Hellyer's Coup by Prowse Philip

Author:Prowse, Philip
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Portugal, revolution, Coimbra, carnation uprising
Publisher: Kernel Books
Published: 2021-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 6

Coimbra, Portugal, 24 December 1973

The hammering on his door jerked him awake at four in the morning. He pulled the Walther from under his pillow, but thought better of it and put the gun in the hiding place under the bed.

The banging resumed. Could be anything. A fire? Burglars didn’t usually signal their approach.

Mouth dry, he wrapped himself in a sheet and crept along the dark landing towards the vibrating door.

It crashed open. Head pulsing, chest throbbing, he raised his arms and tensed for combat. The sheet fell to the floor.

Loud guffaws came from his uninvited guests who leant back against the doorjamb on the well-lit landing. Two smartly suited, fit-looking middle-aged men. DGS agents without a doubt. The taller man bent down and lazily flicked wood splinters from his trouser leg. He straightened and pulled off his kid gloves.

‘Dr Hellyer, feel free to protect your modesty.’

Nick bent to retrieve the sheet, and the tall agent whipped him across the cheeks with the gloves. Nick caught a whiff of sandalwood. Must be the guy’s preferred cologne. He focused on the fragrance, let it move him into a pain-free olfactory universe.

So they’d caught up with him. Not an ideal place to be. The hot blood drained from his head, replaced by an icy calm. This would be a mental as well as physical battle.

The other DGS agent pushed past them and started to poke around in his drawers and shelves, his manner desultory, almost bored.

Nick stared at the tall agent’s face and was momentarily distracted by the extravagance of his black eyebrows.

‘I can see you’ve already made yourselves at home. How can I help you?’

‘We’ve been keeping a close eye on you, Senhor Doutor. You are not who you pretend to be.’

The agent gave him an open-handed slap, spun him around, thrust him into the kitchen and cuffed his wrists behind him.

Nick sat upright on the wooden chair, naked and defenceless, shoulders strained back.

He stared up into the man’s face. ‘What do you want from me? If you’re thieves, I’ve got no money here. And there’s nothing else to steal apart from my clothes.’

‘No, my disingenuous friend,’ the intruder growled. ‘Information, not money or valuables.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re getting at.’

‘Oh, yes, you surely have.’

Nick tensed his abdominal muscles as the agent telegraphed a blow to his belly. And while his roar had made more of the pain than was the reality, his stomach still hurt like buggery.

Eyebrows laughed. ‘Just a taste of what’s to come. In fact, we’re going to take you apart – very slowly – until you admit your true identity and purpose.’

Mind over matter. Ignore the present. Who had snitched on him? Surely not Mario or Augusta. Laidlaw? Clara? No. Proudfoot before he died? Yes. He drifted off into further fruitless speculation. Anything rather than acknowledging his dread of the next assault.

The DGS agent hurtled him back to the real world with a stinging belt across the face from his kid gloves.

‘Pay attention, Senhor Doutor.

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