The Neal James Website

                                           ISBN 9781905809349

The envelope in Aunt Molly’s bag was unopened. It was also very old and bore a name and address which had not appeared amongst any of the other of her possessions. Julie had been sitting amongst all the rest of her aunt’s belongings staring at the thing when her husband Doug arrived. Encouraged by him she opened it and unwittingly started a chain of events which traversed the entire country.

 It had been written by a soldier returning home after the end of the Second World War to a nurse in Cleethorpes. They had met at a rehabilitation hospital in Kent and fell head over heels in love. That much was clear from the brief note, but what remained was a mystery. Julie loved mysteries and set off on a quest to locate the intended recipient of the communication.

 That quest was to take her and her long-suffering husband on a journey from the peaceful and idyllic town of Tewkesbury on the River Avon in Gloucestershire to the East Coast holiday resort of Cleethorpes. Their discoveries at these locations unearthed an organisation whose roots lay deep within the Fascism which had threatened to engulf Europe in the 1940s, and activated a series of triggers which had lain dormant since that time.

 Roger Fretwell, the soldier, had brought back from Germany a package of documents dropped by a fleeing German in the uniform of the Third Reich. He neither read nor spoke the language at the time and they lay hidden in a place known only to his wife Madeline, the nurse, since then. Now that Julie’s enquiries had alerted competing parties to the existence of Roger and Madeline, events started to move with a sinister and threatening pace as opposing forces fought for possession of a set of documents so sensitive that their publication would shatter the very foundations of democracy in Britain.

 Julie’s unwitting and innocent revelation to Miranda Farnley of her possession of the letter set ‘The Organisation’ on a collision course with MI5. The sleeper cell run by the Farnleys in Cleethorpes had been waiting for such an opportunity but the involvement of a local historian, Tom Skerrit set their plans awry when Miranda was shown to be less then honest in her dealings. Skerritt had fought alongside Roger Fretwell at the end of the war, but Roger’s disappearance off the radar had foiled any attempt to relieve him of the files which he had acquired. Now, through a chance meeting at a local library with Julie and Doug he was back on the trail.

 The story takes a number of unpredictable twists and turns as both sides struggle to gain control of a situation which constantly changes. The Organisation, fronted by a Scotland Yard detective by the name of Alan Mason, takes on a role involving espionage, burglary and murder as it struggles to maintain its status and preserve the plans developed for its vision of Britain. MI5, headed by the inscrutable George Watkinson, keeps one very small step ahead throughout the novel hindered in part by the existence of a mole within its midst and also by the killing of its main agent, Tom Skerritt.

 Coming close to his final solution on more than one occasion, Watkinson is thwarted by chance and the inexperience of a number of participants in the chase. When the end comes and The Organisation appears to have been finally destroyed, we come full circle to the town of Tewkesbury and the picturesque cottage where the Fretwells once lived. Julie and Doug have moved into Roger and Madeline’s former home, but cannot seem to make friends with the new neighbours at the end of the lane and the visitor turning up out of the blue bears a resemblance to someone Doug has seen before. Only at the very end is Steve Martin, Watkinson’s second in command and trusted deputy seen in his true colours as The Organisation starts to rise again like a phoenix rom the ashes.  

 The Cast

Julie Martin

Julie Martin, an unlikely heroine, finds herself at the centre of a struggle between the forces of good and evil, as no quarter is spared in the fight for possession of the top secret files.

                                  Doug Martin                                   

Roger Fretwell

He introduced himself as Sam, nothing else just Sam. His wife was ‘Ma’ and they had been married for over forty years. They had lived in the cottage all of that time, and he had been at school with Molly since ‘infants’. 

Madeline Fretwell

Madeline Colson was two years his junior and a qualified nurse at one of the hospitals reserved for the treatment of returning servicemen. At five feet seven, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes she could have charmed the birds down from the trees, and Roger’s heart leapt each time his eyes fell on her. 

Miranda & Gregory Farnley

Gregory Farnley played a poor second fiddle to his wife’s activities within the organisation, and over the years had been given little opportunity to display his loyalty and abilities to fellow members. Miranda had kept him on a very short leash, well aware of his impetuousness and unpredictability whilst being grateful for the financial clout which his family name provided for her to realise the ambitions which she harboured. 

Tom Skerritt

Julie approached a tall, silver haired gentleman in his seventies as he hung up his coat just inside the library door. He smiled as any author would upon meeting a reader of their work, and accompanied her back to the table where her ‘research’ lay spread out.  

