The Man Who Didn't Come Back

By A. Machin Taylor

Rose Armstrong, a semi-retired archivist within MI5, discovers an anomaly in the old files. It becomes obvious that there was a monumental deception in the past, but who was deceiving who? Someone in today's world of intelligence will stop at nothing to prevent her continuing her investigation. The murder of Rose brings her two devoted friends Ann Barron and Jess Maclean, both ex-MI5, out of retirement. Both now middle aged mothers with family responsibilties, they unofficially set out to find Rose’s murderer. They also become embroiled with the deception and whoever is determined that the deception should not be uncovered at any cost. They are on their own - or are they? Someone seems to be keeping watch over them and does MI5 really not know what they are doing? In the end, the deception is real but not what they had thought, resulting in the identification of a spy within MI5. Finally, a meeting in Moscow explains why the deception took place and who was deceived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244472214

Book preview

The Man Who Didn't Come Back

The Man Who Didn’t Come Back

By

A. Machin-Taylor

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Other novels by this author:

‘The Female of the Species’

published in paperback 2014

‘A Russian Rendezvous’

published in paperback 2015

‘A Highland Affair’

published in paperback 2015

‘The Arctic Tradition’

published in paperback 2017

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Alan_Machin_Taylor

Copyright

Copyright © A Machin-Taylor

Category: Fiction

eBook Design by Rossendale Books: www.rossendalebooks.co.uk

eBook ISBN:  978-0-244-47221-4

Front cover image © www.shutterstock.com

All rights reserved, Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

For Janet, Michèle and Marie-Claire

Chapter 1

The white haired old lady sitting on the front pew in the inspiring church of St. Peter ad Vincula appeared to be looking at the lovely stained glass in the East window but, in reality, her mind was churning a problem over and over.

She sat clutching a much thumbed piece of notepaper, occasionally glancing at it and then rubbing her forehead. A hardly noticeable tear sat on her cheek. She looked at it again; it was a copy of the suicide note written to her by her dear friend Iris Munro. All it said was, ‘Please tell Hugh that I never betrayed his secret.’ Iris had been Rose’s predecessor in Archives, but even before then she’d been Rose’s mentor and friend when Rose had finished at Oxford and joined the world of Intelligence.

Rose looked at the note again, it didn’t make sense. She wondered if any suicide note ever made sense. Iris’s certainly didn’t; everyone remembered Iris as a happy, confident person, well respected by all. Rose was also perplexed by the reference to a secret. The archives at MI5 were full of secrets but Iris’s note referred to just one. Rose had tried many times to work out to which secret Iris had been referring. Rose tried to imagine just what could have driven Iris to contemplate suicide. She thought that if Iris had disclosed some secret she might be ashamed, but not having disclosed it would have been a matter of pride. It had crossed Rose’s mind that Iris may have been being blackmailed, and the possibility had been raised at the inquest.

Those questioned at the inquest had thought that it was most unlikely. Rose had not been called to give evidence and the note to Rose had not been produced in court. The simple suicide note found in Iris’s hand had been sufficient for the coroner to record a verdict of suicide. It had been determined that Iris had died from an injected overdose of heroin. Several witnesses had stated that Iris was not a drug user.

Rose, in her head went further; she doubted if Iris would have had any idea of where to obtain heroin or any other illegal drug.

She heard the latch click and then the creak of the west door opening, before becoming awareof quiet footsteps approaching from behind. Startled, she heard, "Good

evening, Rose, what brings you to church at this hour? It’s almost dark."

Oh, Rector, you made me jump. I’m sorry, I was miles away.

Is it a problem that I can help you with?

"Not really, Rector. My problem is that I’ve a very old head with a very old brain inside it. It’s full of information but it won’t come out. Or at least the information that I want won’t come out."

My advice, Rose, is to go home and sleep on it; in the morning all will be revealed.

He took Rose’s arm and they walked out into the picture postcard old world of Hampton Lucy, lit by an almost full moon. At the lych gate Peter Williamson - the rector of Hampton Lucy - turned left towards the rectory, while Rose Armstrong turned right past the Boar’s Head and into the most beautiful thatched cottage in the village.

Rose knew that the rector meant well, but once her brain had locked onto a problem her in built tenacity would never let her sleep. Her reputation in the world of intelligence affairs was legendary; it acknowledged not only her encyclopedic memory, but also her outstanding analytical abilities and her talent for seeing both the problems that others couldn’t and their solutions too. This had established her reputation within MI6 and the wider intelligence fraternity.

