Wings of the Morning Page 6

  There was a silence between them before David took up the conversation.

  ‘Well. There’s a bit to think about here, King. First thanks for saying your piece. I’m pleased to hear how you and Pente work for each other, plus I endorse all you say about Pente’s character and intellect. I’m sure you have a calming influence on him when needs must, but frankly, I’m amazed how Pente can keep himself quiet when he feels he must. He may have guessed your profession, but I told him he was talking rubbish and he didn’t put me straight. That’s loyalty for you and I admire him for it.’

  David paused to light up before he continued. ‘But look, King, it’s great news that you’re stationed over here for a while. Will you be in London throughout?’

  ‘No, not the whole time. I’ll be making some trips into Africa from time to time. The project is joint with your guys, and I can say that it involves finding out more about drug cartels operating into both Europe and the States. I’m part of our Africa team as I speak some of the languages well enough, and because it’s a little easier for me to blend into the background there.’

  King gave his charming, languid smile and David laughed with him.

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ he asked, ‘a pretty stupid question I suppose.’

  ‘Well actually, David, there’s mostly danger when you stop believing that it might be there, if you follow me. Research rather than confrontation is the phase we’re on right now, and anyway, it’s not all wasting and women in the Service.’

  David sensed the reticence and was not surprised to find himself politely dismissed. They went on to talk of other things and to reminisce happily together over their days at Oxford. Then King asked him about his plans and David tried to explain his vaguely formed conviction that Sol and Martin Kirchoff represented the future which he wanted to pursue.

  ‘Makes sense to me. I can see that this sort of outfit and the international aspect would be a real good outlet for your energy. A few centuries back, I reckon you’d have given Sir Francis Drake a run for his money.’

  Over coffee and a second bottle, David said that he was going to the Avelings at Barrington Park over Christmas and invited King to stay in the flat as long as he wanted.

  ‘Of course’, he added, ‘I can always ring Connie and get you along too. I’m sure he’d be delighted and God knows, they’ve got enough space.’

  ‘Thanks and I’d like to, but I’m arranged already. I’m off to Amersham or near to. My contact at the Embassy, Mark Leary, has fixed for me to be with him and his family. He’s a buddy from way back and we work together. I’ll give you his details and he can always reach me when I’m overseas. Pente’s got the arrangement too.’

  ‘What about your apartment?’

  ‘They say I can move in before the New Year, so if you’re around, come over and see the glories of the US of A in Grosvenor Square.’

  David was happy to do just that and he rang King as soon as he returned from the Avelings, offering to go round to help shift some boxes. But before he left his flat, he had a call from Martin Kirchoff.

  ‘Are you still OK for New Year’s Eve, David?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Great. It’s just the timing. Sol and I wondered if you could come over earlier in the day. We’ll have lunch together and you get off after that. I’m afraid Sol has had another contact from that Riley guy, and he’s insisting on coming in early afternoon to talk about arrangements for the New Year. I don’t want our time together to be spoilt by that visit and there’s no need for you to be involved.’

  David was quiet for a few seconds. He was minded to say a lot in reply but he told Martin that he would be happy to arrive at lunch time.

  ‘We can take it from there’, he said and they hung up with a note of relief in Martin’s voice. David had no intention of leaving early. If he was going to join this little business and its owners, he was going to earn his keep from the first. Whilst resting between packing cases, he laid out the situation to King Offenbach and asked if he would be willing to come along with him.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s New Year’s Eve’, he said, ‘and I’ll quite understand if you can’t make it.’

  ‘No problem for me. I won’t get put to work for a couple of days yet and I’d be happy to help sort things out for your friends. You know, we get a whole lot of this protection racket business in the States, and you’d be amazed at the number of Mom and Pop stores as we call them, which will put up with any amount of abuse. I understand why, it just makes me mad as hell at these sleazebags.’

  ‘I’m relieved, King, and grateful already. But I suppose we need some sort of plan how to handle things.’

