A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) Read Free Page B

side of their mahogany desks to another or just waiting about for retirement. This one, Sandilands, waited for nothing and no man. Ex-serviceman, like his boss, Commissioner Trenchard. You could always tell. A bloke who got things done. The “new policing,” they called it. Horses for courses. The sergeant would have put a bundle on Sandilands if they’d entered him for the Grand National. A man built for speed as well as skill over the jumps. Smart looking chap, too. Good suit. Discreet tie. The doorman at Claridge’s would be pleased to see this gent bounding in, oozing confidence and Penhaligon’s best.
    Ten minutes. Joe’s composure was all on the surface. He readjusted his perfectly tied tie and sighed. It was hard to remain calm when you were about to meet one of the world’s most influential, most wealthy and most scurrilous men. And you’d had instructions from your boss to shadow him for a week or two, possibly longer. With the simple instruction of keeping the unpredictable rogue alive.
    He remembered his briefing from the Commissioner the week before: “It’s this damnable conference, d’you see, Sandilands. The World Economic jamboree. London awash with dignitaries of one sort or another from Albania to Zululand. All highly vulnerable. One-to-one protection is what the Home Office has decreed. At the highest level. And you’ve been allocated your man. Welcome him, assist him, make friends with him—if that’s possible—but, above all, make sure no one bumps him off—not even one of our own rubber heels. If you can keep your subject out of trouble that will be a bonus. Keep him out of the scandal sheets and there could be a medal in it for you,” had been his brief.
    It had been useless to put forward the name of the man in Special Branch who could have made a much better job of it—indeed, whose job it was. “Surely James Bacchus would beexpecting to assume this duty, sir?” He’d tried. “A senior officer in the protection squad with an impeccable record?” he reminded his boss. “Known to have saved the lives of several members of the royal family.”
    “Agreed.” The commissioner had nodded. “We’re all aware of Bacchus and his men. Formidable reputation! Not the least of their achievements—preserving the lives of at least half a dozen of our leading politicians.” He nodded sagely. “Winston Churchill could have been a goner on several occasions here and abroad if Inspector Thompson of the Branch had not thrown himself between the man and the bullet. And shot back to good effect. At IRA gunmen, Egyptian lynch mobs, Indian nationalists, knife-wielding Frenchwomen and a selection of the deranged. Difficult man to protect, Winston!” He chuckled. “Likes to take his own bullets. Old soldier, you know. And it occurs to me you might well have the same problems with your charge. He’s somewhat battle hardened, too, I understand, and much more sprightly.”
    Joe’s spirits were sinking fast. He waited to hear more.
    “James Bacchus will certainly be involved and working alongside. We value his skills. But I’ve got something special up my sleeve for
him
. Our Branchman speaks excellent French and Italian and—rather essentially—German, I understand. I shall be assigning him the overall control of the European contingent. He’ll be liaising with all those foreign johnnies in black leather jackets and fedoras who slink about with bulges in their pockets, protecting their lords and masters. Might as well support them so long as they know who’s in charge and respect our firearms laws.”
    Joe recognised this flow of words as a reluctance to get to the point and come out with a name. It did not bode well.
    “
You
get the American. Cornelius Kingstone. Senator Kingstone.” Trenchard sighed and favoured Joe with a glance that was questioning and yet apologetic. “Friend and advisor to thePresident. Attending the conference loosely under the direction of their Secretary of