UG2:Spying By Numbers Part 11 The Smythes

First posted here in 2014/5, this story had only been available on Kindle since 2017. The third & fourth books are also now out.
 

"I don't know how you manage it?"

"I did shift work for ten years, that's how."

"So I suppose that's why I'm tired all the time, only having worked nine 'til five?"

"Maybe, but why don't you tell the doctor? It could be early menopause?"

Heather snorted her railway tea. They were on their way back from Plymouth at the end of a heavy week, although it had been mostly in the classroom. Much of the time Heather was bored and half of what she was told did not seem to have any use in her work.

It hadn't helped when she had arrived on the first day in a long skirt and heels.

"How are you going to climb over a wall in that?"

"Easy, I'm not climbing over the wall, my lingerie is not going to be on show and I'd rather not damage one of my favourite skirts."

That caused a ripple of laughter, which stopped when the instructor turned his head towards the miscreants. Apart from Heather and Sophie, there were a dozen military personnel in a variety of Royal Naval uniforms. Heather was escorted to the stores and kitted out with a couple of pairs of combat trousers, which she was expected to wear for the rest of the week. Of course, kitten heels were not appropriate either, so a pair of lace-up walking boots were also issued, along with heavy socks to replace her stockings.

"I was joking about having to go yomping on Dartmoor!"

"That can be arranged, now do you need to powder your nose or fix your make-up?" He was being sarcastic, and Heather knew it.

"Not right now, but I reserve the right to do so later."

It was obvious this instructor was not going to give Heather an easy ride for the rest of the week. Fortunately he was only one of six, covering subjects such as surveillance, counter-surveillance, camouflage, stealth, communications and weapons.

"Now, you civvies won't be doing the weapons module of this course."

"Why not?" Heather was not going to sit there and be pushed around.

"You won't be allowed weapons."

"Oh, so our firearms licences aren't any good? Oh, I forgot, we also have weapons with us."

"How did you get through the gate with those?"

"Nobody asked. Now, I would love a workout on the range, it's been a few months."

The remarks about their weapons caused a security incident and verification of their licences. One of the group joined the dots and linked the pair to the incident on The Barbican, on the far side of the city, several weeks earlier. Fortunately no-one asked Devon and Cornwall Constabulary for assistance, the Royal Navy Police just needed to confirm the legal position with The Met.

Despite one instructor's apparent best efforts to break Heather, they had both passed the course. As a bonus Heather was offered a defensive driving course near Portsmouth, but that would first have to be agreed with Jenny.

Heather had tried to return the items of clothing and boots at the end of the week but had been told to keep them. That meant she had been travelling in fatigues since Monday evening, having also gained a matching jacket and blouses. A backpack was next to her, replacing her handbag. Anyone looking would have assumed she was military, although there was no obvious insignia denoting rank or unit.

Despite Sophie's claim to the contrary, she was also knackered by the end of the week. They had been out of the door before six every morning and not back until gone seven each evening, falling into bed sometime after ten each evening.

Saturday morning was a very slow affair but they needed to do some shopping before it was too late in the day. When the doorbell rang at ten thirty, before either had made it to the shower, Sophie was the nearest to the front door, albeit still in her nightie and a silk gown.

"Hello, I'm ...."

"Yes, my partner told me about you. I'm really tired having spent a week in Plymouth and we don't want to be involved in Neighbourhood Watch. Good day to you."

She closed the door heavily.

An hour later someone was again pressing the bell-push. Heather, now dressed, swung the door open to find a young Police Constable stood there.

"Hello Miss, I understand Colonel Smythe had a rough reception and I wonder if there's anything wrong?"

"Come in Constable, Sophie's just making coffee if you'd like a mug?"

"Thanks. Now, I hope I don't need to tell you that you ladies could be vulnerable here?"

"Please spare me the sexist dribble. You obviously know nothing about us?"

"Your names are on the Force Intelligence System but the records are locked so I'm none the wiser."

"So you looked us up? Naughty." Sophie walked in with a tray.

"For the past week you've been out of here before the sun was up and back after dark, wearing military clothing too."

"Is that a crime? Let me guess, the curtain twitchers are concerned we're up to something."

"I've had one or two enquiries."

