Here Be Monsters

Audley grimaced at him. 'God knows. It's certainly not Kipling.'

What had Audley put in his message, to stop Sir Peter Barrie's Egyptian trip, and bring General Muhammed Razzak hot-foot to the Xenophon Tower? It was obvious that neither of them was going to tell her - they were waiting for her to tell them.

So she had to hit them with what she had. 'Squadron Leader Thomas, Sir Peter?'

'"Squadron Leader"?' He reproduced Audley's 'reaction.

This time, she would wait for an explanation.

He was looking at David. 'How many planes did Haddock destroy?'

'Six.' Audley raised his huge shoulders interrogatively. 'Or ten if you include the Luftwaffe.'

'Eleven - if you include the Tiger Moth during training.' Sir Peter held up one hand, with its fingers spread wide. 'He lost seven British and hit four Germans. But they were only probables, weren't they?'

Audley shook his head. 'I think you've got to count them. Allowing for the number of missions he flew - to be fair.'

'Very well. Four of them.'

'He may have hit others.'

'Possibly.' The five fingers bunched into a fist, and then sprang open again. 'Shot down twice - once over France, and walked home - once by the Americans - right?' He grasped two fingers with his other hand.

'That was bad luck - the second time, Peter.'

'Bad luck - good luck - ' The three remaining fingers remained standing ' - if you ask me, he dummy2

was born lucky, was Haddock.'

'You could say that,' agreed Audley. 'Compared with some.'

'With most.' Two fingers and a thumb, actually. 'Came down hard twice - once, battle damage… once, engine failure - four - right? Plus the Tiger Moth.'

Audley rocked uncertainly. 'By the same token, I lost four tanks - if you count two which broke down in England, during exercises on Salisbury Plain, Peter.'

'Four.' There was only one finger left. 'Ditched twice - once off Eastbourne Pier - or Brighton Pier, or somewhere - ' The thumb disappeared, but a new finger came up instead

'… and once on D-Day, when the British shot him down - and the Americans picked him up, which cancelled out the previous offence, he used to maintain… which makes seven all told, agreed?'

'Sir Peter - ' For Elizabeth, that was enough of Haddock Thomas's wartime career for the time being ' - I was referring to… to later on, after the war.'

'You never told me about those four tanks of yours, David.' Sir Peter addressed Audley, ignoring her.

'Losing tanks is boring.' Audley took the first volume of Powicke's Henry III and the Lord Edward from her, and replaced it beside its comrade. 'Tell her about 1958, Peter.'

'But you know more about that.'

Audley adjusted the books in the shelf. 'I can tell her my version any time. But mine is the official record. And who believes the official record?' He trued-up the line of books, until they were like guardsmen on the Horse Guards, waiting for the Queen to inspect them.

'Yours is how it really was.'

Sir Peter Barrie presented a suddenly-different face to her - not his remembered Tavistock Street face, but his Xenophon Oil one. 'Why d'you want to know, Miss Loftus?' He blinked, and the friendly Tavistock Street face was back again. 'After all these years - ?'

'Because it's her job, Peter.' said Audley.

'Let her answer for herself then. Always assuming that I can recall such far-off events -

why, Miss Loftus?'

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'You can remember,' said Audley.

'Not if I don't choose to.' Sir Peter Barrie pronounced the threat mildly, but he knew that he had let her see through the gap in this curtain. 'You know, I do seem to recollect some of the questions he - ' Without taking his eyes off her he indicated Audley ' - he once asked me. Do you want the same answers - if I can remember them?'

She had to get away from their old games. 'I'd much rather you told me why you've got a bad conscience about Squadron Leader Thomas than David did. Then I can draw my own conclusion.'

'I see. So I must believe him, when he said you knew "sod-all" about old Haddock, must I?'

She was in there with a chance. 'Not quite "sod-all". But I would rather like to know why you both keep calling him "Haddock", for a start. Is that really his name?'

'Indeed?' It was a hit - a palpable hit, she could see that from the way he suddenly shifted to Audley at last. 'Why was he called "Haddock", David? It wasn't because he kept being shot down into the sea, and then swam ashore - was it? Because I don't think it was -

because he was "Haddock" long before that, wasn't he?'

Audley was back among the books. 'You know why. And you want to talk to her, not me -

so you answer her then.'

Sir Peter Barrie frowned. 'I know about "Caradog" - or "Caradoc", or whatever it was…

And even Caractacus - is that it? But how did it - metamorphose - "metamorphose" - ? Was it at school?'

'God Almighty!' Audley slammed back the book he'd half-removed from the shelf. 'He was your friend - ex- friend - not mine! And you ask me?'

'Oh yes… he was my friend.' It was niether the Tavistock Street face nor the Xenophon Oil one now, but a painfully-assumed mask which was perhaps midway between the two. 'Or ex-friend, as you are so pleased to remind me -'

'Not "pleased".' Audley chose another book. 'Pleasure doesn't come into it. Just fact.'

'But you investigated him. I never did that.'

'I investigated you too.' Audley looked up from his book. 'Did you have a nickname? I never established that!'

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'Where is he now?' Sir Peter Barrie brushed the question aside. 'What's he doing now?'

Audley switched to Elizabeth. ' Thomas - Squadron Leader, - T. E. C. - RAFVR - QBE, DFC, MA - "Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, Order of the British Empire, Distinguished Flying Cross, Master of Arts, Jesus College, Oxford" - Thomas, T. E. C. - "Thomas, Tegid Edeyrn Caradog" - and you can't get more bloody Welsh than that, short of scoring a try at Cardiff Arms Park, against England. And the funny thing about that, Elizabeth, is that he never did score a try, and he hasn't really got a Welsh accent. And he accounted for more British planes than German… and for a lot more women in his time than either British or German planes, if he ever bothered to log his score.' He appraised her momentarily.

'Though you should be safe there, because he must be rising seventy now, nearly. But I wouldn't bet on it, all the same, because he had a weakness for brains as well as blondes -

and brunettes, and red-heads, and whatever came to hand.' He nodded. 'Like the man says

- I investigated him.'

Whether it was deliberate 'tactics', or whether it was because he was fed up with proceedings which he wasn't supposed to be running, Elizabeth didn't know. But what she did remember now, which was much more comforting, was why the Deputy-Director had summoned Audley of all people to help her unravel Tegid Edeyrn Caradog Thomas. Who better than Audley?

'Then answer the question,' Sir Peter pressed him. 'Why "Haddock"?'

Except - who better than Audley? thought Elizabeth. So why Elizabeth Loftus? That wasn't nearly so comforting.

Audley misread her expression. 'I can only give you a partial answer to that, Elizabeth.

Because nicknames are often only partly amenable to logical explanation.'

'That's true.' Sir Peter nodded. 'When I was in the RAF - ' he half-turned to Elizabeth ' -

which was after the war, and I was a wingless wonder in the engineering branch, so I didn't destroy any aircraft, British or German… But I remember this very distinguished Group Captain who was always known as "Padre", not because he'd once had to say grace in the mess at dinner, but because the only grace he knew was his school grace, and that was in Latin, Elizabeth.'