Read A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) for Free Online Page B

future.’
    ‘What a pity? I was hoping that I was going to replace Guy Burgess.’
    Frances frowned and looked away.
    ‘Sore point, isn’t it?’ Catesby gave Frances a sly look. ‘Why don’t you admit it?’
    ‘Admit what?’
    ‘You were ordered to let Guy and Maclean do a quiet fade.’
    Frances pursed her mouth and looked away.
    ‘You look as if someone just made an indecent suggestion,’ said Catesby.
    ‘I don’t think you understand our limitations – and the pressure we’re under.’
    ‘I do. We’ve both got shit jobs.’
    Catesby knew that Frances was part of A4, the MI5 section responsible for surveillance. A4 was composed of three women and nineteen men. A total of twenty-two MI5 officers were responsible for keeping an eye on all Britain’s enemies the width and length of the entire UK twenty-four hours a day – except they didn’t work evenings or weekends. Consequently, there were no trench-coated, trilby-wearing shadows on the Southampton docks when Burgess and Maclean hopped on board the Falaise for a trip to St Malo – it was late on a Friday and A4 had clocked off for the weekend.
    ‘You would have thought,’ said Catesby, ‘that you could have altered the duty rotas to put a tail on them.’
    Frances smiled. ‘I volunteered to work overtime that evening, but couldn’t get a childminder.’
    ‘Being a good parent is more important than catching spies – but you could have taken the kids with you; no one would have ever guessed you were a watcher.’
    Frances shook her head. ‘No, William, no.’
    Catesby did, in fact, advise his agents to take children with them when picking up dead drops or making rendezvous. It was a perfect cover.
    Frances lowered her voice, ‘But they didn’t need me. There was someone on their tail.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Don’t ever tell anyone. It was the DG himself.’
    ‘Good lord.’
    ‘But…’ Frances had a fit of giggles, ‘…he couldn’t follow them to France because he’d forgotten his passport.’
    Catesby shook his head. ‘He didn’t forget his passport and he wasn’t on their tail. The DG went to Southampton to see them off and wish them bon voyage .’
    ‘By the way,’ said Frances, ‘I’ve got something else for you.’
    ‘Let me guess.’
    ‘Don’t you remember, you asked me?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have – it was too risky for you.’
    ‘I didn’t get it. Hortense got it for me.’
    ‘Does she still live downstairs?’
    Frances nodded. ‘She’ll do anything for you.’
    Hortense had been parachuted into France at the same time as Catesby. She had fallen in love with a member of the resistance who was captured and shot by the Germans. Catesby was certain that the relationship had never been consummated. Hortense was one of a small army of genteel spinsters that managed the Registry. The Registry was a vast catacomb of vaults and shelves that contained all the files and archives of MI5. The women were the only ones who could decode the arcane index cards and navigate the labyrinth.
    Frances got up and unlocked an oak roll-top desk. ‘She even copied it for you. Here it is.’
    Just as Fournier had said, the document was dated 26 March 1947, titled East-West Trade and classified top secret. Catesby smiled and looked up. ‘I owe Hortense a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. Have you read this?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I’m suspicious of why it was classified top secret. It simply reiterates the objections of the Chiefs of Staff about the proposed sale of Rolls-Royce jet engines to the Soviet Union. Not a big surprise – and it was even referred to in The Times .’
    Catesby read the document again. Fournier had lied. There was absolutely no reference to Harold Wilson – the only politicians mentioned were Cripps and Attlee. The decision to sell the engines had been made months before Wilson became President of the Board of Trade. Catesby looked up. ‘Do you know why they’ve classified this top