Gunner Kelly

Kelly’s connection with Michael Kelly and they surely wanted Aloysius just as much as we did, if not more. He put on a damn good show of innocence, right to the end. And he’s a very sharp and resourceful young man, as well as being a brave one (like we said in the war: when they ‘re bad, they ’re very, very bad. . .but when they ‘re good, they’re sometimes a damn sight better than us; and he’s very much his father’s son, and his father by all accounts was very good indeed).

The point is, I had my source on him (but mostly on his father), and I liked the cut of his jib. You might say he’s everything I’m not—

or, seeing that I’m the wrong generation (the war-wounded one), he’s everything that our pupil Paul Mitchell isn’t: Paul is English, with a cynical-pragmatic French strain— Benedikt Schneider is half-English, but actually all German . . . serious (Christian), efficient, perhaps rather sentimental-romantic, but above all dummy1

honourable. In fact, allowing that he wasn’t old and bruised and rubbed all over with alcohol, and more than half-crazy and Prussian with it, he was like old Blucher after Ligny and before Waterloo. When I left him in the tank museum, he ‘d given me his word and he meant to keep it.

So I trusted him, anyway— I even told him about Aloysius Kelly, if he didn’t know already, so that he wouldn’t go back to the Chase not knowing who he might end up against.

And you know how things went wrong after that, at our end—your end— with you at Cheltenham, and the time we lost because of that: my fault— my sin— mihi paenitet— or is it me paenitet, I can’t remember, my Latin’s getting rustier every day— but I lost the hours of life and death that mattered there, Jack. So I was on the road back, south from Cheltenham, when it all blew up. And every time I get it wrong, someone dies— like that young policeman died, and like lovely Frances died—

“Captain Schneider!” Miss Becky exhibited equal measures of surprise and envy. “Where’s David? And where did you get that car? What a beautiful colour!”

Smile. “It’s called ‘Champagne’.” It was a woman’s colour, certainly: left to himself, he would have chosen silver in Germany, and British Racing Green in Britain if Volkswagen offered that shade. “I borrowed it from one of his armoured corps friends.”

Smile again. “He is a Panzer man, from long ago, Fraulein—I have learnt that this day, at the tank museum which is in the middle of dummy1

nowhere.”

The smile came back to him. “At Bovington?” Her face lit up.

“He’s a dragoon, actually. It’s rather nice—how they still have

‘dragoons’ and ’hussars‘—and ’the Household Cavalry‘, who ride horses only for the Queen, but really drive tanks and such things.”

The smile embraced him. “Not that he did—he’s a terrible driver—

he crashes the gears on his Cavalier something awful, I’d never let him ride one of my horses—” the smile edited itself“—but where is he?”

“He’s gone home.” He fabricated slight embarrassment. “He spoke with his wife upon the telephone, from— from the museum of Panzers, Fraulein.”

“Faith?”

“Faith?”

“His wife—Faith.”

“Ach so—Faith—his wife.” He was conscious of serving up another inadequate explanation which needed more substance.

“There was some pressing family matter, I believe. But he said for you to telephone him at his home—the number I have for you.” He felt in his pocket. “And he said that he would return very soon, perhaps by nightfall.”

“Oh.” Audley’s absence had worried her, but now she was at least partially reassured. “He said to phone him?”

“Yes. At his home.” As he handed over the slip of paper he remembered his duty. “And Mr Kelly? I am to speak with him, if you please.”

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“Yes—of course . . .” More and more she was over-matched by the deadly game she had allowed herself to play, he could see that very clearly. But she was a long way from giving in to her fear even now. “He’s in the West Tower. Peter Bradley and Blackie are up there with him at the moment, running over our plans for this evening.”

“Our plans?”

“Didn’t David tell you?” She thought for a moment. “It was Michael’s idea . . . now that we’ve got the radios— to have two practice runs this evening, just after dark.” She smiled again.

“When you . . . arrived last night there was a certain amount of . . .

confusion. We don’t want that next time, so Michael’s arranged two intrusions for this evening—one will be coming over the top, by Caesar’s Camp, and the other will come down the stream, from the ford.”

That was interesting—interesting that Gunner Kelly had marked the stream as an approach route into the heart of the village . . . and interesting also that he had chosen to test the defences at two points which single intruders might favour. Whereas the KGB ...

the Special Bureau would send in a three man squad for this sort of operation: one man to make the hit, one