Sowerbutt's Tragedy

A haunted look appeared in the teacher’s eyes. “The terrible bombing, the poor children. Bodies everywhere, I see them all the time, Mr Sorbay. I had to get away and rest. Better now, but I still see our children from South Halsville. I see their staring faces, covered in dust and soot. They scream, but there’s no noise. Grasping hands, flames and falling walls. Tears, endless tears.”
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Sowerbutt's Alliance

“We must work together, Mr Sorbay,” the Red teacher said. “Mother Russia and the German people have different views, but they get along. A common interest in peace. McGaskie wanted to destroy you, but Radio Moscow says we must extend the hand of friendship to the bourgeoisie, form peace fronts and work together.”
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Sowerbutt's Blitz

“The bombing, Prime Minister,” Brendan Bracken said wearily, running his hand through his flame-coloured hair. “Another night of disaster. The Palace of Westminster, the Tower, a mine destroyed the Langham for heaven’s sake,  Broadcasting House, Queen’s Hall, Druce’s, the East End as usual, Teeside, the South Coast."
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Sowerbutt's Tanks

“Wooden tanks, Miss Polly? What are they talking about? Time we cleared off if that’s all that stands between us and the Jerries,” Jo-Jo said.
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Sowerbutt's Lunch

Sowerbutt looked at the Ghost, as Gerard was known during the recent Spanish war. “I’d hardly call the second shot a miss. An inch from the skinny bloke’s face, exactly as you said. We deserve a pint in the Manor House. This shooting lark makes me hungry; I fancy a pickled egg."
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Sowerbutt's River

Holding the shaking man by his throat, Spaghetti snapped: “Why don’t I just put you out of your misery and you can join your mate in The River.”
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Sowerbutt's Warning

“You piece of crap,” Spaghetti hissed. “You dare to come into the Family’s patch without asking permission. Next time, your bullet won’t miss."
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Sowerbutt's Enemy

The beanpole of a man knelt on the pavement, retching. A second 8x57 bullet had passed an inch from his face, he had felt the rush of air on his cheek.
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Sowerbutt's Body

One-Line walked the dead man to the Austin van which screeched to a halt alongside on the East India Dock Road.
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Sowerbutt's Bullet

The heavy man fell backwards into the arms of a giant, who quickly pushed a battered trilby over the bloody hole made by the single 8x57 bullet.
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Sowerbutt's Quest

Churchill growled: “Sire, I have mobilised every resource at my command to track this wicked blackmailer down.” The King nodded. “Now we know who this degenerate youth is, we remember his father. Another wastrel, dead now we hear. Thrown out of the Naval College after being caught with a scullery maid. Naked over the Commander’s desk with the poor girl birching him. We were a cadet at the time, don’t you know. Terrible scandal, hushed up, of course."

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Sowerbutt's Despair

“Our brother is a fool, Prime Minister," the King said. "I don’t know what Papa would have said. First, David lets the family down, now the dear Duke of Kent. We all knew about his liaisons, of course, but this. Another American woman, don’t you know, and with a taste for cocaine of all things."
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Sowerbutt's Enemy

Hess fixed his piercing eyes on Gerard. “Speak to the Duke of Kent, telephone him, find time after Coventry. Tell him we have the photographs. He must declare his hand, order his brother to go. We must have a clean sweep in England, then we can pursue our destiny on the steppes of Russia. It is written in the stars, they do not lie.”

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Sowerbutt's Zoo

“So senor, you come all the way to what you call the wilds of Norfolk to drink the wine,” Rosetta snapped, her eyes blazing. “You come to mock me, is that it?  Apart from a breath of fresh air in your Norwich, I am still stuck in this, this windmill. It is a cage in your Norfolk zoo. You’ve come to watch the animals, is that it? Prod me with a stick or throw me some food?”

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Sowerbutt's Caning

“Come in, Missionary. What’s happening?” Sowerbutt said. The young man looked awkward. “The Honourable Algernon. He’s a spoilt rich boy, nasty piece of work. Don’t know where he gets his money from, guv, but he’s got a lot of it, according to Sal. He’s given her a couple of quid, trying to draw her in.” “What’s he after, apart from the obvious?” Sowerbutt said, sipping his tea. “Said he’d give her good money for him to cane her. He tried it on with one of the village girls and had to hand a handful of notes over to her Dad to avoid a good thumping.”

