CHAPTER NINE
THE BRIDGE IN THE PARK
It seemed to ‘S’, and to ‘C’, and to the Cabinet Secretary, and to everyone else with any interest in the well-being of Professor Jack Barclay, that the Russians were being particularly slow to respond to the instruction from Moscow to ‘activate Jarvis’.
Two days had passed now, and nothing had happened. At least, nothing they were aware of. The truth was that they were all getting a bit jittery and worried in case they had missed something. But, according to ‘Dusty’ Miller, Jarvis was behaving absolutely normally. He had certainly not met anyone that Miller had not seen him meet before, and nothing of any relevance had been noted from the telephone and email intercepts. The only thing that GCHQ had been able to report was that they thought they had identified the earlier caller. From his voiceprint, it seemed likely that he was a second secretary in the cultural department of the Russian Embassy. Since that was the home of many KGB members, it did not surprise anyone too much, although this man had not been used in such a prominent role before. Perhaps he’d had promotion.
It was a bit of a shock, then, not least to Jarvis himself, when he received a late night call to his home from the same man. It certainly had the immediate effect of galvanising everyone who was told about the call.
“Meet me on the bridge over the lake in St. James’s Park at half past twelve tomorrow afternoon. I shall be reading the Daily Mail, and have a copy of the Financial Times under my arm. I told you that you would be only too pleased to help us. By the time we meet, we shall have Donald.”
That was all. The man hung up. A second secretary in the cultural department he might be, but what he had said had the same effect on Jarvis as if the Russian President himself had made the call.
Bill Clayton was at home, too, like everyone else except a few duty officers at Section 11. Sir Robin Algar rang him.
“Get into the office as quickly as possible, and ring me in my office on the red phone. I suggest you get Nick in as well.”
Clayton rang Barbara first, then Nick Marsden, both with the same message.
“Get into the office as quickly as possible. Looks like a major panic on.”
Nick got there first – just – and had the kettle on by the time ‘S’ arrived. Barbara was busy turning the boiling water into coffee, as Clayton got through to Sir Robin Algar.
“What’s going on?” asked Clayton without beating about the bush. Nick Marsden was listening in on the extension.
“Jarvis has been ‘activated’,” was the reply. “We intercepted a call to him an hour or so ago, giving him instructions to meet his contact at lunchtime tomorrow. Of course, we shall have plenty of people around to watch what goes on, but we may not be able to monitor what’s said.”
“Why?”
“The rendezvous is on the bridge across the lake in St. James’s Park, which is notoriously busy at lunchtime, particularly on a fine day. And the forecast for tomorrow is for it to be a fine day.”
“Who is Jarvis meeting, do we know?”
“Probably the man who’s now made two phone calls to him. This call is certainly from the same chap – the voice signature matches. We are only assuming that it will be him at the meeting.”
“I’ll tip off my chaps,” said Clayton. “We’ll have to make sure we don’t trip over one another. Is MI5 or Special Branch being activated?”
“Special Branch. We have arranged for their technical chaps to be working on the bridge tomorrow – minor repairs and a bit of painting, that sort of thing – trying to bug the thing to pick up what’s said.”
“Good,” said Clayton. “I wouldn’t mind a live feed from that if you could arrange it.”
“Of course,” agreed Algar. “Shall I have it patched through into your Ops. Room?”
“Yes. If Jarvis is being targeted against Barclay, we need to know about it.”
“Consider it done.”
“Anything else I need to know?” asked Clayton.
“Not really,” replied the Cabinet Secretary. “Just one thing we couldn’t really understand. Something about ‘by the time we meet we’ll have Donald’, but it really meant nothing……”
“WHAT?” yelled Clayton, and hung up, Cabinet Secretary or not.
Nick rushed into Bill’s office.
“Hear that?” he said. “Donald, for God’s sake. Now we know what their hold is over Jarvis. We’re idiots not to have worked that out.”
“Barbara told you?”
“Yesterday.”
“Grab her, take our para-medic ambulance with bells, sirens, flashing lights and whatever else it’s got, and go like hell for her place in Dulwich. If he’s still there when you get there, bring Donald back here.”
Nick didn’t need to be told twice. He shot out of Bill’s office, yelled at Barbara to drop everything and run, and made straight for the underground garage. She looked quizzically at Bill, who was at the door, on her way out.
“GO,” he shouted. “Don’t hang about – Nick will explain.”
