Another Adventure for Des Pond, Special Agent

By Gordon S. Dickson

Sir Desmond Pond, now Head of MI6, London, feeling the need to get out from behind a desk, decides to investigate a threat from a rogue state himself.

A terrorist group is threatening to attack somewhere in England, but where?

Des Pond investigates, but will he be able to avert disaster?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035849901

Gordon S. Dickson

Gordon S. Dickson was born near Inverness, Scotland, but left at an early age when his family returned to Northern Ireland. He was educated at secondary and grammar schools, but scraped through English O Level, as essay writing was not his strength. He was employed in the Civil Service for several years but is now retired and has only recently taken up writing books. He enjoys reading several genres of books but mainly historical and detective novels, and a little gardening. Other books by this author are: Verdict Unknown Verdict Unknown, the Sequel The Sheriff of River Bend Des Pond, Special Agent (Comedy) The Wartime Adventures of Harry Harris (A Bartonshire Tale 1) An Impossible Quest (A Bartonshire Tale 2) The Life and Times of Victoria-Ann Penny The Heir… Apparently, and Ashes to Ashes (A Bartonshire tale 3) The Spanish Armada. What if it had all gone wrong? Detective Inspector Denison Stories. The Imposter & The Informers’ Murders.

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About the Author

Gordon S. Dickson was born near Inverness, Scotland, but left at an early age when his family returned to Northern Ireland. He was educated at secondary and grammar schools, but scraped through English O Level, as essay writing was not his strength. He was employed in the Civil Service for several years but is now retired and has only recently taken up writing books.

He enjoys reading several genres of books but mainly historical and detective novels, and a little gardening.

Other books by this author are:

Verdict Unknown

Verdict Unknown, the Sequel

The Sheriff of River Bend

Des Pond, Special Agent (Comedy)

The Wartime Adventures of Harry Harris (A Bartonshire Tale 1)

An Impossible Quest (A Bartonshire Tale 2)

The Life and Times of Victoria-Ann Penny

The Heir… Apparently, and Ashes to Ashes (A Bartonshire tale 3)

The Spanish Armada. What if it had all gone wrong?

Detective Inspector Denison Stories. The Imposter & The Informers’ Murders.

Copyright Information ©

Gordon S. Dickson 2024

The right of Gordon S. Dickson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

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Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035849895 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035849901 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

Bird Watching?

‘Hi, thank you for coming,’ said Sandra, who resumed looking through binoculars.

‘No problem, Sandra. Why the binoculars?’ Freddie Watson asked.

‘I’m a member of the BBWS.’ She chuckled.

‘The BBWS? What’s that when it’s at home?’ Freddie asked, looking puzzled.

‘The Burlington Bird Watching Society, that’s what.’ Sandra laughed.

‘How many members does this Burlington Bird Watching Society have?’ asked Freddie.

‘Only one, me!’ replied Sandra. ‘You can join too if you wish.’

‘Only one! So, you are chairman, erm, chairwoman, secretary and only member of said society! How does one join the Burlington Bird Watching Society, and how much does it cost, may one ask?’ He grinned. ‘And I can double the membership!’

‘Entrance fee is a kiss, right here,’ Sandra smiled mischievously and turned towards him, pointing at her right cheek.

‘Hmm, just as well I’m not married then, innit?’ Freddie kissed her proffered cheek.

‘You, Freddie Watson, are now an official paid up member, number two, of the Burlington Bird Watching Society. You get a week’s free membership, then the chairwoman will need another kiss. You’ll need to buy some binoculars, of course.’

‘Yeah, maybe. Mind if I borrow yours in the meantime? By the way, why are we meeting here in, erm, in this place? Not for the view that’s for sure; The East London Power Station and Council Landfill Site! Trespassers Prosecuted.’ He read from a notice board nearby.

‘Can’t be too careful, Freddie. Walls have ears. Know what I mean?’ Sandra replied. She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I always feel even our office is bugged by enemies.’

‘Hmm, they are scanned for hidden mics every day.’ He looked around. ‘No walls here, that’s for sure, with or without ears! No anything in fact, not even many birds, except seagulls on the landfill.’ Freddie grimaced. ‘Hate seagulls.’

The area consisted of sparse grass, reeds and sandy soil. A footpath of sorts meandered along the edge of the landfill and its fifteen-foot-high wire fence, topped with razor wire.

‘It’s a saying. What I mean is, we have to be careful. Oops.’ She glanced to her right. ‘There’s a man coming, talk about the weather.’ She resumed looking through the binoculars. Freddie looked perplexed.

‘It’s only some old bloke walking his dog, Sandra,’ Freddie replied with a shake of his head.

‘He could be a foreign agent checking on us. As I said, we can’t be too careful. It’s a dangerous world out there.’

‘Beautiful weather we’re having,’ said Freddie loudly, changing the subject as the dog-walker drew closer.

‘Could rain later, according to the forecast though,’ Sandra said, looking skyward.

‘Morning to you both,’ said the old man, doffing his cap. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes, it is,’ said Sandra. ‘Nice dog. What breed is he?’

‘She. A mixture.’ The old man chuckled. ‘Part West Highland terrier, her mother, other part, daddy, unknown—perhaps a corgi. At least, the prime suspect is the neighbour’s corgi.’