  ‘Hell, no’, King chuckled, ‘my advice is to play things off the bat and you’ll find the right way’. It will come to you soon as you get started talking to these guys. I’ll keep a back seat, but remember you‘ll have all the backup you need.’

  So it was that when David turned up again in Bayswater at around noon on New Year’s Eve, he was accompanied by a tall, lithe black American whom he introduced as a friend from Oxford days, just over in London on a business trip. Martin received this news with equanimity. Sol, in full character, turned on his most boisterous welcome and was as genially dominating as before, but David wondered how much he was dreading the arrival of his next visitors.

  They had lunch together as a foursome in a nearby pub, exchanging small talk, returning promptly to the office. As the afternoon wore on, Martin responded to a request from King to show him something of the firm’s export financing systems and David was surprised to see King absorb himself in the detail with evident relish. He himself was then rescued by Sol, who beamed at him and announced that this was their opportunity to have a little talk in private. He led the way up the spiral staircase and they entered the upstairs meeting area which seemed larger than David remembered. They sat facing each other across the table which centred in the room. Sol became suddenly earnest and produced from under his arm a well used folder which he announced as being the source of all necessary information on Kirchoff and Son.

  ‘Davy’, he said, ‘the guiding principles of any business, be it ICI or a market stall, is that you must have a product which people want to buy, and secondly, you must cherish your customers. Everything else flows from these two commandments. Now in our case, you might think that the product is to be found within these pages’, and he riffled through a kaleidoscope of ploughs, tractors and trailers interspersed with endless obscure widgets. ‘But it’s not. All these products are important for sure but for us, Davy, our business is the total service which we provide to bring these things to our customers all over the world.’

  David felt patronised. ‘Sol,’ he replied, ‘I already know that your business is in export trading. You don’t have to make a mystery out of it.’

  ‘Fair enough and I stand rebuked,’ he shot back with a disarming grin, ‘and yet that’s my very point. I don’t seek to make a mystery. I just want you to understand my philosophy, which is that if you look after the customer, he will in turn look after us.’ He laid emphasis on that final word, ‘us’, and then he sat back in his chair to look David in the eye. Both of them knew what was coming next.

  ‘Davy’, he said, ‘I’m going to suggest that it’s time for both of us to take a little gamble. You need a job. You don’t really know what. You have been imagining that you will go to work one day for some big shot colossus where you’ll wear sharp suits and eat one day in the senior staff canteen. You’ve never dreamt of throwing in your lot with some little Jewish outfit. What will the family say?’

  ‘I don’t have a family.’

  ‘Sure. I know that. And I didn’t say it to offend. But you know what I mean, Davy. You come to work for Kirchoff and Son, and tongues will wag. No?’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying well enough, but I’m not troubled by that. I’ve always had to buck a few trends. What I don’t know is why you want me. I’m untried and untested. What is it that I’v
e got to offer?’

  Sol said, ‘We need help, Davy. We need some more firepower. Look here,’ and he bunched himself forward on his chair, ‘we have an excellent small company which is set and ready to expand. But I’m growing a little old and tired before my time. There’s reason for that and I’m content that Martin has told you about our family history. I can’t go on as I am forever.’

  There was a silence between them, a lull over which washed the background rumble of the conversation which was engrossing Martin and King and the rattle of the secretary’s typewriter. Finally, Sol continued.

  ‘And there’s another matter which is all to do with Martin. I’m glad you know already that he’s not my son in the strict meaning. But in terms of love and companionship, he’s everything to me. Even so, Martin is his own person. He has his own characteristics, his own skills and his own strengths. He’s an individual. I can’t do without him, but equally, Martin can’t replace me.

  He needs help you see. He needs the courage and confidence which flows from having a friend and confidant to share the triumphs and tribulations. But also, Davy, this business has to have a lead salesman, a champion who will get out there to proclaim our cause and to shout about our qualities. Of course, Martin is himself one such quality, but he will never say so, not to himself and much less to a customer.’