Bill shot back into his office, and got on the phone to the garage. By the time Nick and Barbara got there, the engine of the yellow and blue-hatched Mercedes was running and the garage security door was open. There was a squeal of tyres as the vehicle plunged out into the darkness, and headed south at breakneck speed.
There was little ‘S’ could do now, except wait and hope.
He poured himself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. He really should phone the Cabinet Secretary to apologise. But what could he say? That Donald was the illegitimate son of Jarvis, and Barbara was his mother? Barbara might not be very pleased about that news getting about in Whitehall. It was a closely kept secret. Nobody knew. And yet, somehow, the Russians had found out. Who could possibly have told them? What the devil’s going on here ….. ?
He picked up the red phone.
“Sorry to hang up so abruptly like that,” he said when Robin Algar answered, “but I had to act fast and explain afterwards. You need to know that Donald is Jarvis’s son. The Russians obviously planned to kidnap the boy so as to blackmail Jarvis into doing whatever it is they want him to do.”
“I had no idea,” exclaimed Algar. “What can we do?”
“We are already doing it. A couple of my people are on their way to kidnap Donald ourselves, as fast as we can get there. I just hope we aren’t too late, that’s all.”
“So what happens if you do get the boy?”
“I’m only just beginning to think this through,” replied Clayton. “But we could get word to Jarvis that the boy has been taken, and lead him to believe that Russians have got him. That way, Jarvis will co-operate with them, and we should then be able to find out what it is they’re after.”
“Sounds a good idea, but it could be dangerous.”
“This is a dangerous business. We’ll need to stick to Jarvis like glue from now on. I’ll get a couple of Special Branch people, who he won’t know, to help us out.”
“Agreed. Let me know if there’s any help you need. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention Donald sooner, but it meant nothing to anyone here.”
“Let’s just hope we’re quick enough, that’s all, and get to him before they do.”
***
As best he could, Nick told Barbara what was happening, while trying to reassure her that Donald was going to be OK and that they would be there well before the Russians could lay a finger on him.
“Since he’s at home and in bed now anyway, with your Mother there to look after him, they were probably planning on grabbing the boy sometime tomorrow morning, perhaps on his way to nursery school.”
“I do hope you’re right,” she said. “Please hurry, Nick. Please!”
“I’m doing my best, old love. I think we’ll go the usual way, over Waterloo Bridge and down through Elephant and Castle. At least the traffic won’t be so bad at this time of night, and with the siren and lights going, we should cut through what there is.”
Barbara rang her mother on the mobile. Donald was still there and OK.
“Get him awake, Ma. Tell him we’re going for a ride in a really fast car as a special treat. Shove a few clothes in a bag, and some of his favourite toys. We’ll be away for a couple of days, but there’s no need to worry. We got wind of a possible kidnap attempt, so don’t open the door to anyone until we get there.”
“Where are you now?” asked her Mother anxiously.
“I’m not really sure, but Nick’s driving and seems to know where he is.”
“Fifteen minutes,” shouted Nick. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes or less if we’re lucky.”
Barbara had noticed that Nick got the car up to nearly 80 on one short stretch of road, even though he was driving down the wrong side. Other vehicles sensibly stopped or got out of the way. Nick was certainly a very good driver, but she shut her eyes just the same, and hung on tight.
“This would have been quicker if our HQ was in Camberwell and not Clerkenwell,” he observed, as they swung south into Denmark Hill at nearly 90.
If he was honest, Nick was quite enjoying himself. He hadn’t needed to drive like this for a long time, especially at night. It was good to keep his hand in, but he was nevertheless desperately worried that they would not get to Donald in time.
“Nearly there,” he announced. “You dive in and grab Donald while I turn the car round.”
“Will you come in with me?”
“No. I’d rather scout round to make sure we’re not being watched by the opposition, if you don’t mind.”
Nick turned off the flashing lights and the siren a few streets away, so as not to arouse undue attention when they arrived at the house.
Barbara dashed into the house as Nick turned the car and had a careful look round to make sure the place wasn’t being watched. As he was in the surveillance business himself, he knew what to look for. Although it was dark, he was pretty sure there were no strangers about – not outside, anyway. Except that, just as Barbara re-appeared with Donald in her arms, a British Telecom van pulled slowly into the road and stopped a few houses away. Nick recognised it as one of theirs. ‘Good old Bill,’ he thought.
“Hello, young man,” he said. “Isn’t this a surprise, then! I bet you’ve always wanted a drive in one of these, with the siren going.”