She poked Millie, her devoted Tibetan spaniel, who reluctantly vacated Rose’s favourite armchair. Rose flopped down, enjoying the warmth that Millie had left behind. In the light of her reading lamp, Rose picked up the book she’d been reading all day; it fell open at the place where she’d turned down the page: page seventy-eight of ‘A Russian Rendezvous’, the biography of a man called David Hopkins. It read,

‘Giles explained, Peter’s started to write a book about his time in MI5. It will contain some quite secret information, so he’ll be prosecuted under the Official Secrets Act.

In that case, why let him write it?

Giles smiled, Because if we prosecute him, people will think that the information is true, especially the Reds.

Well, isn’t it?

No. The important stuff is a complete fabrication.

David shook his head. That’s a bit sneaky. Do you think they’ll buy it?

Oh yes. It’s Sidney Reilly all over again. Who’s Sidney Reilly?

Giles signalled for the bill, Sidney Reilly was our best spy in 1920’s post revolution Russia. In 1925 he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and given only a few months to live. He went back to Russia, knowing that he had been betrayed and would be arrested. Under torture, he disclosed two very secret pieces of information, both completely false. He screwed up the Reds for years.

*******

Rose sat thinking and wondered about the significance of what she had read and if it was true.

David Hopkins was someone who’d been working in the intelligence world at the same time as herself in the 1960’s, although their paths had never crossed. His biography was well thumbed; Rose had read it twenty times at least. Her problem wasn’t understanding what was written, it was the enormous implications of the words that concerned her. She couldn’t help thinking could this have been the secret to which Iris had referred?

At two o’clock in the morning she realized that there was no alternative but to question the person concerned to find out what he really meant, assuming that his biographer had got it right.

David Hopkins had once been employed by MI6 but had left the service many years before; Rose’s problem was how to find him without involving the service. She was sure they would ask too many questions: questions to which she had no answers. They’d almost certainly refuse to give her the information she wanted anyway. Rose had kept her security clearance since retiring and, because she took on part time tasks on an ad hoc basis, she still had access to most of the files within the Intelligence world of MI5 and MI6. But her interest in pages seventy-eight and seventy-nine of Hopkins’ biography would soon become known, and, if what was written was true, then many ghosts from the past might re-appear that would be better forgotten.

Hopkins’ address in Ealing when he worked for MI6 was given in the biography, but it was more than likely that he’d left that address many years ago. The name of Hopkins’ landlord was also given in the book. She thought that it might be worth trying to contact them; they might know his current address. She checked in the London telephone directory but that was no use; there were no Forsythes listed in Ealing. Her last hope was to call at 35 Chatsworth Gardens, hoping that the occupants might know the present whereabouts of the Forsythes. Rose realized that the obvious solution was to visit her younger sister who lived in Hammersmith and then make the short journey on the District line to Ealing Common.

*******

It was a damp, dreary afternoon when Rose found number 35 Chatsworth Gardens. She gingerly rang the doorbell; it was a bit of a wild goose chase hoping that someone would know the whereabouts of the occupants from thirty years before. A young woman holding a small baby and expecting another answered the door. Rose smiled at her, I’m sorry to trouble you and I know it’s a silly question; I’m trying to find a Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe who lived here in the 1960s.

The young woman thought for a moment. I’m sorry, I can’t help you, but I know someone who might be able to help. Mr. Forsythe’s mother used to live across the road. She passed away a year or so ago, but the lady next door at forty-two might know where they are now. 

An hour later, Rose was back in Hammersmith, having spoken to Marian Forsythe on the phone. Rose had been told that Mrs. Forsythe had kept in touch with David Hopkins ever since he’d left Chatsworth Gardens. Rose now had both his address in Wilmslow and his telephone number. She assumed that he would still be at work and waited until that evening to make the call.

*******

A lady’s voice answered the phone, "Is that Mrs.

Hopkins? May I speak to your husband if he’s there?"

I’m sorry, this is Marie-Helene. Mum’s in but Dad won’t be back home until seven.

It’s not urgent, would you tell him that a Miss Armstrong will call him later. It’s about his biography that was published some time ago.

If you give me your number I’ll get him to call you back as soon as he’s finished dinner.

At just on eight the phone rang, Is that Miss Armstrong? My daughter gave me your message. I must say, I’m intrigued as to why anyone would want to talk about that book; it’s a long time ago. How did you find me?

Mr. Hopkins, I used to work for MI6 until I retired. In fact, we were both working for them at the same time, though you would never have heard of me as I was based overseas all through the 1960s. I’ve been asked if I could write a history of the Collis Merchant Bank and its involvement in MI6 affairs. In your biography it’s clear that you knew Colonel Collis and his protégé Giles Morris quite well. I don’t want to ask questions over the phone; could you spare me an hour or so if I come up to Wilmslow to see you?

