Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles 4)

“My pleasure, colonel,” replied the senior cloakroom attendant.

“And may I ask what you’ve done with the gentleman’s shopping?”

“Rebecca handed all his bags into lost property, which is company policy when we don’t know if a customer will be returning. But we saved these for you,” she said, taking a package from under the counter.

“That’s very considerate of you, Rachel,” he said, as she gave him a box of Montecristo cigars.

* * *

When the plane landed it was met by a reception committee who waited patiently for the ramp to be lowered.

Four young soldiers marched into the aircraft, wheeled the laundry basket unceremoniously down the ramp and dumped it in front of the chairman of the reception committee. An officer stepped forward, unbuckled the leather straps and lifted the lid, to reveal a battered and bruised figure, bound hand and foot.

“Remove the gag and untie him,” said a man who had waited almost twenty years for this moment. He didn’t speak again until the man had recovered sufficiently to climb out of the basket and on to the tarmac. “We’ve never met before, Lieutenant Lunsdorf,” said Simon Wiesenthal, “but let me be the first to welcome you to Israel.”

They didn’t shake hands.

40

Friday morning

DON PEDRO WAS still in a daze. So much had happened in such a short time.

He’d been woken at five o’clock by a loud, persistent banging on the front door, and was puzzled why Karl didn’t answer it. He assumed that one of the boys must have come home late and forgotten his key again. He got out of bed, put on a dressing gown and went downstairs, intending to tell Diego or Luis just what he thought about being woken at that hour in the morning.

The moment he opened the door half a dozen policemen burst into the house, ran upstairs and arrested Diego and Luis, who were both asleep in their beds. Once they had been allowed to dress, they were bundled off in a Black Maria. Why wasn’t Karl there to assist him? Or had they arrested him as well?

Don Pedro ran back upstairs and threw open the door to Karl’s room, only to find his bed hadn’t been slept in. He walked slowly back down to the study and rang his lawyer on his home number, cursing and banging his fist repeatedly on the desk while he waited for someone to pick up the phone.

A sleepy voice eventually answered, and listened carefully as his client incoherently described what had just taken place. Mr. Everard was now awake, with one foot on the floor. “I’ll get back to you the moment I know where they’ve taken them,” he said, “and what they’ve been charged with. Don’t say a word about this to anyone until you’ve heard back from me.”

Don Pedro continued to bang his fist on the desk and to shout obscenities at the top of his voice, but nobody was listening.

The first call came from the Evening Standard.

“No comment!” bellowed Don Pedro, and slammed the phone down. He continued to follow his lawyer’s advice, giving the same curt reply to the Daily Mail, the Mirror, the Express and The Times. He wouldn’t even have answered the phone if he hadn’t been desperate to hear back from Everard. The lawyer eventually called just after eight to tell him where Diego and Luis were being held, and then spent the next few minutes stressing how serious the charges were. “I’m going to apply for bail for both of them,” he said, “although I’m not all that optimistic.”

“And what about Karl?” demanded Don Pedro. “Have they told you where he is and what he’s been charged with?”

“They deny all knowledge of him.”

“Keep looking,” demanded Don Pedro. “Someone must know where he is.”

* * *

At nine o’clock Alex Fisher put on a pinstriped, double-breasted suit, regimental tie and a brand new pair of black shoes. He went downstairs to his study and read through his resignation letter one more time before sealing the envelope and addressing it to Mrs. Harry Clifton, The Barrington Shipping Company, Bristol.

He thought about what he needed to do over the next couple of days if he was going to fulfill his agreement with Don Pedro and make sure of receiving the other £3,000. First, he had to be at the office of Barrington’s Shipping at ten o’clock to hand the letter to Mrs. Clifton. Next, he would visit the two local newspapers, the Bristol Evening Post and the Bristol Evening World and give their editors copies of the letter. It wouldn’t be the first time a letter of his had made the front page.

His next stop would be the post office, where he would send telegrams to the editors of all the national newspapers, with the simple message, Major Alex Fisher resigns from the board of Barrington Shipping and calls for the chairman’s resignation, as he fears the company is facing bankruptcy. He would then return home and wait by the phone, answers to all the likely questions already prepared.

Alex left his flat just after 9:30 a.m. and drove down to the docks, making his way slowly through the rush-hour traffic. He wasn’t looking forward to handing the letter to Mrs. Clifton, but like a runner who had to deliver divorce papers, he would be non-committal and leave quickly.

He’d already decided to be a few minutes late, and keep her waiting. As he drove through the gates of the yard, he suddenly realized how much he was going to miss the place. He turned on the Home Service of the BBC to catch the news headlines. The police had arrested thirty-seven mods and rockers in Brighton and charged them with disturbing the peace, Nelson Mandela had begun serving a life sentence in a South African prison, and two men had been arrested at 44 Eaton … He turned the radio off as he reached his parking space—44 Eaton…? He flicked it quickly back on again, but the item had passed, and he had to listen to more details about the running battles that had taken place on Brighton beach between the mods and the rockers. Alex blamed the government for abolishing national service. “Nelson Mandela, the ANC leader, has begun a life sentence for sabotage and conspiracy to overthrow the government of South Africa.”

“That’s the last we’ll hear of that bastard,” said Alex with conviction.

“The Metropolitan police raided a house in Eaton Square in the early hours of this morning, and arrested two men with Argentinian passports. They are due to appear at Chelsea Magistrates Court later today…”