CHAPTER EIGHT

L’Enterprise

Greg took a call from David in the afternoon. Greg was to meet him at the ferry terminal in Poole the next day. David would confirm the time later in the day.

‘I hate to say this,’ said Greg, ‘but tomorrow is not very convenient. There’s a lot going on here -’

David interrupted: ‘My dear Greg, in my book it is the client who dictates what is convenient and what is not. We will cast off from Cherbourg after dark tomorrow. We should be back in Dartmouth in the early hours of Thursday. Make sure we have sufficient room to come alongside at the yard. As you know, the boat is forty-five feet overall. Will that be all right?’

Greg knew an order when he heard one. He also had his suspicions.

‘Troag?’ questioned Greg.

‘Sorry - didn’t hear what you said’ came the reply.

Greg did a double-take.

‘I said how long will the boat be berthed here?’

‘Until it’s sold, I expect. I will phone Alan Lucas - he’s our prospect in Fowey, as soon as I can tell him she’s in Dartmouth. We discussed this last weekend, remember? Cheer up - it’s our first bit of business.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Greg. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you later.’

Within the hour David phoned again.

‘The trip is on. The ferry leaves Poole at 2 p.m. tomorrow. We’ll have time to have a meal in Cherbourg before getting under way to return.’

‘I’ve made sure of our berth on the visitors pontoon,’ said Greg. ‘Plenty of room. I have to say I’m really looking forward to this trip and the forecast is OK.’

When David muttered something about it wouldn’t have made any difference even if the forecast hadn’t been any good Greg’s suspicions were confirmed.

David was waiting for him at the Poole ferry terminal, and at 6 p.m. the ship pulled into the dock at Cherbourg. They made their way to where the yacht was berthed. The Dutch steel cruiser was built to the high specification that justified its price - luxury on water. They stowed their kit.

‘I’ll give you your skipper’s tuition when we are under way later,’ said David. ‘Let’s go ashore and find our dinner. We might as well enjoy some French cuisine whilst we’re here.’

That cuisine was good indeed. It was getting dark when they returned to the yacht, ready for the all-night passage. David had sorted their clearance and paid the berthing fees and harbour dues when they first arrived.

They cast off. Outside the harbour wall they could feel the swell and settled down on course for Dartmouth at a steady fifteen knots. Up on the bridge deck the engines were barely a rumble.

‘Now we can enjoy ourselves,’ said David as he tutored Greg in the use of the navigation aids. This boat was equipped with the latest. When David was satisfied that Greg could be safely left at the helm he said with a smile, ‘Greg, we’ve been here before. I’m going below to make the coffee and check on our two passengers.’

This was the most expensive boat Greg had skippered. He was enjoying it so much that full realisation of what David had said about two passengers only hit him after David had gone below. So it was another Troag.

David was back within ten minutes. Greg waited for the explanation.

‘Rather like the proverbial bus for which you can wait for ages, Greg, two come along at once: so it is with operations like this one. You might not be asked to participate again for months, maybe years, so don’t expect to supplement your income this way on a regular basis. The two below are friends of the West. You need know no more.’

‘Tell me about our first encounter. Who was he?’ said Greg.

‘That last gentleman we helped came for an important government-sponsored conference. I am not at liberty to tell you his name. However, he is now back in his own country - safe and sound, as far as I know. These two below have knowledge that is of inestimable value to our government. They will become British citizens, albeit with new identities. They have enormous courage to flee their country and families because they believe that in doing so they are contributing to world peace. Be assured of one thing, Greg: we are not Mossad. We do not do torture, murder, or kidnap. We are the transport department. Those we transport come of their own free will. When we tie up at the yard pontoon we will put our crew ashore, just like any other visitors.’

