The Further Adventures Of Donaldson's Company

By HUGH LUPUS

Help and revenge.

They had always come at a price.

But redemption?

Redemption has a cost of its own.

Donaldson's men have been asked to enter the heart of Stalin's Russia to rescue an imprisoned scientist and afterwards a grieving mother gives them a chance to gain what has long escaped them…..redemption.

The stunning sequel to 'Mr. Donaldson's Company'

• Language: English
• Publisher: APS Books
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224224579

Book preview

RESCUE

I

Two days after the Penderecki wedding Donaldson’s liver was still sending accusatory stabs of pain to throbbing temples and Herbert Hewson was apparently not the man to help.

‘I represent the Handley Page company, Mr Donaldson, we, that is the company understand that your company undertakes.......’

The man’s voice trailed off while he sought the right words which Donaldson supplied.

‘International Removals supply discrete and confidential services to groups and individuals.’

The words were bland enough, but brought a smile of relief to Hewson’s face.

‘Yes, discrete and confidential are of the utmost importance to my employers and it is one particular service that we wish to use.’

There was a pause and Donaldson wondered if the man would get to the point and so allow soothing fingers to press against throbbing temples.

‘We, that is the company have heard that on occasion you have been known to extract individuals and deliver them to, ah shall we say interested parties’?

‘It is a service we provide, Mr Hewson, provided certain conditions are met. Do you have a particular individual in mind’?

‘Ah yes, yes, we do.’

Again, there was that annoying pause and Donaldson continued with a smile which told of eternal patience and perhaps the smile removed any inhibitions Hewson had, for he took a deep breath and began to speak.

‘Perhaps it would be as well to give some background information, Mr Donaldson.

Handley Page has been designing and building aircraft since 1909 and made a significant contributions to victory in both wars, however since the end of the war there has been a contraction in aircraft construction and His Majesty’s Government is of the opinion that in the name of efficiency the various aircraft companies need to be amalgamated into larger entities.

The board of Handley Page is opposed to such a move, believing that remaining independent best serves the interest of the nation and its own shareholders.

Further to that end it has taken over several smaller companies with innovative designs, but insufficient capital to pursue those designs. Handley Page will assume those designs for itself.’

‘Thus, forcing the government to deal with your company as an individual.’

‘Exactly Mr Donaldson, exactly, and the board recognises that these special projects will require a very special man to head them and have already selected a candidate that they believe has the required qualities.’

‘And what has that to do with International Removals Mr Hewson’?

Donaldson received the beaming smile of someone granting a great favour and great secret.

‘I’m glad you asked that question Mr Donaldson because our candidate is at present a prisoner of the Soviet Union’!

II

Herbert Hewson was more than a little frightened.

The office space had been turned into something resembling a schoolroom, with him taking the part of schoolteacher, but no teacher had ever had such pupils.

A tall man approaching middle age with a military moustache and an air of utter competence.

A man in his twenties whose face was disfigured with a savage scar.

A huge man with blank eyes who moved with surprising grace for all his bulk.

A smaller man with an idiots smile but with clever eyes.

Another who obviously viewed him as prey that could be taken at leisure.

A dozen men...... all obvious criminals.

And Donaldson.

Donaldson, for all his pleasant smile and politeness frightened him the most.

There was something about the man that reminded him of a caged tiger; the tiger was perfectly harmless behind iron bars, but break those bars, open that cage, and blood would flow.

A dozen days had passed since his first interview with Donaldson and in those days it was obvious that International Removals had come to a decision, and he hoped that they had made it in his favour because it had been made very plain that his future with Handley Page depended on a successful outcome today.

So, Hewson was frightened.

His career, his whole life depended on a group of people who looked as if they were all capable of taking his life without a second thought......after removing his watch and wallet of course.

Donaldson had been leaning with folded arms against a wall but now launched himself upright and walked over to a blackboard only partially cleaned, which now had pinned to it photographs and maps.

‘Mr Hewson I am informed that your cheque has now cleared and that we may now proceed. Perhaps you would like to tell us a little about our target and why he is so important to your company.’

Donaldson’s smile did nothing to calm Hewson, but he had no choice but to obey and pointed to a photograph of a bespectacled man in his late forties with a shock of unruly hair.

‘Siegfried Günter, was the head of Heinkel’s project and design department. It would not be an exaggeration to call him a genius, and as an innovative designer he has few peers.’

That aspect apart, the man is exceptionally good at bringing the best out of his teams. Even in the chaos of the end of the war his department was still producing designs and prototypes which had they been mass produced would have been very effective.