"Sophie, how do we deal with this? Do we have video of them staring through the windows, looking for gaps in the curtains?"

"Probably, Heather, I haven't reviewed the past week's recordings yet."

"How many cameras do you have?" This was news to the Constable.

"Six I think, but you won't be able to find them. We value our security, you see."

The officer sipped his coffee, uncertain of what he might now achieve from the cautious pair.

"Maybe you could provide us with video evidence if there were any incidents in the street?"

"Perhaps but we don't want anyone to know about the cameras so making that kind of offer might adversely affect our security, ironic isn't it?"

"I can see where you're coming from but you could be great assets to the community here."

"Sophie, I think we need to clarify something?"

Sophie showed him her Metropolitan Police warrant, which confused him as she was currently living nowhere near London.

"Ah, I see, DS Grieve. I wonder if you could tell me what you are doing in our small town?"

"We're on a special project looking at corruption in small communities, aren't we Heather."

"Yes, I'm an accountant investigating bribes and unusual payments."

"Now, unfortunately you cannot tell Colonel Smythe, nor anyone else, anything you have learnt here. Our aim is to have a peaceful existence." Sophie had an afterthought.

"Constable, you didn't tell us your name?"

"Sorry, it's PC Smythe."

"He's your father?"

"Grandfather."

"Officer, this is an unforgivable breach of protocol, which I am minded to report." Sophie had turned serious. "I suggest you leave before I ring someone very senior. Any leak concerning our work as a result of this conversation will be dealt with by way of disciplinary procedure, you have my word on it. I would add that there may well be a camera and microphone in this lounge, the recording could certainly be available if it were requested."

As the officer quickly departed Sophie spotted Smythe senior lurking at the end of the street. His grandson had just risked his police career over misplaced loyalty to his grandfather. Much as she would like to confront the Colonel, enough damage had been done, for now.

The rest of the weekend passed quietly, November had started cold and damp, a very different arrangement to the few days previously, so any idea about going to one of the Cornish coasts was shelved. Once they returned from the Saturday afternoon madness in Tesco there was no great desire to head back out. Sunday was also a simple day, with both of them lounging in onesies for the day whilst the washing machine played catch-up.

***

On Monday, both got down to work, of sorts. Jenny had received the training report from Devonport Naval Base and was now hoping that Heather wouldn't take risks but didn't believe that any training could inspire rational thought in someone like Heather. Also in her email she approved the defensive driving course but noted that this wasn't likely to happen before Christmas.

Heather had made an appointment a week or so earlier with one of the local GPs, Dr Rachel Wilson and was now sat in the surgery, her three month prescription for birth control pills was almost up.

"Hello Miss Young, I must say I am a little surprised now I have read your medical record."

"Really?"

"Yes, it seems you tore up the transgender rule book. However, there's none of your earlier medical history available either, that tells me that you are a little mystery."

"Please don't try to solve this mystery, I have a habit of becoming annoyed if anyone digs too deep."

"Okay, I might be able to offer anger management if that's a real issue. Otherwise, apart from a new prescription, what else can I do for you?"

"I've been feeling tired rather alot recently."

"What have you been doing?"

"A week long course with the Royal Navy at Devonport, several return trips to London, we moved home recently and spent a week working on St Mary's before that."

"Hmmm, let's take some bloods then I would like to give you a physical." That resulted in the Doctor advising her to go back to taking iron tablets, the supply Doctor Hughes had obtained for her had run out several weeks earlier.

"Is there anything else you need to ask?"

"I've been thinking about enhancement." She cupped her boobs, not that it was strictly necessary. Heather was bordering on a B cup so wasn't regularly using inserts any more but the Doctor warned her to buy some new bras in order to avoid back problems.

"If you've managed growth like that in three months then there is, or was, a hormonal reason, I wouldn't recommend surgery as you don't know what size you'll be in another three or six months with continued natural development. The bloods will tell us more."

"My previous GP, Dr Hughes, said there was a hormonal problem probably due to damage to my testes before puberty. As you've already discovered, they have since been removed."

That had satisfied the Doctor although she did her best to take a full medical history. Heather was happier when she left, after making a follow-up appointment, she stopped by the local pharmacy and picked up the next three months supply of birth control pills, plus a tub of iron tablets.