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Sowerbutt's Scones

John waved to the blonde manageress of the Lyons Corner House. “Mavis, this is Mr Bracken who works for the Prime Minister. Thank you so much for our tea and fresh scones.” “Oh sir, anything I can do to help,” the blonde woman curtsied. “Mr Churchill is a wonderful man. My uncle in Stepney died in the bombing. Mr Churchill, bless him, put his arm round my Mum and said the whole of Britain was thinking of her. It meant so much to her.”

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Sowerbutt's Message

“Did well with the Ghost’s wireless message last week, John. Just had a signal from our Admiral Andy - Cunningham - that the Eyetie ships went off in the wrong direction and a couple of ours got through to Piraeus with vital supplies for the brave Greek Army,” Bracken said. “Thank you, sir,” the slight military man smiled. “Tricky game, keeping the enemy fooled. Can’t burn your bridges on one operation, no matter how important, or you’ll jeopardise the next.”

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Sowerbutt's Scandal

The King slammed his hand on the desk. “Our b-brothers. Cannot keep it buttoned up, don’t you know. David with his married women and George with any available lady. Socialites, charladies, even a damn master’s wife at Osborne. What is it, Winston, the curse of the House of Windsor. After David’s fun and games, another public scandal could bring down our throne.”

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Sowerbutt's Photographs

The King put his head in his hands. “Dear David. What has our b-brother done now? We thought he was safe on the other side of the Atlantic.” Churchill shook his head. “No Sire, not the Duke of Windsor. His Royal Highness, the Duke of Kent.” He opened a buff folder containing two photographs. Eyes widening in amazement, the King got to his feet. As if in a trance, he gulped his brandy and refilled his glass. “What in God’s name does George think he is doing with this American woman? Always these bloody Americans. What’s her damn name, Preston, Kiki Preston, isn’t it. Who is this other naked chap? Some Jerry spy, we should n’t wonder.”

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Sowerbutt's Set-Up

"Nero and I made it over to Whitechapel just in time. Lot of stoppers and reservists there. Some went round the back and Sergeant Le Clay kicked the front door in. Lot of shouting and a right kerfuffle. We waited for half an hour or so. Then McGaskie and the old couple who live in the house - pair of long-time Reds - were brought out in handcuffs and pushed into a police van. One stopper brought out a gun - Nagant, we saw it in his bedroom. Another stopper came out carrying a kitchen tray, would you believe. A small paper bag and a pill box on it; that’s what we left the white stuff in."

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Sowerbutt's Bracelet

Sowerbutt pulled a small box from his jacket pocket, he had visited his jeweller friend in Paddington before just making the train at Kings Cross. Polly’s eyes widened. “A silver filigree and mesh bracelet, Jimmy? And these are real diamonds. It must have cost you an absolute fortune.” Polly stood in the middle of the lounge room, tears running down her cheeks. Sowerbutt would never understand women. “You like it, you don’t like it. I can change it.” “Of course, I like it, you big oaf. I love it,” Polly beamed through her tears. 

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Sowerbutt's Gift

The double bedroom overlooking the street was obviously occupied by the couple who owned the house with male and female garments strewn across the bed. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Sowerbutt slipped a small square of brown paper containing white powder under a painted china replica of the Eiffel Tower on a side table. Along the corridor, a bookcase full of books by Marx and Engels gave the clue to the occupier of the smaller bedroom. 
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Sowerbutt's Street

The street was silent, barely a light peeped through the blackout curtains. None of the street lights were on with the blackout, save one down at the T-junction with Whitechapel Road. It was quarter-strength at best. An old soldier with his matches tray stood next to it. With the bombing, day workers were already home, ready for another night in the bomb shelter. Few people went out or socialised at night. Dedicated drinkers were already settled in their pub, still a few hours before the rush home at closing time.

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Sowerbutt's Education

The anonymous street ran 90-degrees to Whitechapel Road, with a slight bend about halfway along. The Victorian property developer may have wanted to make his housing estate more interesting; more likely, the street followed the line of a medieval track or the edge of an ancient field.  Sowerbutt and his two companions neither knew nor would have cared that Roman centurions camped centuries earlier near where they were walking. In years to come, two 3^rd century Roman coins would be found across the street in the mud of a bomb site where council flats were being erected.

