Sowerbutt's Wife

Sowerbutt looked serious. “I’m married.” The slap resounded around the flat. “You bastard, Sorbay,” Polly shouted. 

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Sowerbutt's Words

Polly snapped. “Stop talking nonsense, Sorbay. Haven’t you got something to say to me on bended knee. Or do you want your son born a bastard?”

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Sowerbutt's Baby

Sowerbutt looked serious. “Polly, you are pregnant. Are you all right, we’d better get you to bed. The doctor – is he any good? We’ll get you the best in Harley Street. One of the top blokes at Guy’s owes me a favour.”

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Sowerbutt's Lady

“Dot told me you had stuck your head in at the warehouse, upset the girls and then disappeared again, Sorbay.  Now you are lazing around in the flat," Polly said.
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Sowerbutt's Warning

“I don’t care what you food people do elsewhere in the Smoke, but tell your guv’nor not to send anyone else down here. Your men will go in The River, women will get their heads shaved. And I’ll personally track down your guv’nor and pull the trigger on what his wife values dearly.”

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Sowerbutt's Shotgun

Panda unbuttoned his leather coat, the woman wincing as she saw his shotgun.

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Sowerbutt's Bag

Pointing to the food inspector’s bag, Panda said: “Two stolen ration cards, probably more in her pocket. A bent officer of the law, trying to get supplies on the side while us lot go without. The magistrate won’t like that.” An angry murmur spread through the queue.

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Sowerbutt's Threat

“Don’t you touch me, you oaf. I’ll have the police on you, I’m an officer of the law,” the food inspector snapped. “Your wife will be getting a summons to appear in court and I’ll lay a charge against you for threatening me.”

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Sowerbutt's Slapping

Tom Wicks’ face was turning pillar-box red. “You witch, you come in my shop, upsetting my wife. I’d knock you out if you were a man.” A woman in the queue shouted: “Give her a slapping, Tom. We don’t like food snoopers round here.”

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Sowerbutt's Steak

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you little pipsqueak,” snapped the woman. “I’m a food inspector and this woman here was going to sell me a quarter of chuck steak without a ration coupon. She’s going up before the magistrate."
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Sowerbutt's Tears

The butcher’s wife stood behind the counter, hands over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Angry mutterings could be heard in the queue of housewives which stretched out into High Bob.

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Sowerbutt's Hand

The huge hand slammed down on the bench in Wicks Butcher’s, One-Line towering over the middle-aged woman clad in a grey mac.
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Sowerbutt's List

The curate said: “I have a list of 40 names. But Mr Sorbay says there are many more. After the terrible bombing of South Hallsville, some children ran wild; their parents dead. Terrible times, I wonder whether we will ever know how many poor souls were called to their Maker on that day."
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Sowerbutt's School

“Bless you, my son,” the clergyman said. “We have made a start, organising the children to play regular sport on the Rec. With your books, we can start regular lessons in the church. The dear children deserve a proper education.”

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Sowerbutt's Revolution

"You have much to tell me, Brendan," Churchill growled. "Are we on the verge of revolution? Will the Reds seize the streets of our great city and murder us in our beds?"
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Sowerbutt's Rubble

"Death and destruction raining down on our innocent London families. Houses and offices laid waste. Buildings of great beauty, from the inspired mind of Wren, reduced to heaps of rubble. I will not have it, Brendan." Churchill growled.
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Sowerbutt's Wounds

“Grant me a moment to gaze upon my poor wounded London,” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Chill

“Sir, it is freezing. You will give yourself a chill; at this juncture Britain cannot afford to have her Prime Minister bed-ridden,” Bracken said.
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Sowerbutt's Bowler

Hawk-Face swept the bowler off his mop of bottle-yellow hair, held it out in silent salute and bowed low as the gravediggers began shovelling the heavy clay into the grave.
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Sowerbutt's Bodyguard

To one side stood a fit-looking man in his forties, flecks of grey adding distinction to his slicked-down black hair. He had once been Sir Oswald Mosley’s bodyguard. 
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Sowerbutt's Dog

The low growl at the back of the Dalmatian’s throat was enough to send shivers up a brave man’s spine.
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Sowerbutt's Orders

"A few rabble-rousers will be at this gathering and we don’t want Reds pouring out and causing trouble. That’s what we’ll be there to do – stop them."
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Sowerbutt's Theatre

Sowerbutt was not used to speaking into the large RCA microphone, his voice echoing and popping. “It’s a pity the Old Man is not here, lads, he always enjoyed an audience.” Laughter swept the theatre with the odd cry of “Mosley, Mosley.”

