She left the three men and walked over to the bar and Swan decided that it was a good time to get a little more serious.
‘I need to talk to the Yanks tomorrow about the Python Hawk. What do you think my chances are?’
HB leaned across the table. ‘They cannot be trusted Alex, if you want my opinion.’
‘Swan knew he could pursue this further.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, as I said to you earlier, they’re a shifty lot and there’s something else I’m looking into about them.’
Swan needed to probe more. ‘What’s that, old boy?’
HB hesitated, then relaxed himself. ‘I take it we are now friends, and it would be good to get this off my chest. It is my belief that they are behind the accident at Shobdon and even more so, the fatal fall of my apprentice James McGregor.’
The lounge bar of the inn was now busy with locals, and a young couple sat at the far table in view of the three men, now deep in conversation. This was the perfect view for Jody Zemke, as she used the typical CIA surveillance technique of keeping her head fixed forward on her partner, but kept her eyes trained on her target. As Zemke looked across, her eyes were focussed heavily on the lip movements of Brinton’s Chief Designer, and as if commentating on every move, spoke across the table to a man nursing a glass of stout. Like an interpreter reeling off the English translation of a foreign language, she translated each lip-read syllable with ease to her colleague and pretend partner for the evening, Nick Riley. He was a few years older than Jody, and the couple blended in well in their casual clothing, as if they were two young lovers out for the evening. Riley also had a talent, a photographic memory that was able to see spoken words and store them in his head. He was just as good with faces, and in the short time they had tailed their target he had every crevice and wrinkle of the three men logged and ready for recall.
Across the room, Swan pursued the Chief Designer on his sabotage and murder theory. ‘What evidence do you have that you think this may be the case?’
Barnett sat up in his chair and looked down at the small remaining amount of brown liquid in his tankard. ‘None, really. Just a hunch I suppose. Too many things have been happening around here, and it seems that it’s since those Yanks invaded the place.’ He stopped talking and changed the subject. ‘Anyway gents, I take it they’ve put you up in The Waverley in Maryport?’
‘That’s correct,’ Swan replied.
‘Well, how about I take you back to the hotel and we can have a nightcap in a pub I know just round the corner, before I leave you gents to your own devices?’
‘That sounds good to me,’ acknowledged Gable.
Jody quickly told Riley that the three men were leaving. Riley decided that they wouldn’t pursue the tail, and would arrange to meet with Maitland in the morning and submit their report.
As Swan waited in turn to shake hands with the landlord and his wife, he glanced around at the crowd of drinkers. Suddenly he noticed a young woman with straight black hair under a tweed cap staring at him, then quickly averting her gaze to look down at her lap. He saw that she was with a man of similar age, and for a moment he watched her. She looked up again at him, then as suddenly as before, looked away.
Swan had been in the Security Services too long not to recognise clandestine surveillance tactics, and suddenly saw this occasion as such. He decided to test his theory and walked over to the table, keeping his gaze on the girl. As he approached, she looked up and smiled at him.
Swan returned the smile. ‘Good evening. Sorry to bother you both, but I was just admiring your hat, madam. My daughter is of similar age to you and I was hoping to get her one for her birthday. I notice that it seems to be what every young lady is wearing at the moment.’
Jody Zemke kept smiling and put a hand on her hat. ‘Oh, I err — got it from Oxford Street, in London.’
Swan then raised an eyebrow to her Chicago toned accent. ‘You’re American, mid-west I would say, judging by the accent.’
Zemke nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m from Chicago. Names Holly, and this is my fiancé Steve.
Hi ya how ya doing,’ said Riley in his Virginian tone as he looked up at the dark suited man standing over the table.
Swan studied him. ‘But you sound like you are from a bit further north,’ he added.
Riley gazed at Swan, but did not say anything else. The SID man then addressed the both of them. ‘So, what brings you to these parts of our dear country then?’
Zemke gave him another friendly smile. ‘We’re visiting the Lake District. We heard so many things about this beautiful part of England from friends back home, so we decided to include it on our vacation to England.’
Swan admired the professionalism of their cover stories, but decided to leave it there. They were obviously good at what they were employed for. ‘Nice to meet you both, I’m Alex. So it was Oxford Street you say? Do you happen to know which shop?’
Zemke snapped back quickly. ‘I think it was Harrods. Is that right Steve?’
Riley gave a sharp nod. ‘Yeah, I think it was.’
Swan shook Riley’s hand. ‘Thank you so much, enjoy your holiday.’ He turned, joining Barnett and Gable at the door.
Outside he waited until they were all seated in the car. ‘Looks as though you might have a tail, old boy.’
Barnett looked at Swan in a confused state.
‘I just spoke to a charming young American couple who are on holiday up here, but they’re not on holiday, as they both have the letters C–I-A marked all over them.’
Gable looked at Swan in surprise. ‘How do you know that, sir?’
‘Quite simple, really. The girl was wearing a hat which clearly had a Bloomingdales label hanging down from it, and on my enquiry of where she had bought it, she said Oxford Street, in Harrods!’
Barnett stared through the windscreen. ‘So what happens now? Looks as though that bourbon drinking bastard is on to me.’
Swan gave a reassuring glance at the Yorkshireman. ‘Let them continue. I very much doubt they will be using those two again, now that I have compromised them. So we need to be on our guard. I wager that tomorrow’s little visit to The Pentagram, as you call it, will be an interesting one.’
Barnett slammed his foot on the brake, causing the car to stop suddenly at the exit of the inn, and then turned to both men.
‘Just a minute gents. You’re not exactly who you claim to be either, are ya?’
Swan put a friendly hand around Barnett’s arm. ‘No, but the difference is, we are the good guys.’
As Barnett drove, Swan re-introduced himself and his colleague and explained the real reason why they were up at Brinton’s.
‘Oh that poor lass, how is she?’ Barnett enquired, referring to their client Kate Townsley.
‘Kate’s fine,’ Swan replied. ‘She’s a brave girl, and has provided me with some very useful information about the incident, and given me enough to start putting a good case together.’
Barnett shook his head. ‘So how did you guys get passes to be part of the inspection team then?’
‘From contacts high above.’ Swan touched the side of his nose. ‘Need to know only, I’m afraid.’
Barnett nodded. ‘So Government knows about all this then?’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Swan corrected. ‘Let’s just keep it all to ourselves for now. My intentions here are to get to the bottom of what’s going on, then I will give my former colleagues at MI5 the heads up on the whole thing and leave them to wrap it all up.’
Barnett shook his head in disbelief. ‘I don’t know. Bloody CIA and MI5. Right now chaps, I feel like a character in a Graham Greene novel.’