Sophie, meanwhile, was placing orders for covert surveillance equipment, ensuring she had a ready stock. The Met Police had arranged for the last order but now she had to obtain them commercially, albeit from companies that didn't deal directly with the public.

On Tuesday morning there was a telephone conference with DIs Keane and Edmunds plus Jenny. New intelligence on the threat to the UK's air infrastructure was still very sketchy, with no locations, dates or additional names. It was very frustrating. Heather did discover, however, that the security scare at Reading Station had been a possible sighting of Kelmendi, the last time anyone had come even close to locating him. The hunt continued.

***

Wednesday lunchtime Sophie drove them to Penzance Harbour for the early afternoon ferry across to St Mary's. Inland Revenue inspectors had been going through the accounts of St Mary's Chandlers for a couple of days and had requested, or virtually ordered, Heather to be there.

It had already been her intention to return, if only to help the employees' wives sort out the financial mess that the former Personnel Manager Steve Daly had created. She also wanted an update on the police investigation as very little information was forthcoming through other channels.

No-one knew the car they were travelling in as they'd been in a hire van several weeks earlier but as soon as Sophie parked outside their, now regular, B&B a few eyes turned in their direction. Not all were friendly.

Scotty & Billy (Jnr) Trethgarwyn were sat on a nearby wall and watched intently as the two ladies carried overnight bags into the guest house. Not far behind them was Sgt Marc Taylor, keeper of the peace on the small island. He walked up and had a few words in the boys' ears, causing them to clear the area.

When Heather and Sophie ventured back out, having freshened up, they found Marc Taylor near the harbour. The day was dry but the air was turning chilly despite the island's extreme South West position in the UK, it wasn't a good idea to stand still for too long.

"Hello ladies, I heard you'd be back today."

"Plainly your intelligence network is running a little better that last time we were here." Heather wanted to mark her ground.

"I appreciate what you're saying but the pair of you could have been completely open with me."

"Marc, we can't speak in the open, but have you seen the two brats?" Sophie was mindful of being overheard but wanted to check their security first.

"Billy and Scotty? Yes, I warned them off a little while ago. They've been bothering folk in the town for the last week and were caught shoplifting twice so earned an ASBO each with the requirement that they don't loiter anywhere."

"That's useful but what about their father? He's a different problem."

"You're right, we can't talk in the open. I'm out on patrol now but will be in the station for a tea break at five, come and see me then."

Their meeting with the Revenue team was the following morning so the pair had little to day this afternoon, leaving a few hours to kill before their appointment at the police station. A wander to a coffee shop seemed appropriate but wasn't necessarily the best way to meet some of the locals.

"You're back!"

"Hello." Heather decided that the minimalist approach might be best.

"So why are you here? White coffee?"

"Yes please, two, we were told to be here."

"I thought you were the head of whatever it is?"

"No, as I said, I'm an accountant. I've been told the Inland Revenue want to interview me and I guess it won't be pleasant, it never is."

"Here's your coffees, that's three quid please."

It seemed that everyone in the café had heard Heather's explanation and did have some sympathy because she had been summoned by the government's most hated department - a common enemy since the days of the Domesday Book in the eleventh century. Apart from a few whispers and furtive looks in their direction it was a safe and mostly pleasant way to pass half an hour. Any chance of keeping a low profile on the island had, however, gone.

They went back to the B&B and broke out the communication kit to check emails, although it was another attempt to use up time, as well as staying off the streets. Finally, not long before five, they walked the few streets to the police station. A civilian officer was behind the counter.

"Hello, we have a meeting with Sgt Taylor," Sophie offered.

"I'm afraid he's busy."

"He told us to be here at five when he came off patrol."

"We'll I'm afraid he's busy. If it's a complaint please ring this number." She handed over a card, giving the force's Truro number.

"Well, here's my card, I'm DS Grieve of New Scotland Yard. Now, we would like to see Sgt Taylor."

"Oh, I was expecting a man."

"You couldn't ask our names? I'd also expect a better excuse than that seeing as it's 2014 not 1974."

The security door next to the counter was opened to allow Heather and Sophie to pass, then immediately latched behind them. They were led to Sgt Taylor's office and quickly abandoned there without introduction.

"What's up with my front desk officer?"

"She tried to turn us away then reckoned she was expecting a man."

