Read Online A Spy in the Shadows (Spy Noir Series Book 1) by Randy Grigsby - Free Book Online
Authors: Randy Grigsby
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in rapid Egyptian before the driver swung the staff car wide and sped around.
“Uncivilized heathens,” Mayfield hissed.
----
The British General Headquarters for the Middle East was located at Gray Pillars referring to four Corinthian colonnades squaring its dignified foyer. Situated at number 10 Tolombat Street, it was one of a group of buildings surrounded by barbed wire fencing. Next door in a large block of apartments was the headquarters of the SOE—British military intelligence.
In the lobby, Mayfield introduced Salinger to a woman named Perkins. She was middle-aged, with a tight, all-business air about her, but with a pleasant face framed with black hair. “She’ll take good care of you,” Mayfield told him as he said his goodbyes and informed Salinger he would see him in Tehran. “When you finish up here, I know there are things to get off your desk at HQ.”
“I’m scheduled to catch a plane to Tehran late afternoon tomorrow.”
Mayfield’s staff car cleared the gates when Mrs. Perkins turned to him. “Would you like to start with the major’s office?”
“I’ll trust you on where to start,” Salinger said. When they started down the hall, he asked, “Did you know the major well?”
She continued staring straight ahead. “No one knew him very well at all. Even though he had an office here, and spent a good deal of time across the street at ‘number ten’, he was a distant sort of fellow.”
She led Salinger up a flight of marble stairs and to the second door on the right. Salinger found Field’s office an intelligence officer’s workplace: a cheap desk, two telephones on a polished credenza, one obviously coded, and a green safe in the corner for putting away dossiers and documents. The desk was by the window, papers sorted out into three careful stacks. The standard issue Middle East map hung on the opposite wall.
Salinger took a moment to roam around the room and take everything in while Mrs. Perkins lingered patiently at the door as if to enter she would violate sacred space.
“Were you familiar with his schedule?” Salinger asked.
“The major was here at least once a week, I remember. Sometimes more often,” she said. “I know he had established an office in Tehran within the last three weeks preparing for the upcoming conference the Prime Minister is attending.”
“Where was he when he wasn’t here or Tehran?”
“Traveling, I suppose.”
“Do you know why?”
“I didn’t work under the major’s direction, limiting the information I can offer to you this morning. However, as I informed Major Mayfield, I’ve lined up several interviews with people who did work for him. Clerical staff mainly, maybe they can assist you.”
Salinger spent the remainder of the morning conducting those interviews. He was disappointed that nothing much came out of the discussions.
The first, a young Iranian woman who served as a clerk, college educated and very sharp, told Salinger that she found the major to be very polite and all business. The second interview was with a middle-aged clerk with the highest security ranking available for such workers, who produced two files containing carbon copies of correspondence between MI6 Tehran office and London. Salinger flipped disappointingly through the files. “This is it, his complete correspondence for the last six months?”
“Except for personal correspondence,” she said defensively. “I didn’t have access to his personal writings.”
Salinger closed the file. “Of course you didn’t. Do you know where the major was when he wasn’t in this office?”
“Tehran, I imagine.”
The last interview was with the Iranian driver. He had been issued standard security clearance and background check, which was conducted on all drivers utilized by the British and Americans in and around Cairo. Salinger dismissed him within twenty minutes.
He placed Fields’s files in his
“Uncivilized heathens,” Mayfield hissed.
----
The British General Headquarters for the Middle East was located at Gray Pillars referring to four Corinthian colonnades squaring its dignified foyer. Situated at number 10 Tolombat Street, it was one of a group of buildings surrounded by barbed wire fencing. Next door in a large block of apartments was the headquarters of the SOE—British military intelligence.
In the lobby, Mayfield introduced Salinger to a woman named Perkins. She was middle-aged, with a tight, all-business air about her, but with a pleasant face framed with black hair. “She’ll take good care of you,” Mayfield told him as he said his goodbyes and informed Salinger he would see him in Tehran. “When you finish up here, I know there are things to get off your desk at HQ.”
“I’m scheduled to catch a plane to Tehran late afternoon tomorrow.”
Mayfield’s staff car cleared the gates when Mrs. Perkins turned to him. “Would you like to start with the major’s office?”
“I’ll trust you on where to start,” Salinger said. When they started down the hall, he asked, “Did you know the major well?”
She continued staring straight ahead. “No one knew him very well at all. Even though he had an office here, and spent a good deal of time across the street at ‘number ten’, he was a distant sort of fellow.”
She led Salinger up a flight of marble stairs and to the second door on the right. Salinger found Field’s office an intelligence officer’s workplace: a cheap desk, two telephones on a polished credenza, one obviously coded, and a green safe in the corner for putting away dossiers and documents. The desk was by the window, papers sorted out into three careful stacks. The standard issue Middle East map hung on the opposite wall.
Salinger took a moment to roam around the room and take everything in while Mrs. Perkins lingered patiently at the door as if to enter she would violate sacred space.
“Were you familiar with his schedule?” Salinger asked.
“The major was here at least once a week, I remember. Sometimes more often,” she said. “I know he had established an office in Tehran within the last three weeks preparing for the upcoming conference the Prime Minister is attending.”
“Where was he when he wasn’t here or Tehran?”
“Traveling, I suppose.”
“Do you know why?”
“I didn’t work under the major’s direction, limiting the information I can offer to you this morning. However, as I informed Major Mayfield, I’ve lined up several interviews with people who did work for him. Clerical staff mainly, maybe they can assist you.”
Salinger spent the remainder of the morning conducting those interviews. He was disappointed that nothing much came out of the discussions.
The first, a young Iranian woman who served as a clerk, college educated and very sharp, told Salinger that she found the major to be very polite and all business. The second interview was with a middle-aged clerk with the highest security ranking available for such workers, who produced two files containing carbon copies of correspondence between MI6 Tehran office and London. Salinger flipped disappointingly through the files. “This is it, his complete correspondence for the last six months?”
“Except for personal correspondence,” she said defensively. “I didn’t have access to his personal writings.”
Salinger closed the file. “Of course you didn’t. Do you know where the major was when he wasn’t in this office?”
“Tehran, I imagine.”
The last interview was with the Iranian driver. He had been issued standard security clearance and background check, which was conducted on all drivers utilized by the British and Americans in and around Cairo. Salinger dismissed him within twenty minutes.
He placed Fields’s files in his
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