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Sowerbutt's War

“So you are going to win the war, John? One small island against almost the whole of Europe?” Gerhard smiled, enjoying a Player‘s cigarette. The Brigadier nodded: “With the Dutchman back in the White House, the lanky Yanks will come in. More supplies for us, then they’ll be over here. Same as the last lot, old boy.” Gerhard looked up: “I’ll counter your white Yankee king with a black Bushido knight. Tokyo will gobble up your Asian colonies with their rubber and petrol. As for the Soviets - Uncle Joe is perched on top of a rotten edifice. Spoils for us once the Commies crumble.”

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Sowerbutt's Shadow

Nero glided along the country lane, barely leaving a mark. He slowed to a standstill when Gerhard stopped and he accelerated when the former soldier got on his way again. Nero had never tracked anyone cross-country before. His experience was the streets of East London, fading into the shadows, slipping into an alleyway or deserted shop or these days a bomb site. But the principles were the same; merging with the background, absolute silence and an instinct for what the other person was going to do next.

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Sowerbutt's Eyes

A human chameleon, Sowerbutt once called Nero, always fading into the background. Nobody ever saw him whether it was stoppers getting ready for a raid or servants in a West End house before the robbery.

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Sowerbutt's Opponent

Gerhard stood still, like a gamekeeper’s dog; sniffing the wind, ears alert and eyes peering through the darkness. Nothing, a whiff of manure and the sickly scent of rotting leaves. Wind rustled through the trees, a dog barked in the distance. The former soldier stiffened as a branch creaked in the nearby woodland. Silence.

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Sowerbutt's Friend

John waved to the blonde manageress of the Lyons Corner House. “Mavis, this is Mr Bracken who works for the Prime Minister. Thank you so much for our tea and fresh scones.” “Oh sir, anything I can do to help,” the woman curtsied. “Mr Churchill is a wonderful man. My uncle in Stepney died in the bombing. Mr Churchill, bless him, put his arm round my Mum and said the whole of Britain was thinking of her. Meant so much to her.”

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Sowerbutt's Turncoat

“Down to business, you are still concerned about the Ghost?” Bracken smiled.“Yes sir, I am. Gerard is former Wehrmacht, proud of his skills and what he has achieved. He is used to being in charge, takes the cause seriously and I think he’d be back to Jerry in a flash if he could. His body is here, but I am not sure his mind is with us. He is open about a Jerry win.” “Does that go against him, John? Half the cowardly Commons think the same."

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Sowerbutt's Tea Room

“You’ll be the ruin of me, John. I’ve never been inside a Lyons Tea Room before and I won’t be repeating the exercise. What’s the idea?” Brendan Bracken frowned.“Incognito sir,” the slight military man beamed. “Corner House. This one in The Strand is called a Lyons Corner House.” “And when the great unwashed fill these surrounding tables? We’ll be overheard, man,” Bracken snapped. “All booked, sir, for as long as we are here,” the slight military man said.

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Sowerbutt's Cigars

Madame Komarovski looked at his cigar. “I shall come and talk to you one day, Mr Sorbay, about your cigars. The latest research says they are not good for you. The girls and I want you to look after yourself.”

Sowerbutt grinned. “Very thoughtful, Madame Komarovski, thank you."
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Sowerbutt's Spy

“Sit down, John, sit down,” Brendan Bracken smiled. Resting his boots on the Cabinet table, he waved at a side table. “Drinks, cigars, help yourself.”“Did well with the Ghost’s wireless message last week. Just had a signal from our Admiral Andy - Cunningham - that the Eyetie ships went off in the wrong direction and a couple of ours got through to Piraeus with vital supplies for the brave Greek Army.”

