Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) Page 19

  ‘Hello world. My name is Tara Goodwin, and I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  Christiana awoke early, and all she could hear was Lucinda gently slumbering beside her, and as she became more awake, so the memories returned.

  It had all started back in that grubby hotel room in Washington DC, where her controller, Mike Tomlinson briefed her about a mission that had a starting point of almost nowhere.

  It was just a comment made by the Military Intelligence agent, Carl Hendricks about a conversation he’d overheard during a Benefit at the White House.

  Someone had recognised an agent from British MI5 and he’d been nosing around where he shouldn’t and asking questions about Area 57.

  The National Security chiefs had taken that badly, after all, the Brits were more aware of Area 57 than anyone, so why the questions?

  And then it got worse.

  The British secret services operated a dual system, MI6 handling the international side while MI5 dealt with internal security issues, so it raised the obvious question.

  Why would an MI5 agent ask questions about Area 57 way over there in the States?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  The alarm bells had really started ringing when enquiries to London revealed that the British were just as surprised as they were, and everything went supernova when the agent was tipped off and managed to slip out through the CIA net.

  So the National Security chiefs were left with a two sided puzzle, a homeland enquiry, which in normal circumstances would be investigated by the FBI, and an international enquiry which would normally fall into the hands of the CIA, but in this case, neither agency could be used because it involved the National Security of its closest ally, the UK, and in such delicate cases there was only one possible solution, to use a covert specialist agent from The Royal Edict Force, and simply because it doesn’t officially exist.

  Having been given Proteus Absolution, she was asked to make a covert inquiry, just take a vacation in the UK and listen-up for any news on the international grapevine, but none of her friends or contacts had heard anything, and then her luck changed.

  It had been during a weekend stopover at Martin Drake’s house, and strolling back from the pub one evening, he’d told her in confidence, Robin Sheverill had died out of season and had been found floating in the Rhine outside of Frankfurt.

  His name jogged her memory and she’d remembered working with him years ago in Beirut when he’d been looking for the lost Section man, and she thought his death was a real shame because he’d been a damned good operative.

  The more she’d thought about it, the more Sheverill’s death had nagged at her, it was as if Martin Drake was hinting something was wrong and Sheverill’s death didn’t add up.

  So she’d tracked down some of her old Section contacts and called on Ted Willis at his cottage in Malmesbury, and when he’d let slip that Robin Sheverill had been murdered whilst on Cardinal secondment, her intuition had jumped halfway to the moon, because something was definitely wrong.

  She remembered asking around, but nobody mentioned Sheverill, his death, Cardinal or any bloodletting, and that was weird.

  If Sheverill had been killed whilst on Cardinal secondment, Cardinal would have taken retribution just as surely as night follows day and the word would have gone round the agencies like a bushfire, but nothing happened, no trackers sent out and no retribution.

  So the only answer, even if crazy, was the murder was an in house affair, but if Cardinal were now killing their own, something really had come off the wall.

  Thinking back, she remembered how easy it had been to get involved with Sheverill’s widow, but she’d only intended to do some digging and hadn’t bargained on Lucinda being bi-sexual and half mad.

  But there again, having sex with her had made things far easier, and as the servants were halfway crazy as well, it made it quite easy to manipulate Martha, and convincing her that Lucinda’s mental problems could be tied up with her dead husband’s secret work, she’d been more than willing to do anything to ease the daily pain.

  And Martha had found the diary, and although it had been the breakthrough she needed, it had only led to yet more problems when the four figure code had been discovered.

  She sighed at the thought of Sheverill’s diary and the code that could hold the clue, because there wasn’t a worse problem than Area 57, or a worse agency to deal with than Cardinal, and she was beginning to wonder if it could all be linked together, along with that creepy MI5 blond.

  Suddenly, Dimitri came into her mind, and although it would be a gamble to contact him, at least he was safely out of the international circuit, and he’d been away from the system for long enough not to raise any eyebrows, and anyway, what else could she do.

  She had no choice, that rogue MI5 agent was still out there, and if Cardinal really had murdered one of their own, they might be involved in some way.

  So it could all hang together, and especially as everything in this mess was British.

  The blond MI5 agent, Robin Sheverill, Area 57 and Cardinal.

  But to find out what the Brits were doing, an American had to contact a Russian.

  Oh great. Have a nice day, Chrissy.

  Frank awoke to the incessant bleeping of the clock alarm, and turning, saw Angela reach out to cancel the noise, but when she threw back the duvet and quickly stepped out of bed, it reminded him that time was running out fast for Tara.

  Listening to her padding to the bathroom, he remembered the milkman and knew this could be the day of Dudley’s reckoning, but if the fool really had dug his own grave, nothing could be done for him because Daniels and Coogan were beyond control, and to make everything worse, Monty’s health was a disaster, and if he did come back, his only real concern would be for his daughter because she was also in danger, so that left Tara, and as Angela wanted her cleansed, he had to get her out quick.

  Hearing Angela making her way down to the kitchen, he got washed and dressed, but when he sat down to eat, she thought he seemed quiet and particularly thoughtful today.

  ‘Something bothering you?’

