trees.
“What will you do now?” I asked.
“See Jim. See if he’ll print the truth. See if I still have a job.”
“Then?”
She shook her head. “We’ll see.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Do you want me to come round? I mean…”
“Let’s leave it, Danny. For a bit. I’ll call you if I… You know.”
I left her, left the building and walked into the park. I sat on the wall watching the river, going over and over what she’d told me. Why had Wilson let her go? Why hadn’t he charged her? He could have pinned a murder on her. He could have charged her with accessory to commit terrorist acts. Had he got all he wanted? It wasn’t much of a confession. They probably already had Begin’s name against this action anyway. At least she was out. Why look a gift horse?
When the parkie ushered me out I went home. Then I went to the pub. Maybe the lads needed a beer. I did.
TWENTY FIVE
I didn’t expect to hear from her any time soon. Perhaps ever. So her voice on the end of my phone, two days later, was a shock, like a call from the spirit world.
“Danny, can you talk?”
“Yes. Where are you? Are you all right?”
“Can you come round? I mean here to my flat in Battersea? I mean sometime, when you can…”
“Put the kettle on.”
It took me the best part of an hour and three buses. I was still economising after that taxi ride from the prison. I buzzed her flat number and she let me in. When the lift reached her floor I found her waiting by the door. She still looked fragile but her face had a hectic flush. I soon found why.
“They won’t print it! Hutcheson won’t touch it, Danny. Wilson got to him. He showed Jim my confession! The bastard, bastard! Jim said he didn’t believe it but it was too late anyway. No one would believe it. He didn’t want to rake it all up again.”
I opened my arms and she fell into them. She stood sobbing against me for a while. Her thin back and arms made me curse Wilson and all his kin. Finally I pushed her back gently from me, but held her by her shoulders.
“Eve, are you surprised? Forget the confession. You’re a reporter. You know when a story goes cold. It’s been nearly six weeks.”
She freed herself from my hands and went and stood by the window. “I’m not a reporter. He won’t give me my job back. He asked me how it would look if the paper had an ex-Nazi on the payroll.”
“Wilson put in a good word for you, then?”
“What do you think?”
I walked over and joined her at the window. I looked out into the street. Two men were talking. Both wore coats and trilbies though it was mild and dry. One of them walked away. I pulled back, dragging Eve with me.
“Did you see him? I recognised one of them. The one I accosted in the street.
Ages ago. The Yank. I’m sure it was him. Have you noticed anything lately?”
Her shoulders slumped and she reeled away from me and collapsed on the couch.
“Yesterday. It started again, yesterday. Why won’t they leave me alone?” She began sobbing.
“You tell me, Eve. Is there anything you’re keeping from me? Anything you’re not saying?”
Her answer was to sob harder. I left her then, and as I emerged from the building, I tipped my hat at the bloke loitering across the road. He stared at me till I began walking away. I headed back to my office. I had a phone call to make.
While I was in the hospital Cassells had given me a number to call. It took less than twenty minutes before he phoned me back.
“Why are you still following her?”
“We’re not, old chap.”
“Then who is?”
There was a long silence from his end. “Look, let’s do this over a drink…” He gave me directions to the Feathers, a pub in the side streets between St James’s Park and Victoria, just behind the tube station. He was lurking in a booth in the empty lounge bar. A scotch was already standing on my side of the table, and an empty pint glass and a whisky sat in front of him. He had a fag going. I didn’t know Gerry Cassells smoked, or drank for that matter. I sat down opposite and he pointed at my glass. I lifted it, nodded and took a sip.
“Your local?” I asked.
“I don’t have a local.”
“We could have met in the park.”
“Twice round the pond and you’d meet the whole of MI5. This is quiet.”
I could see why. There were a couple of blokes in the public bar, not talking, just reading their papers. The pub had an air of indifference. The landlord didn’t care if you drank here or not.
“What’s happening, Gerry?”
“What’s happening? Hah! You might well ask.” His usual clipped tones had slowed and elongated.
“I am. Tell me.”
“You know there’s a new war on, of course?”
I raised my eyebrows and waited. I wondered how long he’d been here. The pub had been open for an hour. There were other damp rings on the wood table.
He leaned over. “Us and them. West and east. Capitalism and commies. We’re not shooting yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“What’s this got to do with Eve? Or me for that matter?”
He took a long drink of his beer, got up and walked to the bar. He walked faster than he should and stood gripping the counter until the barmaid deigned to serve him. Then he returned with foaming pints, and went back for two large whiskies.
He made a dent in both of his glasses before continuing. He wiped the foam off his moustache.
“She got in the way. That’s why. Meddling Eve. And her pals. The whole bloody ragbag of them. Stirring up the Middle East, just when we didn’t need it.”
“Gerry, what the hell are you talking about? She was on our side, remember? Your side.”
He nodded. “Trouble with doubles is they get confused.” He flapped his hand in the air. “Change sides once, they’ll do it again. She did. Bloody Jewish underground.”
“But it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s all over.”
“Hah!”
“Gerry, for fuck’s sake stop going hah! Just tell me what’s going on.”
“S’not over. It’s just starting. A new dance, but same old, knackered players.
Change partners and dance with me.” He stopped and looked around furtively.
“Listen. The Reds are the bad guys now, so anyone who isn’t a commie is a good guy. My enemy’s enemy is my friend. Right?”
I gave him a long incredulous look. “You can sit there and tell me we’re working with the SS now?! The same rotten bastards who started all this?”
His face twisted. “You think I like it? You think we’re all happy campers now?” he subsided. “It’s not our show any more.”
I guessed the answer but needed to hear it. “Whose show is it, Gerry?”
“The Yanks, o’ course. New outfit. Central Intelligence. Truman set it up in January. Replaces all the old departments like the OSS. And they don’t just gather intelligence. They act.”
“Like SOE?”
“With more money. Buckets of cash. They’re everywhere. We’re tripping over them in Europe, Far East,