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Sowerbutt's Burial

“Why Weybourne again?” Gerard asked. Sowerbutt grinned. “We’re burying you. Thought you might like to be there.” Gerard laughed. “I knew I’d enjoy working for the Englishers.” “The theory is that it’s a face-saving exercise that Hamburg will believe. They’d assume we know something of your activities, but we can’t find you. So we’re pretending you are dead. That confirms we don’t know about your wireless broadcasts which in turn strengthens your position. The burial will be in the local papers which will be in the neutral capitals within days”

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Sowerbutt's Chat

Gerard grimaced: “I’m not convinced you are going to win, Mr Sorbay. I know about a new life in Canada or a farm here. But the many sympathisers in the United States or here would hunt us down.” “Cross each bridge as it comes, Lee,” Sowerbutt smiled. “A bloke was refusing to give me information. I told him his choice was to die then and that was a certainty. I had a Smith & Wesson pointed at his head. Or cooperate and take his chances with the bloke he was scared of in the future. He cooperated.”

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Sowerbutt's Discovery

Churchill growled: “A house in Whitechapel being used for drug parties and other sordid matters was raided by Metropolitan Police officers this morning. Drugs and a firearm were found and the occupants arrested. During the search, Sire, the sergeant discovered these photographs and had the presence of mind to keep them to himself. He handed them to Commissioner Game who brought them immediately to No 10. I have issued instructions that the sergeant be promoted forthwith." 

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Sowerbutt's Evidence

Churchill opened a buff folder containing two photographs and placed it in front of the King. As if in a trance, the King gulped his brandy refilled his glass. The colour rising in his face; the King was known for his temper. “What in God’s name does the Duke of Kent think he is doing with this American woman? Always these bloody Americans. Who is this other naked chap? Some Jerry spy, we shouldn’t wonder.”

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Sowerbutt's Care

Sowerbutt was worried about raising suspicions. In the present war fever, encouraged by the authorities, people were reporting anybody who might be a German spy or sympathiser. In Luton, the previous week, the wife of a councillor had been arrested over a cycling holiday in Germany in 1935. The magistrate was shown photographs of the then girl posing with uniformed members of the Hitler Youth. The case was dismissed.

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Sowerbutt's Deal

She whispered: “No sign of the bastard, senor. Shall I cut our losses and get back to London. God only knows where he has gone, I’ll gut the bastard if we find him.” The slight military man, dressed in a worn Gieves suit, smiled. “So glad you and your dear husband enjoyed the beans. I shall be picking another basket soon.” His whisper was insistent. “You’ll stay where you are. This is a test to see whether we are pro-Jerry or English stooges. He will come back and you must keep on about Adolf the wonder boy. The English have had enough of the Blitz and would welcome some sort of deal. Not just an easing of the bombing, we want a deal.”

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Sowerbutt's Deception

Sergeant Le Clay’s eyes opened wide. “An outside gang, responsible for the big robbery? Birmingham or somewhere, do you think?” Madame Komarovski smiled: “You know the criminal world much better than I do, Sergeant. All I can say is that there has been much talk about some of the foreigners who arrived here after Dunkirk, French and Belgians. Tried to throw their weight around, I gather. And some of the ladies who were smuggled over from France have been undercutting us. Not good for business.”

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Sowerbutt's Burglary

Spaghetti flicked his cigar butt into The River. “Perfect. The house is shut up, no staff on the premises. No stoppers on the beat, no street lights and nobody about in Chelsea at this time of night. Just a few flashes from the bombing down The River.” He glanced at his companion. “I’ll see you round the back, Missionary. Best to split up, less conspicuous. I’ve parked our new van round the corner in case there’s any big stuff to shift.”

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Sowerbutt's Spy

Gerhard stood still, like a gamekeeper’s dog; sniffing the wind, ears alert and eyes peering through the darkness. Nothing, a whiff of manure and the sickly scent of rotting leaves. Wind rustled through the trees, a dog barked in the distance. The former soldier stiffened as a branch creaked in the nearby woodland. Silence.

He estimated he was three miles from the cottage north of Lutterworth. It had taken him an hour or so, stopping every few hundred yards to check he was not being followed. The rucksack was heavy. He had padded the transmitter with rags to avoid rubbing.

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Sowerbutt's Robbery

“We’ve read the report by Commissioner Game who has a talent to use many words to say little. What progress are we making in catching these damned robbers? Can’t have a b-breakdown of law and order in our capital, don’t you know.” Churchill growled: “My constitutional duty, Sire, is to furnish you with what information I have to hand. I possess very little. Commissioner Game’s officers have questioned several witnesses with little result and they have the two stolen motor vehicles in their possession. The Metropolitan Police Force has failed to locate the van in which the robbers fled or the stolen money, some £300,000."