Yes, of course. But rather than have you come all the way out here; if you can come on Saturday, Nicole and I will go into Manchester in the morning to do some shopping, then we can meet in the lounge of the Midland Hotel and have a chat there.

Thank you, I’ll try to get there around midday. I’ll wait for you at the Midland. Look for a white haired old lady wearing a blue tweed suit and carrying a battered briefcase.

Chapter 2

Rose sat in the lounge of the Midland Hotel, facing the door and wondering if David Hopkins and his French wife would be obvious when they arrived.

At quarter to two a middle-aged couple entered the lounge and looked around. As Rose saw them it was obvious who they were. ‘If that outfit hasn’t been bought in Paris I’m a Dutchman,’ she thought. David Hopkins looked across the room, saw Rose and waved. He was tall, with greying hair and what looked like an outdoor rosy complexion. His wife was totally French chic and several others in the Midland turned to look at her.

He introduced himself and then his wife, Nicole, continuing, Miss Armstrong, I hope you’re not going to be disappointed. You’ve come a long way and I can’t think that I can add much to what appeared in the book.

Don’t worry, and please call me Rose. When you get to my age it’s so nice to be able to talk about the old days; so many of my colleagues in MI6 and the Foreign Office have left and drifted away to retirement in far flung places.

Well, let’s have a pot of coffee while we chat about the old days. You mentioned the Collis Bank, what did they do that’s worth writing a book about? Nicole, could you please order some coffee while Rose and I chat?

Rose smoothed her skirt. "The Collis Bank to the outside world was an independent merchant bank. However, although it functioned as a normal merchant bank, it was also a source of finance for many covert operations carried out by British intelligence, and through its network of associated banks, it was able to shuffle MI6 funds around the world without anyone knowing."

David frowned. I’m not sure I understand; was it because some operations were illegal?

No, not illegal, but you should realise that the secret service budget is a considerable sum of money. It’s controlled according to strict accounting procedures; there have to be budgetary controls and all the internal accounts are audited by the Treasury. They aren’t allowed to state, for example, that project X cost five million pounds, or operation Y has cost four million to date. In every case the expense has to be justified. All the financial people who are involved will have security clearance, but the problem is that the more people that know a secret, the more likely it is to get out. It’s not a question of spying, the information gets leaked inadvertently.

"So, what did the Collis bank have to do with it?

How were they involved with MI6?"

If an operation was so secret that maybe only the Prime Minister or chairman of JIC, the Joint Intelligence Committee, or the Foreign Secretary knew about it, then all the funding would go through the Collis Bank. No one in accounts or Treasury would ever know anything about it.

David sat back as Nicole returned and sat down. Coffee and biscuits are on their way.

Rose smiled at her and continued, Most of your contact was with Giles Morris and you used to meet him at Colonel Collis’ flat. In your opinion what was their relationship?

I don’t think that there was any special relationship, it appeared to be a simple sharing of a large apartment. Having said that, it wasn’t what most people would think of as an apartment; inside it really was more like a mansion in size and opulence.

You said that Giles was illegitimate, could Colonel Collis have been his father?

I don’t think so, though it did cross my mind that he may have known Giles’ father.

In the biography you implied that Churchill might have been his father, was that possible?

David frowned, "In the book we were careful not to imply that. I reported the visit to Westminster Hall exactly as it happened; I sometimes wish that I’d asked Giles that night, but in hindsight it was probably better that I didn’t."

Do you think there was any relationship? Rose asked.

Yes, for a number of reasons. I saw the resemblance that night at Westminster Hall and, since then, I’ve seen a photograph showing Giles after the state funeral, leaving St.Paul’s at the same time as the Duke of Kent and Crown Prince Haakon of Norway.

Rose nodded and sipped thoughtfully at her coffee. In your book you say that Giles went to Dartmouth. If Giles was an orphan or illegitimate, then someone with clout got him into Dartmouth Naval College and paid his fees.

was?"

Nicole asked, "Why is it important who his father

Rose smiled at her. "You’re absolutely right, my dear,

it has no relevance to my research at all. However, if

Colonel Collis was a friend of Churchill’s, then - given Churchill’s great interest in intelligence affairs between the wars - he may have been involved in setting up the Collis Bank masquerade."

The conversation about Giles and the Colonel continued and they discussed the details of Giles’ social life. After another hour, as the conversation was coming to a close, Rose said, It was interesting when Giles introduced you to Peter Wright; in the biography you said that Giles explained that Peter Wright’s book was part of a deception scheme.