They ploughed on. Occasionally they saw the navigation lights of ships that crossed their path. They hoped that none of those lights belonged to various authorities who had the right to board their craft should they be suspected of carrying illegal immigrants. The sea was kind that night and the visibility good. They spoke little as they checked their course and position. The screen in front of them on the open bridge deck above the main saloon shielded them from the wind. The boat rose and fell as they met the swell head-on. With only a half-moon, the bow wave, curling back and outwards, produced a sparkling luminescence in the otherwise black blanket of the sea.

Greg was first to identify the flashing light on Berry Head off the starboard bow. David agreed with Greg’s distance estimate of fifteen miles. In an hour they would be guided by the Kingswear sectional light - the light that had been so important to their safety on that first mission together.

‘Yet again, Greg, your navigation is spot on.’ And then, as an afterthought: ‘If one engine breaks down this time, we do have another!’

There was just sufficient light to see David’s wry smile as he spoke. They slowed down to a sedate eight knots as the town lights came into view.

They tied up L’Enterprise in her berth at the Curnow Yard about an hour before dawn. As planned their “passengers” departed via the berth-holders’ entrance, where the “taxi” was waiting, and Greg all but fell into his bed in the caravan.

Greg’s alarm woke him at nine o’clock. He scrambled into his clothes and staggered hastily down to the pontoon. David was already on the deck of L’Enterprise, tidying up.

‘Had your breakfast yet?’ Greg called out.

‘Not yet. There’s not much to eat on board.’

‘Come on up and join me in the caravan. How do you feel?’

‘Fine,’ said David. ‘We’ll wash down the decks and hull and clean up any sign of our recent voyage, but I’ll take up that invitation to breakfast first. Then we’ll contact Alan Lucas in the hopes that I can persuade him to come and view the boat today. I think he has a Ferrari or something exotic and it should not take him long to get here. Come to think of it, I’ll phone him now. If he says he can come over today, we’ll know he’s keen.’

David phoned Alan Lucas from the caravan whilst Greg prepared a proper English breakfast that he reckoned they deserved.

‘He’s keen all right. Mr Lucas will be here at lunchtime. He wants us to take him out for a demo. When we’ve demolished the source of that enticing smell coming from the galley we’ll get down there, square away any signs of our voyage, and hose her down. Oh, by the way, you left a bag on board. I suggest you dispose of it as soon as possible!’

Later, down in the main saloon, David handed him a small blue sailing bag.

‘First thing you do’, he said, ‘is take it off the boat. On this occasion we’ve shared the “fee”. The powers that be, being ignorant about these things, expected me to be single-handed. I thought otherwise. Where’s the hose?’

Greg connected a hose on his way back from depositing the bag in the caravan and together they set about the washdown. After an hour or so David said that he had to go into Dartmouth. Greg borrowed the yard launch. He too had business - at the bank - so they crossed the river together and tied up at the steps on the quay the other side. David opted to return on his own later by ferry.

Mr Lucas was on time. The red Ferrari caused quite a stir among the men who were enjoying their lunch break in the sun outside No.1 Shed. David and Greg went to greet him as he extricated himself from this car, whose total height from the ground seemed only about four feet or so, and the driving position was more like lying down than being seated.

David introduced himself and then Greg.

‘Let’s go,’ said Alan Lucas, a man of few words and fortunately, as a Ferrari owner, short of stature.

Greg thought it a bit over the top for him to be wearing a pale blue blazer with brass buttons, white slacks and fancy blue-and-white deck shoes. Never mind - he was the man with the money.

The demonstration went without a hitch. Once outside the river speed limit David opened the throttle and they were round Berry Head, into Torbay and back again within the hour. Alan had the helm all the time they were outside the river limits but he clearly knew little about seamanship and Greg wondered what he was going to do with this powerful craft if he bought it. Maybe have a paid crew?

Mr Lucas said he’d think about it.

David whispered to Greg as Alan Lucas walked to his car, ‘I think he’s hooked,’ and the Ferrari departed with a subdued roar.

A van from QC, arranged by David to bring equipment for the new office, turned up after lunch and conveniently took him back to Lymington.

