Pinions Of Gold

ONE MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, LONDON, UK Jake Conley glared at his mobile with venom and a strong temptation to ignore the call. Well aware that it would come sooner or later to disturb his newly-wed bliss, he sighed and accepted the call from his boss, Sir Clive Cochrane. His reluctance was understandable, as previously, this kind of call had led him into situations where he’d been tortured and escaped death by a hair’s breadth. Encounters with demonic forces and supernatural entities had all taken place with Sir Clive, a senior civil servant, sitting in comfort behind his plush desk. Feeling little more than a chess piece in the hands of a superspy, Jake wondered whether he was a knight or a castle or nothing more than a pawn in the mind of AA, his boss. Taking a steadying breath, he answered the phone, “Good morning, sir. Do you have an assignment for me?” “As ever, you are direct and to the point, old chap. Why don’t you slip up to London and see what little treat I have in mind?” The false bonhomie snapped and he reverted to the mode Jake knew and feared so much, “My office 10.30 sharp, there’s a good fellow.” Before Jake could acquiesce, his chief added, “Ah, and bring the delightful Mrs Conley to the meeting. I’d be pleased to see my former receptionist again. I take it she’s well?” “Very well, thank you. Tomorrow then, goodbye.” The train journey to London into Euston from Warwick was swift but he and Alice spent it in speculation. What did AA want this time? The only ingredients that Jake could promise his wife, in his experience, were danger and mystery with the dosage heavily in favour of the former. Since they were both agents on standby in the pay of the British government, the call was inevitable. But that didn’t mean they should be happy about receiving it. As ever, Jake’s approach to the Ministry building was characterised by his mixed emotions: trepidation and curiosity. This was the first time he’d shared them with someone else and glancing at Alice out of the tail of his eye, he saw only the latter emotion. Fighting back the desire to warn her to be ready for extreme peril, he remembered that she too was an agent and had survived the trauma of his last case by a hair’s breadth. Smooth as ever, the lift bore them to the second floor, where the miracle of Sir Clive’s hearing played out once more. It intrigued Jake every time. How could the man hear his knock through the layered surfaces of the padded door? He had never heard ‘come in’ and always entered regardless. Did that account for the inevitable ironical smile that greeted him? “Ah, my dear fellow and splendid consort. Do be seated.” There followed the usual pleasantries before Sir Clive, duty done, broached the reason for their convocation. Circumspect as ever, he began, “Strictly speaking, neither of you is obliged to accept this job since it is a non-governmental matter. You will effectively remain on standby even if you do take it on. Should a government case arise, you will be expected to give that absolute priority. We should be quite clear. Do you follow?” Where, down the labyrinthine corridors of your mind! Thus, thought Jake but nodded and smiled, understanding the nothing he’d been given so far. “Good, as a private matter, in recompense, it should not put you in any danger…” That’ll be the day, crafty old sod. “…on the other hand, Conley, I suspect this is a matter that’s right up your street, as it were, dear boy, involving as it does an element of the inexplicable. Ghosts and all that stuff, so beloved of your very good self.” He paused and looked from one to the other with a smug expression on his pinched face, eyes as ever unsmiling and hard as slivers of ice. “Sir?” “I have an acquaintance, a nonagenarian, a hero in the Second World War. His son, John Robinson, is a barrister and a close friend of mine – a member of my club, in fact.” He would be. The long, manicured fingers across the desk from them fiddled with a visiting card, flipping it over and over. “John asked me to find someone who could set his father’s mind at rest regarding a long-standing mystery in the family. The old chappie still lives in Lincolnshire in rather grander circumstances than his forebears, by all accounts. Well, there it is. Jake Conley, psychic investigator, summoned to solve a centuries-old mystery once again.” This he said, with a certain amount of glee, his predatory smile chilled Jake who watched it change into a practised engaging one as his attention switched to Alice. “Now, as to your role, my dear gal, to keep your husband, how shall I put this? Well, he has, let’s say… something of a penchant… for landing himself in trouble. Your job is to baby-sit him.” He sniggered. “Sir!” Jake put as much feeling into the one respectful word as he would have into a familiar Anglo-Saxon expletive. It had effect. The Head of the Secret Service looked chastened and adopted a mellifluous tone, “Sorry, old man, no offence, but your lady wife’s unquestioned abilities should prove invaluable in helping you untangle this intriguing mystery. Two minds being better than one and all that. I foresee no danger. A meeting is arranged for tomorrow in the village of Tealby in Lincolnshire, a pleasant spot. They say the pub’s haunted—you’ll like it. That by the way, is not the ghost you’ll be dealing with. The appointment is at Robinson Senior’s house. He has a wonderful garden.” He pushed the visiting card across the green-leather-topped desk. “Sir John’s details. Give him a call. I expect he’ll have you picked up at Lincoln Railway Station. I think train is your best option. With the aplomb of a magician pulling a white rabbit out of a top hat, he produced a cardboard envelope from his desk drawer. “Your tickets, first-class, of course. Most efficient, Ms Brewster; she’s your successor in reception, my dear. Tomorrow morning at King’s Cross and thank you for taking on the case.” Bloody cheek, we haven’t accepted anything—and he knows it. Outside nearby, perched on a bench overlooking the Thames, Jake let go of Alice’s hand. “The damned cheek of the blighter. Not only does he foist a personal favour on us, he also insults me into the bargain. A b****y baby-sitter. It’s all right for him, sitting behind his desk, smarmy as you like, whilst I take all the risks.” “Except, he said this case involves no danger.” “Ooh, look.” Jake pointed downriver, “There goes another one.” “What?” “Can’t you see its wings? A flying pig.” She clutched his arm, laughing, “You don’t believe him then?” He shook his head. “I can say that Double-A has never given me a case that didn’t involve violence and death, but apart from that, they’ve been relaxing.” “Fool! But this one sounds intriguing.” “There’s nothing in it, just the ramblings of an old man. He’s over ninety, for heaven’s sake.” Alice frowned and considered, “But his son is one of Her Majesty's Counsel learned in the law. I don’t suppose he’d let the old fellow make a fool of himself.” Jake stared at a passing tourist sightseeing boat and pondered. Alice, as usual impressed him with her common sense. She was right to point out that Sir John Robinson QC hadn’t arrived at the top of his profession without being in possession of sound judgment.