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Sowerbutt's Youth

As a street boy, Sowerbutt had been offered work as an acrobat, the closest he had come to show business.
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Sowerbutt's Offspring

The man, who would celebrate his 21^st birthday in a couple of months, closely resembled King Victor Emmanuel, who never publicly acknowledged his illegitimate son.
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Sowerbutt's Letter

“We’ve have gone to much trouble to get here to Rhodos,” the colonnello from the 2^nd Blackshirt Division said. “This letter is of the highest importance."
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Sowerbutt's News

“The good news is that the stoppers, the local WarAg and all the other nosey-parker officials have been told we are off limits – national security. No-one is to come here. Which means, gentlemen, that as long as we are discreet, we can do what we like."
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Sowerbutt's Frown

Sowerbutt frowned: “He’s muttering. Spaghetti, shut him up, will you. We need to concentrate in case anyone is following us.”
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Sowerbutt's Door

Spaghetti heaved and heaved again, the clasp finally coming away; its brass padlock dangling uselessly. Three revolvers were aimed at the door. 
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Sowerbutt's Shooter

Spaghetti jammed the crowbar inside the backdoor clasp and heaved. Sowerbutt stood to one side, his Webley pointing at the door. 
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Sowerbutt's Knife

The slight woman hair stood well; she had once danced with the Imperial Russian Ballet. “Given the choice, I would have used a sharp knife, Mr Sorbay. But we will do as you ask, we’re professionals.” Several of the men in the room took her meaning and slipped their hands between their legs.

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Sowerbutt's Crowbar

Two muscular-looking men ran to the side-door of the two-ton van. One carried a crowbar, the other a Webley pistol.

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Sowerbutt's Hold-Up

The driver swallowed his shout, “It’s a hold-up”, as a giant, wearing a balaclava with eye-holes, wrenched the van door open and pointed a Webley revolver at his head. 
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Sowerbutt's Roadblock

Crashing his gears into reverse, the driver saw in his mirror a milk-cart had been manhandled across the road.

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Sowerbutt's Fireworks

Bursts of red, gold, silver and orange shot over the suburban street, a stone’s throw from Clapham Common.  Sprays of glittering stars, splashes of colour. To the side, bunches of crackers, tied together with rafia, snapped and fizzed as they jumped along the pavement.
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Sowerbutt's Fight

Sowerbutt kissed Franco’s hand. “We fought together in the war, Paco. We fight together now."
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Sowerbutt's Friend

Franco said: “You are an honoured citizen of our Spanish State. Driven out of England by the godless Reds; a fake burial, indeed. In Spain, we line the scum up against the wall."

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Sowerbutt's Danger

“The region is loyal; officially the El Piloto brigands don’t exist, senor. But we must be careful, you are armed. My men are on full alert.”

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Sowerbutt's Whispers

Over bowls of bean stew at Benavente, a picturesque medieval town, the Guardia Civil commandant whispered about the terrorists in the Galician mountains. 
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Sowerbutt's Pain

Sowerbutt kept memories of his first wife and the pain he had inflicted on her killer locked away.
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Sowerbutt's Generosity

"You were too generous to the scum who murdered your poor wife. I would have crucified him and left him as carrion."

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Sowerbutt's Kiss

Generalissimo Franco walked heavily across the ornate reception room in the Pazo de Meiras at Sada, put his hands on Sowerbutt’s shoulders and kissed both his cheeks.

