Havok Goes To Moscow

By Bob Hyslop

The 13th Jonas Forbes Thriller
1967 A British rock band, HAVOK, are planning to drive across Europe to introduce Russians to rock-and-roll. Somebody is threatening VICE, the lead guitarist – and MI6 want a little job done for them so they persuade Jonas Forbes to accompany the group as a bodyguard. He poses as Joseph Franklin, a substitute Manager, irritating most of the band but helped out by his ‘PA’ Vanessa Holmes. By the time they’ve passed through East Germany and Poland he is sure the KGB know they’re on their way –and he ‘s right.
In the USSR the KGB are prepared to pounce on dissenters led by OBROK. At the same time leaks from the UK Embassy reveal a British agent is with the band. Jonas gains one supporter in the band when he rescues ACID and VICE become increasingly unstable – even though the tour is proving a success. Jonas, trying to contact dissidents, raises suspicion by his frequent absences. VICE is sure he can profit by betraying MI6’s scheme to the KGB but his plan backfires. In Moscow VICE is killed in an accident – or was it murder?
Jonas warns the dissidents that the KGB are about to pounce, but is the warning too late? Attention focuses on the group as it becomes clear VICE’s death was murder. Will they catch the killer? Jonas realises he’s met one of the KGB involved before – but will he be recognised?
A thriller closely set in its background – both musical and political.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Hyslop
• Release date: Jun 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9780957369474

Bob Hyslop

I am a retired teacher, living near Chichester, Sussex, UK. I am married with one daughter and two grandsons. Apart from writing my main hobbies are Family History, Music (all kinds) and playing the guitar. I have published four historical novels under different names which, you may find, still in print. I should point out that I wrote for my OWN enjoyment with the hope that others might also enjoy my books. What SERIOUSLY undermines my sales is my reluctance to be involved in social media. The details of my email account proves I am no recluse: I just focus on the negative sides of social media and so avoid them. However, you can contact me via my blog site re' my books and I'd welcome your questions and comments. I promise to check for them regularly.

Book preview

HAVOK

GOES TO

MOSCOW

Bob Hyslop

"Nothing weighs so heavily as a secret’

(La Fontaine: ‘Fables’: 8:6)

‘If music be the food of love, play on’ (William Shakespeare: ‘Twelfth Night’ 1:1:1)

‘The Jonas Forbes Saga’: Vol. 13

First published in Great Britain 2014 Cuthan Books (http://www.cuthanbooks.co.uk)

Copyright Bob Hyslop 2014

The right of Bob Hyslop to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

ISBN: 9780957369474

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For my family – if only for putting up with me and Jonas Forbes!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAP. 1. A SECRET SHARED IS A SECRET HALVED.

CHAP. 2. ROLL UP FOR THE MYSTERY TOUR.

CHAP. 3. SEND IN THE CLOWNS.

CHAP. 4. LET US GO WHERESOEVER THE FATES

PROPEL US.

CHAP. 5. THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES.

CHAP. 6. FOLLOW THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD.

CHAP. 7. BLIND DATE.

CHAP. 8. SHADOW-BOXING

CHAP. 9. THE ONE-EYED MAN IS KING

CHAP. 10. A LEAP IN THE DARK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAP. 1. A SECRET SHARED IS A SECRET

HALVED

Simon isn’t going to like any of this, she’d told herself as she heard his key in the lock. And he didn’t.

Simon Holmes prided himself on being a reasonable man, which he wasn’t and yet... In one particular he had good cause not to be reasonable. He was convinced his wife was in love with another man and the only thing keeping his jealousy in check was the conviction she hadn’t herself realised it. She’d been in love with his rival for years and she’d had every opportunity to betray him because she worked closely with and for his rival.

One other fact preserved their marriage: he was sure his rival didn’t love Vanessa. How could he, when he was so much in love with himself? This latest lunacy, however, was pushing compliance to the limit. Several times, before and after marriage, she’d gone off with Jonas Forbes on ‘assignments’, last year taking their three daughters with her. But now she was ditching the girls with his mother-in-law as she obviously couldn’t trust him with them! Now she was trolling off with bloody Forbes to Moscow with a rock band! Had she lost it since turning thirty?

It had all started yesterday with a call from someone Simon might still have counted as a family friend, John Wyatt of Scotland Yard.

&&&

Six months before Oliver McGee Howard had been putting it straight to his creation, HAVOK. The rock group had put a couple of numbers into the lower forties of the record charts and that had been all. They appeared stuck.

No band has done Moscow but the kids there are crying out for your sort of stuff.

Really? HELL (aka Henry Appleton – Rhythm Guitar + vocals) often put himself forward for the group and the single word summed up the group scepticism. If it was such an opportunity why hadn’t the likes of ‘The Rolling Stones’ or ‘The Who’ taken up the challenge?

