Scotland, March 25th

Dalgliesh lowered his cup of coffee and looked at the yellow telegram spread in front of him. 'Return London immediately.'
He crumpled up the paper and was on the verge of consigning it to the fire, but he hesitated. To be summoned in this way was unheard of. Nothing on the telegram hinted at its origin, but he was almost sure who had sent it. Frustrated, he finally bowled the paper at the flames then with a sigh hauled himself to his feet and headed for the bedroom to throw a few essentials into a kitbag.

London, 12 hours later...

The Commander made his way slowly through the corridors towards the cramped, dilapidated offices that housed his immediate superior. A young woman looked up eagerly as he entered the room. "Good morning, Miss Allyson" he acknowledged perfunctorily.

"Good morning, Sir. You're expected."

Dalgliesh hadn't checked his stride during the interchange. He thrust open the dark oak door then slammed it shut behind him. "What's so important that you cut short my leave?"

The man behind the desk in front of him steepled his fingers and stared back. "There has been a request made for your assistance... and for once it isn't from that bloody woman from Broadway."

The Commander knew what was meant. '54 Broadway', usually abbreviated to just 'Broadway', was the London home of the Special Intelligence Service and 'that bloody woman' was one of its chief spymasters, the infamous 'Pamela'.

Dalgliesh caught the smile before it met his lips. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, encouraging further revelations.

"Allied Intelligence," the man continued. "They're an officer down and need someone to head up a mission at short notice. Seems they know about the work you did in Canada and think you might be a good fit. I've given them a provisional yes. The briefing notes should be here within the hour."

GGG

Emerald thought back to what had happened in the last 48 hours. She'd been happily working on analysing German troop movements, matching deployments against disinformation. It was satisfying, it was also quite low key. She hadn't seen Siobhan since that time at Beauchamp Place... before she and Actor had headed off on their mission... then, out of the blue, the Irishwoman had reappeared.

"Em, drop what you're doing. There's a delivery to sort."

Emerald looked up from her paperwork, surprised. Her boss was rarely sharp and even more rarely let her Irish accent show through. That sentence had manifested both. She started to tidy her papers even as she stood. "What needs doing?"

Siobhan passed across a Manilla folder. "It's complicated, but I don't have time to give you the background. I'm on a flight to Lisbon in less than an hour. The gist of it is that Garrison's team will be going into France with a stand-in leader. Everything you need to know is in here."

She turned to leave. "Two extra things, you can have my car – I won't be needing it for some time – and watch out for Dalgliesh. He has something of a reputation."

Emerald sat down again, rather heavily and, opening the folder, began to read. She summarised the first page in her thoughts.

Lieutenant Garrison is hors de combat as a result of damage incurred on his last foray. His unit is required to undertake a mission into northern France that cannot await his return. A stand-in officer has been secured who should be able to lead the team, and he will be briefing the team at the Mansion.

Em hadn't been working in Allied Intelligence without learning how to read between lines. 'Damage'... not 'Injury'. That smacked of something non-physical. She read on.

After the briefing, Commander Dalgliesh will be expecting to stay overnight at a local hotel before proceeding to the departure point. However, he will be carrying Top Secret papers so an alternative 'safe house' has been secured for his use, which will need to be prepared for his occupancy. The Commander will not be anticipating this change of lodgings.

Emerald took a clean sheet of paper, put a sharp point on her pencil and began to write herself a list.

GGG

"Actor." Will's voice was sharp. "Telephone for you. Lieutenant's office."

Chief looked up sharply from the chess pieces he was studying. Goniff glanced at him, but the Indian shrugged, no wiser than the cockney.

Actor sighed deeply, put his pipe to one side and laid the book he was reading gently on the side-table, before hoisting himself to his feet and exiting the Common Room. He'd been on tenterhooks since his return the previous night, expecting this call, and it had taken all his self-control to give no hint to the other two convicts that something was afoot.

Will bit his tongue and held his irritation in check. He had worked alongside these men for too many months now to expect that there was anything he could do to hurry Actor along. It would be quite the reverse, in fact. He stood back to let the conman take the lead.

Actor picked up the phone, then glanced at the Sergeant-Major, who was hovering in the doorway. 'Close the door, this is private,' it implied. The two men locked gazes for a few seconds, until Will backed down, pulling the door shut behind him as he retreated to the corridor.