It is for this reason that the board of Handley Page has decided to seek him out. If successfully retrieved, he will take up a similar position to the one he held at Heinkel and with a good deal of autonomy. Handley Page is determined to have a range of products superior to any rivals, thus ensuring its survival as an independent company.’

He tried not to make eye contact with any of the men, but still make his point.

‘All that you Gentlemen need to do is retrieve him and deliver him to us.’

‘Sae whaur th’ fook is he, 'n' howfur did he end up wi' th' Russians?’

The casual use of profanity shook Hewson, but as the questioner was the scar faced man who looked as if he was intimately acquainted with violence he did not object but managed to force a wry smile onto his lips.

‘Professor Günter was in Berlin at the end of the war and when the Americans had liberated the city, he offered his services to them. After some initial interest they declined his offer.

He then decided to use his pre-war contacts with our design office to see if some agreement could be made with us.

Berlin was still in chaos so it was arranged that he would meet in British occupied Vienna with our representatives.

Alas he never made the meeting and we later found out that Soviet agents had kidnapped him and took him to Russia where he resides to this day.’

He gave a small shrug, which he hoped would indicate a lack of fear which he certainly did not feel.

‘Our latest information has him here.’

He pointed to a large-scale map equipped with a red dot.

‘Factory number 23, some ten miles north of Leningrad.

Do not let the name deceive you, Russian symbology is very different to ours.

Factory 23 is more of a teaching and research site with a limited production capability, enough to produce prototypes and wind tunnel models’.

He gave a second shrug.

‘I imagine that the Russians keep him under close watch but provide him with every resource. He has a wife and family still living in Germany and is in regular contact with them.

We know nothing of his itinerary or where he presently lives.

Now my question is this, can this organisation extract Professor Günter’?

There was an exchange of glances around the room which Donaldson turned into words.

‘I believe we can try; we have some ideas.’

A thoughtful look crossed his face.

‘I believe you said that you spoke Russian’?

A renewed surge of fear ran through Hewson as he heard the question.

‘A little, enough to get by perhaps.’

His answer was rewarded by a terrible smile.

‘Good, because we, Mr Hewson are going to Russia, and you are coming with us’!

Hewson realised that he was right.

Donaldson was giving him the politest smile he had ever seen.

And it was the smile of a tiger.

III

‘A'm thinking ‘tis time tae turn Communist.’

McVite had turned a movie star smile on puzzled faces and began to explain in a soft and soothing voice that had parted many a grieving widow from her inheritance.

‘We'll nae donder intae Russia wi' na mair than a 'bye yer leave'.

No, we'll need an invitation, and howfur dae we git yin o' those’?

The smile brightened.

‘Why we jyne up o' coorse’!

The idea did not go down well with Colour Sergeant McFarlane.

‘Ye wantae jyne that pack o' bawbags? Sit in a back room 'n' pass resolutions’?

He gave an expression of disgust.

‘Awa' man 'n' bile yer heid’!

Donaldson supressed a grin. McFarlane had little sympathy for a group which promoted the violent overthrow of established order in defence of the downtrodden. McFarlane had risen from poverty by his own efforts and saw no reason why others could not.

He was not alone in his views and the rest of the group gave confirming nods. Criminals they no doubt were, but all had risen as individuals and used the established order for profit....and revolution would hurt those profits.

As a group they were more likely to join the Scottish Unionist Party than the Communists, but McVite did not let their disapproval deter him.

‘Ah didnae say become a Communist, ah said jyne thaim. Me 'n' Razors we’ve bin thinking.’

Donaldson was now interested. He had been about to recommend that Hewson’s money be returned to him, as he could see no way of achieving what the man wanted.

Their target was in Russia and Russia was drawing a steel barrier around itself and around its newly conquered lands, turning itself from past ally and into future enemy.

What Hewson had asked was impossible, but if McVite and Razors had some thought of a plan then he was prepared to listen, and an outstretched hand gave permission to continue.

'Aye, weel, we thought tae jyne yin o' thaim Communist meetings, they'd be glad tae see us, richt enough. Juist me 'n' Razors o’ coorse' t’ begin with.

‘N' then Hewson,’ added Razors, ‘we’ll bring him alang 'n' introduce him, see if thay wull tak' th' bait'.

Donaldson saw a flaw in the plan. Hewson was an educated man, spoke and dressed like one, and was no more likely to associate with McVite and Razors than a King with a pair of dustmen.

He spoke of his objections and Razors grinned, the effort pulling his scarred face into a strange grimace.

'Oh we’ve thought o' that, 'n' thir's ainlie yin reason how come a man lik' that wid be wi' us'.

