The Lucy Ghosts

'We're still a long way from Herr Goodenache.'

'We'll be there soon. Trust me.'

'You keep saying that.'

'And you keep following.'

'Hmm,' she grumbled, then sat back and looked out at the rush hour traffic crawling into London on the M4.

'Sorry you came?'

'No. Just that…not a lot seems to happen. I'm tired, worn to a frazzle, dirty. My body's cramped from spending all that time in the back of the plane. I've probably lost my job, probably a hunted fugitive in my own country. Hell, this is rapidly turning into shit. So much for looking for excitement. Nothing's happened since we left New Orleans.'

'And you think this could be a wild goose chase?'

'What do you think?' she snapped at him.

'It could be. But I live in a world of half chances. I probably shouldn't have left New Orleans as I did. But then I've always done what I probably shouldn't. And, in view of what you've told me about the computer and knocking off all those agents, this whole thing is a lot bigger than just guarding Trimmler. At the end of the day we're working for our own people. We've not turned against them, just creating space to work in. If we fuck up, then we go back, hold our hands out and let them smack us. If we're right, then we've served Queen and Country. Sorry, President and Republic.'

'Still a helluva long shot.'

'Maybe. But it could end up as the only game in town.'

* * *

She had loved the flat and it had cheered her up unexpectedly. She had assumed it would be functional and simple. Now she saw the love that had gone into it, saw it for the home it was, sensed it as only a woman can.

He had shown her to the guest bedroom. 'Get some sleep,' he told her. 'I've one or two things to do. If you do get up later and find an old lady around the house, then…'

'Lily. You told me.'

'You'll like her. Don't forget, you're probably jet lagged on top of everything else.'

'Prop lagged, you mean.'

He laughed. 'Whatever. It's still only four thirty in the morning in New Orleans. See you later.'

He left her to settle down and went into his study.

He made three calls, the first of which was to Lily.

The second was to a number in Manchester. When a girl's sleepy voice answered, he said 'As arranged. Shouldn't be late.' Then he put down the phone before the number could be traced. He knew the line was probably bugged by now.

The third call was to Coy, his briefing officer in London.

'We really are in the shit, aren't we?' came the sarcastic reply.

'Are we?' replied Adam. It was game time.

'You were ordered to stay and help our friends.'

'Things changed. I decided to take the initiative.'

'You always do. Is the woman with you?'

So the Americans were keeping Coy informed. 'Yes.'

'Why?

'She wanted a holiday. Never seen England before.'

'Did she come of her own volition?'

'Do me a favour. Of course she did. How much do you know about our friends' difficulties?' He heard the sharp intake of breath.

'Wait,' commanded Coy, then Adam heard him speak to someone else in the room, his voice muffled by the hand over the receiver. 'You need to come in here,' he said at last.

'No. I’m too tired. Hell of a journey. '

'No. We need to talk now. All right. I'll ring you back in five minutes.'

Adam grinned and put down the phone. They'd be frantically disconnecting the wire tap. The last thing they wanted was for the Americans to know they were about to learn their secrets.

The phone rang nine minutes later. It was Coy. 'This is a free line,' he said. 'Tell me about their difficulties.'

As briefly as possible, Adam told Coy about the computer virus, about the death of the American agents and about Trimmler's conversation with Goodenache. He even told him about Fruit Juice and the manner of Trimmler's death. He never mentioned Nordhausen or the involvement of the Russians, but knew that if he could commit the British Secret Service, it would keep the CIA off his back and give him the time he needed. These security agencies all loved gossip, especially about their allies.

'In the shape of a swastika?' exclaimed Coy when he had finished. When Adam didn't answer, he continued. 'Gruesome, even for the Yanks. Did the woman tell you this?'

'No,' Adam lied. 'I overheard various conversations between her and other CIA people,' he lied.

'Why did she come with you?'

'She knew I was leaving. I forced her,' Adam lied.

'All the way across the Atlantic?' came the disbelieving reply.

'By then I think she'd decided she might as well continue. After all, she's one of their people. Maybe she just wants to find out what's going on.'

'Possible.' Coy paused and Adam waited for him to continue. 'An intriguing tale,' he said at last.

Adam chuckled to himself. Coy had bitten. 'I need some sleep,' he said, hoping he could get the time he wanted.

'Yes. It would be better if you didn't mention our conversation to the woman. Say we haven't contacted you yet.'

'I understand.' You're damn right, I understand. Now the tongues would start wagging round MI5, MI6 and the other, smaller intelligence agencies. They'd love to see the Yanks dig themselves out of this hole. Keeping the girl out of touch, of her own volition, would add spice to the game. 'By the way, your chap at the shuttle was rather obvious.'

'Did she see him?'

'Yes.'

'Pity. But if you keep your head down, say the flat's being watched, she should accept that. Just play along with her.'

Very bright, thought Adam. She'd really believe that, after your goons have already shown themselves. 'A splendid idea,' he said.

'Good. We'll contact you tonight.'

'Tomorrow might be easier. I'm going to get some sleep, then I need to keep her amused for the rest of the day. A call in the evening might warn her something's up.'

'First thing in the morning, then.'

'And could you keep someone watching the front door. I don't want her sneaking out while I'm in bed.'

'Good idea.' They both knew the place was under surveillance already. 'Talk to you tomorrow with your instructions.'

Adam put the phone down and went to the front door. He switched all the door and window alarms on before going to bed and crashing out. But before he did, he made sure the brown holdall was ready for use under his bed.

* * *

Lily let herself in with her alarm key at six and found Adam in the shower. She left a cup of tea for him on his bedside table and went into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal.

'Is our guest still asleep?' he asked as he walked through into the kitchen in his toweling robe, the cup of tea in his hand.

'Out to the world,' replied Lily. 'What time do you want me to wake her?'

'Give her another hour. She's had no sleep for nearly two days.'

'Coffee or tea?'

'She's American.'

'Coffee, then.

'Decaffinated.'

'We haven't any.' She smiled as Adam looked up quizically. 'You always told me, no unleaded in this house. What do you think she'd like to eat tonight?'

'Steak and kidney?' he asked.

'Not much time. But all right. I'll manage.'

'Thanks,' he grinned, then leant over and kissed her on the cheek. 'It's good to be home.'

'Your mail's in the study. Mostly bills, from what I can see.'

'Some things never change.'

He put on a cool cotton grey shirt and loose cotton slacks. The leather slip-ons were an old pair, comfortable and cool. When he was satisfied with his appearance, his hair now well gelled back in its customary style, he went to the study and examined his mail. There were the usual circulars, a few invitations to nothing very exciting, and a batch of bills. When he had finished, signed a few cheques for Lily to post for the gas and electricity and other essentials, he wandered into the kitchen.