The next morning Mr Lucas phoned Greg to say yes, subject to his wife having a look. He added that he understood that the work could be done at the Curnow Yard should there be anything she’d like to “personalise”.

‘I wouldn’t bank on any extra work if I were you,’ said David when Greg phoned him with the good news. ‘If I know anything about it, she’ll probably want a bunch of flowers in the main saloon and some lavender water in the owner’s cabin - something you’ll be doing yourself at no extra cost.’

Mary arrived at midday. The whole yard knew about this love affair by now. It was no surprise for anyone to see the couple with their arms around each other.

‘How did the Cherbourg trip go, then?’ she asked Greg.

‘The trip went fine. I am about to phone Mrs Lucas, the client’s wife, who will give the final approval apparently.’

‘Good for her!’ was Mary’s reply. ‘Well, go and do it, then.’

Mrs Lucas answered the phone, and after Greg had explained the purpose of his call she said, ‘You don’t know my husband, obviously. He’s going to buy that boat no matter what I say, but for the sake of peace and quiet I guess I’d better come along and give it the once-over. I’ll be there after lunch, if that’s OK by you.’

Greg said that it was very much all right and gave her directions how to find the yard.

Mary asked if there was anything she could do to help. Greg gave her the keys to L’Enterprise, pointing out where the boat was tied up.

‘Have a look at that beauty. Mrs Lucas is coming over after lunch. See if you can spot anything amiss.’

Back at the caravan for their lunch, Mary explained that she had guessed he’d been busy so she had done a shop on the way down. She dished him up a crusty roll and Stilton.

‘I do like being spoiled. What did you think of the Dutch cruiser?’

‘Fabulous. We’re going upmarket a bit, aren’t we?’

‘We certainly are,’ replied Greg. ‘How would you like to accompany me when I show Mrs Lucas around this afternoon?’

Nobody heard the huge black Bentley silently turn into the yard. It was only when its massive wheels crunched loudly on the gravel that Mary, whose ears seemed better tuned than most, detected the arrival of Mrs Lucas.

She was petite, with a huge blond coiffure, dripping with jewellery and expensively dressed (and not for boating). Greg had her as an actress, and dissuaded her as she left her car from swapping her low-heeled driving pumps for four-inch stilettos.

‘’Fraid it was Massingham’s day off today and Alan won’t let me drive the Ferrari,’ she said when Greg had greeted her and introduced her to Mary.

Greg put Mrs Lucas at about forty-five years of age. She had a natural charm. He had guessed Mr Lucas was seventy, so another guess was that this was not the first Mrs Lucas.

Mary effectively took over from Greg as they boarded L’Enterprise. She showed talent as a salesperson that Greg never knew she had. How had a bunch of daffodils in a vase turned up on the saloon table?

‘Very nice,’ said Mrs Lucas, and turning to Mary she said, ‘What do you think I should change to please His Lordship?’

‘Why change anything until he’s had time to think of the complaint?’ Mary said with a smile and a wink.

‘Actually,’ replied Mrs Lucas, ‘between you, me and the gatepost, he will probably sell it after a few trips. He gets bored very easily. It’s very nice as it is. Looks very expensive to me, and please don’t tell me the price. He never discusses business with me - so ignorance is bliss.’

Greg’s pleasure at this nearly completed sale was doubled at the thought that they would probably have the boat back to sell for the second time after Mr Lucas had played with it a bit. “One for the price of two” came to mind.

Mrs Lucas departed. After she had gone Greg hugged Mary tight.

‘I’m not sure that I’m needed here at all. Where on earth did the flowers come from?’

‘Oh, gosh. I borrowed them from Flossie. Glad you reminded me.’

Mary clambered back aboard L’Enterprise, recovered the daffodils, and returned them from whence they had come. Greg heard Mary and Flossie laughing about something as he left the office to see Harry.

Harry had bad news.