"Oh dear, she's new and has only worked in Penzance before here. She's already had an inspector and two Special Branch turn up this week without warning. Of course the SB officers weren't in uniform either."

"No excuse, though, although I'd question her training."

"Perhaps, anyway, we're not here to discuss my staff are we?"

***

The briefing went well with Heather able to disclose some information about the wider investigation into terrorist activity. Marc was certainly concerned to hear that one of Europe's most wanted had been staying in his harbour overnight before the trip to Newlyn.

One aspect that did come out was that Marc, or his team, would immediately start to regularly visit every seaworthy boat on St Mary's plus any visitors so that his island wasn't seen as an easy route for smugglers, regardless of the cargo.

For Heather and Sophie, they learned that the Inspector who'd visited was the same they'd encountered at Treliske Hospital but were unsure if they'd come across the Special Branch officers. Marc wasn't even certain what they were doing on St Mary's.

They finally left the station at six and returned to the guest house for a meal and an earlyish night.

***

Thursday morning was overcast and damp, not a good sign if you believe in such things. They made it to St Mary's Chandlers at eight thirty just as Peter Cookson arrived.

"We don't open until nine as we're on winter hours, but come in anyway."

The settled in the CEO's office whilst other members of his staff arrived, although there seemed to be fewer than last time Heather was here.

"Yes, it seems that one of the sales team was stealing stock so he could sell it himself at a discounted price and pocket the money."

"Oh, I missed that."

"I'd only just taken him on when you were here in October so it wouldn't have shown up. Unfortunately for him we did a complete stock check last week and spotted the discrepancies. He was related to Steve Daly but we didn't know that at the time either."

"We understand that Mr Daly is in prison pending trial?" She had, of course, been given this much by Sgt Taylor.

"Yes, Heather, it seems he had a prior conviction for fraud and had booked tickets out of the country for the day after he was arrested."

"In that case, bail would appear to be unlikely."

"What I don't understand is how you managed to get a copy of all of his files before he wiped his PC?"

"Not difficult if you know what you're doing, I had a suspicion he was hiding data from you."

"Too true. Fortunately he hadn't got around to transferring the majority of the money he had sidelined into his personal account, just five thousand was missing."

"That sounds like enough to buy air tickets to somewhere exotic plus to test the waters ready for the main transfer? He must have been planning this for some time?"

"That's what the Revenue think, they should be here about quarter to ten as they're catching the eight thirty ferry from Penzance, same as yesterday when they were first here."

That seemed fairly typical of the Inland Revenue, their inspectors wouldn't stay overnight where they were working but would travel daily, probably from Truro in this case. At least Peter Cookson wasn't upset with the result of Heather's investigation, despite the risk that he could have lost the company that his great grandfather had founded. When the tax team did arrive Heather was taken to be interviewed by one of the junior inspectors.

"There's no record of you having accountancy qualifications."

Helen was supposed to have fixed that. "You probably weren't looking in the right place."

"That's not a helpful answer."

"Running background checks on me instead of asking me about the company's finances is not helpful either."

"Also you didn't have any NI or tax contributions before this year, but the rest of your record is locked."

"This interview is over."

"If you leave I'll ....."

"Go fetch one of the senior officers, I'm not leaving but you are."

It wasn't the best way to start an interview that might be used in court proceedings but Heather couldn't risk exposure. A woman entered the room.

"I hope you didn't upset one of my staff just to make a point? I understand that you didn't exist before this summer."

"What's your security clearance?"

"Why?"

"Because if it isn't high enough I can't say a thing."

"What level does it need to be?"

"If that's your answer then I can already tell it's not probably high enough. All I'll say is that I am working for another government department. My colleague is an officer with the Met's Counter Terrorism Unit."

"Next you'll be telling me you're a ruddy Janet Bond and you have a Beretta in your handbag?"

"No, don't be silly." Of course, it's a Glock. "Right, that's enough, call off the goons and stop looking into my past as you won't find it. If necessary I'll have someone ring your management, I'm the one who asked for a three week delay before your team arrived."

"That request came from .... oh. No-one knows about the reason for the delay, my team are moaning but don't know why it was delayed and I couldn't tell them."

"Okay, that's better. Can we talk about my investigation into St Mary's Chandlers now?"

