The General drained his glass.
“The idiots that run this goddamn asylum thought they’d found a nice little hole to bury me in, I’m going to show them that this General is anything but buried! I want you to go to England, do what you can to locate the Brigadier and find out what they’re up to. Then see if they’ve anything we can use.”
“Just how much do we know?”
The General looked at the younger man, as if judging how much to tell him.
“To be honest, not a lot. We’ve just one word, Amber.”
“Amber? As in amber alert and red alert?”
“That’s all. We don’t know if it’s an operation code, a file or a project. Your job is to find out what Amber is.”
“Fair means or foul, General?”
“David, the British are our friends. If my old friend is involved, then that might make things easier, so fair means, but don’t show out. If they don’t want to play, then just get the job done!”
“Sir.”
“Congratulations, by the way, Major, you leave tomorrow.”
“Yes sir, thank you, sir.”
Major Robbins stood up, put his cap back on and saluted the General.
“Oh, and Major?”
“Sir?”
“Leave your uniform behind.”
David grinned. “Yes sir.”
*************************************************
The girl was lying on the cushions of the punt, watching as the young man slowly propelled the craft along the river with the long pole. She was wearing a pale cream summer dress and a matching sun hat with a large floppy brim. She trailed one hand in the water and rested her head back on the cushions, closing her eyes. The sun was warm, and in the absence of any breeze, she wanted to strip off and go for a swim.
The young man in question was dazzled by her beauty. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, as the swell of her breasts beneath the flimsy fabric seemed more enticing and sexually provocative than had she been naked.
“Where do you want lunch?” he asked.
“I don’t mind, somewhere quiet and tranquil. You stop when you’ve had enough.”
“How about over there, by that willow? There’s a nice grassy bank.”
“Fine.”
Oxford in July was delightful. The university had broken up for the summer, but there was still much in the city for visitors and those who lived in and around it.
The young man eased the punt across the river and brought it expertly alongside the bank. Taking the stern rope, he jumped ashore and tied it to a branch. Meanwhile, the girl stepped out with the bow rope and found a tree stump to affix it.
Spreading a blanket on the ground the man grinned as Amber opened a wicker basket containing their picnic.
“I’m so pleased you managed to get away,” he said.
“So am I. I didn’t think I would.”
They sat down on the rug, and he watched as she opened the box of sandwiches. He looked into her face and marvelled at her incredible eyes. They were hazel, but they almost glistened and appeared transparently amber at times. They contrasted with her dark auburn hair, which had an under-colour of the same yellow-gold colour that was almost copper in places. In the days before highlights, her hair almost glowed with several different shades of gold.
He thought her amazingly beautiful.
They’d met by chance, or so he thought, at Marylebone railway station. He’d been rushing to an important meeting, and he’d bumped into her on the platform, sending her flying. Full of apologies and feeling incredibly guilty, he helped her to her feet and found himself offering to buy her dinner. To his delight, she’d accepted, and this was their second date.
Mark Reynolds was a junior clerk at the Ministry of Defence. Staunchly pro-American, he’d met an American in a pub who’d come up with an idea to help the CIA build up their knowledge of Royal Navy logistical information, specifically relating to the supplies required by the nuclear submarine fleet. Unbeknown to him, most the documents he was copying and passing to the American agent weren’t that sensitive, but occasionally, one or two were. Also, the American wasn’t all he appeared. He was Leonid Dvorkov, a KGB agent operating out of the Soviet Embassy as a cultural attaché.
Therefore, Mark was supplying sufficient information to the Soviets on the movements and duration of all the RN atomic submarine patrols.
The couple ate their lunch, ‘Amanda’ was such good company that Mark felt a warm and comfortable feeling whenever he was with her.
“Don’t you get bored, working in a library?” he asked.
“Sometimes, but I love reading, so it’s a perfect place to be. There’s always the referencing and cataloguing to be done.”
“It seems such a waste. You should be a model or a movie star.”
‘Amanda’ simply smiled, whilst under her calm and attractive exterior, her mind was busy extracting and securing valuable information regarding material and contacts that were of potential value to HM Government.
Mark ended the very pleasant date with a promise to meet the girl again the following week. He wasn’t to know that events would mean he was unlikely to meet her ever again, and dating girls wasn’t likely to be of concern to him for a number of years.
He arrived at work, as usual, at 08:30, settling down at his desk in the busy Admiralty logistic & supply office. It was here that all orders and invoices were married up and checked, before passing them through to the finance department for costing and payment. He was actually a hard worker; diligent and productive. Indeed, he was not entirely popular with his colleagues, as he had a tendency to show their lack of productivity by working as hard as he did.
However, it was the British Civil Service, so productivity was the least of their problems. He took a short lunch-break at noon, as was his custom. He went alone and, as normal, to a small sandwich bar/café down the street.
He sat and read the newspaper at a small table on the pavement. He casually glanced round and then folded the newspaper. He stood up, glanced carefully up and down the street and walked over to the rubbish bin affixed to the lamppost. After depositing the newspaper in the bin, he relaxed and turned to head back to his office.
To his surprise Amanda was standing right in front of him.
“Hello, Mark, fancy meeting you here!”
“Amanda! Shit! This is amazing.”
He suddenly had a feeling of dread creep up on him, so he spun round to check. They were alone, apart from various tourists and casual shoppers. He turned back.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“You do,” she said, taking an arm and pulling him gently down the street.
“What’s up?” he asked, confused.
When they were about eighty paces from the café, they turned a corner. There was a plain yellow Telecom van parked by the kerb. The side door opened and Mark was literally lifted off his feet and manhandled into the van. A black sack went over the unfortunate young man’s head and the van drove off.
The girl calmly turned round, retraced her steps to the café and sat down at the same seat that Mark had occupied moments before. Only the girl had a different face to the one Mark identified as Amanda. The nice boy behind the counter brought her a coffee, so she smiled her thanks at him.
Leonid was late. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault, as the Soviet Military attaché , Colonel Gregor Ivanovitch, had managed to get involved with a high class call girl at the Dorchester Hotel, so he had to spend the last two hours sorting it out.
He looked at his watch, hoping that the paper was still there. As he rounded the corner he saw the café, the rubbish bin and what he hoped was the newspaper with the necessary documents hidden within. He slowed his pace, carefully checking the vicinity for obvious signs of MI5. There were no parked cars and this location wasn’t overlooked by any office buildings. He was as certain as he could be that he was not under observation.