End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

wary of losing his way, so avoided going too deep into the forest and made sure the path to his left remained just in sight. It was then that he noticed the couple walking along the path, seemingly keeping pace with him. He didn’t think much of it at first, but after a while, he was unsettled by their presence – not because there was anything suspicious about them, but because it made him feel inhibited: when he was sure he was completely out of anyone’s earshot, he liked to talk to himself or sing out loud. He didn’t want these people to think he was odd.

He decided to move a bit deeper into the forest, out of sight of the path, and continued like this for a while until he heard twigs snapping behind him and turned round to see the couple just yards from him, smiling apologetically as if they’d disturbed him. They seemed to be in their seventies, both short and smartly dressed as if on their way to a social engagement. The man had a fine head of silver hair and a well-tended beard. He looked like an academic. The woman had a gold brooch on the lapel of her coat and wore a pair of smart leather gloves.

‘We are terribly sorry to bother you, Mr Bemrose.’

Bemrose’s first thought was that from now on – if there was to be a now on – he would make sure he always carried a pistol. Someone in the office had mentioned it, and he hoped his failure to do so wasn’t something he’d regret, though of course it might be too late for that.

‘Please, Mr Bemrose, don’t look so shocked. We are here to give you a message, that is all.’

The man had addressed him in English with a Mittel-European accent.

‘Are you sure you’ve got the right person?’

‘You are Mr Bemrose, yes – a British official?’

Bemrose said he was, but he was sure he was one of many, and in any case how on earth had they found him here? He was wondering about heading back towards the path when he noticed the man – to his horror – reaching into his inside jacket pocket. He held his breath until he produced a silver cigarette case and offered it to him. He eagerly took one.

‘In September, Mr Bemrose, you looked after an Englishman and his wife who visited Berlin on official business. Please… do let me finish. They had reason to go to the Soviet sector of Berlin, where they had dealings with Commissar Iosif Gurevich.’

Bemrose started to say that he really couldn’t recall it, but the man held up his hand.

‘This isn’t a question, Mr Bemrose: I am stating matters of fact. This is a message from Iosif Gurevich: you are to contact the couple urgently and tell them he needs to see them in Berlin as soon as possible.’

‘Well, I suppose—’

‘It is also essential that you add it is in connection with Kestrel. They’ll understand. Perhaps you’d care to repeat the message?’

Bemrose did so, and then the couple said it had been very nice to meet him and shook his hand, slightly bowing their heads as they did so. Would he mind, they asked, if he waited where he was for ten minutes or so to give them time to make their way back?

The investigation in London had been going badly. Hugh Harper at MI5 gave the impression of being very put upon. He complained that he’d lost most of his influence and half his team, including the Disciples, as his elite team of watchers and followers led by the redoubtable Bartholomew was known – were being dismantled. He was wondering how long he had left in the Service, he told Prince.

Nonetheless, he had managed to secure the services of three officers – ‘all qualified accountants, would you believe’ – who specialised in investigating financial matters. ‘It sounds rather tedious, Prince, but these chaps insist that in investigations like this, money is the key to everything. They look at bank accounts and work out where the deposits have come from and where money paid out goes. They have had some very encouraging results. Let’s give them a fortnight: they’re confident they ought to dig something up.’

Despite their confidence, they didn’t manage to dig anything up. Bourne and Sons turned out to have two business accounts, one with Martins Bank and the other with the Midland Bank. MI5’s investigators looked at both accounts going back to the start of 1944: all the deposits by cheque or from other accounts were above suspicion, as was the money paid out. They’d then turned their attention to the personal bank accounts of Bourne and Ridgeway, the former’s with Midland Bank, the latter’s with National Provincial. Again they were unable to find evidence of any suspicious activity.

‘Other than cash,’ said Harper when he met up with Prince and Hanne at the end of the investigation. ‘The accountant chaps – though one’s a woman, believe it or not – say there’s a higher level of cash deposits and withdrawals than one would expect, but then of course one can’t trace cash, so that in itself is suspicious.’

‘So no one paid money in by cheque? I thought that when Anthony Hawke donated money to them, he did so by cheque?’

‘As payment for the purchase of an artwork… these chaps are quite clever. But the evidence of significant amounts of cash going in and out of the account probably means we should persist with this.’

The gallery on Cork Street was watched for a fortnight, and Bourne and Ridgeway were followed, but no clues emerged. Prince said they were especially interested in the woman – the one who’d been at the meeting between Bourne and Hawke and whom he suspected was involved in the Nazi spy ring – but there was no sign of her.

Hanne told him in no uncertain terms that she felt the investigation was ridiculous. ‘Like that sport you play –