Jay Garnet - Kidnap the Emperor!

‘What’s this for, old boy?’ the voice at the end of the line asked. ‘Nothing too fishy, I hope?’

Collins knew what this meant. ‘Nothing to do with the Specials, the Army, the UDA, the IRA or the SAS. Something far, far away.’

‘Good. In that case, you better move fast. The Yard knows he’s in London. Looks like the Garda tipped them the wink. Could be a bit embarrassing for us if they handle it wrong. Do what you can.’

Collins made three more calls, this time to the Republic – one to a bar in Dundalk and one to each of the contacts on MI’s file. At each number he left a message that an old friend was trying to contact Pete Halloran with an offer of work. He left his number.

At lunch-time, the phone rang. A call-box: the pips cut off as the money went in. A voice heavily muffled through a handkerchief asked for Collins’s identity. Then: ‘It’s about Halloran.’

‘I’ll make it short,’ said Collins. ‘Tell Pete the Yard are on to him and that I may have an offer. Tell him to move quickly.’

‘I’ll let him know.’

The phone clicked off. It could have been Halloran, probably was, but he had to be allowed to handle things his own way.

An hour later, Halloran himself called.

‘Is that you, sir? I had the message. What’s the offer?’

‘Good to hear you, Peter. Nothing definite yet. But I want you to stay out of trouble and be ready for a show. Not here – a long way away. You can come up here as soon as you like. You’ll be quite safe.’

He had assumed Halloran, on the run, tense, perhaps bored with remaining hidden, would jump at it. He did.

‘But what’s this about the Yard?’

‘Just a report that your name has been passed over. Are you sure your tracks are covered? Maybe nothing in it, but just look after yourself, will you? Phone again tomorrow at this time. Perhaps I’ll have more.’

The second set of calls was simpler. From the SAS in Herefordshire to the Selous Scouts in Rhodesia was an easy link. He had no direct contact there, but didn’t need one. He was told Rourke was on his way home. The call also elicited the address of Rourke’s family – a suburban house in Sevenoaks, Kent. Rourke senior was still a working man, a British Rail traffic supervisor. Mrs Rourke answered. Oh yes, Michael was on his way home. Why, he might be in London at that very moment. No, they didn’t know where. He liked his independence, did Michael. They hoped he would be down in the morning, but anyway he was certain to call. How nice of the major. Michael would be pleased to re-establish an old link. No, they didn’t think he had any immediate plans. Yes, she would pass on the message.

Rourke phoned that afternoon within an hour of Halloran. He was still at Heathrow, just arrived from Jo’burg.

‘Can’t tell you yet, Michael,’ said Collins, in response to Rourke’s first question. ‘But it looks like a bit of the old times. Lots of action, one-month contract. Can you be free?’

There was a pause. ‘I’m interested.’

Again, Collins made a provisional arrangement. Rourke would be back in contact later that evening.

Collins’s final call that afternoon, shortly before four o’clock, was to Cromer.

‘Charlie. Just wanted to say the package we were lining up the other day looks good. The other two partners are very interested. We’re ready when you give us the word.’

‘Thanks, Dicky. I have a meeting later which should clarify things. I’ll be in contact tonight.’

At five o’clock, with the business of the day cleared from his desk, Cromer prepared himself for Yufru’s arrival. Valerie Yates was briefed to leave when she saw him. Cromer did not want the possibility of any eavesdropping, intentional or otherwise.

He had planned for himself the role he liked best – magnanimous, controlled, polite, manipulative. He did not wish to be overtly aggressive and thus risk forcing Yufru into a corner. If he had guessed correctly, it should be a delicate, but not difficult matter to persuade him that the two of them should be working together.

‘Mr Yufru, Sir Charles,’ came Valerie’s voice over the intercom.

‘Very good, Miss Yates, ask him to come in, and perhaps you could bring in some tea before you go…ah, Mr Yufru, I am sorry to impose upon your precious time. Shall we?’ And he indicated the sofas.

‘It is my pleasure, Sir Charles. Perhaps it is I that owe you an apology. I had no intention of involving you in such an extended intellectual exercise’, said Yufru, as he relaxed back into the ancient polished leather. He crossed his right leg over his left and set the crease of his grey trousers exactly over the kneecap.

‘Your idea interested me,’ Cromer said, ‘so much so that I began to treat it less as an intellectual exercise and more as a practical possibility.’

Yufru’s hands came to rest in his lap. He gave no hint of concern.

Cromer continued: ‘That way, I can be sure that my response will be complete and therefore as helpful as possible. It is because I think I now finally have a realistic answer to your question that I wish to speak to you.’

Valerie knocked at the door and brought in a tray bearing two neat little porcelain cups, teapot, sugar bowl, teaspoons, milk jug and lemon. Yufru was now utterly still, his face expressionless, his attention riveted on Cromer. As Valerie set down the tray on the table between the two men he said smoothly: ‘By all means let us cover all eventualities, Sir Charles.’

Cromer waited until Valerie had closed the door and resumed: ‘In our previous conversation, Mr Yufru, we discussed the possibility of my bank being presented with documents signed by the Emperor several months ago. I said an outdated signature would not be acceptable. I think I should tell you that the date alone would not be our only reason for our refusal to comply with instructions.

‘We are speaking of documents signed by the Emperor after his deposition. It is well known that he was not a free man. We have no reason to think he was badly treated; but equally we must assume, for our client’s sake, that instructions not in his direct interest might have been the product of coercion. In other words, in the circumstances you outlined, we would have a justifiable fear that he might have been forced to append his signature to documents not of his own devising. I fear, therefore, that we could not accept the Emperor’s instructions as both authentic and valid. The date, you see, would be irrelevant if the Emperor was a prisoner at the time of his signature.’

Yufru had begun to breathe a little quicker, the only sign of tension other than his unnatural stillness.

‘Are you in all seriousness telling me, Sir Charles, that a bank of your standing, with all its international connections, would refuse to honour the authenticated instructions of one of its most important clients?’

‘In law, the definition of the word “instructions” becomes somewhat equivocal in these circumstances. I am told that such a document would have the same status as evidence produced under torture. I mean no direct comparison, of course, but the possibility of signature under duress would, I assure you, render the instructions null.’

‘In English law, perhaps. But have you considered what the International Court at The Hague would have to say about all this?’

Cromer smiled. ‘I understand that the International Court can deal only with disputes between nations, that is, between governments. It has nothing to say on disputes between individuals, companies or other organizations. Those are dealt with under the laws of the countries concerned. In this instance, the possibility of signature under duress would invalidate any documents under English, Swiss or American law.’