ONE PIPE TOO MANY

The Mystery of the Mole Amongst Us

“Damn and blast this leg.”

Major Mike Ambery exclaimed his frustration vehemently. He had been engrossed in cleaning his second-favourite pipe, when it had clattered onto the wooden floor. Normally, retrieving it would have been a simple task, but with his gimpy leg … not an easy manoeuvre.

His broken ankle had caused him an enormous amount of trouble. The Major should have been in Belgium immersed in an important Military Intelligence operation, but instead, had been seconded to Symonds Manor, an out-of-the-way weapons development centre located on the South Coast of England. He had been tasked with finding a traitor who had leaked several important armament blueprints. The top brass, in their infinite wisdom, had decided he was the best man for this task. There was no-one at the establishment he knew, so had arrived with no preconceived notions. The army officer felt it was, to his mind, an unjust petty punishment for his accident.

He rubbed his painful leg. Damn and blast.

The chief cause of his irritation was due to his own confounded stupidity. He and his men had been celebrating a safe return to good old Blighty. Several alcoholic beverages were imbibed and the evening’s climax was Mike and two other fellow officers dancing the can-can on a table. Their footwork was unsound and they had all eventually toppled onto each other on the floor — with Mike at the bottom.

He had told everyone at the Manor that it had happened during parachute training — that made him feel less of a clot.

Where was that damn walking stick? It was never anywhere near him when he needed it. He scanned around the room. There it was — tucked away in a corner. Damn and …

His ringing phone halted his bad language.

“Yes, Major Ambery here. Yes … yes …well … no … certainly, Colonel. I’ll be right over.” Mike dropped the receiver onto its cradle and slapped himself on face. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to ‘be right over’ when he could not even reach his cane.

His dilemma was solved by a knock on his door and Sergeant Wallis entering with tea, biscuits and his mislaid favourite pipe.

With cane in hand Mike limped across from his hut to the main building, the old manor house. Inside he made his way to the Colonel’s office — thankfully — on the ground floor. It was not going to be a pleasant encounter.

Back at his desk, Mike sat twiddling with his cane. He was trying to recover from the grilling the Colonel had given him.

Damn and blast.

He unscrewed the top from his cane and removed the glass vial from inside — he gazed at the amber liquid contained within — before raising it to his lips and drinking. He needed that after the day he had had.

Naturally, Mike did know more than he was prepared to say, but he was just not ready to shine a light on the culprit yet. At first, he was not certain in which direction his investigation would turn. There were no footprints outside in the flowerbeds to follow — and too many fingerprints on the inside. Simple detecting would not do, his magnifier was useless here.

Major Ambery’s task had boiled down to looking, listening and observing, and thankfully, his leg had not been a hindrance to that.

The Manor housed a small, but not too close-knit, group, with the usual petty squabbles and personality clashes. Mike had eliminated all those staff members that did not fit his criteria.

Finally, after all his talking, interviewing and charming, he had narrowed the field down to five potential candidates. They were Doctor Grayling, Professor Werner, Mrs Roach, Mr Robbins and Miss Henderson. They all had plausible credentials to be the mole.

The remaining five had accessibility to the plans, security clearance and, to different degrees, technical aptitude. He had examined the plans himself and, honestly they were incomprehensible to him. This technical familiarity was an important key as, quite unintentionally, he had unearthed a surprising fact. Embedded in some of the drawings was a small symbol — visible through a magnifier — that indicated it was bogus. Several of these ‘false’ sheets had been inserted by the Intelligence Services. Nice of them to let me know, Mike mused. They did tell a tale though, because no data from these sheets had been passed on. Consequently, the traitor knew the difference.

Major Ambery tapped his found pipe and re-read his notes.

First was Dr Grayling who was in charge of the whole operation. He had worked for the ministry for most of his life. He totally loved his work and seemed to have no other interests. A devoted family man happily married with two sons in the Air Force — he was very proud of those. He had every opportunity as head of the division and was privy to all the data. He often worked late in the evening alone, and could be slightly absent-minded, but didn’t seem to have any plausible motivation.

Next on the list came Professor Werner, who was second-in-command and knew about as much as Dr Grayling. He could often be observed following Grayling around the offices collecting his misplaced papers, keys and other objects. The Professor was unmarried and although his parents were originally from Austria, he had resided here all his adult life. He enjoyed outdoor pursuits and was energetic to the point of tedium. He lived quite comfortably, had no apparent vices, visible debts or other suspicious activity. Again, he did not appear to have any incentive to turn collaborator.

Thirdly was Mrs Roach, the Professor’s assistant, who is a widow — her husband had been killed in France. An attractive lady and extremely practical, and had access to all the keys, often worked late — sometimes on her own and was technically well-versed. Mike had taken her out to dinner a couple of times, but found she was still mourning her dead husband. She did have the opportunity and brains, but no reasons that he could find to submit her name.

Fourth on the list was the most pleasant option, Miss Henderson. A young, attractive, single woman, she had been the department’s secretary for five years. Mike had had a particularly agreeable time wining and dining her. However, she was the least practically minded and although moved around the office quite freely — she did not have easy access to any keys. She did like to enjoy a good time and was often in possession of contraband goods, mostly procured from the young driver, Steve. There was no motive other than perhaps money, but the Major had ultimately concluded that she simply did not have the required technical skill.

Lastly and not, at all, the least, was Mr Robbins, the project’s chief draughtsman. He was about forty, unmarried, liked a drink, loved the ladies and enjoyed gambling. The drawings were obviously accessible and keys also, and he was usually the first person to arrive in the office — so was often alone. There was a brother, a prisoner of war, who Mike concluded was not liked by him very much. Lots of vices against him, but nothing much in the way of evidence as the culprit.

Perhaps tomorrow would reveal the answer he was waiting for.

Major Ambery popped his favourite pipe in his jacket, grabbed his stick and hobbled out the door — cursing his throbbing leg.

Back at his desk the next morning the Major continued analysing, whilst absentmindedly rapping his pipe.

He had been busy calculating who was becoming his best candidate. The bean-counters back at Headquarters would be on his back soon enough — he had to find the right person.

Sergeant Wallis knocked and entered carrying a tray of tea, biscuits, pipe and note. He put the tray down, gave Major Ambery the message, and put the misplaced pipe back in its rack, again.

Mike opened the memo and, after reading, sounded a rousing cheer. This small piece of paper had provided him with what he needed. And just in time, too.

The next few days passed in a whirlwind.

Mr Robbins was speedily arrested — all his vigorous protests went unheeded. Startling evidence had been uncovered concerning a small fishing boat. Inquiries found that it had once belonged to Mr Robbins’ brother, and had been noted going out to sea on several occasions when enemy vessels were known to be in the area. Those coincidences could not be ignored.

Major Ambery was pleased with his results. A calamity had been successfully avoided.

His thoughts were interrupted by a softly spoken voice. “Many thanks, Major Ambery for averting a disaster. Well done … here … you left your pipe in my office.” The pipe was returned and the two shook hands.

Stick in hand, Mike hobbled out to a waiting car — soon he would be in Belgium — where he belonged. He massaged his leg. The damn thing was really beginning to annoy him.

As the car drove away, Major Ambery tapped his pipe in the palm of his hand. A small piece of microfilm fell out from the stem.

Next time, he mused, that he was quickly re-assigned to prevent some top operative’s cover being blown, he would have to do better than actual broken bones.

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