Razors grin grew bigger, and the grimace grew even deeper.

‘We dae nae think Mr Hewson wull lik' th' idea ower much, bit aye we’ve thought o' that'.

Donaldson heard Razors explanation and then began to laugh.

Razors was right. Unless he missed his guess Hewson would not like the idea.

Not at all.

Donaldson’s tiger smile was terrifying and then vanished like a conjurer’s trick as he explained just how International Removals intended to get him to Russia and the realisation of just what was being asked of him.

‘But I’m married’!

McVite’s smile was no less tiger like than Donaldson’s.

'So am ah, eight, na, nine times now'.

Hewson’s expression changed from one of appalled shock to one of bewilderment and Donaldson took pity on him.

‘McVite, tell Mr Hewson what you do when you are not working for us.’

McVite’s smile turned into a lecherous smirk.

‘Ah fin' rich auld widows 'n' ah romance thaim sae thay dinnae ken up fae doon. Ah mairie thaim, tak' a' thair dosh 'n' then disappear lik' a puff o' smoke.’

‘McVite is what is known as a widow farmer,’ explained Donaldson, ‘rather a good one from what I’ve been told.’

His voice turned hard.

‘These men, with the exception of Colour Sergeant McFarlane are all criminals of one type or another. Is that not why you sought us out Mr Hewson? You thought that our approach to your problem would pay dividends much sooner than more official channels’?

Hewson was trapped by his own words but thought of a last defence.

‘What if we are caught? My wife would leave me, and people would turn against me! What you ask is against the law, there are rules, Mr Donaldson, rules and penalties’!

An unsympathetic laugh rolled round the room. Hewson’s audience consisted of criminals who considered the penalties of law as no more than an occupational hazard and his fears unjustified.

A man saw what he wanted and if the law stood in the way, then the law was best avoided or ignored altogether.

Donaldson did not join in the laughter but waited until it died away.

‘As I said, Mr Hewson, our approach to your problem is perhaps unusual,’ he paused and the tigers smile returned with cold warmth, ‘but it does require your close cooperation......your very close cooperation.’

There was a last defence which Hewson knew Donaldson would beat down.

‘But I’m not that way inclined! I would never even think of acting that way’!

Donaldson sighed, seeing the confusion on Hewson’s face but knowing that an emissary of Handley Page was needed to personally convince the German scientist that he had a place to run to, and there was only one way to get that emissary into Russia.

He lent against his desk and used his fingers one by one to show his reasoning.

‘Firstly, you have a Russian grandmother who taught you passable Russian.

Secondly, you were personally selected by the board of Handley Page which means you have some knowledge of present and future projects. You are no common messenger Mr Hewson.

Thirdly, the Russian factory where Professor Günter is being held is the exact counterpart of Handley Page’s own project and design department. The Russians would give a great deal to know what goes on within those walls and would like to know as soon as possible.’

Donaldson’s fingers were laid to rest.

‘In short you would be a valuable asset to the Russians if they could control you, and a man of shall we say unfortunate tendencies who has already expressed an interest in Communism is a prize ripe for the plucking.

We shall ensure that you are in a position to be plucked.’

There was a short sardonic laugh from McVite followed by a vulgar wink which caused Hewson to shudder and McFarlane to kill the laugh with a fierce glare and then try to put a little gentle persuasion in a voice more suited to back streets and parade grounds.

'It's known as th' 'rough trade' Mr Hewson,’ he said. ‘Thir's mony a poor laddie pat food in his belly by sellin’ whit God gave him tae they wi' dosh tae spare. A've seen enough o' it in mah time. Some gie it up whin times improve......some don't an’ fin' it easy dosh.

Tis th' ainlie reason a man o’ guid breedin’ lik' yersel' wid associate wi' a bawbag lik' McVite 'ere.’

McVite preened oiled black hair and gave Hewson a smile which seemed genuine, but which Donaldson knew to be entirely false.

‘Dinnae fash yerself Mr Hewson. Ah ken a few lads in that trade 'n' ah picked up a few hints. It wull be na bother at a'. Tis na mair than ah dae noo, bit switched aroond a wee bit.’

The hair was preened again and McVite gave what he thought was a most convincing argument as to why Hewson’s virtue was unassailable.

‘Besides, I’ve an auld lassie oan th' bile at th' moment 'n' I’m nae t’ be spoiling masell, fur she's worth five thousand if she's worth a penny.’

‘We don’t ask you to do anything against your will or against your nature but only act as if it was,’ added Donaldson, ‘think of yourself as an actor in a play with McVite here as the love interest and Corporal Frazer as the evil heavy complete with black hat.

