Killer Elite

31

Colonel Tommy Macpherson believed that British citizens exposed, in the 1980s, as wartime Nazi killers and torturers should not receive a pardon merely because they had outwitted justice for forty years. He also believed that the hunt for the killers of Milling and Kealy should continue until they were caught. When Spike Allen called him, some nine years after Kealy’s death, to say his assassins were again at large, Macpherson’s immediate reaction was, “Excellent. This time they will not slip through the net.”

He agreed to a committee meeting the next morning despite an unavoidable early date with the New Zealand billionaire Ron Brierley at the London flat of an Irish entrepreneur.

Since the 1970s Macpherson’s life had become very full and, in four weeks’ time, he was due to submit to the Secretary of State for Defense a full report, called for by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, on employment and other problems affecting the efficiency of Britain’s Territorial Army and other volunteer reserves.

Two years earlier, Macpherson, a senior nonexecutive director of the National Coal Board and the close confidant and adviser of Ian MacGregor, the NCB chairman, had performed two roles that were to prove critical in the defeat of the miners’ leader, Arthur Scargill. First, he persuaded Ian MacGregor to limit his appearances on television and to let the more subtle and down-to-earth Michael Eaton become the visible face of the NCB. Second, he urged the formation of British Coal Enterprises with the specific and enormous task of finding new work for the miners whom MacGregor had to render redundant.

Additionally Macpherson had chaired the London Chamber of Commerce, the British National Chamber of Commerce, the CBI’s London and Southeastern branch, Birmid Qualcast, Webb-Brown International, and the Mallinson-Denny Group.

Even when the founder of the Feather Men had initially checked out the young Tommy Macpherson in the early fifties, his record had been impressive. Educated at Fettes College (of which he was now governor) and Trinity College, Oxford, he was a First Open Classical Scholar, an Athletics Blue and Scottish International. He also played rugby and hockey for Oxford. Soon after the outbreak of war he joined the Scottish Commando from the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders, became a POW in November 1941 but escaped late in 1943, and served in the Special Forces with the French and the Italian Resistance. He received the Military Cross with two Bars, the Legion d’Honneur, the Croix de Guerre, and various other honors.

By the winter of 1986 Tommy Macpherson was as busy as he had ever been, but on the morning of Tuesday, November 4, he hurried through his meeting with Ron Brierley and Tony O’Reilly, the chairman of Heinz International, and arrived only minutes late for the committee meeting of the Feather Men. Bletchley was in the chair and Macpherson was shocked at the look of him. Thin and gaunt to the point of emaciation, he seemed to have lost interest in his appearance. His collar was awry and food stains were clearly evident on his poorly adjusted tie. A recent minor road accident, when his foot had applied pressure to his Audi’s accelerator instead of the brake, had left contusions and cuts on his forehead, eyebrows and nose. All in all he was a sorry sight, and Jane, seated close beside him with her notes, was obviously giving him the mother-hen treatment.

Macpherson nodded his apologies to the chair and Spike Allen spoke. “The chairman allowed me to wait for your arrival, Colonel, before bringing up the specific matter which is the reason for today’s unscheduled meeting.”

Macpherson nodded.

The don smiled to himself. Spike had fought Bletchley hard to delay things for Macpherson’s benefit.

Apart from Macpherson, nobody was aware of the reason for Spike’s sudden call. Their interest was aroused. The twins had long since retired, replaced by two fifty-year-olds with excellent Home Office connections. Both had been put forward by Mantell and seconded by Bletchley. August Graves had dubbed them the “little gray men.”

“Most of you,” Spike’s voice was toneless, “will remember that in 1976 the committee sanctioned one of our Locals to follow a suspect to Arabia. The Local identified this man’s intended target but, unfortunately, the wrong target. An ex-Marine helicopter pilot was killed and the three Europeans involved were photographed but not identified.”

Spike looked around. As he later commented to Macpherson, “You could hear a flea fart, they were so attentive.” Bletchley had begun to sweat profusely and his shoulder moved with a furtive tic as though some manikin was trying to burst out of his collarbone.

“A year later,” Spike continued, “one of Bob Mantell’s sources in the Worcester police gave us another lead to the same suspect. This time our Locals identified the correct target but their watch was called off when, after a three-week period, the suspect appeared to have been frightened off by one of them. Sadly this second target, an SAS officer, was killed and no additional information was obtained about the assassins.”

“A pretty abysmal record by all counts,” muttered Mike Panny.

Spike ignored him and continued. “A great deal of water has passed under the bridge since then, but yesterday a veteran Local recognized the same suspect who was implicated in both previous murders, at the house of a Major Michael Marman in Clapham. The suspect posed as a policeman and was accompanied by a second colleague whom our man also recognized from the 1977 Milling affair. The reason for their visit to Marman’s home seems to have been familiarization with his house and circumstances.”

“What has Marman to do with the two previous targets?” Mantell asked.

“That is not the point,” Bletchley burst out. White in the face and shaking as though from St. Vitus’s Dance, he hammered his fist on his papers. “The question should be: ‘What has any of this to do with us?’ ” For a minute or more, words seemed to fail him. He leaned forward, jerking at the neck, and Jane placed her hands anxiously around him. His eyes stood out and he stared at her, gulping as though for air. Believing Bletchley was having a stroke, Macpherson was about to suggest an immediate journey to the hospital when Bletchley recovered both his voice and his composure.