When Heather emerged she smiled at the young officer who had started on her, but the senior officer went over an whispered a few words, which had him shaking his head. Heather could only guess what had been said.

Sophie hadn't been interviewed as she wasn't involved in the financial side of the case, although that didn't stop her talking to people, particularly the former boat crew. She caught up with Heather when they broke for lunch.

"I've spoken to some of the crew, the Special Branch officers have been at them, threatening the crew with all sorts of offences to get them to talk."

"How many of them were really involved?"

"Only about five, the night crew plus two from the day crew including Denison. None of the others knew anything for certain."

"So how many are really prepared to talk?"

"I've found three so far and they've told me what they suspect went on, how the night crew was invitation only, as were some of the Penzance trips."

"That figures, I bet they're bitter about the wages."

"Especially how they haven't had a salary for over three weeks, it was normally cash on a Friday afternoon. How's the boat situation coming along?"

"The transfer was done using forged documents, Peter Cookson's solicitor is asking for it to be nulled and the ownership reverted."

"Good, that will please the crew - such as it remains. One of the other boats here is managing the lobster pots and taking a percentage of the catch as a fee."

"That makes sense for now, and maybe for the future too given the cost of diesel and a second crew. The economics dictate that one crew is sufficient for the boat with activity limited to tendering, diving and fishing trips. Did you know there were sharks in these waters?"

"No, come on - let's get a pasty, we haven't had one for a week or two!"

***

They drove back to Redruth on Friday afternoon having done their best to help the CEO of St Mary's Chandlers sort out his company finances. It would, unfortunately, take some time to recover the monies his former Human Resources / Personnel Officer had taken as the court process had to happen first but the company reserves were just sufficient to cover any temporary shortfall.

In the meantime there was almost enough in the hidden side account to settle the entire tax and National Insurance demands regarding to the crew salaries. It did however seem that Billy Trethgarwyn Senior and John Denison, the two captains, had received additional payments every few weeks. Given that this was over and above the agreed salary Heather calculated that the company owed a reduced amount of tax on their behalf, the rest would have to come from the 'overpayments'.

The Inland Revenue Inspectors hadn't been happy with this arrangement as they would now have to pursue the two captains for the balance of the back taxes but Heather had made a good case.

This helped Peter Cookson reduce the company's liability to a few thousand pounds, for which he was grateful. With her job done, Heather had, however, presented her own bill, explaining that she would have to prepare court papers if called by the prosecution. Peter hadn't considered this but paid the £3000 that Heather had invoiced, agreeing that it was a final figure.

One piece of good news was that the Maritime and Coastguard Agency in Cardiff had accepted that the change of ownership was fraudulent and would supply documents confirming this to the Criminal Prosecution Service. This then permitted the Police to release the boat, removing the arrest notice, finally allowing the vessel to return to Peter Cookson's care. He took the opportunity to have the boat immediately lifted out of the water for the annual inspection and hull clean.

The girls had passed the, high & dry, Chandlers' Boy on their way to the ferry for the crossing to Penzance, that reminded Sophie to bring Heather up to date now that they couldn't be overheard.

"I spoke to two more of the crew this afternoon, they say a new smuggling route has been opened into Falmouth and they'd both been asked if they wanted to join the crew but had declined."

"We'll have to send that up the line, but did you fancy a trip to Trago Mills at the weekend, if memory serves me right it's in Falmouth."

It had taken the pair of them a couple of hours to finalise their reports on Friday evening, once back at the cottage, so any interest in cooking dissipated. This meant that Heather was now strolling towards the local Chinese take-away, whilst Sophie sorted out the dishes and a chilled bottle of white.

"I don't think you'll be in this town much longer." Heather spun around to find Colonel Smythe right behind her.

"I don't care for your attitude and I have no time to play games."

"You Londoners won't fit in here, why not go back there now."

"I take it you have no-one else to bother? Frankly, I find your attitude childish, you should have stuck to tin soldiers."

She walked swiftly away, contemplating heading straight home but instead continued to the local Chinese. She'd pre-ordered so it was almost ready for collection. In a moment of common sense she phoned Sophie, asking her to meet up, suitably equipped.

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To be continued

Unaccounted Gains Books 3 & 4 are also available on Kindle