It means a bit of a risk and lots of planning. It means roughing it for a bit in a coach across half of Europe and possibly putting two fingers up to the stuffed shirts over here.

Now that last bit appealed to the most radical member of the group, VICE (aka Victor Edwards – Lead Guitar + vocals), who revelled in his chosen name. Would it be worth it? Whether payment would be in cash, chicks, drink or drugs VICE left for others to choose; he’d take the lot!

Back here, I suppose, we could then use the slogan, ‘From Russia With Love’ for all our gigs put in ACID (aka Annie Montreux– Bass guitar + vocals), perhaps the most intelligent of the group. She’d seen the James Bond film four times and was smitten with Sean Connery.

That sounds a good idea, ACID, grinned their manager, relieved to have her on board. With her he’d be certain of KONG (aka Keith Barrett – Drums) and that would give him half their votes, even though nobody would ever dream of consulting a DRUMMER; nobody did that sort of thing, did they?

We’re a bit stuck where we are, commented HELL and VICE mumbled an opinion about some people’s abilities which threatened to start a fight.

Oliver quickly stepped in and suggested they talk it over and vote on it tomorrow. We’ll all then stick with the decision because we’re a group, aren’t we? He felt justified with the ‘we’ because the group’s name, HAVOK, was made from their individual stage names with his own ‘O’ firmly planted in the middle.

After twelve hours of shouting and pleading and swearing and whispering they voted. All voted ‘Yes’ and Oliver then had the hard job of sorting out the practicalities.

&&&

Six months later Victor Compton aka VICE wasn’t a happy bunny. By sheer luck he hadn’t had a proper grip on his Hofner ‘Club 60’ so that, when some bloody current ripped through it, he’d dropped it pronto. If he’d been capable of objective judgement (and he never was) he’d have realised the ‘Club 60’ was perhaps the least important of his guitars, because it never appeared on stage and was kept chiefly as a souvenir - the earliest of his ‘real’ guitars. The key instrument in his collection was the Gibson ‘Flying V’ symbolising the ‘attack’ the band produced during their performance. In the background, largely for show, VICE had three other guitars – although the Epiphone ‘Coronet’ was the only other one he ever played.

Tell me that was another fuckin’ accident, Olly, and you must be thinking I came out of last year’s Christmas cracker.

In some ways Oliver McGee Howard, manager of ‘HAVOK’, did think the lead guitarist was a joke – and a bad one at that. But the twenty-two-year –old was talented, had worked his way through skiffle to Holly to the Shads and now was playing...… Well, sometimes Olly didn’t know what he was playing but it certainly went down well with the fans.

You didn’t damage the guitar -

Too right I didn’t, but that was all fuckin’ luck! VICE used the ‘f-word’ in virtually every sentence, perhaps to fill in for the gaps in spontaneity or linguistic flexibility his limited time at school had overlooked or perhaps just because he subconsciously revelled in his favourite non- musical occupation, sex, and the effect it had on the world.

These things happen, VICE... Faulty wiring... Too close -

I don’t make fuckin’ mistakes, so don’t take me for a fuckin’ idiot. Some fucker fixed it for me.

Now who’d want to do that, VICE? To be honest, Oliver Howard could have listed the other three members of HAVOK, most of the roadies and a whole string of girls (plus males interested in them) who’d suffered from VICE’s ‘love an’ leave ‘em’ policy.

You were lucky, VICE, said the drummer, KONG (whose Birth Certificate read ‘Keith Barrett but who’d worshipped the gigantic ape dominating his dreams since first seeing the 1933 classic). KONG was a big lad, hence the name, whose strength had been intensified by years of bashing away at anything that could make a sound and, for the last five years, at a drum kit bought by an adoring (and deaf!) grandmother. He also had the habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Why d’yer fuckin’ say that, yer moron? Did yer ‘ave anythin’ to do with it?

Of course, he didn’t, VICE. It was the quiet, comforting voice of ACID (aka Annie Montreux), the lead vocalist and bassist of the band. Like the others she’d chosen her stage name when they’d formed the band nearly three years ago. She could have been a model, except she was too well-endowed in a world dominated by the likes of Twiggy; she could have been a film starlet, except the perpetual sneer accompanying her presence would have undermined any publicity campaign; she WAS an exhibitionist, with a natural talent for the bass and a voice which could handle both the strident anthems they usually performed and the warm ballads that sometimes sneaked in by popular request – the most amazing being a rendition of ‘Softly, Softly’ not exactly in the style of Ruby Murray.

How’d you fuckin’ know? You’re not shaggin’ that fuckin’ twerp as well, are you?

ACID shrugged aside the ‘as well’ and just offered a quiet smile at the image of making love with the gigantic (in ALL departments!) KONG. She was 5’ 10" tall but even she’d feel too overawed by the hulk to tackle that job. Behind her KONG blushed, revealing he’d certainly fancy her giving it a try.