  He glanced up, ‘Not especially, but I’ll be glad when this is all over.’

  She watched him idly picking at his food and wondered if he was hiding something.

  ‘Yes. So will I.’

  Shrugging to her thoughts, she explained the blockage of the Sanderson file, but now they had proof of Dudley’s swipe going into the computer room, it might be possible to put enough pressure on him to reveal the password, get into the Sanderson file and see who recruited her.

  Frank pushed the plate away, ‘But Dudley must have been crazy to take that chance, unless he had no choice, just running scared.’

  Angela nodded, ‘And that’s the trouble, because if he is following orders, as you say, running scared, he might be too frightened to reveal the password whatever we do.’

  ‘Or give the wrong one.’

  Angela stared at him, ‘Jesus, what a thought, we’ve only got two chances before Merlin wipes the file and we’ll never find out who recruited her.’

  He lit a cigarette, ‘Well I can’t see him talking that easy, can you?’

  ‘No, I guess not, but I’ve just got to have that password, so do what you like with him, it doesn’t matter anymore, he’s finished anyway.’

  ‘So he really is history?’

  ‘Of course, and so will be anyone who has knowledge of this particular operation, it’s how Cardinal maintains its secrecy, I thought you understood that.’

  He thought of Daniels and Coogan, ‘Yeah. So what happens to me and Monty?’

  She tapped her fingertips on the table as convoluted thoughts flitted through her mind.

  ‘Well as Mr Montague’s future health is a little uncertain, that particular problem shouldn’t arise, providing he’s a good boy.’

  ‘Right. So that just leaves me.’

  Choosing her words with great care, she wondered what his reaction would be.


  ‘Yes, indeed … Well as we know, when someone has been seconded into Cardinal, and has observed its, shall we say, somewhat unorthodox procedures, it naturally becomes undesirable that the person should return to whence they came.’

  Glancing to him, she watched his expression.

  ‘But having said that, it might be possible to persuade certain people into letting you stay, and if you were accepted, you would have the safety of the family umbrella for ever.’

  Frank wondered who the hell would want Daniels and Coogan as family.

  ‘But if your appointment was approved, it would be unprecedented, although I might be able to persuade certain people of the benefit of having a permanent male presence within the structure of Cardinal.’

  Listening, he suddenly realised that Cardinal must be all female, so did that include Daniels and Coogan?

  And she’d also made it quite clear that he had no choice, and now began to wonder if Robin Sheverill had made the wrong decision.

  Sergeant Jenkins walked out onto the veranda and warily sniffed the air of a new day, and looking across to the barrier, called the guard over.

  ‘Now then lad, the top brass are due in at ten, and you know who I mean, don’t you, so make your sergeant a happy chappy and let’s have no fuck-ups, comprende?’

  ‘Right sarge.’

  Later, when his official car stopped at the main gate, Frank noticed the guard’s casual manner had gone and was checking him in following exact regulations. Looking at the guard’s clipboard, he wondered if Monty was still in the game.

  ‘Tell me, is Mr Montague booked in?’

  ‘Yes sir, the clinic called and said he should be here by ten o’clock.’

  ‘Good.’ He looked over to the gatehouse, ‘So who’s the duty sergeant?’

  ‘Sergeant Jenkins, sir.’

  ‘What again?’

  ‘Yes sir. We’re a bit short staffed at the moment.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll wait in the lodge, and call me when Mr Montague arrives.’

  Sergeant Jenkins cursed under his breath when Frank came through the private door.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘Yeah, I could murder a coffee.’

  Nodding, the sergeant went through to the kitchen, and as he set the kettle to boil he watched through the open doorway as Frank read the bulletins on the notice board, but scowled when he saw him casually looking through the papers on his desk.

  ‘Here we are, sir, black no sugar.’

  ‘Thanks, and have you got some brandy to liven it up?’

  ‘Yes sir, but strictly for medicinal purposes, of course.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Have a shot yourself.’

  Looking him over, Frank thought the sergeant seemed uneasy.

  ‘Sarge, tell me - so how good are your records?’

  The sergeant twitched, ‘Records? What records, sir?’

  ‘Duty rosters. How long do you keep them?’

  ‘Well regulations say three months, but I like to keep them for six.’

  Frank thoughtfully gazed out through the window.

  ‘Good - keep them safe, I might be needing them.’

  Putting the cup down, he walked over to the door, but stopped and looked back.

  ‘Oh sarge. Thanks for dropping me in the shit with Angela, it cheered things up nicely, so let me know if I can shit on you sometime, and have a nice day.’

  The sergeant felt a hot sticky sweat come over his skin, and sitting quietly at his desk, pulled out the drawer of his filing cabinet and took out a bottle of Grouse whisky, and taking a swig, sat back and tried to figure out what could have caused this investigation because things had been normal at Thornley Manor for years.

  Well, as normal as anything can be at an X Station - and everything had been just fine until a year ago, then Hillsdown, Anderton and Miss Goodwin had all turned up at the same time, and it wasn’t long before all the rumours had started about the secret shagging that seemed to be going on everywhere.