David raised his voice, The account in the biography was again meticulously accurate. I never received any confirmation of that and I only saw Peter occasionally after that.

When was that?

We passed once or twice in Whitehall and he only said, ‘Good morning, David’. I never saw him again.

Do you think it was Peter Wright that you met?

I think so, yes, definitely. When the Spycatcher scandal erupted I never connected it with what Giles had told me. The Spycatcher affair was almost twenty years later. However, some years afterwards, Nicole bought a copy for me, and the photograph on the back cover certainly looked like the man Giles had introduced me to in the Italian restaurant.

David, in your biography, you are certain that those words that you attributed to Giles Morris were accurate?

Yes absolutely! I asked Giles about the deception a few months later; he passed it off lightly, it was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss it. Maybe he shouldn’t have told me about it in the first place.

He never gave you any indication what the deception was?

No!

Ah, well, it doesn’t matter; it’s not that relevant to the bank’s history.

They all stood up as it was time for Rose to get to Piccadilly station for her return to London. Rose thanked them for meeting her. You know David, I worked behind the Iron Curtain for several years, but I never had the excitement that you had. I really enjoyed your biography.

Thank you, Rose; will I get a copy of your book when it’s finished?

Of course, I’ll sign it for you.

Chapter 3

On the way back to London, Rose thought about the meeting with David Hopkins; he’d come across as a totally sincere and truthful witness. The more she’d heard, the more she’d been convinced. Giles Morris had been a relatively junior operative in MI6, and, even if he had been a relative of Churchill, she doubted if he would have been involved in such a deception. The decider was Colonel Collis; if the deception had been so important and so secret that it had not come to light after several internal investigations, Collis had to be the financier behind it.

The question was; did the highly secret deception, now twenty or more years old, have any relevance whatsoever today? In which case, why had nothing ever emerged? Rose thought that it was sufficiently intriguing to merit a little digging in the files, but before the files she needed to read Spycatcher all over again. This time it would be different, however. She would make the assumption that David Hopkins was right, that the book was all part of a monumental deception. She pulled the book out of her bag and started to refresh her memory.

When Rose had finished reading it, the book had almost more red ink than black. She now converted the red ink to her final analysis:-

The book purported to show that Roger Hollis, head of MI5, was a double agent; however the conclusions were indefinite. There was no proof that Hollis was a Russian agent, but plenty of suspicion that he was. So, who was this deceiving? The more Rose thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. If he was a spy he would have been more important to the Russians than any earlier spies such as Philby or Blake. Hollis knew everything, but there had been no Red reaction to any leaks of really important information that had occurred, that could be attributed to Hollis.

If Hollis had only leaked trivia, then the Reds would have automatically assumed that he was only pretending to be a Russian spy. Spycatcher would have done nothing to reassure the opposition that he was on their side.

Secondly, if it was a deception and financed by the Collis Bank, then Roger Hollis would have known all about it, and probably approved it. So, what was the deception now? In Spycatcher, other members of MI5 were suspected; was this to show the Reds that MI5 only suspected Hollis and no one else? Was it to show that their man was in the clear; alternatively had the service turned the Russian spy into a double agent and wanted to show the Reds that he was genuine?

If that were the case, and it was a repetition of the World War Two double cross plot, the XX deception scheme, there would have been a mini organization sorting and approving the true information that could be released, and dreaming up the false information that was plausible but misleading.

Bearing this in mind, Rose thought that it was surprising she’d seen no relevant files, but maybe she hadn’t looked in the right place. She would have to return to her beloved archives without letting anyone know or suspect what she was really seeking.

Another theory then crossed her mind. What if Roger Hollis or one of the other senior members of MI5 suspected that one of their colleagues was a weak link or flirting with the opposition? Was the Spycatcher affair nothing more than an exercise to scare them from straying?

The possibilities seemed endless, but her thinking stopped as they pulled into Euston station.

Chapter 4

Four weeks later, the rumours started to fly around MI5 and MI6: Rose Armstrong, the greatly loved and respected recently retired head of Archives, had returned - unpaid - to check the classification and indexing of files that she herself had archived twenty years before. She was as lovable as always, but the theory was that a combination of Alzheimers and dementia had resulted in her going potty. However, as she was harmless, no one seemed to mind, or - at least – no one had the courage to tell her to stay at home.

A further two weeks passed and, with no results or even minor indications, Rose had to admit failure. As she sat in the archive reading room she realized that there was a possibility that her analytical brain wasn’t as acute as it used to be. She needed a younger brain to make up for her apparent deficiencies. There was only one person she could turn to and that was Ann Cameron-Barron. Another Oxford brain, even if she was St Hilda’s and not Somerville.