“Before I make further comment,” he said to Spike, “have you finished your report?”

Spike shook his head. “I believe the suspects intend to kill Major Marman. He served in Dhofar with the Sultan’s Armed Forces, as did the other two officers. The motive may lie in some knowledge possessed by all three targets. It may even have to do with revenge or blackmail. I ask that the committee sanction an immediate and close watch over Marman until such time as we have enough evidence of intent to murder or I am proved to be wrong.” Spike sat back and several people spoke at once.

As Bletchley was again gripped by a palsied shuddering, Bob Mantell became his mouthpiece.

“As the chairman noted and I repeat, ‘This has nothing to do with us.’ May I remind you all that my friends at the Yard looked very closely at the Kealy case. They found absolutely no evidence of foul play and the South Powys police have closed the matter for good. I must remind you further that a majority of this committee agreed at that time to have nothing further to do with the Dhofar Connection, as the don insisted on calling the two killings.”

Mantell paused, shifting his gammy hip before continuing on a new tack. “I also have to ask you… does this Marman have any link with our flock? Should we feel motivated in any way to protect him? What I am querying is: did he or did he not serve with an SAS unit?”

“Negative,” said Spike, “but he is our only link with the men who killed Kealy, and therefore our only chance of obtaining justice for the killing of an SAS officer.”

“With due respect to our Regular brethren,” Mantell countered, “we exist to look after living individuals with SAS histories and their families. The pursuit of justice for Kealy’s killers, though laudable, is not our concern. The Marman case is outside our terms of reference and purely a matter for the police.”

“We have been through all this before.” Macpherson’s voice was low and controlled, but Spike, who knew him better than the others did, could see that he was angry. “Since Mantell has engaged in repeating the rationale for inaction, let me remind old members, and suggest to our newer colleagues, that the police simply cannot act upon vague threats, with no known motivation, to non-VIP members of the public and by unidentified persons. Therefore, if we have good reason to believe Major Marman’s life is in danger, we should help him. No one else will. Major Kealy was a very brave SAS officer and I do believe we should extend our activities to putting his killers where they belong, should they again fall into our laps.”

“ ’Ere, ’ere,” shouted Graves, who had become very hard of hearing. “We can’t just let these greasy buggers slip through our ’ands.”

“May I speak, Mr. Chairman?” The more pallid and elongated of the two gray men looked up from behind rimless half spectacles and Bletchley mouthed an affirmative.

“The police commissioner, Sir Kenneth Newman, only last month gave official warning that he had instigated new moves to clamp down on what he called ‘private security organizations operating at the very frontiers of official tolerance.’ ”

“He was talking about the registered groups, not us,” Macpherson interrupted. “Our existence remains unknown to the commissioner.”

“Yes, but the burgeoning of semiclandestine security outfits is causing growing alarm to Special Branch. Blue-chip companies have begun to hire high-tech spies from these firms to check up on each other inside the UK. As the Cold War recedes, unethical home-based organizations will find themselves more and more under the official searchlight. Signs of this have already begun. The Home Office last year authorized significantly fewer phone taps and mail intercepts against left-wing subversive suspects and a correspondingly greater number against certain domestic elements worrisome to Special Branch.”

Mike Panny decided not to be outdone in the field of in-depth know-how. “I agree. These security mobs are now so numerous and their activities so questionable that a clampdown is inevitable. In London alone we now have the KMS ‘Keeny-Meenies,’ Alistair Morrison’s Defense Systems, Control Risks, Winguard, DSI, Saladin, Lawnwest, Cornhill Mangement, SCI, Paladin, Argen, Delta, and of course the grandmother of them all, active since 1967, Watchguard.” He waved an admonitory finger around the table. “Mark my words, although many of them take care to stay legit, not all can effectively leash their hounds. Scandals will result.”

Macpherson had recognized a growing tendency in some of the longer-serving committee members to fight shy of any course of action that might conceivably backfire on their personal reputations. This applied especially to Bletchley. Like Macpherson, he had become a senior player in the City with a string of prestigious nonexecutive directorships, various high-profile charity presidencies and, until he was recently curtailed by his strange indisposition, rode an exacting social merry-go-round with the highest in the land. It was apparent to Macpherson that Panny, the don, and Mantell were suffering on a lower plane from the same aversion to the sanctioning of any course of action by the Feather Men that carried a risk of publicity that might compromise their untarnished reputations. All had much to lose and little to gain, a very different situation from what had existed at the time of their induction to the committee all those years ago.

Only Spike, August and Jane remained largely unaltered by the passage of time, by changing circumstances and fashions, Macpherson thought. Maybe it was time for a spring cleaning. Even as the idea crossed his mind, it was discounted. The founder, a man of intense loyalty to old friends, would never sanction it. The founder was himself none too well these days, and Macpherson would not willingly approach him with contentious points unless there was no alternative.

The matter of Marman was thrashed out and put to the vote with an inconclusive result.

“On a decision which involves life or death, I exercise my right to request that we reconvene with the full committee tomorrow.” Macpherson made his move as soon as the tie vote was announced. He had been expecting it and had reluctantly made up his mind to bring out his only trump card.

The absent founder’s casting vote in favor of the Marman watch was implemented at the next meeting, a perfectly correct procedure, and the word went out immediately to John Smythe and five other Locals in the Southeast. Spike was taking no chances this time.