Sowerbutt's Pledge

Sowerbutt spoke quietly. “I don’t take kindly to being shot at, Mr Bracken. In fact, no-one has ever shot at me before and survived. I’ve a reputation to maintain. I’d serve you up the Jerry for breakfast if this was the Smoke. Different in the countryside - trees, fields, lots of space. But I’ll bring my lads up and we’ll catch him. He’s a townie, not a country boy. He’ll leave a trail; we’ll pick it up and shoot him.”

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Sowerbutt's Lunch

The Crown, which traces its origins back to the days of Oliver Cromwell, sprawled across one side of the tiny village of Mundford, running off the A1065 to Fakenham. “Pork tourtière and Pol Roger champagne in the back of beyond,” Brendan Bracken grinned. “The Old Man would be in seventh heaven. How do I drag the horse to water, Sorbay?” Sowerbutt, who was enjoying a large helping of crusted cottage pie made with local lamb, said: “Sandringham, Mr Bracken. Transport the Crown chef, the Prime Minister and yourself to the Royal estate. You are right, millionaires would relish this food.”

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Sowerbutt's Packages

Bracken shouted: “Capture the spy or kill him if you have to, Hatter. Ring the area with troops if he has made a run for it but find him. A matter of national security if you locate his bike or any packages. You may not approach them, seal off the area under trusted guard until I arrive. Nobody, repeat, nobody must touch any packages."
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Sowerbutt's Attack

Brigadier Hatter strode up, followed by a couple of Norfolks officers. Saluting smartly, he said: “Yes, sir. You wanted me.” “Jerry is just up the road, Hatter. Been shooting at our lads,” Brendan Bracken said. “Let’s pin this down once and for all.” Hatter nodded to the Norfolks major. “Men in the MLs at the double, rifles, Brens, grenades. Anyone with their pants down, leave behind,” the major roared in a parade-ground voice. “The Brigadier will lead. His car at the double.”

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Sowerbutt's Bullets

Sowerbutt got off his bicycle. “Thanks for the offer of lunch, Mr Bracken. We deserve a slap-up meal after spending the last hour dodging bullets.” Bracken’s mouth dropped: “You made contact with the Jerry. Dammit, where, man, where?  Did you shoot him?”

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Sowerbutt's Return

Brendan Bracken peered into the distance through his pebble-glasses. “Sorbay, sir, and our turned Jerry at last. Pedalling back, hell for leather,” the slight military man murmured. They were standing outside what had become a cluster of bell tents on the field by the Mundford rossroads. “Sorbay, dear chap. I thought you were hot on the heels of this Jerry spy. Hatter has just been explaining his plan to sweep the countryside and flush out the spy and his accomplice.” The village was a hive of activity with MLs parked alongside the roads, soldiers erecting more tents and Signallers running an aerial up one of the nearby pine trees. Bren-gun emplacements had been dug around the crossroads.

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Sowerbutt's Security

Jo-Jo said: “We need a security squad in the Smoke, like the old Blackshirts’ I-Squad. We keep our manor tight but lots of strangers around when the bombs drop. Rescue squads, fire brigade, ambulance. We’ve got to protect our houses and our people as well as our larders. Look at those auxillaries the other day, 10 of them went down for looting."

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Sowerbutt's Convent

“Problems, Miss Polly?” the well-built-man asked. “Who do you think? Missionary’s kept his promise not to touch the nuns, but he’s won the hearts of a couple of servant girls. All the sordid details came out in an unedifying cat fight. The Mother Superior says she cannot risk the peace and sanctity of her convent. As much as he has worked hard, she has to let him go."

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Sowerbutt's Walk

The nondescript street was edged by rows of small houses thrown up by a successful Victorian developer. Heading for a two-up and two-down, Nero glanced over his shoulder. Panda was leaning against a lamppost a few yards away, his shotgun concealed under his overcoat.
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Sowerbutt's Count

Rosetta cocked her revolver and placed the tip of the barrel against Pero’s forehead. “Thirty seconds, senor. And I have to confess, sometimes my finger twitches.”