*******

Anthony Barron answered the phone, Good Lord, Rose, it seems ages since we heard from you, how are you keeping? Still enjoying the peace and tranquillity of Hampton Lucy? Hold on, I’ll fetch Ann for you. He turned towards his wife. Ann, it’s your Aunt Rose, she’d like a quick word with you.

Ann’s eyes lit up. Although she was no relation, Ann loved Rose Armstrong; Aunt Rose and she had been through some exciting times together in the past.

Hi, Rose, it’s lovely to hear from you. How's life in Hampton Lucy?

I haven’t been there very much recently; I’ve been staying with my sister in Hammersmith.

Oh, is she poorly? Is that where you’re calling from?

I’m using the payphone just outside the archives reading room at the office.

Bloody hell, Rose, what are doing there, don’t you ever quit? You’re supposed to be retired.

But Rose simply ignored her and Ann smiled as she imagined her waving away the question impatiently. Ann, I’ve got a problem and I can’t sort it out by myself, can I come and discuss it with you?

It would be nice to see Rose again. Of course, when do you want to come?

Now.

Ann blinked and looked at her watch. Rose, it’s nine o’clock, don’t you think you should be getting home to Hammersmith?

I was hoping after our discussion that I could stay the night with you. Do you still have that lovely spare room?

Of course, come right over; don’t take the tube get a taxi. We’ll expect you soonest. Rose hung up without saying goodbye and Ann turned to her husband. Anthony…

Don’t tell me, I heard most of that. I’ll turn up the rad in the spare room.

Twenty-five minutes later Rose arrived in Pimlico. Ann smiled when she realized that Rose was still wearing the same tatty old cardigan she was wearing five years ago. She gave Rose a big hug. It’s great to see you again. You’re looking well, country air must suit you.

Anthony came over and gave Rose a kiss on the cheek. When did you last eat?

Lunch time. I’ll be alright, thank you.

He led her over to a comfy chair. Not in this house you’re not, how about me making you an omelette with ham and mushroom? Or I can knock up a risotto of something if you prefer.

Rose gave Anthony a big smile, An omelette would be great, Anthony, thank you; particularly if it comes with a glass of red wine.

OK, an omelette it is. While I make it, you and Ann can save the world. Though remember, neither of you are on active service anymore.

*******

White or red?

You shouldn’t need to ask that, Ann; red, please.

Ann poured two glasses of Amarone. OK, Rose, I recognize the symptoms; something from your past has reared its head again. What’s the problem this time?

"Did you ever read the biography of David Hopkins?

It was called ‘A Russian Rendezvous’."

Ann shook her head, frowning. The name doesn’t mean anything to me, who was he?

It goes back a long time, to your Grandfather’s time. David Hopkins was a courier working for Giles Morris in MI6; Morris also worked with your grandfather at the Collis Bank. At the time, Hopkins became famous because he and some people from the Washington Post orchestrated the escape of Alexei Petrov from Russia to France.

I remember hearing something about that. Did he work for MI6 then?

No, he was employed on an ad hoc basis. Your grandfather wanted him to work for the bank and Sir Peter Lupton wanted him to join MI6, but Hopkins had a good career in industry and didn’t want to give it up.

Ann refilled their glasses. So why has this suddenly become important?

I’ve only recently read his biography. I’ve brought my copy for you to read, but I want it back. You’ll see that on pages seventy-eight and seventy-nine he states that the Spycatcher affair was a charade of disinformation, but gives no more details. In the book it states that Giles Morris alleged that Peter Wright was writing a book about his time in MI5, and that it would contain some quite secret information and that he would be prosecuted under the Official Secrets Act. David Hopkins asked why, in that case, would they let him write it.

Ann opened her mouth to ask a question, but Rose continued, Apparently Morris explained that if they prosecuted him then people would think that the information was true - especially the Reds.

Ann nodded thoughtfully. I see.

When Hopkins asked if it was true, Morris told him that it wasn’t and that the important stuff was a complete fabrication.

Ann leaned back on her chair. So, how do you propose to confirm this?

Rose sighed, It isn’t going to be easy. A week or two ago I went up to Manchester and spent the afternoon discussing this affair with David Hopkins; I’m convinced that the book is an accurate report of what was said.

So who told him? And how did he know about it if it was so secret?

"He was told about it by Giles Morris. Morris worked in MI6 but not at a senior level. The important thing is that he was a sub-tenant of part of your grandfather’s apartment in Westminster and a close friend of your