"Actor." The Italian's voice was sharp, clipped.

"I understand your group might be about to take a little trip abroad."

The voice on the other end of the telephone line wasn't one that the conman had heard before. Scottish, but not overtly so, mature – but not old. There was a depth to the timbre which hinted at the owner being a relatively large man.

"Interesting," Actor replied slowly, "but as you must know, we've been stood down until our commanding officer is combat ready."

"It would seem that those in command aren't willing to wait that long and that you might have to take a substitute." Dalgliesh replied cynically. "I'll be with you in an hour so we can get to know each other." He cut the connection before Actor could reply.

Actor stood and stared at the receiver, before replacing it gently. It was time to tell the men what he knew. Hopefully Casino would be back in time.

The safecracker returned some twenty minutes later, breezing in on the borrowed motorbike, dirty and wind-blown but with a look of satisfaction on his face.
He'd driven the motorcycle straight round to the garage block before reappearing, a few minutes later, carrying a hold-all into which he'd decanted the contents of the panniers.

The squaddie had been delighted to have his machine returned intact. He'd also appreciated the little 'gift' that had accompanied it and was more than happy to repeat the deal in the future.

Casino stopped when he saw Actor waiting for him at the top of the external staircase, stiff and unsmiling, then hurried forward.

GGG

The four men gathered in the briefing room at the Mansion. There was an empty space where Garrison usually stood, a space that no-one wanted to fill.

"Whadda yer find out?" Casino voiced the question that Chief and Goniff wanted answered.

Actor dropped the manilla folder he was holding onto the table, with a degree of frustration. "That his dossier is as much a work of fiction as ours were."

"Yeah, right." Goniff lit a cigarette and took a sip at a glass of bourbon.

"Wha' does it say?" Chief lounged in one of the wooden chairs, pushing it back so that it balanced on its two rear legs, his boots propped on the table. He was nursing a cup of black coffee. He wasn't that keen on the hard stuff. A cold beer or a glass of red wine were more his thing, especially during the day.

Actor didn't need to refer to his notes, they were already stored in his memory.

"Born in Scotland in 1905, second son of some minor laird. His father had land but no money, so worked for the foreign office most of his life, with postings in Singapore, India and Hong Kong. The boys were boarders at second rate public schools and had little contact with their parents. The older boy died in a measles outbreak, aged 14."

"Our man excelled at sports but wasn't too keen on the academic stuff. He joined the navy as a cadet aged 18 and seems to have served, without any great distinction, until he was in his late twenties... and that's where things changed. He was transferred to a desk job in London, then not long afterwards there's a small mention of him spending some time in Scotland. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say he'd transferred to the Royal Marines and was undergoing Commando training."

"After that, there are gaps in his service records that make no sense and nothing at all after 1940."

"So, what's he been doing for the last four years?" Casino took out a cigarette and lit it. "In the cooler?" He was desperate for a long, cold drink, but no-one had thought to bring anything to the meeting.

"I had the same thought so, while I was in London, I pulled in a couple of favours..." Actor paused to light a cigarette for himself. The pipe would have been preferable, but this might be a long story and not conducive to keeping the briar burning.

"There were rumours of him being in Abyssinia in 1936 and in Spain during the Civil War, but nothing more concrete until 1942 when someone who matched his description was seen in the area around Pau when a British agent met an untimely end. The agent had been about to hand over information regarding the local networks to the Germans and SIS needed to prevent this at all costs."

"A few months later, another agent in Spain disappeared in mysterious circumstances. The modus operandi implicated our man again."

"My informant told me he was being borrowed by the SIS from the SBS when they had a problem that needed dealing with quickly and efficiently. As we know they're only too willing to borrow from other organisations to augment their staff shortages."

The team nodded. Their Italian Job had been a case in point.

"He was in Algiers in October '42 as part of an advance party for Operation Torch, then was sent to Scotland for debriefing, after which there's another gap.

"The next anyone sees of him, he's in Canada where he's part of the team training Special Operatives, teams like ours."

"He trained Diesel and the rest of Hayter's team, didn't he?" Chief had been silent so far, as he so often was.

Actor looked at the Indian in surprise. He'd already put two and two together, but it seemed like Chief had known that part of the story for some time.