Our hope is that the Russians will get wind of your involvement and offer you an all-expenses paid trip to see your counterpart, naturally you will insist on your two......ah......companions accompanying you.

After that you will just have to play it by ear, but I assure you that Corporal Frazier and Private McVite are both men of courage and resource, and more than capable of taking the initiative when the moment presents itself.’

Should you wish to decline our plan then International Removals will of course return your check......minus of course deductions for certain sundry expenses.’

The tiger’s smile had returned, and Hewson knew he was trapped. The board had promised him a bright future if he was successful, but the dark side of that coin was that failure would be a career forever blocked.

He had thought to be no more than a facilitator, a mere carrier of messages and cheques who would receive from these men a trembling and grateful Professor Günter and reap the rewards of their risks.

There was no thought in his mind of actually taking part in such a rescue, still less playing the part of a man of questionable sexual attitudes.

Both thoughts filled him with horror.

And yet.

There was another train of thought which told that the board had rightly seen that he was an ambitious man.

The thought of that ambition watching from dusty exile the great advances which the Company promised was not a future to be greeted with joy.

He stared around the room and realised that he was in some sense wrong. He had thought that Donaldson alone was a tiger, but that was wrong.

The men in this room were all tigers.... every single last one, and one and all they stared at him with lambent yellow eyes and cool indifference.

It mattered not to them if he offered his neck up to the slaughter, for the jungle was filled with many other victims and they would walk away on silent pads if he so chose....and choose he must.

Ambition and fear stood before him, each pleading different causes and urging different paths.

‘Are you sure that I won’t be asked to actually.......that is I won’t have to......’?

Surprisingly Donaldson’s face now looked perfectly normal and held not a hint of feline savagery, and though Hewson did not know it, the man respected the turmoil his offer had generated and the courage that must be summoned to face that offer.

‘The appearance only,’ he promised, ‘the most you will suffer is a sultry look from McVite or a growl from Corporal Frazer. An actor Mr Hewson, you will be no more than an actor, leave the direction to us.’

Though he could not see it, inside of Hewson’s mind, ambition turned on fear and punched it in the face, leaving Hewson to give a crooked smile and hold out a faltering hand.

Hewson was going to Russia.

IV

‘Gin.’

McVite was cheating, of that Hewson was certain. Just what method he was using was unknown, but cheating he most certainly was.

He passed over the copper coins which he had wagered, and the widow farmer took them with a triumphant grin and shuffled the cards once more.

‘Anither round’?

Hewson did not answer but rose from his chair and began to pace the room.

'Keep wey fae th' windae, warned McVite, ‘mind yer suppose tae be naked.’

There was no humour in the Scotsman’s words for they were true, and he altered course to avoid a soot-stained window which gave no view at all.

Two months had gone by since he agreed to join this mad scheme, two months of constant travel back and forth to Glasgow while McVite and Razors joined a particularly moribund Communist group under false names and identities crafted under the careful hand of Fleming.

Two months where there was nothing to do but drink with McVite in public houses that catered to a clientele that had its own laws and its own customs.

Two months where he played the part of a man at war with himself and afraid to show his true identity, and now he was trapped in a hotel room with an overly handsome man who was playing the part of a lover bought and paid for.

‘Sit yersel' doon.’ 

A great sigh greeted McVite’s words and Hewson ceased his pacing, sat down once more and pointed to the well- worn deck.

‘Deal.’

Hewson was bored and a little anxious. It wasn’t because McVite was not an entertaining companion because much to his surprise the man was knowledgeable about a range of subjects.

‘Ahm nae juist a bonny face Mr Hewson,’ he had explained. ‘In mah line o' wirk that wull ainlie tak' ye sae far. Ah hae tae entertain 'n' shaw interest in whitevur mah auld girls hae taken an interest in. A quick cop in th' back o' a taxi is a' weel 'n' guid bit ah hae tae engage thair minds as weel.’

McVite had apparently led a most interesting life. After being seduced by a widowed schoolteacher he had left school at thirteen and been employed as a drapers assistant and artists model.

But his greatest love was learning, for the schoolteacher as well as inducting him into the carnal arts had gifted him a hunger for knowledge which had never left him.

Hewson had found himself being lectured on subjects as diverse as modern politics to marine biology and much to his surprise had found himself being educated by a man who he had first thought to be no more than a common criminal.

Intrigued, he had made tentative offers that would see McVite gainfully employed by one of Handley Page’s Scottish subsidiaries, only to be gently rebuffed.

McVite, it seemed had more money in the bank than Hewson would ever see in ten lifetimes, each Pound note lifted from the