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Sowerbutt's Friend

Jo-Jo had worked for Polly and her mother in the brothel for years but had made the mistake of breaking the jaw and putting his boot between the legs of a visiting magistrate who had got carried away with his cane. Not a word about the whereabouts of the crime was mentioned at the Quarter Sessions, but the best the over-paid KC could negotiate was two years.

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Sowerbutt's News

Sowerbutt smiled: “My mate, the superintendent, tells me they’re combing out the stoppers again. Need more army lads to make up for the Dunkirk losses. Stoppers go in as NCOs, screws as well. It’s come down from the Commissioner to stop bothering with petty charges, just give the bad boys a clip round the ear. The courts have been told to stop sending people down for short stretches. They’re also releasing a lot of lads on the inside early if they join up.”

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Sowerbutt's Enemy

Polly kissed Sowerbutt on his stubbly cheek. “Nobody is blaming you, Jimmy. McGaskie is mad, completely mad. Cocker was upset that he got away -  jumped through a window. Idiot could have killed himself. But it means that you can deal with him in your own time. And word will get out on the street.”

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Sowerbutt's Query

Sergeant Le Clay sipped his Old Bushmills. “Bit of a flap on about this robbery in the City which I’m sure you have read about in the papers. Not really my area, but the Commissioner is panicking. Under a lot of pressure, questions being asked in Parliament. Heard anything on the grapevine?” Madame Komarovski poured herself some water from a flagon on the table. “As you know, we hear lots of things - men become talkative at certain times. And we always pass on anything of interest to our important friends. But this robbery, nothing. Not a whisper, not a word.”

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Sowerbutt's Surprise

“Got it,” whispered Missionary, who had spotted a line of bent spine tops on the shelves. A hand had frequently pushed across them. Missionary’s hand snaked in and there was a click; the two men pulling the shelves out. Peering round into the darkness, they could make out a door. “Locked,” said Spaghetti as he edged in and tried the handle. “Shine your torch over here.” He always carried his bunch of picks on nocturnal excursions.
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Sowerbutt's Painting

“A couple of watches, a string of pearls under the bed and that painting you’ve got Spaghetti,” Missionary grinned. “Hardly worth our while.” Spaghetti shook his head; “Don’t you be so sure, son. This is a Reynolds, be worth a few bob. Mr Sorbay has a list of keen collectors."

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Sowerbutt's Break-In

Spaghetti slipped the latch on the scullery window with his knife and seconds later the two men were heading up the stairs to start checking the four-storey townhouse in Cheyne Walk; the young owner was safely ensconced in a farm cottage, well away from the bombing.
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Sowerbutt's Transmitter

As the minutes ticked by, Nero wondered where the spy was heading. He guessed the heavy backpack, that he could just make out in the moonlight, contained the transmitter. A transmission to Hamburg, a clandestine meeting or breakout and heading for the Irish ferries.
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Sowerbutt's Shadow

Nero glided along the country lane, barely leaving a mark. He slowed to a standstill when Gerhard stopped and he accelerated when the former soldier got on his way again. Nero would have admitted that he had never tracked anyone cross-country before. His experience was the tough streets of East London.
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Sowerbutt's Spy

Gerhard stood still, like a gamekeeper’s dog; sniffing the wind, ears alert and eyes peering through the darkness. Nothing, a whiff of manure and the sickly scent of rotting leaves. Wind rustled through the trees, a dog barked in the distance. The former soldier stiffened as a branch creaked in the nearby woodland. Silence.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Camouflage-Hitlers-Super-Spy-ebook/dp/B00HT48BN8

Sowerbutt's Robbery

“My constitutional duty, Majesty, is to furnish you with what information I have to hand. I must confess that I possess very little. I am informed that Commissioner Game’s officers have questioned several witnesses with little result and they have the two stolen motor vehicles in their possession. The Metropolitan Police Force has failed to locate the van in which the robbers fled or the stolen money, some £300,000. A considerable fortune,” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Help

“We’ve put a couple of toffs on the Thurrock farm; they pay a good rent to avoid the bombing. I’ve got a couple more seeking the quiet life lined up.” Jo-Jo nodded: “Not a problem, guv. I can keep an eye on anyone you want to send here.” Sowerbutt puffed on his corona. “Win-win, Jo-Jo. While the toffs are safe and sound in their bolthole, we check out their houses. Just to help with storage, of course.”