  It made sense. David could see that there was a role for him in this burgeoning enterprise, and the prospect gave him a surge of excitement. He was hugging this to himself when he became conscious that the background noises downstairs had fallen quiet. He glanced at Sol and took in the quantum change which again engulfed his host. Sol became the instant nervous wreck, pushing himself to his feet, pulling his jacket about him, moving with crabbed and hurrying steps to the head of the staircase whilst running shaking hands through his hair. David remained seated as he listened to Sol’s small feet pattering on the stairs and heard his obsequious greeting as he descended into the view of the visitors.

  ‘Gentlemen, good afternoon. A pleasure to see you as always, Mr Riley and of course also Mr Mervyn.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Riley’s well remembered voice responded with quiet venom as he jerked a finger in King’s direction. Sol’s flustered reply came in a higher than normal pitch.

  ‘Oh, just a working colleague from the United States. Here for a few days. He’ll excuse us I’m sure. Why don’t you come upst...’ and his voice trailed off as he realised that he had left David there which would require more explanation.

  At that moment, an unexpected confidence calmed David: what was it that King had told him? Something about the right way coming to him. Perhaps it had. He rose from the conference table and stepped down the stairs with as much poise as the awkward spiral permitted. Riley and Mervyn stood dominating the room. Smart, professional and infinitely threatening as before. The highly polished shoes winked at him again. At their side, Sol fluttered, shifting his feet and dabbing at his beard. Martin sat upright and motionless behind his large and cluttered desk. The three girls were wide eyed and frozen, one standing by the bank of files, two sitting at their desks. In front of Martin, with his neck turned in mild curiosity, the King lolled in a visitor’s chair, entirely relaxed. He had put on a pair of heavy, horn rimmed spectacles which gave the aura of the remote intellectual to his long, lank frame. He was in his shirt sleeves, his jacket thrown around the back of his chair.

  David stepped up to stand toe to toe with Riley and to look him in the eye. They were of much the same height. Riley spoke to him.

  ‘Didn’t I warn you last time? This isn’t your business. Just get out of here and take the black with you. I have things to do with this man here’, he gestured dismissively at Sol, ‘I don’t need interruptions.’

  David stood his ground, his self confidence growing with every millisecond. He sensed Mervyn stiffen in anticipation. David needed to stretch this defining moment and willed himself to wait, to stand there motionless and unspeaking. Only the scuffing of Sol’s shoes, marking time on the floor, broke the silence.

  It seemed an age before Riley lost the initiative by speaking again.

  ‘Last chance,’ he said. ‘Leave. Both of you. Now.’

  Cue at last for David and he found that he could speak calmly and without tremor in his voice, standing tall and placing his hands on his hips.

  ‘Wrong,’ he said, ‘it’s you two to go. Immediately. I’m in charge here now. I don’t need you or whatever other scum stand behind you. Just bugger off.’ And he reinforced his challenge by staring into the gimlet eyes of Riley, ignoring the antics of Sol who was leaping like a flushed partridge.

  A look of incredulity flashed across Riley’s features before he recovered to push his face closer to David’s.

  ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, my friend,’ he hissed, ‘but that’s OK. I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget. Mervyn.’

  This was an action command. Mervyn moved into motion with a speed surprising in such a big man, taking one step backwards to give himself more room and putting one hand into his jacket pocket to come up with an obscene looking cosh, black leather covered, a foot and more long yet looking lost in his giant paw. He raised it high, committed to wreak mayhem and pain.