Bert Peterson

Bertram Peterson had served in the same army regiment as Skerritt and they had been through a number of post war campaigns together. A bond of absolute trust had built up between the two men and they had served the needs of their country on several occasions in the intervening period 

Alan Mason

Alan Mason’s orders to his operatives had been quite clear. They were to recover the documents from Roger Fretwell by any means necessary and at all costs. Perhaps he should have made it clear in words of one syllable that under no circumstances was anyone to be allowed to evade capture.

Their attention was drawn to the doorway, where a tall, distinguished looking man in his fifties was standing. He stepped into the room and said one word. “Fostropp”

Steve Marshall

Marshall had spent the better part of the past two days setting up a set of surveillance cameras in Watkinson’s office. They had waited patiently each night since the papers had been ‘carelessly’ left in the desk drawer, and were sure that the mole would be aware of the security risk surrounding the act. 

Graham Poundall

Graham Poundall was a ‘facilitator’. He hated the term ‘burglar; it seemed so coarse for the type of service which he offered to a select clientele. He would obtain, for an appropriately substantial fee, almost anything which was required by those individuals who did not have it. It could range from money and other easily convertible commodities to works of art.

Marcus Timson

Timson stared out of the window and shook his head. His face suddenly bore all the traces of a man who had lost the will to continue and Watkinson pocketed the revolver in case he changed his mind.

Gerald Montgomery

In a boardroom somewhere in the Midlands, what remained of the organisation was now seated around a nondescript table in an anonymous building on an industrial estate. The six there were all that was left of the power structure which had been so carefully and meticulously laid down since the early fifties. Those originally involved in the early days were now no longer alive, but sons and daughters had continued the work which had been so efficiently destroyed by the very system which had been targeted to underpin their vision of the future. A seventh figure entered the room and their collective gaze homed in on him as all conversation abruptly ceased.

                                                          Locations From The Book

                                                                    St Mary's Lane

The cottages stood a little way back from the bank of the river, each with its own fairly small but neatly tended front garden, and a ginger cat was sunning itself on the broad window sill of one of the properties. An old man was busy pottering around the flower beds which surrounded an immaculate lawn, and he paused in his labours, curious to see two visitors in a place where strangers were something of a rarity. Leaning on his hoe, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket, tipped back his cap and dabbed away the perspiration from his brow as they approached. Julie had never been backwards at coming forwards and introduced herself and Doug as relatives of Molly Brown; the man’s faced brightened in recognition of the name.

                                                                  The Post Office

It wasn’t until a few days later whilst out shopping for their weekly necessities that they had occasion to call in at the post office. As with many small settlements there are a number of establishments which form the backbone of the local community and typically these would include, to varying degrees of personal importance, the church, the local pub and the corner shop. Having no corner shop as such, the post office served a dual function for those in the neighbourhood, and in addition to being the conduit for exchange of gossip, it also boasted a small area containing a few tables where afternoon teas were served. In this way it acted as a magnet for those veterans of the locality whose families had grown up and left the area. Today was no exception  and the usual gathering was present discussing such weighty matters as the price of potatoes, the vicar and the young couple who appeared out of nowhere to bring dear Molly Brown home (God rest her soul).

Cleethorpes Library

The building, situated at the corner of Albert Road and Alexandra Road is a single story open plan structure offering a cool reservoir from the midday heat, and the two children disappeared into its shady depths immediately leaving Julie and Doug to make their enquiries at the desk. The librarian was a very helpful woman in her mid fifties who pointed them in the direction of a well-stocked local history section and a set of tables and chairs for study. It didn’t take Julie very long to find just what she needed – a soft back A4 booklet produced by the local historical society containing biographies of all the major local dignitaries and personalities. With Doug happily occupying himself in the science fiction section, she sat down to read.

                                                             The Colson Residence

After a pleasant lunch at the Lifeboat pub on the corner of Queens Parade and Kingsway, the family made their way along the former to its junction with Oxford Street where a large corner plot contained the imposing dwelling place of the family of Madeline Colson. It was a large double fronted Edwardian villa sitting in the back right hand corner with elegantly structured gardens to the left and front. The driveway was partially concealed by a mature shrubbery which ensured a level of privacy for the dwelling. Ensuring that she had, in fact, got the correct address Julie led her family up the gravelled drive to a large porch and rang the bell, half expecting a liveried servant to answer the summons, and was pleasantly surprised when an immaculately dressed woman in her mid forties opened the door.