Chief put his empty cup on the table and lowered his feet to the floor. "Had to be. Diesel didn't name him, but he said it was an SBS man with a Scottish accent. Dark haired, six foot-ish, getting on a bit, but tough as old boots, he said."

Diesel had actually said a lot more than that, but the Indian kept the rest of it to himself. How the man had taught him how to use his instincts and believe in himself.

"Where did you get the low down?" Casino detached himself from the filing cabinet he'd been propping up and came to the table to help himself to what was left of the bourbon.

Actor gave a small smile. "A few months ago, I made the acquaintance of a young lady who works at Broadway. She's partial to refined dining and an evening at the Casino, something she can't afford on the pittance she receives as a salary. Let's say she found it hard to refuse me a small favour.

"Yeah, we know what sort of favours you ask for," Goniff leered.

The conman adopted a hurt expression but didn't bother to deny the accusation. "I simply asked if she had a friend who might be able to shed some light on the man we are interested in. It turned out she did, so whilst I was in London, I took both out on the town. After a little while, my friend slipped away, leaving me alone with Deirdre."

Goniff sniggered again and received a haughty look.

"No, Goniff, I did not take advantage of her. Yes, she had rather too much champagne and seemed flattered by the attention. She is rather a plain young woman and unused, I think, to being wined and dined. She was not averse to coming to my room at the Savoy after we had dined, to partake of a nightcap."

Actor paused. "Champagne loosens tongues, and she was only too happy to talk about the Commander. I think she has something of a crush on him."

Actor kept to himself the latter part of the evening. Unused to the alcohol, Deirdre had become rather unwell. For a significant tip, the concierge had arranged for the inebriated young woman to be taken home in a hastily summoned taxi. It had also necessitated a large 'thank you' to the housekeeping team.

"So, where's he been in the last year?" Chief's aside was more to himself than the rest of the group, but Actor answered anyway.

"That's the puzzle. Deirdre said he was back in the UK in November '43. She particularly remembered as he complimented her on the new blue cardigan she was wearing."

"Which means he's been doing something for SIS again." Chief was thoughtful.

It would also explain why Richards didn't know if he could get his hands on him, thought Actor. "Deirdre thinks he might have been in Istanbul, but she wasn't sure. Wherever it was, she's pretty much sure he's back now."

"So whadda we do now?" Casino swallowed the last of the bourbon in his glass and reached for the bottle, but it was empty. Goniff had been there before him.

"We see what he has to say when he arrives. From what Richards said, we are going on this mission whether we want to or not."

"D'yuh think we can work with him?" Casino looked doubtful.

Surprisingly, it was Chief that answered. "If Diesel trusted him, I reck'n we give him a chance."

GGG

It was about thirty minutes before the crunch of wheels on gravel and the throaty roar of a large-engined vehicle alerted Garrison's men to their 'guest's' arrival. Chief uncurled himself slowly from the chair, where he'd been contemplating the latest chess manoeuvre set for him by Actor and, pressing his cheek against the windowpanes, tried to make out details of their visitor.

"That him?" Casino hadn't bothered to move from where he was lying on his old cot, eyes closed.

The Navajo nodded. "Looks that way. Big guy. Dark haired. In civvies, but Fletcher's kowtowing like nobody's business, so he must be a big shot of some sort."

Actor put his pipe to one side and carefully bookmarked the volume he was pretending to read.

It wasn't long before the common room door opened. The visitor must have pushed Fletcher to one side, as it was he, not the sergeant-major, who entered the room first. Will was clearly perturbed but could do nothing as the door was closed in his face.

The dark-haired stranger smiled somewhat coldly as he stepped into the room, letting the four men make of him what they will. He waited for twenty seconds or so, then spoke.

"The name's Dalgliesh... but I presume you know that already." He put the Gladstone bag he was carrying on the floor and extracted a bottle of malt whisky that he held aloft. "Where do you usually do your briefings?" he asked.

"In the library," offered Goniff, leading the way. The man had passed the first test. He'd come bearing gifts.

Chief brought up the rear. Dalgliesh. He was finally meeting the man who'd trained Diesel. The Mohawk's description fitted. Scottish accent, like velvet over steel the Indian had said. He admitted to being curious. Someone was going to a lot of trouble to put this deal together.

Actor was having similar thoughts. He took his place at the table and waited to see what rabbits the Commander would pull from his hat.

