Chapter 40
The next morning, while England sleepily celebrated and the rest of the United Kingdom went about just another normal Sunday, they left the track behind and headed for the nearest town. A small place, it had a selection of two cafes only one of which was open. They each ordered tea and a cooked breakfast then took it in turns to use the sink in the toilets to freshen up.
Meanwhile, Marion Ward, oblivious to the official subterfuge going on around her, was just grateful her solicitor would be arriving soon to finalise her will. It was Wendy who'd suggested it and, whilst she'd shied away from the idea previously, she knew that being alone in the world and not having made arrangements meant the Government would take her 'estate'. Working for them was one thing, subsidising them was a whole different matter.
Wendy was something else. There was attraction, fun and wonderful sex. She'd let desire rule her head but, being who she was, these things were few and far between.
Marion was socially awkward and knew it but longed for someone with whom she could naturally fall into conversation. Besides her work, her only other interest was her garden and its flowers and shrubs. She knew their Latin and common names by heart and all the trees she'd planted had people names. There was Bertie, Howard, Faith, Hope, Bubbles and the simply magnificent Tim.
It wasn't that she felt no one would understand, it was simply that people didn't and probably never would. And she never meant to annoy people at work with her brilliance but had managed to do so inadvertently on several occasions and then, apparently, made things worse by not having noticed. She had problems with body language, both her own and that of others and was often accused of being in a mood when perfectly happy. Her last lover had told her she'd been trying for six months to give her clues as to her attraction to her before, in the end, having to risk all by telling her outright. Some things were way too subtle for Marion.
Her quirky habits like taking the foil that had wrapped her sandwiches and folding it over and over again to form a neat compact square before she threw it in the bin and switching lights off and on then off again when she left a room at the end of the day weren't helping matters either.
But these were the things to be noticed on knowing her better. She could control her OCD when in casual company and only the truly observant would pick up on her habit of repeatedly rubbing the top right-hand corner of her notepad with her thumb when attending the likes of a seminar or meeting.
Born in Manchester, the daughter of a toolmaker, she'd shown an aptitude for mathematics at an early age gaining a scholarship to Manchester Girls Grammar School then another to Somerville, in Oxford, from where she'd obtained her degree. A spell as a mathematics teacher at the Royal High School in Edinburgh followed and it was there she'd taught Andrew Pollock, a young man she would later recommend to her new employers. After a while, she wanted to open new horizons and had thought of world travel but a colleague had strongly suggested she apply for a seemingly innocuous job advertised in the Times newspaper. She didn't know it at the time but her older friend had worked for the Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park, during the war, decrypting enemy codes and so she found herself working for the now renamed GCHQ.
She'd enjoyed the work even when she'd been placed in Giles Reddington-Taylour's team for the new project and it took her a while to discover he'd been taking the accolades for her work. By the time she'd found out, her awkwardness and odd habits, helped by Reddington's confidential conversations with his superiors, had alienated her from certain influential members of the management.
She'd hoped that things would improve after he was nominated for secondment to America yet when he didn’t get the job, it was all too late, her moment of truth had passed. She didn't like to admit it, even to herself; she'd been secretly pleased when he got himself shot.
But, she was in it for the long run, the work was immensely interesting and vitally important and she felt certain she wouldn't have to put up with him forever. His supposed 'brilliance' would catch up with him one way or another. That's why she allowed herself to relax, give in to desire despite her initial reluctance, a reluctance caused only by the fact that it had been so long. Wendy was beautiful, tactile and understanding. Almost everything she could have wished for.
Marion wasn't stupid though, she knew she was hiding something. She couldn't be certain but thought perhaps it was a husband, boyfriend or another woman because her lover claimed she didn't have a home phone and that the number displayed on her car was for business only. Naturally, she tried it but fared no better than Gallagher had, so she'd decided to take what she could get and, anyway, Wendy's knowledge of plants was surprisingly good. Her only regret was having told her of Reddington-Taylour's deceit in pitching her work as his own, it had been churlish and could have been viewed as egotistical but she'd been angry and Wendy was a good listener. She'd told her nothing more.
Yes, today she would leave everything to the NSPCC, the national children's charity, for the children she'd never have. Time for a shower.
Back on the street, Sandy headed for the phone box and reported to the office while the others visited the little newsagent's shop, Clive buying the Sunday Times, Gallagher choosing the Sunday Mirror.
The passenger door opened and closed as Sandy plonked himself on the rear seat. The newspapers went down as two heads swivelled round to look at him.