‘Oh, a lady dog. Hello, nice doggie.’ Sandra bent down and stroked the dog’s head. The dog wagged her tail. She was a brownish tan colour, with rough hair on the front half and smooth hair on the rear. The corgi part presumably.

‘She likes you,’ said the old man. ‘Watching the gulls? I used to do a little birdwatching myself. Do you know how many species of seagulls there are?’

Sandra replied, ‘Erm, actually I don’t, to be honest. I’ve just recently begun this hobby, Mr—?’

‘Smith, John Smith. Approximately sixty, species that is, around the world. Hard to imagine so many,’ the old man replied.

‘Wow! That’s amazing,’ Sandra replied.

‘And most of them around McDonald’s, guzzling fries.’ Freddie laughed.

‘Well, we must be on our way. Been nice meeting you,’ the old man added, doffing his cap again.

‘Yes, so nice meeting you, too,’ Sandra replied.

‘Yes, likewise,’ Freddie added. The old man wandered off along the path. ‘Does not look like a foreign agent to me,’ he said when the man was out of earshot.

‘What does a foreign agent look like?’ Sandra replied with a grin.

‘Hmm, good question,’ Freddie answered and smiled. ‘They don’t all wear dark glasses and grey overcoats. But he did have a slight accent, which he was trying to hide, I think. If he’s John Smith, I’m Elvis Presley, and I can’t sing.’

‘Doesn’t mean anything. He could have come here fifty years ago. Right, let’s get down to the problem,’ said Sandra.

‘Which is? I’m in the dark here.’ Freddie smiled mischievously.

‘The boss, C, Sir Desmond Pond, has information that a nest of foreign spies is working in this area, in London,’ said Sandra. ‘Have you met him?’

She was Agent Sandra Worth of MI6. Freddie Watson was also an agent. Sir Desmond Pond MBE was the chief of MI6, known as C, recently promoted.

‘Yes, I know him very well. Actually, I was his best man at his wedding. We are supposed to empty the nest of spies, I suppose,’ Freddie quipped.

‘Exactly. That is why we are here in this spot. No trees or buildings for said spies to hide in and record our conversation.’

‘Just what info does he have on these guys?’ asked Freddie. He had been working in North Africa and only recently returned to Britain.

‘Not a lot, to be frank. It’s mostly stuff gained from observation by our guys and informants. Informants cannot always be relied on, but in this case, what they have said ties in with what our guys have seen.’ Sandra looked around as if a spy might be creeping up on them.

‘Which is?’ asked Freddie, looking doubtful.

‘Well, to be frank, nothing substantial really. Our guys just have a gut feeling something is not right. Sabotage of that power station is a possibility because suspicious characters have been reported in the area. Sir Desmond thinks so too, and he is rarely wrong. So he keeps telling us anyway.’ Sandra chuckled.

‘Yeah, he got those Russian dissidents, the CLODHOPPER or CLOD, etc. gang, a few years ago, who were planning a takeover in the Kremlin. He pursued them halfway around the world. Ended up in New York where the whole gang was arrested. Mighty good work that,’ said Freddie.

Sandra said, ‘Yes, so here we are, and so it is up to us to root out the nest, or whatever you do with nests.’

‘Knock ’em out of the tree? Maybe Frank could help,’ Freddie replied and laughed. Sandra frowned. ‘So, where do we start? We cannot go knocking on doors asking if there are any foreign agents about.’ Freddie smiled.

‘Sammy the Snitch, a regular supplier of information, says a suspicious bloke hangs out in the Slug and Whistle pub in West Ham, in London. He meets some others there.’ Sandra looked around just in case a foreign agent might have appeared at any moment.

‘I know where West Ham is. Played some matches there when I was with Arsenal under eighteens. Before my leg got injured.’ Freddie still had a slight limp.

‘Well, what we have to do is see if we can spot this spy, follow him and nab the lot of them,’ said Sandra.

‘Hmm, seems easy enough when you put it that way,’ said Freddie.

‘Right, let’s adjourn this meeting and head for the Slug and Whistle. You’re paying.’ Sandra grinned.

‘As always. I am always the one that ends up paying. Des is the same. Muggins here always ends up paying. Must have MUG written on my forehead,’ Freddie grumbled.

She looked at his forehead. ‘Nope, no writing, so stop moaning.’ Sandra laughed and headed back towards the carpark.

***

When he was out of sight, the old man spoke in a foreign language into a mic in his sleeve, ‘You were right, comrade. MI6 has two agents in the area. She is no bird watcher, that’s for sure.’

‘Who are they, comrade?’ a man’s voice replied.

‘Agent Fred-er-ick Wats-on, I think it is pronounced, and Agent Sandra Vorth, if I am not mistaken,’ the old man replied.

‘That would be Sandra Worth. Follow them, comrade. See where they go. There is a car waiting for you in the nearby carpark. Comrade Vladimir is driving. Your targets are parked there, I’m informed.’

‘Yes, comrade.’ The old man, really Comrade Žarko Janović, a Pandamian agent, dumped his coat and cap in a waste bin and removed a wig and false nose. He released the dog and chased it.

‘Home, go home. Shoo.’ The dog looked at him for a second then ran off. Obviously, no treats were coming her way.

Her owners were relieved to see her arriving home. They feared she was gone forever.