rose to his feet. ‘Let’s see what needs picking in the garden.’
The evening stayed balmy, and they were able to eat at a picnic table in the back garden. Apart from the immaculate vegetable plot, the garden itself had been left wild. But there was order in the wilderness. The phrase that sprang to Barclay’s mind was: the organisation of chaos.
He didn’t know what to make of Elder. Partly, he thought the man intelligent, cautious, impressive; partly, he thought him just another old service crank. The story he told seemed harshly at odds with the scenery surrounding them as they sat into the twilight and beyond.
‘Hiroshima was the first,’ Elder said, almost drowsily. ‘Except that it wasn’t. That sounds like a riddle, but I’ll explain it as I go along. I filed the report on the Hassan killing.’
‘Yes, I read it.’
‘But of course, I couldn’t know then ... well, nobody could know about Witch. Then there were other incidents, other operations. Most of them terrorist-related. I like to imagine Witch as a pure terrorist.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure she isn’t though.’ He seemed to be drifting away. Barclay feared the man was about to fall asleep.
‘And after Hassan?’ he asked.
Elder stirred himself. ‘After Hassan ... well, there was an Italian kidnapping. A British businessman, working for some chemical conglomerate. They took his daughter. I was sent over there to liaise with police. It was an utter farce. The gang got away, and with the ransom.’
‘The daughter?’
‘Oh, freed. But she’s been a nervous wreck ever since, poor child.’
‘You said a gang: not Witch then?’
‘Not just Witch, no. Two men and a woman. You see, this was her training period, a term of probation on the one hand and learning on the other. She didn’t work alone in the early days.’
‘And since?’
‘Since?’ Elder shrugged. ‘The problem is that there’s so little evidence. Seven armed robberies on the Continent ... three assassinations. Many more assassination attempts, either foiled or botched. And always a woman mentioned afterwards, maybe just a passing note in somebody’s report, but always a woman, a tall young woman. The most extraordinary story concerns a NATO General.’ Elder toyed with his fork. ‘It was hushed-up at the time, for reasons you will appreciate. He was an American based in Europe, but had to fly out to ... let’s just say Asia ... as part of a very sensitive delegation. This General, however, had a taste for violent, forced sex. Oh, he was willing to pay. He’d made several pimps and madams very wealthy in his time. He was intrigued by stories of a very special prostitute. The rougher things got, the better she liked it. That was the story.’ Elder paused and glanced around his garden, either appraising it or else playing for time, wondering how to phrase what came next. ‘He was discovered lying naked on a bed with his head severed from its body at the neck. The head had been placed between his legs. In effect, the corpse was giving itself a blow job.’
Now Elder looked towards Barclay. He was smiling.
‘I never said Witch didn’t have a sense of humour,’ he said. Then he rose from his chair and walked into the house.
Barclay found that his hand was shaking just a little as he picked up his glass. This was his third glass of wine, on top of two beers. His third and last glass, otherwise the trip back would be fraught. He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He’d have to start off in the next hour or so anyway. He still didn’t know what he was doing here. He was still intrigued.
Something exploded on the table. Looking round, he saw Elder standing just behind him. The man had approached in absolute silence. And on the table sat a fat document wallet, its flap open, spewing paper and glossy photographs across the table-top.
‘The Witch Report,’ Elder said, sitting down again.
‘I was told there wasn’t a file on Witch.’
‘Joyce told
The evening stayed balmy, and they were able to eat at a picnic table in the back garden. Apart from the immaculate vegetable plot, the garden itself had been left wild. But there was order in the wilderness. The phrase that sprang to Barclay’s mind was: the organisation of chaos.
He didn’t know what to make of Elder. Partly, he thought the man intelligent, cautious, impressive; partly, he thought him just another old service crank. The story he told seemed harshly at odds with the scenery surrounding them as they sat into the twilight and beyond.
‘Hiroshima was the first,’ Elder said, almost drowsily. ‘Except that it wasn’t. That sounds like a riddle, but I’ll explain it as I go along. I filed the report on the Hassan killing.’
‘Yes, I read it.’
‘But of course, I couldn’t know then ... well, nobody could know about Witch. Then there were other incidents, other operations. Most of them terrorist-related. I like to imagine Witch as a pure terrorist.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure she isn’t though.’ He seemed to be drifting away. Barclay feared the man was about to fall asleep.
‘And after Hassan?’ he asked.
Elder stirred himself. ‘After Hassan ... well, there was an Italian kidnapping. A British businessman, working for some chemical conglomerate. They took his daughter. I was sent over there to liaise with police. It was an utter farce. The gang got away, and with the ransom.’
‘The daughter?’
‘Oh, freed. But she’s been a nervous wreck ever since, poor child.’
‘You said a gang: not Witch then?’
‘Not just Witch, no. Two men and a woman. You see, this was her training period, a term of probation on the one hand and learning on the other. She didn’t work alone in the early days.’
‘And since?’
‘Since?’ Elder shrugged. ‘The problem is that there’s so little evidence. Seven armed robberies on the Continent ... three assassinations. Many more assassination attempts, either foiled or botched. And always a woman mentioned afterwards, maybe just a passing note in somebody’s report, but always a woman, a tall young woman. The most extraordinary story concerns a NATO General.’ Elder toyed with his fork. ‘It was hushed-up at the time, for reasons you will appreciate. He was an American based in Europe, but had to fly out to ... let’s just say Asia ... as part of a very sensitive delegation. This General, however, had a taste for violent, forced sex. Oh, he was willing to pay. He’d made several pimps and madams very wealthy in his time. He was intrigued by stories of a very special prostitute. The rougher things got, the better she liked it. That was the story.’ Elder paused and glanced around his garden, either appraising it or else playing for time, wondering how to phrase what came next. ‘He was discovered lying naked on a bed with his head severed from its body at the neck. The head had been placed between his legs. In effect, the corpse was giving itself a blow job.’
Now Elder looked towards Barclay. He was smiling.
‘I never said Witch didn’t have a sense of humour,’ he said. Then he rose from his chair and walked into the house.
Barclay found that his hand was shaking just a little as he picked up his glass. This was his third glass of wine, on top of two beers. His third and last glass, otherwise the trip back would be fraught. He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He’d have to start off in the next hour or so anyway. He still didn’t know what he was doing here. He was still intrigued.
Something exploded on the table. Looking round, he saw Elder standing just behind him. The man had approached in absolute silence. And on the table sat a fat document wallet, its flap open, spewing paper and glossy photographs across the table-top.
‘The Witch Report,’ Elder said, sitting down again.
‘I was told there wasn’t a file on Witch.’
‘Joyce told
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