"Everything's changed. The Old Man says he's been told to get her out of there. They don't want to risk anything happening to her. Now they've realised Reddington's real ability they can't afford to lose her, especially with Petterson currently over in the States. We've got to get her to that police safe house we stayed in, as a temporary measure. Box will take her from there later on. Oh, and Reg says the Cherneys are booked for a flight to Stockholm early tomorrow. He says he can't guarantee it isn't a cover for them leaving elsewhere but he's still got people checking."
They were interrupted. "Billy to Gally, over."
"Gally."
"Billy. We've monitored a phone call to her. The targets have arranged to visit her at eleven-thirty. We're on, mate. I'm issuing the Browning nine millys, for your information, over."
"Gally, roger. We're coming to get her out of there, new instructions from Sunray. We'll be there soonest but if anything happens you have full autonomy, over."
"Billy, roger. Out."
"Shouldn't we get that authorised by the Old Man?" Sandy queried.
"No time, Ginge. You can't be tying these guys' hands. They'll know what to do. We'll sort any mess out later."
He checked his wrist. "It's eleven now. Let's get going."
The three car convoy left at speed.
On arrival, they were greeted by Billy, still dressed in his gas board overalls. "I've a crew en route to the safe house to secure it. I spoke to Reg just before. We've identified ourselves and explained the situation. I've two inside with her, not just for close protection but you never know, just in case she panics and tries to do a runner. Front and back are covered and I'm waiting on the cut off group to get here, shouldn't be long though."
Gally patted him on the arm, "Thanks, Billy, you're a star."
He waved Sandy and Clive over to a nearby shrub and briefed them. "Look, I'll take her in mine, you two follow on and look out for any company we might pick up. I wouldn't be surprised if they turned up early just to get a feel of the place and watched for any unusual activity. If they have, they'll be onto what we're trying to do and it's their last chance so it may get rough."
Inside, explanations given and his SB identity card shown, they chivvied her along as she gathered some things into a bag and Gallagher deposited her onto the back seat with instructions to keep her head down.
John and Helen Cherney watched from their Ford Zephyr parked on the tree-lined rise that commanded a view of anything that entered or left the drive upon which Marion Ward's home sat. The three car convoy wasn't difficult to spot.
A small bag containing the intended tools of their trade lay on the back seat. The syringe and drug phial now redundant, John removed the two PPKs and racked a round into the chamber of each. Handing one to Helen with spare mags, he placed his own inside his jacket. His only fear at that moment was failure. He could sense the title 'Hero of the Soviet Union' slipping from his grasp and desperate times called for desperate measures.
He knew the area well. Cutting through the back lane, he reached the junction on the other side of the rise just as the convoy sailed past. On the clear straight road, he put his foot down and measured his progress perfectly. Sandy just managed, "We've got company," on the radio before the Zephyr overtook and Helen fired three rounds into the driver's window. Reflex took Sandy over as glass flew everywhere and something skimmed his chin.
In his rearview mirror, John Cherney saw Sandy's Triumph Herald bounce through the hedge and disappear into the field. Sandy saw the hedge and the windscreen. For several minutes it was all he could remember. Falling from the open door, he dragged himself to his feet wiping blood from his chin and feeling more blood trickle down his face from the head wound sustained when he headbutted the front window. It hurt when he breathed.
Aware of what had just happened, Clive attempted to provide distance between Gally and their pursuers by blocking as they tried another overtake. Back and forth they went, narrowly avoiding collision with several oncoming cars and a box van. From a rise in the road, before his adversary had time to recognise it, Cherney saw his chance.
Clive had placed his weapon on the seat next to him for easy access but looking for it now, he discovered it had glided off into the footwell. Desperately, he glanced up at them just as they slammed into the side of him. He gripped the wheel hard, tyres kicked up dirt and grass from the edge of the carriageway then he careered across onto the opposing lane until he managed to control it and steer back.
Cherney was ready, accelerating fast and using his opponent’s own momentum to help him achieve his aim. The next contact forced Clive straight off the road causing his car to cling, crazily, to the embankment of the ditch as he fought to save himself. Seconds later his undoing was the unseen culvert he struck. He lay slumped at the wheel as steam erupted from the radiator, dust and debris settling all around.
Gally checked his rearview mirror. All he saw was the Zephyr advancing on him like a great white shark. He glanced down at the seat next to him. The radio had gone, probably wedged beneath.
As calmly as he could, he told Ward, "I don't want you to worry too much but things are not going well. If we're going to get out of this alive you have to do exactly what I say when I say it. Do you understand, Marion?"
Her reply disclosed no hint of terror. "Yes, I understand you perfectly, mister Gallagher."
He made eye contact in the mirror. "Then get down into the space between the passenger seat and the back seat and stay there until I tell you to do otherwise.”