‘I haven’t heard a word from Selby. He’s made enemies in his time and I’m worried. It’s been over two weeks since he went to London in the van saying he’d be back in a couple of days. If he intended to stay away longer, he would have contacted me.’

‘Have you tried to contact any of his friends or customers?’ said Greg.

‘I’ve been through his paperwork to find a contact in London who might have seen him. Drew a blank with the exception of a small furniture removal company he did business with in Hammersmith. I’ve phoned them twice and they repeated that they saw him the day after he left our cottage when he delivered a couple of sofas. They haven’t seen or heard from him since. Look, Greg, I need your help. I don’t want to bother my brother.’

‘What can I do for you, Harry?’ said Greg.

‘I need advice. I feel that I should report Selby missing. My worry is that as Selby and I have criminal records I will immediately become a suspect if I do and the police will be round digging up the garden and God knows what.’

‘The way I see it, Harry,’ said Greg, ‘is that the longer you don’t report him missing the more likely they are going to wonder about your own behaviour. You’ve convinced me that he’s probably in trouble somewhere. Just think about this. What if something has happened to him? His body turns up in the Thames, or his van is found abandoned? What if this happens after six months or more?’

‘The police are going to find it very difficult to understand why you haven’t reported him missing. You’re living with him; he’s your pal. I know you are going straight. If he got mixed up with a bad lot that’s his affair; but if he’s in trouble, you’d never forgive yourself for doing nothing to help.’

Harry went quiet.

‘You seem to be saying that I should tell the police.’

‘You must,’ said Greg. ‘You really don’t have any choice. The risk of putting yourself under suspicion gets greater as time passes. If you need a character reference at any time, you can count on me.’

‘Thanks, Greg. I’ll go straight to the police station on the way home this evening. You are right.’

Harry was back on Monday, early, before work. He banged on the caravan door.

‘Come in, Harry, and have a cup of tea.’

Harry’s first remarks were to thank Greg for the advice. ‘Things went much better than I could have hoped at the police station. I was surprised to learn that they knew all about Harry and myself, our address and history. However, the desk sergeant was pleasant and sympathetic. He promised to contact me should they receive any information. Mind you, it didn’t cheer me up when, as I was leaving the police station, he called out to tell me that a dozen or so people go missing in London every day.’***

The Commander answered his phone.

‘Commander Williamson? This is David.’

‘Ah,’ said the Commander, ‘I trust you are well. What can I do, Captain Worthy?’

David explained that it was a matter best discussed in the Commander’s office and that he, David, had to be in London the next day if that would be convenient.

Yes, it would.

So it was that at eleven the next morning David found himself outside the unmarked door off Waterloo Bridge Road, entered, and was ushered up to the Commander’s office.

Greetings completed, David said, ‘I have a matter upon which I would seek your advice. I have an operator whose name you know: Greg Norfield. He proposes to marry a girl by the name of Mary Rowlinson. I have mentioned her name to you before. I would not be telling you this if it were not for the fact that this Miss Rowlinson is employed by HM Customs & Excise in Southampton. She is a highly intelligent woman and it looks as if she will be living inside the very secure premises which I have chosen for future operations out of Dartmouth.’

‘I’m sorry, David, but what do you expect me to do about it?’

‘Quite simply,’ said David, ‘I would like your opinion as to whether it would be a good idea to bring her into the organisation? What I fear is that, being the sort of person she is, because of her training she may become a threat unless we do just that. Also it would be kinder to her future husband, Greg Norfield, if he didn’t have to operate for us under the constant worry of his covert behaviour being found out by his own wife.’

‘Captain Worthy,’ said the Commander, ‘being kind is not what we do very well, but you wanted my advice. It is this. My considerable experience of people in these circumstances tells me that in this particular case you have nothing to worry about. Leave matters as they are. I do not think a problem will arise.’ And with that the Commander stood up and shook hands with David. ‘Miss Kershaw will see you out.’

As soon as David had departed, the Commander had Miss Kershaw put in a call to a Mr Nicholas Wroughton, asking him to phone back on the private line.