  But he achieved neither, except to himself. There was really no contest and afterwards, David was to feel almost sympathy for these two hapless, small time thugs. The King came out of his chair like a striking black snake, moving with a speed and fluidity which took Riley and Mervyn completely by surprise. The villainous cosh had hardly started its descent towards David’s head before King was there, catching Mervyn’s arm with one hand, plucking the weapon from his grasp with the other. He thrust the cosh into the gaping pink mouth of the big man, twisting it to produce a shattering scream as the teeth broke and simultaneously using the massive body weight as a pivot against himself so that Mervyn was turned and dumped flat on his face on the floor with a crash which shook the desks and filing cabinets. King showed him no mercy. He pulled Mervyn’s right arm up behind his back into the near vertical, placed a foot on the barrel neck, selected the little finger and simply pulled back on it until the snap could be heard by all in the room to be followed by renewed bellows of outraged agony. One of the girls added her own scream, her eyes open like moons and her hand rising to cover her mouth which yawned open in shock. Sol skittered, pulling at his beard. Glancing sideways, David could see Martin still sitting upright behind his desk, rooted to the spot. King just stood there, casually holding down his vanquished opponent. He looked at David as if for further instruction.

  There was something of a play here and David found that he could slip easily into his role. He addressed his aside to King as if from commander to hired gun.

  ‘Don’t damage him further for now.’

  Bringing his face up again to Riley who had not moved an inch, he went on.

  ‘Now. You’ve heard and seen. I’m running things here and there’s no room for you. Take your baboon and get on back to your boss. Tell him to leave me and mine alone for good, starting right now. Or someone is going to get properly hurt. Understood?’

  They stood with eyes locked for a few seconds before Riley broke the contact and David knew he’d won. Riley turned aside, mumbling to himself in a message of reassurance.

  ‘Yeah, well. This little outfit’s not worth the trouble anyway.’

  He gave Mervyn a nudge in the ribs with his polished brogue. King released the ham like wrist and stepped back. Within another minute they were gone, Riley leading the way, followed awkwardly by the huge Mervyn, blood dripping from his mouth and his damaged hand cradled in front of his great belly as he bumped his way through the door frame.

  Left alone, the owners, staff and friends of Kirchoff and Son looked silently at each other until Sol could bear it no longer and let out a wild whoop of triumph before sweeping David into a great bear hug.

  ‘I’ve found a new recruit,’ he bellowed to the world at large, ‘and a second so
n!’.

  Looking over Sol’s shoulder at Martin, David was amazed to see him applaud this outburst. The three girls looked shocked and relieved while King beamed like a midwife completing a successful delivery.

  It was a good moment for David. That day and hour was the start of it all for him.

  THE OXFORD FIVE — 1970

  The first day of a new decade saw all five of the Oxford contemporaries pass through London’s Heathrow Airport.

  The first to arrive was Kingston Offenbach who had flown overnight from New York. He was sorry to have cut short his Christmas visit to his mother but duty called. He released the belt on his Pan Am seat, reflecting that London had now become more home to him than New York. He looked out of the small window at lights flashing in the dark, cold dawn and realised that he was looking forward to getting back into this miserable climate.

  King liked London and he liked its people, but the real lure lay in the job. Part of that was down to good fortune — tasks and timing which spelt opportunity — but also, he was damn good at it. Over the last few years, the growth of traffic in hard drugs had become a pressing problem for the US Administration, threatening security and costing millions of dollars. For America, most of the problems came from the south, from the continent of South America via Central America and through the Caribbean. Therefore, the efforts of the CIA and complementary organisations were concentrated in that direction. If King had been a member of that team, he would never have gained the experience and seniority which he now enjoyed. The European region had been seen as less significant, but during the last two years, things had changed with drugs being trafficked through North Africa. This was the opportunity for King and he made the most of it with his ability and characteristics. Despite the colour of his skin, still unusual for Europeans moving in his circles, King built a reputation and acquired respect. His technical credentials could not be questioned and his analytical skills stood out sharply. He was a good listener and could do so in reasonable French and a little Spanish. But what most noted was his calm, his composure and his ability to work with others. The added bonus was that drug supply sources in Africa were critical and there was no other member of the team who could blend into that background as he could.