GGG

An hour later and the atmosphere had relaxed slightly, helped a little by the bottle of malt. For men accustomed to the sweeter taste of bourbon, the dry, smoky flavour wasn't something they were used to, but alcohol of one sort or another always improved matters.

Actor had been thinking hard.

The mission the Commander had outlined seemed innocuous enough. Infiltrate into France, extract an operative, come home. It was the type of thing they'd done many times before and would, no doubt, do many times again. It wasn't obvious why it couldn't wait for Garrison to recover. Alternatively, having the team in France would keep the more volatile members of the group occupied and prevent anyone attempting to repatriate them.

The briefing was less detailed than those Garrison usually ran. Did Dalgliesh know more and was holding back or was he as much in the dark as the rest of them? Probably the latter, Actor conceded. The man must have barely had time to take breath for him to have made it to the Mansion as quickly as he had. The focus had been on what Garrison's men needed to take with them. He'd done what he could in the time he had.

Actor's thoughts shifted. Why had Dalgliesh agreed to take part? Instinct said that the man was a loner, so why would a man who liked to work alone agree to front a team like theirs? Maybe he hadn't been offered a choice either.

The conman picked up his pipe and carefully packed it with fresh tobacco, before lighting it carefully and blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke towards the ceiling.

Dalgliesh watched with interest, recognising the performance for what it was, but not hurrying the Italian. Softly, softly catchee monkey, he thought, echoing Baden Powell's words. Garrison's second in command was the key – if he agreed to the mission, the rest would follow his lead.

Actor looked at the other three men. He'd made his decision, but they had to make their own choices. He looked at Casino first. If the New Yorker was up for the challenge, he was sure Chief and Goniff would be along for the ride.

The nod of the safecracker's head was almost imperceptible. The Indian sighed deeply. He'd been toying with his blade whilst the conversation had panned out. Now he snapped the blade shut and slipped it into the sheath on his wrist. "I'm in."

"Yeah, well I'm not doin' anyfink else." Goniff shrugged, pretending he didn't care.

Actor looked at the Scot and raised his glass of scotch in salute. "It would seem you have your team, Commander. When do we leave?"

Internally Dalgliesh, relaxed. Whether he wanted this job or not, it looked as though the mission was on. He stretched back in his chair and examined the golden liquid in his glass. "Tomorrow morning. There'll be a transport picking you up at 7." He glanced at his watch. "I'll meet you at the dock. I have a few things to do first." He drowned the last of the malt and stood to leave.

Chief returned to the window to watch their visitor drive away. "Gotta nice taste in cars, I'll give him that."

GGG

Dalgliesh breathed a sigh of relief as he finally drove away from the Mansion. The meeting had gone better than expected and it looked as though Garrison's men were willing to give things a try. He knew he'd been winging it. The notes he'd been given were barely adequate. Was this all that Garrison received? Somehow, he doubted it. This whole mission had been cobbled together on a wing and a prayer. He now had a few hours to put some meat on the bones.

No-one had enquired if he, himself, wanted to participate, but then that wasn't what war, or being in one military branch or another, was about. You girded your loins and got on with it.

Why had he been picked out to fill in for the American Lieutenant? He wasn't by nature a team player, preferring whenever he could to work alone.

Could he have managed this mission on his own? Maybe... but in all probability not. His kind of war had ended in '39. It might have its place again in the future, but it was unlikely he would be around to take part. In many ways he was already too old, too slow. This was a young man's game... experience could only get you so far.

He reached under the front seat of his car and pulled out a second manilla envelope. He'd not had time to look at the contents. He'd been driving away from Naval HQ, his thoughts focused on what he would need to do once he arrived at the Mansion when he became aware of Miss Allyson racing towards him, cardigan flying, waving a beige folder high in her right hand. Instinct said to hit the accelerator. Instead, he braked gently and adopted a pleasant expression. What was the woman's name? It came to him, just in time. "Deirdre."

The woman smiled sycophantically. "Commander, this came in for you while you were in with the Admiral..." she handed over the folder. "...and I've booked you into the Crown. It seems to be the nicest hotel in the area. I hope that was what you wanted?"

Philosophically he pushed the thoughts to the back of his head and instead concentrated on powering the Aston Martin Speed through the tight bends, back into town.