‘Nick,’ said the Commander when the call came through, ‘some time ago you traced for me the whereabouts of a Mr Gregory Norfield and gave him, albeit rather circuitously, my instructions. They were carried out entirely satisfactorily. I now require you to tell me everything you know about him. Please go ahead.’

‘Mr Norfield first came to my attention a couple of years ago as a frequent sailing visitor to Salcombe. As far as I could glean he was a freelance journalist. I understand he has a base at a Dartmouth shipyard. I believe he is a divorcee. He told me he came here for peace and quiet, was always single-handed and used to hole up in a creek further up the river. He got to know a local family and they told me he was a regular straight and decent guy. When you asked me to find someone to assist in Operation Troag I figured he exactly fitted your requirements. Did I make a mistake?’

‘Not at all, Nick. Thank you.’

The line went dead.

Being in love was taking its toll. Greg was showing signs of lack of concentration. He completely forgot a client who had an appointment to look at a boat one morning. It was Flossie who had to search the yard to remind him. When they got back to the office the man had left. He had to phone an apology, but the man did not come back.

On another occasion he lost two hundred pounds on a sale by the simple act of typing a bill of sale himself with the wrong figure in it. The client must have known the agreed price but wrote his cheque for the lower amount.

His mind was not on the job. What price the deception of the one he loved and could not bear to think of losing?

‘I’m the luckiest so-and-so on earth,’ he said one morning out loud to himself in the privacy of the caravan. ‘I am not going to let anything stand in the way of our lives together. To hell with David and Troag.’

He was sitting at the table writing up the details of a new client’s craft when the phone rang. It was David.

‘Just called to let you know that Mr Lucas has agreed to purchase. I will tell you when his payment has gone through and then you can arrange with him direct how and when he will collect the boat.’

‘Great stuff,’ said Greg. ‘I signed up my first customer for QC this afternoon, so that’s one each,’ he said smugly. ‘And whilst you are on, I can report that building work on the sales office is nearly complete. We are on schedule. Of course,’ Greg continued, ‘all this is subject to approval by my assistant office manager, who will be here to scrutinise the progress on Friday.’

‘Ah, the delightful Miss Rowlinson! When will she become a permanent feature of the establishment?’

‘Not sure yet, David. We have not fixed a date for the wedding and she will be working in Southampton for nearly two more months.’

After David had rung off Greg wondered what was behind his question.

Harry called in at the caravan on his way home. He’d not heard anything from the police since he’d reported Selby missing but now he was worried about the legality of his occupying the cottage. Greg told him not to worry as he believed he had every right to live there, but he told Harry he had a solicitor friend with whom he would check.

’I’m sorry,’ said Harry. ‘I know I’ve said uncomplimentary things about your fiancée in the past but things are quite different now. I want you to know I wish you every happiness. My wife dumped me when I went to jail.’

Harry departed to his empty cottage.

It was Mary on the phone: ‘I’m not waiting until tomorrow. I know a super shop in Ringwood that stays open late,’ she said, ‘I’m going to stop there and bring our supper for tonight with me. Make sure you’ve got the wine in the fridge.’

‘You think of everything, my darling’ was all he could get out before she rang off.

He checked the fridge: plenty of wine.

‘How lucky can I be?’ he mused out loud. ‘I will have my beloved Mary with me tonight.’

Harry was on the phone again, and in some distress: ‘The police in London have found Selby’s van, apparently abandoned, in Richmond near the river. They told me that the van was empty and that an initial search had revealed nothing, but it has been towed away for Forensics to check.’

‘Poor old Harry!’ was Greg’s first thought. ‘Hope he’s up to taking the inevitable bad news when it comes.’ Greg had always thought that Selby would come to a sticky end. In fact at one point he had prayed for it.

With Mary’s arrival late in the evening Greg’s mind cleared of the week’s problems. They were in each other’s arms again.

‘Plenty of time for that.’ She grinned. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You’re always starving.’