A rather sleepy Donald nodded and grinned. “Will you drive fast, Uncle Nick?”
“As fast as I can, you watch!”
He turned to Barbara. “I think the coast is clear, so we can risk a quick call to the Boss, if you would. Just say ‘mission accomplished, and thanks for sending BT.’”
“BT?” she queried.
“There’s one of our BT vans in your road – arrived just as we left. They’ll be able to keep an eye on your mother from inside their little tent thing, while they fix the phones!”
“What a relief!”
“Your Bill thinks of everything,” said Nick, turning on the siren and putting his foot down again.
When they got back to Clerkenwell, the garage door was already open for them, and they drove straight in. Bill Clayton was there to meet them.
“Come up to my office.”
They followed him through the security checks and upstairs.
“Am I glad to see you, young man,” Bill said to Donald. “Did you have a nice ride in the ambulance?”
“Uncle Nick drove very fast, and had the hooters going all the way,” he replied excitedly.
“Great fun, wasn’t it,” said Barbara to her young son. “And thank you Bill for all you’ve done. I take it the threat was a real one?”
“Very real, I’m afraid, and we still need to take care. But I think the immediate danger is over. At least we have Donald. I’ve arranged for you both to stay in our flat for the time being, if that’s all right.”
“I was wondering what we should do next.”
“I’ve sent someone over with one of our camp beds from the store here, and Catherine is making that up, and a proper bed for you, in our spare room. Gladys made me sign for the bed, by the way!”
“Something else to thank you for,” grinned Barbara, the tension lifted.
“I’ve a favour to ask you, though,” said Bill Clayton. “I want you to do a bit of acting for me, and to ring Alan Jarvis to tell him hysterically that Donald has been taken from his bed. I want him to think that the Russians have done it, so that he keeps his rendezvous with them tomorrow – or later today, I should say. Unless he does that, we shall never find out what it is they want from him. Can you do that, do you think?”
“I think so. I’ll do my best to sound convincing.”
“He’s expecting them to take Donald, so he shouldn’t be too surprised.”
Nick chipped in. “He might just tell you not to phone the police under any circumstances. If he does, try to find out why not, and then eventually agree. He won’t ring them, as he will be as keen as you are to ensure Donald’s safety, and to play his part in order to get Donald released.”
“Good point Nick. Why not use your office, Barbara, and we’ll listen in. Leave Donald here to enjoy his coke.”
“And when your Mama has finished on the phone,” said Nick to him, “I’ll show you around the garage and all the cars we’ve got. Then you must get to bed at Uncle Bill’s.”
Jarvis was shocked to get Barbara’s phone call, especially at such an ungodly hour of the night, but not altogether surprised by her news. She was as hysterical as she could be, and Jarvis had a job to calm her down. As predicted, he was insistent that she did not call the Police.
“Just leave this to me,” he told her. “I’m sure I know what’s happened, and that I can get Donald back safe and sound within a day or so.”
“How can you be so sure,” she demanded.
“Because of information I’ve received at the office.”
“If you knew Donald was going to be kidnapped, why didn’t you stop it, you bastard?” she screamed at him.
“There was no way of stopping it, and I wasn’t at all sure that he was at risk anyway. But now it’s happened, you can trust me to get him back safely.”
“Why should I ever trust you?” she yelled.
“Because there’s nobody else.
“There is. I’ll ring the police this very minute,” she shouted.
“For God’s sake, don’t so that. You will only put the boy at greater risk, and prejudice my chances of getting him released quickly and safely.”
“I don’t trust you, Alan.”
“I know that, and I can understand why. But I promise I’ll do whatever I have to, to get Donald back to you soon.”
“I’ll give you a few hours, if you really insist,” she said, “but if I don’t hear something positive from you by mid-morning, I’m ringing the police.”
“I need a bit longer than that,” pleaded Jarvis. “But I should know something after lunch, and I’ll ring you then.”
“Why not before?”
“Because I’m meeting someone, that’s why.”
“Already arranged, is it? You knew all along this was going to happen and who’s behind it, and you did nothing to stop it, you bastard,” she shouted. “The police are going to love this when I tell them that you were behind the kidnapping of your own son.”
“Barbara, don’t make things worse,” he pleaded. “I’ll ring you at the office as soon as I can after lunch. I promise. Please trust me just for once.”
“If you don’t, you’ll have the police knocking on your door with an arrest warrant in the afternoon. I suggest you take a toothbrush with you to the office tomorrow.”
And she put the phone down with a bang.
