‘So when did you meet him?’
‘In Nineteen forty. He had been stationed at Edinburgh Castle and was moved up to Headquarters staff at Craigiehall, sometime between re-enlistment and Nineteen forty he had been promoted to full Colonel. He was put in charge of “special training” for hand-picked units of the Home Guard. I was selected to command a unit and, effectively, he became my senior officer. I tell you, Lennox, there wasn’t a thing about the man that didn’t ring true. There were even officers who remembered meeting him in France during the First War. How he managed that I can’t imagine, and it was the one thing that I still have trouble with. I just can’t reconcile that with him being a fake.’
‘It’s not that complicated. During the First War, Strachan was a deserter and an officer-impersonator, pretty much in the same way as Percy Toplis was. From what I can gather, he was a popular member of the officers’ mess. There were bound to be others who would remember him, whether he used the name Williamson or not.’
Fraser nodded. ‘I worked out that, at some point between Nineteen eighteen and Nineteen twenty-nine, the real Williamson must have died — probably murdered by his imposter, who stepped seamlessly into his life.’
‘That’s my guess too,’ I said. ‘After that, I reckon Strachan merely maintained the identity, without being too active within it. Although his daughters told me that he would disappear for long periods. Anyway, back to the war … what exactly were you and Strachan involved in?’
‘Officially the only Scallywag units were stationed along the south coast of England, where everyone thought the German invasion would take place. But it was worked out that large deployments of paratroopers and amphibious troops could be dropped or landed in the more remote parts of the Highlands and Scottish coastline. So the Duke of Strathlorne was put in command of special operations training for Auxiliary Home Guard units in Scotland.’
‘And after the war, you, Strachan and the Duke all remained tight in your little special forces club.’
‘Something like that. I was proud of what I did, Lennox. You have no idea what we were trained to do. If the invasion took place, we were to carry out sabotage and assassinations. Any senior public official who collaborated with the occupation was to be eliminated: politicians, council heads, even police chief constables. We had hidden arms dumps all over Scotland and enough rations to last us seven weeks.’
‘And what were you supposed to do after the seven weeks?’
Fraser laughed bitterly. ‘It was the same arrangement as the Scallywag units on the south coast of England … they gave us all seven weeks’ rations because they had worked out that we would all be dead before then.’
‘And these arms dumps … have they all been cleared out?’
‘No. Not at all. No one except the units themselves know where the dumps are. It’s the same all across Europe. The Duke is in contact with other organizations, including Gladio.’
‘I see,’ I said. I was beginning to understand.
‘The danger is still there, Lennox. Except it’s not the Nazis any more, it’s the Soviets. And they ground the Nazi war machine into dust; how long do you think it would take them to sweep across Europe? The only defence we have is the bomb.’
‘And the stay-behinds …’ I said. ‘So that is what this is all about. You and your Home Guard chums are still playing at soldiers. This isn’t just about Strachan protecting himself, it’s about protecting the Duke. Including protecting him from the kind of scandal his son was likely to cause.’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ said Fraser.
‘And Strachan — or Colonel Williamson — is in charge of security, is that it?’
‘Something like that. He recruits men straight out of the army: commandos, paratroopers, that kind of thing. New blood.’
‘I guessed as much,’ I said, thinking about the new blood splashed all over my office and the taxi below.
‘But of course,’ continued Fraser, ‘his loyalty to the Duke is phoney … everything he does is for his own purposes.’
The dark, grimy flank of the quayside and the brooding mass of the fifty-ton Stobcross crane loomed out of the fog and into view; the ferry was near docking.
Fraser reached into his coat and I did the same.
‘Take it easy, Lennox, it’s just this …’ he said, handing me a fat envelope. ‘There’s a thousand pounds in fifty pound notes in there. I want you to have it, Mr Lennox.’
‘Why is it everybody wants to shove vast sums of money into my lap? What’s the deal? What do you want from me?’
‘Like I said, I need you to protect me. Keep my name out of all of this. And more. I’m not so naive as not to know that I am a marked man, so I’m going to disappear for a while. I’m taking my family with me. Somewhere out of the country. But I want to come back. I want it to be safe for me to come back.’
‘I can’t guarantee that,’ I said, but pocketed the envelope. He owed me at least that much. ‘But I intend to take Strachan down, one way or another.’
The ferry docked.
‘Get into my car,’ I ordered Fraser. ‘And I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I had quite a bit of time to kill, so instead of going into the office, I went back to my digs. The net curtain twitched in the downstairs window as I opened the gate and walked up the path, but Fiona didn’t come to the door as I came in, so I went straight up to my rooms.
In the bedroom, I opened the top drawer of the chest and laid the Webley in it. Reaching under the bed, I eased up the loose board and retrieved a box of shells for the revolver and a small leather roll-case. I unrolled the case on the bed and took out a hunting knife, still in its sheath and a set of brass knuckles. I laid these in the drawer with the gun and shells. Next, I found both my saps and laid them in next to the other weapons. They would stay there until tonight. I stripped off my shirt and examined the dressing on my arm. It was fresh and clean, but I would double bind it tonight, just to have that little extra support.
Back in the living room, I sat down at the bureau and wrote three letters: one to Jock Ferguson, detailing absolutely everything that had happened over the past two weeks and giving him the lowdown on a few other aspects of my colourful career. The second was to Archie, instructing him to take over my business. The third was a short note to Fiona White. I stuffed the money that Fraser had given me into the envelope for Archie. In with the letter to Fiona White, I placed my bank safety deposit box key and a letter of instruction to MacGregor, the bank’s Chief Clerk, informing him that I had taken Mrs White into my confidence in all matters relating to my investigations and she was to have unfettered access to the deposit box.
Once all the envelopes were sealed, I put them all into a larger brown envelope, on which I had written: IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH.
I had undertaken cheerier tasks.
I shut the envelope up in the bureau, but didn’t lock it, then went through to the bedroom and lay on my bed, smoking. Maybe it was because I was trying to fill my head with anything at all other than the night that lay ahead of me, but I started to think about home. Thinking about Canada was something I tried not to do too much, but now I indulged myself. I thought about the ‘Kennebecasis Kid’ as I always called that self I had been before the war: young, idealistic, blissfully ignorant of the crap life can throw at you. Stupid, probably. I thought about the killing I had done and the killing I had seen throughout the war. About how it had changed me into something I didn’t like.
All in all, I wasn’t too proud of what I had become during the war. I wasn’t too proud of most of what I had been up to since. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of myself in the way I would have been if I had become a white slave trader selling virgins into prostitution, sold drugs to school kids or played hockey for the Montreal Canadians — but I’d piled up the sins all right.