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Sowerbutt's Farm

“I’ve been thinking about a couple of farms near here. More and more hungry workers in Luton and easy to train goods down to the Smoke.” Polly grinned: “You’re two steps behind us, Sorbay. Jo-Jo is already having a scout around. Good properties on the market - near the aerodrome, out on the Hitchin road, up towards Bedford. People walking off the land with the well-paid factory jobs, they want the easy life, then there’s the call-up."

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Sowerbutt's Justice

Polly sat on a chair by the door, waving Sophie, who was barely 16, to sit in the armchair in the middle of the room. “Good morning, Mr Rutt. This is your lucky day,” Polly smiled at the overweight man who was sweating profusely. “I put a bullet in the head of the last man who raped one of my girls; his body has never been found. I thought you should know that.” The fat man began to whimper. “You have been forcing your attentions on this young girl and I gather all the hard-working women here, too.”  Jo-Jo grinned, the thin-bladed knife tapping on the palm of his hand. “Sophie,” Polly said. “I’m sorry about that twitch in your leg. Don’t be embarrassed about it.” The slight girl suddenly grinned and kicked out at the overweight man, catching him under his chin. Turning red, the rage took over and she hurled herself at him, clawing, scratching and spitting.

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Sowerbutt's Transmitter

“Two Irish blokes in Lutterworth, one with a heavy suitcase. You can guess what’s in it,” Sowerbutt said. Brendan Bracken swung his legs off the desk. “Explosives? Aaaah, dear God, a transmitter. How do you know that? Doesn’t matter. The point is you know and our damned security service knows jack-all. I’ve had it with these pompous fools. The Ghost has been holed up just north of Lutterworth and we couldn’t work out why. Thought he was waiting for his U-boat. Can’t allow him to have a wireless and spill the beans to Jerry about what‘s really going on here. If they knew how weak our defences were, they’d pop over on the ferry.” Rising, he said: “This is serious. Must get back to No 10, immediately."

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Sowerbutt's Challenge

“The Ghost, Sorbay, the damned Ghost. As you know he’s completed his business. Wing-Commander Whittle is dead as far as Jerry knows and we’ve put out a story that he has had a breakdown. Jerry will think that is a cover story. The Jerry prisoners, whom you managed to find out about, are also dead. Really dead, but we are happy about that. All this is Official Secrets stuff.” Sowerbutt unbuttoned his leather jacket. “Of course, Mr Bracken.” “We want to turn him, Sorbay. Persuade him to work for us, while Jerry continues to think he’s working for them. I won’t bother you with all the ins and outs, but it’s going to be a tricky job. All a matter of timing, I’d say.”

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Sowerbutt's Fate

Brendan Bracken swung his legs off the desk and strode over to a small wooden window. “Out there on Tower Green, Sorbay. Henry VIII’s wives and various others. Axes were blunt, executioners nervous or drunk. Took 11 blows to get rid of one old lady, barbaric, I’d say. Hanging, these days, is much more humane. All over in an instant.” Sowerbutt shuddered: “Firing squad for me, you’d say, if I step out of line?” He hadn’t missed the  guardsman with rifle and fixed bayonet, outside the Governor’s office as he was shown in.

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Sowerbutt's Tower

The room smelt damp. The Public Works team had done their best; plaster here, institution blue and cream paint there. Regulation office furniture; hardly attractive, but hard wearing and cheap carpets on the wooden floor. The Old Bushmills jug and ashtray and the sweet smell of coronas provided some welcome relief. Blowing out a plume of smoke, Sowerbutt smiled: “Lived in the shadow of the Tower all my life, but I’ve never been inside before. A few royals lost their heads here, didn’t they?”

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Sowerbutt's Witness

The best witness story to the robbery that Nero, who was watching in the background, heard was from a World War One veteran with a row of medals pinned to his jacket.  “It was the Invisible Man, like they had at the flicks a few years back. They had bandages on. When they take them off, there’s nothing there. Just their clothes, see.”