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Sowerbutt's Prison

Four experienced members of the SAS were infiltrated into the prison several years after it opened; their orders were to break out - using non-lethal force as necessary. 
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Sowerbutt's File

The file’s former occupants were separately stamped “Never To Be Released”, repeatedly checked, placed in an acid-free archival storage box and driven under close escort to a tightly-guarded anonymous storage facility, designated under the Official Secrets Act of 1989. 
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Sowerbutt's Grave

The latecomer swept the bowler off his mop of bottle-yellow hair, held it out in silent salute and bowed low as the gravediggers began shovelling the heavy soil into the grave. 
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Sowerbutt's Direction

Originally headed towards the main throng of mourners, the latecomer changed direction at the last minute when he spotted the blond man and his menacing dog.
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Sowerbutt's Bodyguard

To one side stood a fit-looking man in his forties, a couple of flecks of grey adding distinction to his slicked-down black hair. He had once been Sir Oswald Mosley’s bodyguard.
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Sowerbutt's Funeral

The mourners at the funeral of the Poplar businessman were a curious assortment. 
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Sowerbutt's Dalmatian

The low growl at the back of the Dalmatian’s throat was enough to send shivers up a brave man’s spine. 
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Sowerbutt's Ruses

Churchill growled. “Your ruses are paying off, Brendan. After your conference at Luton Hoo, my golden geese at Bletchley tell me that Jerry troops are on the move from France to Romania."
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Sowerbutt's Coup

Bracken peered through his pebble glasses. “A Blackshirt coup, Prime Minister. You in the Tower, the Empire handed over to Jerry on a plate, the Wehrmacht paddling across the Channel unmolested.”

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Sowerbutt's Words

“Your words of war, Brendan. Where do your divisions of deceit march now to confound Jerry?” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Gold

“Money, dear boy, money,” Churchill exclaimed. “We need the riches of Croesus to win this war. Gold or greenbacks, not bullets.  We suffer from Old Mother Hubbard’s misfortune, our cupboard is bare.”

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Sowerbutt's Woman

“You bastard,” the attractive red-haired woman snapped. “Welcoming your long-lost loved one with that pea shooter.”

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Sowerbutt's Surprise

Putting the telephone back on the receiver, he felt a cold shiver run up his spine. Pulling his Smith and Wesson from the holster, he spun around to face the open door of his office.

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Sowerbutt's Tears

“The Russian bought a round, they started chatting. McGaskie burst out crying. Dear, oh dear. He put on a great display, sobbing and waving his hands, then quietened down and they carried on chatting."

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Sowerbutt's Holster

“Sorbay,” he said, frowning as he heard coins dropping. Who would be calling him from a public phone box? Something serious, an emergency. He grabbed his shoulder holster from the back of a chair.
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Sowerbutt's Safety

The colonnello helped himself to some baklava. “You got back safely from Ankara without any trouble from the Turkish MAH chaps?"
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Sowerbutt's Taxi

"We came back from Bozburun overnight, but we landed at Faliraki to avoid any difficulties. I’ve only just got back. The taxis are willing, but petrol is scarce. They tell me they are going to run them on wood gas, Heaven forbid.”

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Sowerbutt's Watch

The colonnello glanced at the Cartier watch that he had bought at one of the stalls in Socratous Street for a handful of the US dollars that he had brought over in his luggage. His contact should be with him soon.

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Sowerbutt's Wine

Sitting at a table outside a café overlooking Mandraki Harbour, the colonnello from the 2^nd Blackshirt Division stared at his glass of Chevalier de Rodos. 
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Sowerbutt's Magic

Jack Shakes sipped his coffee. “Ay-yay-yay, where do you get these items from, Mr Sorbay? You are a merchandise magician in these difficult times. I’d better be nice to you.”

