‘Come and lie down. I’ll send for the consulate doctor,’

Eyes downcast, Mr Bugga was led away.

Jason looked round and saw the silent assistant. Feeling he knew how to maintain his role he said, ‘Either give me a consulate vehicle to take me back to my boat or order a taxi. Now.’

The assistant, with a strange look on his face, left the room. It was a curiously long while before he came back and said that the consulate car was waiting for them. ‘It took me a little time to alert the driver, hence the delay. I hope you comrades will forgive such behaviour. It is not how we like to comport ourselves with guests such as you. As loyal party members I ask for your total discretion about this evening.’

Jason solemnly assured him of his reticence as did Ah Fat. An envelope was slid into Ah Fat’s hand. ‘Please give this to the purser when you get back.’

Neither passenger said a word as they were driven back to the docks fearing that the vehicle, being the consulate car, was ‘doctored’ or, at least, the driver briefed to report back anything reportable he’d heard. As they got out they thanked the driver, showed themselves to the duty superintendent and walked to the Eastern Queen. They were in time for the evening meal. Jason’s stomach, still feeling the result of butter, milk and cold tea, was not receptive to too much food. In the lounge they had a couple of cups of coffee before going to Jason’s cabin to talk over the visit.

‘Shandung P’aau, what on earth made you become a circus clown? We could have learnt a lot if you had not called toast for toast and then made that wretched Indian not know whether he was punched, bored or countersunk.’ Ah Fat was very proud of that phrase but seldom had the chance to use it. ‘As it happened, we learnt nothing. Rather a waste after all that build up!’ He was disappointed but tried not to show it.

‘In a way, P’ing Yee, I agree. What I was aiming for was those few minutes between reticence and collapse when there might have been a windfall. Alas Vikas Bugga came in just at that moment and the Rezident, being the oaf that he is and very near his “sell-by date”, was in no mood for any unknown non-white person to learn any secrets. My aim then was to make verbal chaos and the Russians to lose face, regardless of how it affected the Indian. In fact I told him that the coolies were not doing their job properly and here I improvised by saying they needed twice the money, my hope being that party funds can’t meet the extra expense. I also told him that Padamsing was doing a great job and so were the others so there was no worry there.’

‘So, what now?’

‘I feel that by what you on board with the purser and I today have managed to accomplish will result in the Communists not realising they have reached their tipping point for failure so they’ll go on expending energy needlessly.’

‘Could be,’ said Ah Fat, ‘but what shall I say to the Politburo?’

‘That’s a good question. You must not lose any points there but gain a few. I am sure you’ll find words enough to satisfy them. Fool them with that mutinying battalion! You were given assurances that everything in India was being taken care of and that there was no more worry.’

‘And in Sarawak?’

‘That’s nothing to do with you so, again, no worry.’

‘That cheers me up. What a day!’

Before they went to bed Jason asked about the envelope that was given to him as they parted.

Ah Fat took it out of its pocket. He saw the ink on the envelope was smudged and that it had been only half sealed. Written in a hurry! Why? ‘Jason, I am suspicious. I have a feeling that there is bad news inside.’

‘We have our coffee kettle here in the cabin so let me steam the envelope open and read the letter before putting it back and resealing it before giving it to the purser.’ Jason filled the kettle and put it on to boil then deftly held the envelope over the steam and gently prised it open and gave it to his friend to read.

Jason heard his friend gulp. ‘Read this,’ Ah Fat said vehemently, thrusting the letter into his friend’s hands. Jason took it and read it, aghast as his eyes travelled over the hastily written English. The purser was ordered to get both men thrown overboard with no one else knowing about it. ‘Essential for the Party. Don’t ask questions. You will be rewarded.’

‘Unbelievable,’ breathed Jason. ‘What will you do with it?’

Ah Fat shook his head, almost in a trauma. If the ink had not been smudged and the envelope only half stuck down! ‘I can’t think. What do you suggest, Jason?’

‘Nothing now. When we disembark go to the Captain, give him the letter and tell him to do what he thinks fit.’

‘On the face of it that might be the best thing to do. Let’s sleep on it.’ They bid each other good night and Ah Fat went to his own cabin.

***

What neither man would ever know was that the attendant, the silent witness of the proceedings, was the only one in the consulate who was a Department S’s undercover representative, so more powerful than anyone else there. His report reached the office in number 1 Derzhenskii Square, resulting in the soon-to-be-ex-Rezident’s sojourn in the prison in the Lubyanka building, where Leonid Pavlovich Sobolev found himself not long afterwards. Dmitry Tsarkov was more fortunate: he was posted to the MGB HQ where he could be kept under observation, pending another report on his conduct.

So, unbeknownst to those in the consulate and in Department S, or anywhere else in the MGB set-up, Operation Tipping Point was scuppered by the organisers of the whole scheme: not a SABU, a Self Adjusting Balls Up, but a NABU, ‘N’ for non-adjusting.

***

Friday 28 November 1952, somewhere on the East Coast Railway, Malaya: The Director of Operations had been impressed with what A Company, 1/12 GR, had done during and after the railway ambush and decreed that it should be taken off its framework operations and go back and examine that area once more. What had excited him was the possibility of there being more weapons caches in that area. The cache had been cleverly found by a member of the clearing patrol who had hidden behind some thick undergrowth for a call of nature. As he squatted he noticed an unusual change of colour in the vegetation. He had investigated why and found where the cache was. A British battalion had been sent to the same area after A Company had been withdrawn from Kelantan but now was due to return to England. No more hidden weapons had been found. The area was taken over by 1/10 GR and extended so much that it needed more troops to cover it. That resulted in Jason Rance’s company being called back there.