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Sowerbutt's Mail-bags

A giant of a man, wearing a tweed cap, a scarf around his face and gloves, jumped out of the Austin, ran across to the post office van, broke open the rear doors with a crowbar, grabbed two large mail-bags and threw them across into the Austin. Repeating the process twice, the giant hurled himself back into the Austin. To the startled onlookers, the robbery was over almost before it had started.

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Sowerbutt's Robbery

Kevie Acheson, who had run the pie stall for years, watched, mouth agape, as two men leapt out of the cars as they jerked to a halt, their heads swathed in white bandages with slits for their eyes. One raced to the mail van, pulled the driver onto the road, gagged and roped him. He leant inside the van, switched the engine off and pocketed the keys. The other grabbed the stunned assistant in front of the pie stall. As he gagged and roped him, the bandaged man gave a thumbs-up to a bewildered Acheson.
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Sowerbutt's Action

Panda's world exploded into action. The van drew up alongside the pie stall with a jerk. How do they keep to the same time every day, he thought as he pulled the large handkerchief out. He sneezed, making sure the handkerchief was waved around. To the second, a Ford A-Model and a Morgan sports car raced out of the nearby side streets, blocking the mail van. From just along Coleman Street an Austin van backed out at speed from an alleyway, its rear doors flapping and tyres screeching.

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Sowerbutt's Soldier

None of the regulars in the Manor House would have believed it, but Panda looked every inch a soldier in the Tower Hamlets Rifles, the well-pressed uniform borrowed from Sowerbutt’s NCO mate at the depot in Bow. Coach had shaken his head and retreated to his office after watching Panda marching up and down his gym, WO snapping out orders from an armchair. 
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Sowerbutt's Chain

Sowerbutt laughed: “I enjoy your bike-chain, Panda. It’s like the cowboys on the flicks with their lassos.  Hope the message gets through, it’s fun rattling McGaskie’s cage. We’ll deal with him in our own good time. Deal with him permanently.”

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Sowerbutt's Punch

As Sowerbutt walked slowly back towards the pub's main entrance, the bar was silent, all eyes watching him. “Fascist filth,” a tall, skinny man sneered as he passed by. Sowerbutt did not turn his head, his powerful right fist shooting out and connecting to the skinny man’s chin with a crack. Wide-eyed, the man sailed backwards, crashing against the counter. His mates scurried out of the way.

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Sowerbutt's Message

Sowerbutt laid his Webley revolver on the counter. “My colleagues may have caused some damage in your pub recently. Time to make amends.” Reaching into his leather jacket, Sowerbutt took out a small bundle of notes and handed them to Harry Knight. He turned to face the remaining regulars. One-Line, the man mountain, stood by the main entrance, Panda with his bike chain guarded the side door. “No problems, gentlemen, no repeat of the other week. My message is for McGaskie. Leave the Smoke and disappear. Stay here and I will introduce you to The River. That’s the message.”

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Sowerbutt's Smile

Looking up, Harry Knight groaned: “Oh, no. Not again, this will be the end of us.” A giant of a man was standing by the main entrance, a slight man with black rings under his eyes manned the side door. He was whirling a bike chain in his right hand. The Reds were edging their way into the corners; a couple were sizing up the bar, ready to make a rush and escape through the kitchen. As Harry Knight eyed the cricket bat under the counter, a tall, well-built man with long brown hair walked in. “No trouble, Mr Knight,” Sowerbutt smiled. 

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Sowerbutt's Visitor

Jo-Jo closed his eyes and stretched out on a settee. “Good to be out, Miss Polly, I can tell you. Away from the stench and the screws. We heard something was on last night. They came round at dawn this morning and told the blokes with a few months left to go. They are short of screws with the call-up. Before we left, we had to sign a paper, saying we would volunteer for the Army. As if. I legged it straightaway to see Mr Sorbay. He told me to duck in and see my Mum, then get the next train up here out the way. I didn’t know anything about your Luton business.”

