Read Online The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) by Justin Richards - Free Book Online Page A

did not make it, he had at least deprived Streicher of his prize.
    An hour before the flight, alone in the men’s room at Lisbon airport, ‘Carlton Smith’ peeled off his beard and dropped it into the rubbish bin.

CHAPTER 9
    THE INEVITABLE PAPERWORK had piled up while Guy was away. Most of it was routine, and just took time. But between the routine and the boring, he found a few moments to think about what had happened in Glasgow.
    Chivers was not interested. ‘Way above our heads, old boy,’ he told Guy, while subconsciously dry-washing his hands. ‘Way above. Shouldn’t touch it with a barge pole, if you ask me. Best leave it to others. Rather them than us, eh?’
    But Guy was not about to leave it alone. It might be ‘above his head’, and he understood the necessity and value of secrecy, but the strange conversation he’d had with Hess haunted him. Now when he slept, as often as he recalled the flames and horrors of Dunkirk, he saw Lord Hamilton’s gaunt, pale, frightened face and Colonel Brinkman striding down the corridor towards him.
    The sergeant’s name was ‘Green’; he remembered that from their first meeting. But that was of little help – it was hardly an uncommon name or rank.
    Tracking down information about Colonel Brinkman proved more fruitful. Pentecross told himself his curiosity was justified – the Foreign Office should know what was happening, what information Hess had been so desperate to pass on.
    He called in a couple of favours. Finally, after a monthgetting nowhere by being discreet, Pentecross phoned a girl from Army Records. He’d met Mary Creasy at a party his mother had dragged him along to, and even Mother had noticed the girl was sweet on him.
    Mary didn’t need a lot of persuading to take a look at Brinkman’s file. She’d probably have done it without Guy’s rather flimsy story about informally checking the colonel out for a Foreign Office assignment. The agreement that they should meet for a drink once she’d looked at his file seemed incentive enough.
    At last he was making progress, Guy thought. A drink with Mary was a small price to pay. Until she told him that Colonel Oliver Brinkman’s exemplary service record ended abruptly in January 1940 with a handwritten note simply saying: ‘Transferred to special duties’.
    After hearing that, it was hard to maintain the pretence that he was interested in talking to Mary. She made a better job of pretending not to notice.
    ‘Oh Guy, I do hope you find what you’re looking for,’ Mary said as they stood outside the pub. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help.’ She wasn’t talking about Brinkman’s file. She tiptoed up to give Guy a kiss on the cheek, and he managed a smile.
    ‘Do call me,’ she said.
    They both knew it was unlikely.
    The air raid warning made up his mind for him. Guy had considered walking while the evening was clear and safe. But with the siren, he headed for the nearest tube station.
    The platform was already packed with people settling down for the night. It was midsummer’s day tomorrow, and the evening was warm which didn’t help the smell emanating from the crowd. Some people had brought food and bedding. While not relaxed, the atmosphere was calm. Guy picked his way through the sheltering people to the platform’s edge. There were not many people waiting, so chances were he’d just missed a train. He might have a long wait for the next one, especially if the raid had started.
    Beside him a tall man with thinning red hair and a round, freckled face nodded a greeting and offered a cigarette. Pentecross smiled a thank you but declined. Apart from the hair the man looked far younger than he probably was. He was carrying a leather briefcase, hugging it under his arm as if afraid it might escape.
    ‘Pity about the raid,’ the man said. His voice was cultured and assured despite his schoolboy looks. ‘It was shaping up to be quite a pleasant evening.’
    ‘It was,’ Guy agreed. ‘I was just