Gordon Ferris - The Unquiet heart

“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, Palestine…”

“Berlin?”

He nodded. “Buying intelligence. Using the old networks set up by the SS and SD.

They argue that we’re all on the same side against the commies.”

Light dawned. “Mulder? Eve’s old boss was on the payroll?”

Cassells nodded and gulped at his beer.

“That’s why they’re still following her?” I asked.

“Her and her new pals.”

“Irgun?”

“Yanks don’t want to lose any more of their agents.”

“Why are you telling me this, Gerry?”

He lit another smoke and gathered himself up again. “Because it stinks! It bloody stinks. Can’t change my spots. Lost good men and women to bloody Nazis.

Now we’re supposed to protect ’em. Well, I won’t. Wilson can if he wants. But not me. Time I retired. Thinking of buying a pub. Down in Devon. Got my eye on a place. Noss Mayo. Little village by the sea…”

“Gerry! What about Wilson? What’s he up to? Is it about Eve?”

“She shouldn’t have gone after Mulder.” He shook his head.

“Gerry!”

“Wilson is MI5’s link man with the Yanks. He does it with relish. Loves the power. Likes how they operate. Action, that’s what it takes! he keeps telling me. Not for me. Not my cup of tea.”

“What’s he up to?” I pleaded.

“He put your girlfriend in a little flat, yes? Battersea, isn’t it? So he can keep an eye. And on you. And if necessary…”

He paused, then like some old ham actor, he drew his finger across his throat.

“He wouldn’t dare! She was a British agent. Not even Wilson…” I forced myself to be calm. “What can I do?”

Cassells shrugged. “There’s nowhere safe, old chap. But I’d get her away, get her out of that flat. No need to make it easy for him.”

I left him there, still nursing his drink and looking like the saddest man in the world. I paced round St James’s Park, my mind in turmoil. By the lake in the evening sunshine, Cassells’ tale sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. I couldn’t, didn’t want to believe what he told me. But it all had the ring of truth. In vino veritas. And behind all this fear and craziness stood my bкte noire, Wilson. Cassells described him as a sort of go-between for the American Central Intelligence Agency and British Secret Intelligence. But I knew Wilson.

He’d be enjoying this. Sadists need victims. Like what he did to Eve in prison.

Now he’d be waiting his chance to twist the knife. Personally. Away from official eyes.

I thought of the stray moggy I fed. I found it with a mouse one day. It didn’t kill it. Not right away. Just caught it, roughed it up, let it go, and caught it again. Time after time. Until the mouse was so terrified and torn it couldn’t move. It just sat there trembling until its heart gave out. The sun dropped behind the trees and a cool wind whipped across the pond. A sudden dread filled me. I walked smartly out of the park.

It was dark by the time I got to her building. I walked slowly, using the odd parked car for cover. There was no one around. No sign of watchers. I looked up to see if I could see her window. It was hard to pick out one from the identical frames and curtains. The one I decided was hers was in darkness. I took a risk and walked over to her front door. I buzzed several times but got no reply.

“Forgotten your key, dear?”

I turned round and found myself gazing down on a bent old woman struggling with her string bag and a stick to climb the four stairs. I stepped down and helped her up.