened, though only partially, as the unshaven face of a man peered out from behind the narrow gap.
‘Monsieur Lambert, il est ici s’il vous plaît?’
The man paused for a moment and then shook his head and closed the door.
Cooper crossed the road and watched as Murray waited for a couple of minutes and then approached the basement. He’d told Cooper that he’d be able to break the lock in a matter of seconds and sure enough he was quickly inside the flat.
But he’d also told Cooper he’d be in and out inside a minute, two at the very most, and as Cooper nervously glanced at his wristwatch it was apparent that something wasn’t right.
Murray had said that if he didn’t come out after four minutes Cooper was to investigate, and it was now five minutes.
The door of the basement flat was ajar and in the tiny hallway lay the lifeless body of a man, a small pool of dark blood surrounding him. Behind the body, Cooper saw through the open door of a bedroom, a woman was on the bed, frozen in absolute fear, clutching a sheet to her neck. At the foot of the bed, Murray was pointing his revolver at her, holding it with two hands, but he too was frozen, with an unmistakable look of fear on his face.
He seemed unaware of Cooper’s presence and when Cooper said ‘it’s me’ he didn’t react at first and only did so when Cooper gently tapped him on the arm and then he looked shocked, and began to tremble and Cooper noticed his wide-open eyes fill with tears.
‘I can’t do it,’ he whispered.
‘Do what?’
Murray gestured with his head at the woman. ‘You’ll have to.’ He handed the revolver to Cooper.
‘No, I simply can’t, I—’
‘Do it!’ Murray hissed. ‘The police will be here any moment – get on with it!’
Cooper took the revolver from Murray and pointed it at the maid, who now began to cry. Without hesitating any further, Cooper shot her, in the chest, from close range. The white sheet turned bright red as it fell away to expose her naked body.
Murray looked as if he’d emerged from a trance. He told Cooper to put the gun in his briefcase and get a move on. ‘Not a word to Burton, understand? Not a bloody word!’
* * *
It took all the restraint he could muster to avoid running to Place Flagey, where there appeared to be policemen wherever he looked, and he began to panic because he now couldn’t remember which tram to catch and he thought about taking a taxi to the station but Murray had been absolutely insistent that whatever he did he wasn’t to do that because the first people the police would question would be the taxi drivers.
And then he remembered his training and what the Welshman – Tom or Tony or whatever his name was – had told him about needing to escape from an area.
Get out as soon as you can. Don’t hesitate, you’ll only draw attention to yourself. Don’t wait for a particular bus or train: take the first one you can get on. And get on it at the last possible moment, just in case anyone’s following you.
Cooper pulled himself together and did just that. He spotted a tram with ‘St Gilles’ on the front and hopped on it just as it was about to leave. The tram was crowded and stifling hot and as he clutched the briefcase, he worried that there could be some terrible mishap and the gun could go off. He left the tram at Boulevard de Waterloo, walked for a few blocks to ensure he wasn’t being followed and then took another tram to Midi.
* * *
‘What in heaven’s name is that, Cooper!’
‘Murray called it a revolver, sir.’
‘And what is it doing here?’
‘I brought it back from Brussels, sir.’
‘Is it loaded?’ Percy Burton looked furious. It was the Friday morning, the day after his return from Belgium, and they were in Burton’s office in The Annexe in Bryanston Square.
‘I think there are two or three bullets still in the cylinder, sir, and I didn’t want to fiddle around with getting them out.’
‘And you didn’t think to get rid of this damn thing?’
‘Murray said it was a brand-new model and one of the best and I—’
‘And surely he instructed you to get rid of it?’
‘He did mention it, sir, but I seem to recall he said only to do so safely and I’m afraid that opportunity didn’t arise. I thought about throwing it overboard when we crossed the Channel but when I went up on deck it was very crowded, so I thought it best not to do so then.’
‘Thank heavens the safety catch was on!’ Percy Burton shook his head and then removed a crisp white handkerchief from his top pocket and used it to gingerly pick up the revolver and moved it to a side table.
‘I understand all went to plan in Brussels?’
Cooper hesitated only very slightly before nodding in agreement.
‘You sure, Cooper?’
‘More or less, sir, yes.’
‘More or less?’
Cooper hesitated. This was the moment to tell Burton that actually it had been a disaster and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of a terrified woman in the bed in the basement in Brussels who he’d killed, which he still found hard to believe, and he doubted that memory would ever leave him.
‘Cooper?’
‘Yes, sir, I mean, it wasn’t pleasant but—’
‘This is not a pleasant job, I’m afraid. And did Murray say anything to you afterwards?’
‘Only to get a move on.’
‘Murray tells me there was a woman in the flat who he had to dispose of too. You do realise, Cooper, that had you been caught you’d have been charged with murder as well as Murray? Travelling back here with this gun was reckless and irresponsible. Let that be a lesson.’
‘Presumably I’d have had some kind of diplomatic immunity, sir?’
‘I don’t follow you, Cooper.’
‘Immunity from prosecution had I been arrested – the embassy would have sorted me out, surely?’
Burton smiled broadly and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Cooper. If you’re caught, you’ll find you’re very much on your own. Murray tells me you were very helpful and it’s good that you’ve been on your first mission for us, but if it’s taught you just one lesson, Cooper, it’s that you must not get caught. The Annexe, you’ll recall, does not officially exist. You don’t need to know who was killed or why. It should suffice that everything done by The Annexe is done in the interests of this country, however unconventional and even irregular our methods may seem to be.’
Cooper was shocked and must have showed it because Percy Burton said not to worry and he should look upon Brussels as very valuable experience.
‘Before Brussels you were a new recruit to The Annexe, Cooper. Now, you’re very much one of us.’
* * *
Murray found him on the Sunday afternoon as he was strolling through Regent’s Park. He didn’t say anything for a while, but led him to a quieter area.
‘What happened in Brussels – it’s never happened to me before. I wasn’t expecting to see the woman there and she looked so young and pretty and… look, my hesitating like that… it was unforgiveable and will never happen again and… you got me out of a hole there and I’m terribly grateful. You did very well, and I’m indebted to you and I’m most grateful you didn’t tell Burton.’
Cooper said not at all, and he was glad to help, and Murray held up his hand again.
‘I owe you: you’ll never know when you need me, but the line of work you’re in, odds are you will one day. There’s a pub in Holborn – The Seven Stars on Carey Street, just south of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It’s been around forever, rumoured to be the oldest pub in London. There’s an elderly barman there called Bernard who works every evening apart from Wednesday. If you ever need me, find Bernard and ask him if they have any Islands malts. He’ll ask which one you prefer and you’re to say a Talisker.’