Now, now, children! Oliver Howard stepped forward, daring to place his forearm across VICE’s chest – getting away with that gesture because it flattered VICE into thinking somebody believed he’d attack the bulk of KONG. Oliver Howard had just about managed to keep them together so they’d enjoyed several minor hits over the last year. He’d been the one who’d secured a contract to perform at several venues in Eastern Europe, culminating in Moscow itself, and he was determined to make the tour their breakthrough into the big-time like ‘The Who’ and ‘The Kinks’. They were an unruly bunch, whose stage charisma rested on appearing at war with the world but back-stage were too often at war with each other.

Somebody’s out to fuckin’ get me, insisted VICE, but in a subdued mumble.

Now THAT could be a song title, grinned HELL and that reduced the tension. HELL was the most approachable, with outlook and opinions most resembling those of the human race and the only one whose patter might occasionally match that of any of ‘The Beatles’.

Even so, because Oliver Howard believed somebody really was trying to cripple or kill VICE he’d called in outside help. He didn’t know (or care) what that help might involve but he knew that VICE was the key member as far as many fans were concerned. He could produce a riff in several positions on the fretboard and then in a staggering transformation of keys climb to a crescendo above the twentieth fret. HELL, with his long red hair and large blue eyes, was the one who drew the girls; ACID had a strenuous fan club among the males and her pin-up (in varying examples of dishabille) must have adorned many bedrooms; KONG seemed to appeal only to the odd-balls, kids whose dreams were obsessed by sadistic fantasy but his heavy beat drove the band into that frenzy pushing them up the charts.

&&&

Leaving the glamorous world of rock ‘n’ roll, Detective Superintendent John Wyatt had received a worrying call from a certain Oliver McGee Howard whose profession was one with which the policeman had scarcely any knowledge – Manager of a Rock Band. The immediate reaction was to slam down the phone and then demand which idiot had put this call through to his office. However, the speaker hurriedly added that Charlie Beadon had recommended the Detective Superintendent as somebody who could prevent a murder. That got to the policeman who found himself listening, if only as an excuse to put aside one of those Mission Statements which were starting to make staff’s lives a misery.

Apparently certain mishaps had been happening to one member, the lead guitarist, causing the manager to believe somebody, within the band or close to it, was out to get this individual. When John Wyatt was told the individual rejoiced in the name of ‘VICE’ as his stage name he could understand why. A friend of Oliver’s (but probably no longer one of John’s) had passed on the DS’s details when he recommended John Wyatt. He began to see something might be done to protect the guitarist until Oliver Howard mentioned the group were booked to tour parts of Eastern Europe and finish up in Moscow. The tour would take up much of the month of June. He couldn’t possibly accept that as a job for official police time or manpower. Then John Wyatt had a neat idea of how to get himself off the hook by helping the manager at no cost to himself nor to ‘the Yard’. Moscow might be of interest to the Foreign Office or MI6 and THEY might be willing to pay for external help and John Wyatt knew the very individual.

Soon the Detective Superintendent was talking to an old contact in MI6 called Tim Ripley, going back to the mid-fifties. Both were always willing to put Jonas Forbes in hot water because they’d become accustomed to seeing him escape being scalded and pull their onions out of the fire – if that doesn’t exceed the use of metaphorical allusions. Sometimes it had been a very close thing, such as his escorting of Svetlana Ivanova Petrova safely out of the Soviet Union in 1964 despite whatever the Soviets threw at him – in fact, the lady turned out to be not quite as expected, but such errors are effectively brushed under carpets in Whitehall. Tim said he’d have a word with his boss to see if there might be a chance of bringing about some activity of mutual benefit. He promised to get back to John Wyatt later that day which, amazingly, was what he actually did.

You’re in luck, John. Sir Dick Smith, my boss, can see an opening here. He’s got considerable respect for Jonas, possibly because he doesn’t whine when we pile on the shit. That sounded ominous and John Wyatt started doubting his own brilliant idea. Tim Ripley sensed the dampening of enthusiasm and hurried on. We’ve changed the code book used by our agents, including the means of accessing it but we need to get that to our people out in Moscow. It looks as if Jonas Forbes could help out both of us.

That didn’t help the DS’s sense of guilt.

But he’s known... to the Soviets. He helped them in ’56 and crossed them in ’64.

Sort out the disguise and we’ll help with the cover – false documents etc.

I don’t know if he’ll go along with that.

He’ll have to and, ... John, I don’t know how you’re going to put this, before he jumps at our offer, he can’t take any weapons in with him or carry them around over there.

Pity that can’t be true over here, was the thought passing through the policeman’s brain but he said. That isn’t going to be easy.