The CO of 1/12 GR called Major McGurk to his office and told him that A Company was being sent north to work under command of 1/10 GR. ‘I’d rather have you with me, I must say, but apparently the Director of Operations doesn’t like to waste knowledge of what has already been gained. He somehow thinks that the high standard shown by A Company in finding where weapons had been cached can be repeated.’

McGurk nodded. ‘I understand, sir. Have there been any troops in that area since A Company were there?’

‘Yes, from reading the Intelligence reports it seems that a British battalion was while 1/10 GR was on its re-training. It had a fatality when a corporal was killed patrolling the railway after another train ambush. It has now done its three years and is getting ready to return to England. 1/10 GR has taken its area back again and its area of operations has been increased. They don’t have enough troops to cover it and that it why I have been told to send A Company back to cover where they were before, on the eastern end of 1/10 GR’s area.’

This time A Company moved by road convoy as far as Kuala Lipis, escorted by armoured cars. It was a long and hot journey that took more than a day. They stopped over at Tactical HQ of 1/10 GR.

The CO of 1/10 GR called Major McGurk, gave him the background and briefed him on his task. ‘We have been operating in this area for a couple of years so it will help if I give you a guide,’ he said, having been warned that the Major was on reserve duty so out of touch as well as it being useful for local knowledge and liaison with battalion HQ if needed. ‘As ordered to, I am sending you to the area that your company, then under Captain Rance, was ambushed when moving by rail. I also want you to patrol the railway line. I feel sure that the company will react well to you if you listen to anything that is advised by senior ranks.’ The new OC looked a bit askance, feeling he was being adjudged as not up to the job.

‘Don’t look like that, please,’ said the CO, sharply. ‘You are not yet in practice and it is only common sense to listen to those up-to-date with Malayan jungle tactics. This is Counter Revolutionary Warfare against guerrillas, not a full-scale war as it was in Burma.’

Major McGurk expressed his thanks and after a few more details were tied up, met the guide, a Rifleman Pahalman Rai, and took him to his Company HQ. Although he had been passed over for promotion, he was a strong, steady man in his early thirties and was especially chosen because he had worked as an officer’s batman so ‘knew’ the gora sahebs, understood their foibles and was used to hearing ‘mangled’ Nepali so was more likely to understand what Major McGurk was trying to say than a soldier who had not worked closely with a British officer.

On his return to his battalion Rifleman Pahalman Rai gave this report: ‘we were walking along the railway track. I was not far behind the Major saheb and at a mile stone at the side of the track, I saw him turn round and talk to somebody in English. I saw nobody there. The Major saheb spoke severely, turned round to look at me then turned back again. He seemed visibly upset. I did not know why but learnt that he had seen a British corporal, without a weapon, leaning on the mile stone by the side of the track. He had wanted to know who the soldier was and why he was there. After he had turned to look behind him, he looked back again but the man had vanished. That is why the look on his face was strange.’

It so happened that the British company patrolling that had been attacked in that area and had a corporal shot and killed by the guerrillas but the OC had no means of knowing that.^[1]

The company thrashed around as ordered by the CO of 1/10 GR and eventually returned to base in Seremban without any guerrilla contacts – or finding any more cached weapons. Only the OC and his guide knew about that strange incident.

***

Sunday 30 November 1952, Calcutta: With the arrival of the returning leave party on the docks and Major May handing over the required documents, Captain Rance’s life returned to what passed as normal, something he was glad of. On the face of it everything appeared as it should: their recent visit to Tangra now seemed infinitely remote and the abnormal happenings in the Soviet consulate were more like a bad dream than reality having actually stared him in the face. Now the job he had been sent on seemed almost an anti-climax: but how welcome, with, he hoped, nothing unexpected to upset the customary routine on the return journey+.

Muggy Day broke into his thoughts. ‘So, Jason, it’s back to the battalion once more. I’ll be glad to get back although this job has its good points. I can get up to Darjeeling now and then and enjoy the cooler weather and having a blanket on my bed at night. I am sorry you couldn’t have stayed longer with us but I expect you wanted to wallow in the bright lights here, relaxing and enjoying yourself. I wonder if you got up to any mischief you shouldn’t have?’ and he gave a smile … of, what? Jason thought, forgiveness?

‘Mischief? If I did it was not the kind you might have been thinking of?’

‘Jason, stop talking in riddles, one of your more arcane habits.’ He looked at his watch. ‘No time to be gossiping,’ and he went into last-minute details about the draft.

‘Time to be off, Jason. Happy journey’ and he turned to go, then turned back. ‘Oh yes, the mob of coolies shouting outside the lines. You’ll be interested to hear that last night, for the first time in I don’t know how long, the police reported that no coolies had gathered anywhere. The only excitement was a banging in the cookhouse that went on all night and some of our more fanciful men thought it was a particularly noisy ghost!’ He laughed. ‘Guess what?’

‘No idea.’

‘A jackal had got into the cookhouse, sniffed out a smelly tin that attracted it, put its head inside and got stuck. Trying to escape all it did was to bump into table legs and I don’t know what else. When the early morning cooks went in they saw the wretched animal, got hold of it and pulled the tin off. The poor thing was so bemused by then it didn’t run away but just sat down and looked lost.’

Jason laughed. ‘And what did the cooks do? Kill it?’

‘No. They thought it had suffered enough so they let it slink out.’

They shook hands and Jason saluted his senior officer, a grin on his face at such an unlikely story.

***