“You’re wasted here, you know,” said Nick, putting an arm round her. “You should be on the stage.”
“That was brilliant,” agreed Bill. “You really put the man on the spot, and he must be sweating now. But he said he would do whatever he had to, to get Donald back, so the Russians have him over a barrel. With any luck, we’ll soon find out what they want.”
“One thing bothers me,” said Nick.
“What?”
“They will know that they haven’t kidnapped Donald, and that someone else has taken the boy.”
“My guess is that they planned to take him either when he arrived at his Nursery school later this morning, or while he was there,” conjectured Clayton. “If he doesn’t turn up for school, they can’t do that, but there could be a hundred reasons for Donald missing a day. I think they will certainly keep the appointment with Jarvis at lunchtime. The fact is that Jarvis will think they have taken Donald so it doesn’t really matter to them what’s happened to him – Jarvis will just do what they want anyway.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Nick.
“We’ll soon find out. Now let’s all go home and get some sleep while we can. Today already looks like being a long day.”
***
Special Branch had permission from the Royal Parks Police to take their van close to the St. James’s Park bridge. They were there mid-morning, and were soon clambering all over it with spanners and paintbrushes, some in the lake in waders. Nick was in the Ops. Room early, although Bill Clayton and Barbara were a bit later in than usual, having needed to make sure that Donald was settled first. When they left for Clerkenwell, he was happily playing with some of Bill’s old toys, which Catherine had dug out of an equally aged tin trunk. He seemed quite pleased to be missing a day at school, not least because Nick had promised him a ride in something else out of the garage later, if he was good.
Barbara had phoned her Mother earlier to reassure her that all was well, but advised her to stay indoors if possible until further notice, and not to answer the door to anyone. As she and Bill left his flat, she noticed two men on a motorbike parked a little way down the road.
Donald would be safe now.
***
To say that Alan Jarvis had slept badly would be an exaggeration. He hadn’t slept at all. The Russians certainly had him over a barrel now, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out how the Russians had discovered that Donald was his son. Nobody knew – only Barbara, of course, and he couldn’t imagine that she had told them, or even had any contact with them, in spite of working where she did. He had no idea yet, either, what it was they were going to ask him to do to secure Donald’s release, but hadn’t long to wait, now, and lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough. That was the imperative, securing Donald’s safety, although getting even with the Cabinet Secretary and Section 11 would be a bonus.
His wife had rung in to the office to say he was unwell, and wouldn’t be at his desk today. She certainly thought he looked dreadful when he left the house ‘to get some fresh air.’ He got to the park early, but the man was already there, leaning over the railings of the bridge, Financial Times under his arm, reading the Mail. As usual, there were lots of people about. Some were feeding the ducks, others eating their sandwiches, while even more were simply enjoying the sun in deckchairs and listening to the band playing on the bandstand. Tourists thronged the bridge as well, taking photos of one another, or just the view, either of the Foreign Office or Buckingham Palace, or both. ‘Dusty’ Miller was also there, taking photographs, although you would have been forgiven for thinking he was simply chatting on his mobile phone.
Jarvis lent over the railings next to the man. They admired the view together in silence for a few moments.
Eventually, the man said, “Kind of you to meet me here, Mr. Jarvis.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
“I want my son released unharmed immediately,” said Jarvis.
The man was surprised, but tried not to show it. He knew by then that they had not, after all, kidnapped the boy.
“Your son?” he queried. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“You know bloody well what I’m talking about,” replied Jarvis. “You said you’d have Donald by the time we met, and you know he was taken from his bed late last night. I want him back.”
The man looked over the railings at a passing duck, and a few workmen busy under the bridge.
“You have to earn his release, Mr Jarvis,” said the man.
“What do you want me to do?”
The man stood and folded both his two newspapers together.
“This place is a bit crowded, don’t you think? Let’s take a stroll round the lake while we talk.”
“Shit!” shouted Nick from the Ops. Room. “We were picking all that up quite nicely, and now they’ve wandered off and we shall never know what’s going on.”
“There’s no way Miller or anyone else, will ever be able to hear what they say,” said Clayton. “Bugger it!”
He thought for a minute.
“We’ll have to double up the watch on Jarvis now,” he concluded. “We simply can’t afford to lose track of him.”
“I’ll get that organised,” said Nick. “We’ll have to use chaps he might recognise, but we can’t help that. Let’s hope he will be too pre-occupied to notice.”