                                                                       The Lynton

“Mrs Martin? Hello, it’s Tom Skerritt from the library the other day. Oh good, I’m glad you remembered. I wondered if it were convenient to see you and your husband this evening for a discussion about the Colsons. Well I thought dinner would be appropriate, my treat of course and bring those lovely children of yours along too. Well there’s a nice pub/restaurant on Taylor’s Avenue; it’s called The Lynton, and the menu is quite extensive. Right I’ll see you all there at around eight-thirty then? Cheerio.”

                                                           The Morecambe Cottage

The property was a two storey holiday cottage facing the sea, and the closed curtains told Skerritt that it was currently unoccupied. The Martins awoke as the car pulled up behind the building and the three occupants of the vehicle followed Fretwell to the front door as he produced a key ring from his pocket. The rooms were very dark, and with the car now concealed from immediate view nothing was done to attract any attention to their visit. Roger led the way upstairs to the bathroom, where he carefully removed a well-concealed panel from behind the toilet cistern. From the small space he pulled a parcel bound in Hessian cloth which revealed, once opened, two faded brown briefcases wrapped in oilcloth. The three of them held their collective breath as Roger opened the bundle. There, on the leather front strap of one of the cases, was the faded but still discernible gold embossed lettering ‘M. B.’

                                                                          Hyde Park

With all six MI5 agents now stationed at various points within the confines of the park, Watkinson headed in that direction along with Steve Marshall. The open space was an ideal place for the burglar to meet those who commissioned the robbery without being overheard, and it was now clear that the sole purpose of the ‘milkman’ had been to ensure that he was taken to a pre-arranged spot at a given time. The place chosen for the rendezvous however seemed to have been Speakers’ Corner and with a large number of the public in attendance it was easy for the agents to close in on the party without becoming conspicuous. The burglar and his driver stood to one side of the range of podiums and constantly scanned the passing crowds for some sign of the person they had arranged to meet.

                                                                 Cheltenham Library

Madeline had given George Watkinson precise details as to where the documents were located, and he made the trip to the Central Library in Cheltenham personally to retrieve the bundle. Posing as a government official from the central land registry, his carefully prepared credentials gained him almost immediate access to the archive store room indicated by Madeline. The staff almost fell over themselves to be helpful, and it was only after accepting repeated offers for tea that he was eventually left alone.

                                                  Bishop's Cleeve - The Safe House

The village of Bishop’s Cleeve lies some two to three miles due north of Cheltenham and the place of Skerrit's destination was a house on Evesham Road at the northern edge of the settlement. The area was quiet, particularly in the middle of the afternoon and he parked his car out of sight of the main road. Entering the property through the back door with a key given to him by Watkinson, he called a secure number from his mobile and sat down to await the arrival of those charged with the security of the briefcase which he had brought from the library.

                                                                  The Cat & Fiddle

They caught up with Skerritt’s car as they skirted Manchester on the M60, heading across the Pennines on the A57 Snake Pass for an intersection with the M1 at Sheffield. The roads across the hills were too narrow for the sort of tactics used on the M6 and any following vehicles would be clearly visible, so a stop was made at the Cat and Fiddle whilst all parties in the convoy reassembled. While Watkinson briefed the drivers, Julie took the opportunity to take Roger Fretwell to one side.

                                                   Thames House - MI5 Headquarters

The descent on to the roof from the helicopter had been easy enough, and he smiled at the mole’s concerns for his accuracy. He told the man he could land on a paving slab given calm weather and tonight had been perfect. Carefully folding away the parachute canopy, he approached the access door to the stairway which would take him to the offices below. He knew it would most likely be locked, but gave it a gentle tug anyway. The lock held firm and he took out a set of tools from the small bag he had brought along. Inserting a narrow metal fillet into the small gap between door and jamb, he released the locking mechanism on the other side and eased it open, listening for the merest hint of any sound from within. Satisfied that no-one was about, he donned a pair of night vision goggles and descended the pitch black stairway to the first level.

                                                        Nottingham's Midland Station

Looking around, there was no sign of any police pursuit and Montgomerey grabbed his coat from the rear seat and made his way down to the main road into Nottingham. With time against him he needed to disappear into the crowd, and flagging down the next available bus took the short trip into the city centre. He was hungry but with no time to spare took the first available taxi to the Midland Station. Having paid the fare he checked his wallet – about four hundred in there and it would have to go a long way if he were to avoid capture. He was not to know it, but Watkinson’s men were hard on his heels and had already located the abandoned car. From there it was fairly obvious that he would head for the nearest big city as his best option, and the railway police had already been put on alert.

                                                           The Phoenix from the Ashes

I'd tell how it ends, but that would surely spoil it for you and I wouldn't want that kind of thing on my conscience. Go and buy the book and find out for yourself - you won't regret it.