‘That’s because I seem to spend most of my time belting around after you.’

Their happiness pervaded the caravan as they tucked in to the cold supper that Mary had brought with her. She quizzed him about all that had been going on and he listened to her news. Conversation was all about their hopes for the future together, about the success of the new business adventure - and even about how many children they might have.

That mood changed when Harry banged on the caravan door early the next morning and Greg invited him in.

‘You may talk freely with Mary here,’ Greg said, ‘I have told her about Selby going missing.’

What Greg didn’t say, however, was that she did not know the reason why Greg knew the man in the first place.

Harry blurted out, ‘Two policemen came round last night and asked if they could go through Selby’s papers in the hopes of finding a clue as to his whereabouts. I gave them complete freedom to search where they liked. I showed them all over the place including the outbuildings and shed where Selby used to keep the van. They were there over an hour. As far as I could tell they turned up nothing that would help. I’m still worried how long I can go on living there.’

‘Well, don’t be,’ said Greg. ‘I have checked with my friend. Until Selby is found there is absolutely no way anyone can get you out.

Once again Harry thanked him and asked him not to tell his brother what was going on.

‘I think you are making a mistake there,’ said Greg. ‘I’ve been happy to help you but he is your brother and I think you should tell him. Take my advice. He is your brother, as I just said.’

Harry nodded agreement and left with more profuse thanks.

That weekend Greg and Mary inspected the shell of the new office being built alongside No.1 Shed. With the floor and walls complete, and the shop windows in place, they could visualise where the display stands were going to be seen from outside the big windows, and where the signwriters were going to paint on those windows, in gold lettering, “QC Ltd. International Yacht Brokers” and other information. Standing outside the empty building they were lost in their thoughts and each other as, unabashed, they hugged and kissed.

‘Aye aye,’ called Chris Curnow as he hung over the balcony above them, and Mary blushed. ‘I guess I’m going to have to get used to this going on all over the place from now on. Come on up, you two - I’d like to bring you up to date.’

They went round and climbed the stairs.

‘Sorry Flossie’s not in this morning to make the coffee,’ said Chris.

‘Good grief!’ said Mary. ‘Show me where the things are and I’ll make it. You men are absolutely hopeless without a woman around you.’

Chris pointed to the cupboard, sink and shelf in the corner of the office.

‘She’s right,’ he said with a chuckle, hunching his shoulders. ‘Greg knows how I have valued his work here. I promised him a directorship and now I am going to implement that promise. It won’t give you any money until we can afford to pay directors’ fees but it would give you some authority and, as agreed with QC, it will cement Curnow’s interest in the brokerage.’

Chris continued: ‘The fast patrol boat will bring in valuable income. I’m confident we can obtain an order for another. The income from the QC rental should give us a good return within a couple of years or so. Things are moving in the right direction.’

They left Chris’s office for some quality time together before Mary had to return to Southampton.

‘Please take great care, my love,’ called Greg as she drove off.

***

On Monday morning Miss Kershaw took the phone call.

‘I will see if the Commander is available, Mr Carruthers. Just hold the line, please.’

A moment later the Commander came on the line: ‘Good Morning, Don. I thought you were retired. It’s been a long time.’

‘Does one ever retire?’ came the answer. ‘But let me not waste your time. I imagine you will recall a young woman I commended to you some years ago.’

‘Please continue,’ said the Commander.

‘Well, I called you because I have information that may be of interest. The woman in question was a protégée of mine, and I recommended she took over part of my job when I retired. She has now handed in her notice because she intends to get married and move away from Southampton. She is an intelligent and clever person. She has told me who she is to marry. In fact she has intimated that she wanted to ask me to the wedding. The point I am making is that I met the man she is to marry last year. I feel you should know the circumstances of that meeting.’

Don went on to tell of the events in the Solent that led to his own meeting with Gregory Norfield.

‘Most interesting,’ said the Commander.