“Tell Miller when you get a chance,” said ‘S’. “But I want him in charge.”
***
Miller knew that the office would have lost touch with Jarvis and his contact as soon as they moved away from the bridge. He also realised that it was now more important than ever to keep close to Jarvis, a job not made any easier by the fact that he was operating on his own.
He called the Ops. Room to let them know that he was still in visual contact. He followed the pair at a safe distance, and could tell that Jarvis was listening intently to whatever it was the Russian was saying. At one point, the Russian handed something to Jarvis. Something small. Not a package, but small, like a coin. A key, perhaps? Miller couldn’t think what else it might be, so called Clerkenwell again. He had managed to get a photo of the hand-over, but only from behind them, and not close enough to be able to tell what it was. Eventually, having circled the top half of the lake and crossed the bridge again, they parted company at the tea-room. The Russian went inside, and Jarvis walked on, quickening his pace.
‘Now what?’ wondered Miller.
He did not have long to wonder. Jarvis headed straight for St. James’s Park underground station. Miller knew his mobile phone, however sophisticated, would not work underground on the Tube, so he quickly got through to the Ops. Room before he went in to the station entrance. “Jarvis is buying a ticket,” he reported. “Now going down to the westbound platform. Keep the line open.”
He dashed to the ticket office, barged in at the head of the queue, and flashed his pass to the bewildered booking clerk.
“Where did that man book to?” he demanded urgently, hearing a train approaching.
“Heathrow,” replied the man. “Terminal three.”
Jarvis repeated this over the phone, as he dashed down the steps two at a time, and dived on to the train just as the doors closed. He watched Jarvis board the train three carriages further up. He would have to work his way forward at the next two stations to make sure he ended up in the same part of the train. He looked at the map above the train window. ‘Change at Earls’ Court’, he thought, ‘then Piccadilly Line straight through.’ Earls’ Court was a difficult interchange – down escalators, along corridors, down stairs – but somehow Miller managed to keep Jarvis in sight until he got on the train to Heathrow. This time, Miller was in the same carriage.
He had no idea whether his message had got through to Clerkenwell or not, but there was nothing Miller could do now until he came out into the open again – probably at the airport.
Nick was still in the Ops. Room, and just caught part of Miller’s last message – the part that said ‘Heathrow’ was clear enough, and they all thought they just heard ‘terminal three’, before the signal faded and finally disappeared.
Soon, everyone who needed to know did know.
Jarvis was heading for the airport.
***
“What the hell has he been sent there for?” Bill demanded.
“He surely can’t be going anywhere, can he?” said Nick. “He has no luggage, not even a cabin bag, and probably hasn’t got his passport either, unless we missed a phone call or something.”
“Perhaps he’s meeting someone.”
“But who? We know Barclay is at Harwell, so it’s not him.”
“Just suppose,” said Head of Section, “that it was a key he was given. He could be going to collect something.”
“I thought they did away with left luggage facilities ages ago for security reasons,” said Nick.
“Let’s get on the internet to find out,” said Clayton. He typed in ‘Left Luggage – London’, and immediately got the British Tourist Authority website.
“There it is,” he exclaimed. “A company called Excess Baggage has facilities at main line stations and the two airports. See – ‘London Heathrow terminal three arrivals (0530-2230) near car hire desks’, it says. I bet that’s it.”
“We can get someone there by bike quicker than by tube, too,” said Marsden. “William Gordon’s in the rest room – I’ll send him on a BMW. BARBARA,” he shouted. “Photos of Jarvis please, and quick.”
Gordon was there at least fifteen minutes before Jarvis turned up, hotly pursued up the escalator by Miller. Jarvis withdrew a small brief case, closely watched, Gordon noticed, by a man who was very Russian-looking, chatting on a mobile phone. Being the good man that he was, Gordon also reported that the briefcase looked too heavy to have just papers in it.
“Something like a gun, perhaps,” he said.
Jarvis headed back towards the Underground, but rang Barbara first. It was the briefest of calls.
“I now know what I have to do to secure the release of Donald,” he told her, “and he should be back with, you safe and sound, either tomorrow night or early the next morning.”
Miller quickly scribbled down Jarvis’s home address and gave it to Gordon before setting off in chase. “Get there quick in case he goes straight home. I could just lose him in the rush hour.”
“So sorry I can’t give you a lift back to base,” grinned William.
“Piss off!” ‘Dusty’ Miller hurried after the disappearing Jarvis who now, thought Miller, looked distinctly ill.
***