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Sowerbutt's Coffee

The dapper little man with brilliantined hair threw his hands up. “You fancied a coffee, Mr Sorbay. I have two apprentices to chase, orders to do, cloth to buy and deliveries to make and you fancied a coffee and some mandelbrot, no doubt. Is my shop a café?"
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Sowerbutt's Kiss

Buffalo flung his arm in front of McGaskie as the red-faced bruiser rose from the bar table in the Hospital Tavern. Seconds earlier, McGaskie had kissed his shaved head.
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Sowerbutt's Enemies

"Plenty of Nazi sympathisers in high places in England happy to pass on information if not to get their hands dirty. Mr Churchill skates on thin ice.”

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Sowerbutt's Rifle

The barrel of the Gewehr 98 rifle pointed directly at Sowerbutt as he slowly peered round the door of the Thurrock farm cottage.
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Sowerbutt's Job

“Sorbay,” Churchill said, sipping his Hine. “Splendid fellow, always gets things done. We need a clean sweep through Harker’s MI5 of madness and mayhem. Is Sorbay our man?”

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Sowerbutt's Bath

In the midst of the steaming water in the cast-iron bathtub, a bright pink whale was happily splashing around; a couple of wooden boats that Churchill had treasured since his childhood bobbing up and down between the icebergs of soapsuds. 
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Sowerbutt's Hut

The army hut was the same as all of the others that housed the Royal Norfolks at Weybourne camp on the county’s remote north coast. But it was kept locked and was strictly off-limits.

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Sowerbutt's Chance

“Personally, I’d prefer a slow painful death for the scum, but I am remembering his victims. Take care in dealing with him, you’ll only have one chance."
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Sowerbutt's Boys

"They were handsome boys; looked like younger versions of that Hollywood star, Lewis Stone. Pair of animals, worse than animals. Vermin.”

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Sowerbutt's Sparklers

“Business, Nero,” Bozo said. “The Old Man is waiting. I’ve got two pounds of uncut sparklers. The lads have got scales if you want to check the weight.”  He nodded at two big men by the bar.

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Sowerbutt's Cash

Nero glanced at the Gladstone bag, wedged between his feet. It was full of bundles of pound notes that Sowerbutt had collected from one of the Family’s hiding places.

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Sowerbutt's Aeroplane

Borecki shook his head. “Who was on the aeroplane? Somebody special.” “They told me it was Uncle Joe,” Swirski said. “I asked them who this man was and they said it was Stalin, the mass murderer. The man with the blood of thousands of Poles on his hands.”

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Sowerbutt's Champagne

Bracken said: “Sorbay has more Pol Roger for you, Prime Minister. I won’t go into its origins but it is untraceable. No record of it having been lifted, I think the saying is.”

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Sowerbutt's Friend

Churchill beamed: “I like Sorbay. Always at the heart of any trouble, but he wins, dear boy, he wins. We need more winners in these troubled times.”

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Sowerbutt's Success

Bracken said; "The man who saved St Paul’s and the Tower was the brothel-keeper. Your man, Sorbay, sir. He found the bombs at the Cathedral and his men took out this criminal docker at the Tower.”

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Sowerbutt's Question

Churchill growled: "The question preying on our minds is how long can London take it?”

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Sowerbutt's Brigands

The Guardia Civil commandant whispered about the terrorists in the Galician mountains. “The region is loyal; officially the El Piloto brigands don’t exist, senor. But we must be careful, you are armed. My men are on full alert.”

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Sowerbutt's War

Despite the fighting ending more than 10 years earlier, the Spanish roads were still potholed and rutted, houses ruined and much of the countryside devastated. 
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Sowerbutt's Invitation

Sowerbutt sat down quickly, well aware of the Spanish leader’s sensitivity about his short stature. “El Caudillo, I am honoured to be invited to your summer home here in Galicia.”

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Sowerbutt's Funeral

The mourners at the funeral of the Poplar businessman were a curious assortment. 
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Sowerbutt's Dog

The Dalmatian's head was low, body crouched and tail stiff.

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Sowerbutt's Finger

A chubby pink finger in a Horse Guards office trembled on its way down the list followed by a spectacular explosion. 
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Sowerbutt's Prison

Four experienced members of the SAS, on special detachment, were infiltrated into the prison several years after it opened; their orders were to break out - using non-lethal force as necessary.
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