‘Now, of course, I don’t know what action you took about my recommendation of Mary Rowlinson and I’m convinced my decision at the time not to take proceedings against the person who is now her fiancé was right, but I thought you should know that this man is obviously a bit of an adventurer. His name is Gregory Norfield. Please don’t misunderstand me, Commander; it’s just that I care for her well-being and I still maintain my high opinion of her ability. She must be very much in love with this man. I had evidence of this recently when I met them together, but to give up the job for which she had worked very hard strikes me as being out of character.’

The Commander answered, ‘I am grateful for your call. It was the right thing to advise me. Thank you for the information. I wish you well with your retirement.’

The call was terminated with mutual goodbyes.

The Commander chuckled as he replaced the receiver. What he always wanted from his operatives was what he called “acute observation”. What amused him even more was the prospect of five of his people all together at a wedding and only any two of them knew about one or two of the others’ secret lives. None of them knew most of the others. He saw it as a test of his own judgement as to whether they could all maintain the “two’s a crowd, three’s too many” golden rule that he insisted they all observe.

He’d have to wait and see. By the nature of this rule there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there?

On Tuesday evening Greg was preparing his supper in the caravan and listening to the radio. The phone rang. It was David.

‘Are you on your own?’ were his first words.

Greg affirmed that was so.

‘Is this line secure? I know it goes through the Curnow office.’

‘Yes,’ replied Greg. ‘The procedure is that the last person to leave the main office puts the line through to me before locking up and setting the alarms.’

‘Listen carefully if you would, please, Greg. You have entered the world of covert operations. I have been part of that world since I left the Royal Navy. I have consulted those higher up about your forthcoming marital status.’

‘I believe you are properly motivated to be of further service but I will emphasise, as I did on Amity, so take this in. You will be on your own if you are uncovered. Should you be prosecuted for illegal behaviour you will be disowned. You will not be provided with any defence or immunity whatsoever. Some people like to gamble on the gee-gees. You and I make a little money from what we both know is a good and just cause - our country. It is still a gamble. Nobody is forcing you. There are risks involved. In my opinion those risks will increase once you have a sharp and intelligent woman living with you on the premises.’

‘I hear what you say. Just one thing before you go any further,’ said Greg: ‘What’s with Troag?’

‘Transport of Arabic Gentleman. We probably won’t use it again,’ said David. ‘By great fortune we now have at the Curnow Yard the perfect set-up. You and I are in a legitimate enterprise that operates worldwide. Dartmouth is a comparatively quiet backwater. We can bring craft to those pontoons at any time of the day or night from anywhere in Europe. The site is secure. You live on site and you have already dipped your hands into murky waters. The time has come for you to decide how secure that site will be in the future.’

Greg replied, ‘I have made certain promises to my friend Chris Curnow. It is through him that I got this job - ’

David interrupted. He spoke with some vehemence: ‘Stop. I know about your promises - and please don’t ask how - but only you and I know our purpose for this particular location. It is only you and me who risk losing anything. The law will accept that nobody (but nobody) else - and that means anyone at QC or the Curnow Yard - knows, or can say they knew, what we were up to unless we tell them; and we are not going to. That means that we both have to deceive everyone else we know. Politics is a dirty business. I am in no way interested in party politics but I do believe that what I am doing is wholly in the interest of my country. I feel no different about this than I did when I served my time in the navy. Are you in or out?’

‘I’m in, with certain exceptions. I will have nothing to do with banned substances, kidnap, torture or murder. I am also having misgivings about deceiving my future wife. Right now, I am in.’

‘I promise’, said David, ‘that I will not ask you to do anything other than serve your country. I gave you assurances during our last trip. The Cold War may not be recognisable as what most perceive as war. It is, of course, a political war. Should the sabre-rattling turn into action we would face global annihilation. The Soviets are still a threat, as are terrorist factions emerging from the Middle East. Is this a fair assessment?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘A very good night to you, Greg, and may your future be a happy one.’