You can fix it, John. I’m sure. A pause. How long have we got before the band sets off?

John Wyatt looked at the calendar on the adjacent wall. Today’s 11th May. He stopped because he suddenly realised that Jane’s mother, Penelope, would be sixty next Tuesday on the 16th and he hadn’t done anything about it. His mother-in-law wasn’t the easiest of people to get on with so he hoped Jane had been arranging some kind of celebration.

Well?

He returned to the here and now with a jump. Sorry, Tim, I was just checking the calendar, he lied. They leave from Victoria Coach Station on 5th June so that means we’ve got...

Three and half weeks. So we’d better put our skates on. A pause while Tim made the key point of making sure he wasn’t booked to go anyway (or, more importantly, be with anyone as he was fast approaching forty) and so could take a call. Ring between six and seven tomorrow or, failing that on Saturday. If I don’t hear from you, it’s a no go, I’m afraid. There was a pause. We’ll need to know how things are going along over there so how would Forbes be with handling a simple code?

Useless.

A long pause. Pity. And then the voice suddenly brightened as Tim Ripley remembered that young secretary he’d met – and definitely fancied – over ten years ago. It was a pity she’d married but he knew she was still with Forbes. What about Vanessa? Do you think she could handle it?

John Wyatt smiled. If you mean using letters taken from some well-known book, I’m sure of it. Vanessa just oozed appreciation for literature.

Good... So that means you’ve got to smuggle Vanessa on to the whole enterprise. Can you make that work? Never for a moment did either man consider the ethics of plunging her into possibly extreme danger. The DS knew Simon Holmes would hit the roof but that rather pleased the sadistic spark lurking in the darkest corner of his personality. She’d certainly relish the excitement and Jonas would welcome having around somebody he could trust.

I’ll try my best.

&&&

John Wyatt had been surprised how easily he’d ‘sold the idea’ to Jonas. Of course, life had become unpleasantly dull after the elimination of Fraser Morrison’s gang, anticipating in a minor way the demise of both the Richardson and Kray networks of terror. DS Wyatt had worked with Jonas Forbes since 1956 dealing with the pressures of the visit by B & K to Britain. Sometimes he’d wondered whether ‘working with’ had ever been a wise move; but then Jonas was lucky and that gift would be very important in this venture. He had to admit surprise at how readily Jonas had accepted the proposed role of Vanessa and even more astounded when she’d accepted the offer without consulting her husband. Then he considered what his reaction would be if Jane had come home with such a proposal and understood.

You’d better go in disguise, Jonas, because I think you may come across certain individuals who’d shunt you out to Siberia as soon as they laid eyes on you.

Jonas agreed. In 1964 a false passport hadn’t proved enough and only drastic changes in his appearance had let him dodge the KGB.

Aren’t I supposed to be a cousin of the manager? Proof that he’d been listening closely. So I can’t become a clapped-out figure like Tamas Bakos again. Proof that his brain had rejected one disguise he’d used in the USSR three years ago.

You’d be the wrong nationality, Jonas, grinned John Wyatt. No, for this job, I’d suggest you dye your hair and probably let it grow long to match the members of the band.

Jonas didn’t fancy the idea but needs must – that also applied to taking a set of ear-plugs with him. If we delay the passport photo till the last minute – and I suppose the id will have to be in the name of a real person.

We’ve looked into that, Jonas. Oliver Howard is in his late thirties, like you. He couldn’t resist seeing Jonas wince as he was reminded of ‘tempus fugit’. So we’ll be using the details of a Joseph Franklin, born in 1931 and died of diphtheria in 1937, to provide your cover. He’d glanced down at the supplied details and suddenly realised the child had been born in Liverpool. Let’s hope he’d never acquired a scouse accent, he thought.

What about Vanessa? Knowing the KGB, she must be mentioned in my file somewhere – as ‘Clarke’ and ‘Holmes’.

We’ll think up something for her in time, Jonas.

Make sure, the initials match those on her undies.

The grins on the faces of both men would have made Vanessa see red – or simply go that colour.

In fact, MI6 did an excellent job with Vanessa’s details as she became Veronica Henshawe – John Wyatt had blushed when he realised he’s selected his wife’s maiden name. The original had been born in in 1938 and died, in a car accident, in 1951. Never tell Vanessa anything about the real Veronica, because, knowing her, she’d be upset about the fate of the child. They didn’t bother to change Vanessa’s appearance – she’d have been annoyed to know that, to MI6, she was already fitting in with a ‘rock-chic’ image. She’d be travelling as a freelance reporter and the girlfriend of Joe Franklin so, along with her children, Vanessa would be depositing her rings with her mother with orders not to tell Simon anything.

&&&

The Luftwaffe had destroyed much of London’s Docklands twenty-five years before and the housing boom to replace the ruins and prefabs