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Sowerbutt's Service

“Pray keep me informed of how you placate our angry brothel-keeper. He has served his country well; he gets things done unlike many in our Cabinet and the Chiefs of Staff. That the Lord would give me a score of him to help win this dreadful war,”Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Customer

Brendan Bracken shook his head as he pulled a bottle of 1934 vintage Pol Roger from the ice-bucket near Churchill’s bed. “Another of your job lot from Sorbay, Prime Minister? You must allow me to organise your supplies.” Churchill’s blue eyes twinkled as he stretched out on the bed, surrounded by a sea of papers, from crumpled pages of The Times to top-secret Cabinet documents. “He delivered what the Cousins call a good deal and ’34 was such an exceptional year, dear boy. A special price, he said."

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Sowerbutt's Mate

"They’re releasing a lot of lads on the inside early if they join up. I wonder if Jo-Jo is getting an early ticket. I’ll check with his Mum.” Jo-Jo had worked for Polly and her mother in the brothel for years but had made the mistake of breaking the jaw and putting his boot between the legs of a visiting magistrate who had got carried away with his cane. Not a word about the whereabouts of the crime was mentioned at the Quarter Sessions, but the best the KC could negotiate was two years.

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Sowerbutt's Justice

“Madame Komarovski and Sal were there. One of the lads threw a bucket of cold water over the rapist and I put a bullet through his head before he was tossed in. The word has been passed on.” Sowerbutt’s eyes widened; his lady was something else. Polly smiled sweetly. “Did I do something wrong, Jimmy?” Before Sowerbutt had a chance to answer, Polly snapped: “I will not have my ladies harmed. You cross the line, you pay the price.”

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Sowerbutt's Surprise

“The rest of the Reds, any casualties?” Polly shook her head. “The lads taught them a good lesson, but left their legs alone. After we were finished, we let them run back, puffing and gasping, to Whitechapel, spreading the word not to touch the Family. There was one exception.” Sowerbutt had never seen this hard side of Polly before. “The rapist, Jimmy. The crap who raped Sal. We tied him to a lamppost not far away for the day with an ‘I am a rapist’ sign around his neck. Our families were not impressed, he didn‘t have a good day. I had him cut down after dark and barrowed up to The River."

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Sowerbutt's Anger

Sowerbutt looked at his glass of Old Bushmills. “The sheer brass of the bastard. I go away with the lads, for longer than expected admittedly, and McGaskie moves in. And you led the lads in to take the business back?” A sudden storm cloud passed across Sowerbutt’s rugged face. “You were in danger? Did anybody touch you?” Polly liked the attention. “I stayed in the kitchen, Jimmy, isn’t that a woman’s place? With a shooter."

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Sowerbutt's Ketchup

As the door pulled shut, two rifle shots rang out. The 8x57 bullets thudded into the small man’s body within millimetres of each other over Whittle’s heart. Sowerbutt watched from the bay window as the world changed gear into slow motion. Whittle toppled over on the garden path, swallowing an obscenity as he fell. Missionary leapt out of the car, shouting as he raced towards the wing commander. Sowerbutt noticed the small container of ketchup, concealed in front of Missionary’s body as he ran, invisible to any observer.

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Sowerbutt's Binoculars

Behind the fine net curtains of the front room of Wing-Commander Whittle’s house, Sowerbutt grinned. He put down the brand-new Zeiss sea binoculars that John had brought. God knows where the slight military man had got his hands on new German-manufactured binoculars, a year into the war. “He’s here, John, the Ghost is here. Nero has spotted him. It’s on.”

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Sowerbutt's Eyes

Both men thought they were invisible to any watchers, one was, one wasn’t. In the minutes before dawn, Gerhard had hidden himself in an allotment shed with a clear view of Wing-Commander Whittle’s front door down the street. Slowly, silently, he rested the barrel of the stripped-down Gewehr 98 on the ledge of the partially-open window. It was that movement when the rest of the street was perfectly still that caught Nero’s sharp eyes.
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Sowerbutt's Slap

Sowerbutt smiled. “I’ll buy you a new hat. They make them in Luton, not far by LMS. They had a bad raid yesterday but the vehicle works is on the edge of town. I’ve got us a nice place near the shops.” The slap could be heard outside in the bar. The angry redhead leant over the desk, her finger inches from Sowerbutt’s surprised face. “You bastard. We’re partners, so you said, you discuss things with me first. You have bought somewhere already, you can stick your Luton you know where.”

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Sowerbutt's Past

"What about that raid last weekend, the City and Millwall copped it. Just the start. I saw it all in Guernica, death and destruction. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”
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