Beyond the Night Road 2

A spy espionage thriller that is set in the early 1970's.


5. Beyond the Night Road-Part Five


London, England, September 4, 1972


Harold Scott, the head of MI5, gazed at the map of London. He squinted in the bright sunlight, as the glass shivered in the city. He sat on a black, leather seat, and sipped his warm coffee. Katherine Lowe, the Deputy Head of MI6, sat on a black chair, and noticed Harold's uneasy feeling of impending dread within the espionage community of spies who were living underground. 
     "MI5 is worried about the increased links to Sein Fein, and other Right Wing groups. Besides, The Troubles in Northern Ireland has savaged England's faith in democracy, and the voters aren't happy", he said. Katherine nodded. "I hear Rory Kane, a bomber from Dublin, was let out of jail on good behaviour. He had a expensive lawyer, and spent five years in a Galway prison", she said. Harold nodded. He shook his head. "Kane believes in murder and mayhem against the British people. In August of nineteen sixty-three, he saw his family were arrested for firebombing cars in London streets. He was thirteen at the time. He is twenty-two now. Hell, we are at war; we are attempting to find peace across the United Kingdom. But everyone's on edge. Can MI6 help us?", he asked her. Katherine nodded. She smoked a cigarette, and forced ashes into the ashtray. "Yes, political violence is a two-way street, Harold. The House of Commons, and Prime Minister Donald Roper at Number 10, won't like how we're playing ball here. All of our spies, and politicians, are dreading the news that there's an election around the corner; the news that political assassinations are on the rise has stemmed from The Cold War in nineteen sixty-two. That was a decade ago", Harold said. He looked nervously at the map. Katherine had long, black hair, blue eyes, and was tall; she wore a grey jacket, a white blouse, a black skirt, black stockings around her legs, and black high-heeled shoes on her small feet; she wore a diamond wedding ring on her right, middle, finger. At thirty-four, she was the youngest Deputy Head of MI6's long history that hadn't let any women spies rise up in the spying ranks since the nineteen twenties through to the mid-to-late nineteen thirties. By nineteen fifty-four to nineteen sixty, the conservatism in the United Kingdom of male spies meant that the hard road of success didn't happen until late nineteen seventy, when the Old Guard members of MI5, and MI6, resigned due to old age, or passed away when they were in their early to mid eighties. Harold shook his head. "I talked to J. Edgar Hoover in America, and he feels that Nixon is going out, so to speak because of the Watergate business in Washington, DC; he is hedging his bets about still going strong as the Head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. All of the spies are believing that the next wave of espionage isn't like out of a James Bond 007 novel by Ian Fleming. That's fiction; this is real life. Besides, everyone is ending up dead in dark alleys, hotel and motel rooms, and on the roads were death and accidents happen all of the time, and no one tells what happens to our agents for fear that they'll rat each other out", Harold stated. Katherine looked at the map. "Oxford Street is full of MI5 and MI6 agents who will get coded messages to other agents. Besides, it is Franklin Nathaniel, the Head of MI6, who offered me the job back in the cold winter of nineteen sixty-seven. He was thinking I looked like the right woman in a progressive society; he was a visionary", she said. Harold poured more coffee, as the sound of heavy footsteps was heard outside the heavily, security conscious, double doors. A woman in her early forties, knocked twice. "Enter!", Harold shouted. "Excuse me, Sir. But Sir David Johnstone is waiting for you". Harold stared at the nineteenth century Grandfather clock that was to the far left of the spacious, musty, room. Katherine smiled. "Good afternoon, Mavis. How're you feeling?", she asked her. Mavis grinned. "I ate eggs, bacon, and mushrooms, on toast. It disagreed with me during breakfast. I am fine now", she said. She looked deathly pale. "Take the afternoon off. I'll see you tomorrow", Harold cast a nervous look at his personal secretary. Mavis shook her head. "Thank you, Sir, Katherine. Good night!". And she opened the door with her small, left, hand...and headed back down the thin hallway, and grabbed her ID card. She pressed the numbers 6-3-5-3. Once she saw the light green colour on the silvery pad that was to the far right of the grey wall, she heard the whooshing sound as the top secret door opened...and let her outside of the Government building.


Sir David Johnstone knocked on the double door, and entered the room.

He strode forward towards Harold and Katherine.

"I hope that I'm not too late for the secret meeting. I was delayed by the Sein Fein matter in Belfast last night". He gripped a thick, black, book in his left hand. Harold nodded. Sir David sat on the spare grey chair next to Katherine. "How was Ireland?", she asked him. "The pubs and food are great; the political violence isn't great. Besides, not all Irish people loath England", he answered. He dropped the book on the desk. Written on bold letters were the words: The Secrecy of Political Espionage Volumes I-III, by David L. Johnstone. "My book was published in nineteen sixty-eight. It took fifteen years to write". Harold closed the double doors. "Political assassinations are on the rise these days, ever since John Ives Blake, the Dublin spy, worked for the Irish and English Governments in nineteen twenty. He died aged thirty-two from a suitcase bomb. His death meant that spies were more cautious about the way we all worked in the future". Katherine took what Sir David was saying. "My parents weren't aware of my work. May Shipp, a London based feminist, who was born in Melbourne, Australia, is a good friend of mine. She thinks that women are too radical for their own causes; she is correct. She is also a spy for the USSR". She sipped her coffee again. Harold checked the map again. "We must be wary of the battle ahead. Let's attempt to foil the Irish plots before more people are dead". When the meeting ended by five-thirty-five PM, a shadow fell on the city of London for the rest of the evening.


Page 5.

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