  Thinking back, he remembered something that had been bothering him for quite a while, because right after those terrorists had managed to fly aircraft into the twin towers, the government security advisors had ordered full audits at all of the six X Stations, but that hadn’t come as a surprise because just about every security system you could think of was getting a thorough shake up, and everything seemed just fine until they got to Thornley, and he never did find out why two audits were made, one after the other.

  And it was after the second audit that all those high ranking people who had arrived with the swagger of their own importance, had later driven away with nervous, haunted eyes and straight, solemn faces.

  As Monty’s official car cruised up to the security lodge, he looked at it all from a jaundiced eye and thought what stupid games humans played, the grandeur of their secrets so contrived, so pathetic, so ridiculous - and just so incredibly dangerous.

  Watching the car come to a halt, Frank opened the door and stepped inside, but when he saw Monty, he thought he was nothing more than a dead man breathing.

  Driving down the avenue, the old fallen tree came into view and Frank told the driver to stop, and carrying him in a piggyback, sat Monty down and brought him up to date with all the events he’d missed yesterday.

  Monty listened intently, and when he heard the Sanderson file had been blocked by a password and Dudley’s swipe had been recorded going into the computer section, his eyes began to sparkle once more, ‘So Mr Dudley could be our man on the inside.’

  ‘It’s beginning to look that way, and Angela wants the password as soon as possible because the file was obviously blocked for a reason, and probably because it names the one who recruited Sanderson, and then poor old Dudley has a date with a Tarantula.’

  Monty half smiled, his eyes thoughtful, ‘…Yes, she certainly is.’

  Sitting quietly, Monty studied the old manor house in the distance, and quite suddenly, the computer in his head clawed him back to reality.

  ‘Frank, there’s something wrong here.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well some of the information given to us, makes no sense at all.’

  Frank sat down beside him, ‘Go on.’

  Lifting his arm, Monty drew his hand across the vast, seemingly never ending scene.

  ‘Well look at it all. This huge manor house, the buffer area, the estate, no-fly zone, armed guards, super security, advanced technology, and of course, Merlin, it just goes on, and quite simply, it’s far too much.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought it was a bit over the top, even for secret files.’

  ‘But that’s the whole point. Why have all of this just for the storage of secret files, and why a huge computer staff of this magnitude working on continuous shift rotations? And why Friday?’

  He gave him a blank look, ‘What about Friday?’

  Monty watched a squirrel dashing across the grass, and without effort, it disappeared up into the lofty branches of an ancient tree. It was still there, everyone knew it was there, it just couldn’t be seen.

  ‘Frank, if you remember, Miss Goodwin said both Mr Dudley and Mrs Carthwaite usually stayed over in their private apartments on Thursday night, because Friday was the busiest day of the week. But why should Friday be the busiest?’

  He rubbed his jaw, ‘I see what you mean. In fact, why should any day be the busiest if the files are only kept in storage.’

  ‘Exactly, and apart from necessary maintenance and the odd piece of updating, what could there be for all these highly skilled computer technicians, to do?’

  ‘Well it sure doesn’t make any sense to me.’

  Monty began to smile, ‘But maybe it begins to, if one considers the Sanderson file.’

  ‘You’ve lost me again.’

  ‘Well think about it. We are told that Mr Dudley, and against all common sense, has blocked the file with a password. But how was he able to do that?’

  Frank thought ba
ck, ‘Well he is head of station, so I guess he told the technician to take a break, swiped himself into the computer room and got into the file.’

  ‘Quite so, but the question is, why was her file stored here in the first place?’

  ‘Good point. But she did work in a very sensitive area, so maybe when she died, it was brought here for security reasons.’

  Monty looked up to the high branches of the ancient tree, but saw no squirrel.

  ‘I rather fancy you’ve just put your finger on the correct answer, because you said, brought here.’

  ‘So what about it?’

  He smiled, ‘Well what if it hadn’t been brought here at all, because it was already here along with thousands of others, and all it needed was to be updated by our busy little team of computer technicians. Are you with me now?’

  ‘I think so, but if I understand you correctly, that would make Thornley Manor some kind of an enormous intelligence gathering station. So is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes, I rather think it could be, in fact, I’m fairly confident of it now.’

  Monty gestured to the house, ‘I believe this to be a central intelligence gathering station that would make MI5’s records look like a policeman’s notebook.’

  ‘Well it all sounds good to me. So the official name of this place, Thornley Manor, The Ministry of Defence Depository for Works of National Treasure, is nothing more than a cover name for a government gathering and recording station.’

  Monty smiled cynically, ‘Not exactly, because I doubt if this particular establishment has got anything remotely to do with the government.’

  ‘What? But you just said it’s a central intelligence gathering station.’

  ‘Correct, but not necessarily for the government. Don’t you see?’

  ‘Oh, come on Monty, give me a break! What the hell are you getting at?’

  As Frank lit yet another cigarette, Monty smiled to the high branches of the old tree.

  ‘Alright. Well there are many clues to its true identity, all around.’

  ‘Monty for god’s sake stop playing games.’

  ‘Sorry, old friend, I couldn’t resist it, but don’t you see. All around.’