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Sowerbutt's Suspicions

“Allay any suspicions,” Chief Inspector Le Clay told the Special Branch sergeant. “We don’t want a lynch party if I’m right. A long shot but this bloke had a lot to do with the Italians before the war. Somebody else mentioned to Nero about him working with the Italians as well. Must be the Butters with the transmitter.”

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Sowerbutt's Exercise

Two junior officers were reassuring curious housewives that they were merely conducting an exercise. “A routine exercise, ladies. We’ll be gone soon,” a lieutenant, barely out of his teens, told two women, gossiping over their front fence. “Exercise, is it you want?” one of them said. “We’ll give you some exercise, my lad.” They laughed as the lieutenant blushed.
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Sowerbutt's Strategy

The quiet street which straggles across the north of Fakenham had never seen so much activity since the local builder had subdivided the fields and begun building in the early 1920s. Two Bedford MLs had pulled up across the street where it joined one of the main roads out of town; a bren-gun carrier blocked the street half-way down.

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Sowerbutt's Offer

The slight military man said: “Let me recap, senor. On the debit side, illicit sex, drugs and a Republican conspiracy. The firing squad, I think. On the credit side, work with me. I will supply you with useful information and pay you. US dollars if you prefer.”
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Sowerbutt's Plot

The slight military man said in a silky voice. “We could continue our chat in your flat in Athenaeum Court? But I am informed you keep a supply of cocaine there which I would be obliged to report. And I hope you have hidden your letters from Senor Albornoz, President of the Spanish Republic in exile. I am sure General Franco would not be pleased.”

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Sowerbutt's Mess

“Right,” snapped Sowerbutt, slamming his hand on the table. “We are running round in circles like headless chooks, finding out details about where the Jerry spies have been but not where they are. It is a mess."

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Sowerbutt's Threat

De Pozo’s eyes blazed. “I am going nowhere. You would not dare to shoot me in a crowded club in the middle of your capital.” Nodding at Sowerbutt, the slight military man’s voice was icy. “I will have this club cleared in two minutes with a bomb scare and then my friend here will do exactly that. In the leg first, perhaps the kneecap. Where next? Are you a brave man, senor? Can you stand pain?”

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Sowerbutt's Shooter

The slight military man put his hand on the Spaniard’s arm. “No rush, Senor del Pozo. This chance meeting is most fortunate. I have a business proposition for you.” Sowerbutt unbuttoned his leather jacket, his shoulder holster and revolver visible. Across the crowded club, Cocker and his cousin, who were polishing glasses, watched closely.

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Sowerbutt's Adversaries

Paul Longhurst shivered as the couple walked along the edge of the woodland towards the white-rendered control tower on the deserted Langham airfield. The scarves and gloves helped to keep out the cold winds that swept across the fields from the North Sea.

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Sowerbutt's Details

Elsa kissed Joe Butters on the cheek. “A man after our own hearts.  Attention to detail is half the battle. Those of our agents who have been caught by the English have made stupid mistakes. Trying to buy train tickets in a suit soaked in sea water, I ask you.”

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Sowerbutt's Secret

Elsa Longhurst lied: “The invasion is top secret, of course, Mrs Butters. But we have been put on full alert from March. Once this operation is all over.”

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Sowerbutt's Wireless

Elsa Longhurst beamed: “It is a relief to be with people who share our views. We cannot, of course, mention a word about our operation, Mrs Butters. Suffice to say, it will help end this terrible fratricidal war. We will not risk your security by staying here but a brief message on your wireless could make the difference between our success and failure.”

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Sowerbutt's Ring

Lee Gerard took one last glance at the coffin as the gravediggers began shovelling the clay soil into the grave. Was the other signet ring with the reverse Royal Cipher on its face in the coffin or was it now in the hands of Sowerbutt's family?

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Sowerbutt's Funeral

Gerard kept a smile fixed across his face and squeezed his wife’s hand. None of the mourners had shown the slightest interest in him. He had taken a risk in coming to the funeral, but he owed it to the Poplar businessman. 
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