His father came into his bedroom in the early hours of the morning: Roused by his son’s screams and his complaint of acute stomach pains, he dissolved an Alka-Seltzer in warm water and watched as his son drank it down. The next day Mrs. Walker went down to the call-box in the High Street and asked the doctor to call. Before he went up to see her son she told the doctor all that she could remember about his failure to get a real job and the story of the nightmares.
When he talked with the young man he knew at once that he needed help that was beyond a general practitioner’s expertise. George Walker had suffered some kind of shock and only a psychiatrist could help him. He prescribed some mild tranquillizers and didn’t probe too deeply into the problem. His questions were more to show his concern than to establish a diagnosis, and he told George Walker that he was arranging for him to see a specialist.
Armed with a sealed letter from the doctor Walker went to his appointment at the hospital in Manchester. He was surprised and uneasy when he was directed at the gate to follow the blue signs to the Psychiatric and Neural Research Department.
When he was shown into the interview room he saw that the doctor was young. Not more than thirty-five. Doctors were generally father figures where he lived. The doctor was casually dressed in a blue shirt and jeans but there was nothing casual about his approach. He read the GP’s letter, put it to one side and leaned back in his chair.
“How long were you in the army?”
“Four years and one month.”
“Did you like service life?”
Walker shrugged. “It was OK.”
“What was your rank when you came out?”
“Corporal.”
“What were you in?”
“I don’t understand?”
“Were you signals, transport or what?”
“I was infantry. And when I was promoted I worked in the depot stores.”
“How did you get on with the other men?”
“OK.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell.”
“Anybody you particularly disliked?”
“No.”
“Any quarrels at all?”
“No.”
“Any charges laid against you?”
“No, none.”
“Were you glad to be out?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to earn some money.”
“Do you earn more now?”
“A bit more.”
“You applied for several jobs. I understand you had all the necessary qualifications but you didn’t get them. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The doctor noticed the beads of sweat that broke out on the young man’s face.
“You’ve been having nightmares. Tell me about them.”
He listened without comment as Walker haltingly described his dreams, making no attempt to prompt him in the gaps of silence or the searching for words. When Walker finished the doctor was silent for a moment.
“Can you come again on Friday at the same time?”
“Yes. Providing the boss doesn’t object.”
“D’you want me to give you a medical note for him?”
“No. He’ll be OK.”
Walker lay back on the couch uneasily and as Dr. Ansell looked at his notes he said, without looking at Walker, “Just relax, George.”
Then the doctor put his hand on Walker’s wrist. Without counting he could tell that his pulse was fast, and he wondered for a moment if maybe Walker had been hypnotized before.
“Have you ever been hypnotized, George?”
“No, doc.”
“Well I’m going to relax you so that you can talk more easily. You don’t mind that, do you?”
Walker shook his head.
“Close your eyes … that’s right … now relax … good … just relax. When I count from ten you’re going to be completely relaxed and perfectly comfortable. Ten … eyes closed … nine, eight … deeper and deeper … seven, six, five … just nod if you can hear me … good … four, three … two, one and zero … Can you still hear me?” Walker nodded, and the doctor checked the blood-pressure reading on the instrument panel as he spoke. “Let’s talk about your dream, George. Just tell me what you can remember.” He saw the needle swing on the dial and stay well above the normal reading.
“Where did it happen, George? Where was the room?”
“The road sign said Hamburg. But outside in the country. A big house near the woods.”
“Who was there?”
“Captain Ames and Lieutenant Leclerc, and Mason and Fox.”
“The officers were British Army officers, were they?”
“They were both Grenadier Guards.”
“Who else was there?”
“There were two soldiers … prisoners.”
“Why were the two men prisoners?”
“Because of Mason’s girl-friend.”
“Go on.”
“She was a Kraut. They said she was working for the East Germans and one of them was giving her documents.”
“What sort of documents?”
“Orders of battle and NATO sitreps.”
“What’s a sitrep?”
“A situation report.”
“Who told you to kill him?”
“Ames.”
“What did he say?”
Walker sighed and Ansell saw the beads of sweat forming on the forehead and round the mouth. He said softly, “Tell me what he said.”
“He called me Mr. Dickens and told me to kill Fox.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you kill him?”
“With a gun. A Luger.”
“Why did he call you Mr. Dickens?”
“That’s my name.”
“But your name’s Walker. George Walker.”
“No. It’s Dickens.”
“Then what happened?”
“The aeroplane.”
“Where did it go to?”
“US air force base in Norfolk.”
“Where in Norfolk?”
“I don’t know. But always fried egg and bacon.”
Ansell sat silent for several minutes, and then went through the ritual to bring Walker out of hypnosis. As his eyes flickered open Ansell said, “How do you feel, George?”
“I feel good. Kind of lighter, somehow.”
“Good. I want you to come back to see me again next week. Friday, same time.”
“OK.”
13
As the small group of Concorde passengers filed out on to the tarmac at Dulles International Airport Boyd turned and waved to the two men standing at the observation windows. His time with the CIA was over. Schultz and Friedlander had been his closest colleagues, and he counted them as more
