Free Other Paths to Glory by Anthony Price

interesting - then that’s what it was.’
    ‘And therefore still is,’ interposed Audley mildly. ‘Well, Jack - are you satisfied?’
    Butler gave Mitchell a final lingering look, his lips slightly parted now where they had been pressed together before.
    ‘Does he know the score?’ he snapped.
    ‘He knows Emerson was killed.’
    ‘Does he understand what that means?’
    ‘If you mean do I know someone wants to kill me too, Colonel Butler,’ cut in Mitchell, ‘I’ve already been given a demonstration, you know.’
    ‘And that didn’t frighten you?’
    ‘It scared the hell out of me, frankly.’
    The lips parted another quarter of an inch.
    ‘Well that’s something, I suppose. And you think a khaki uniform will put them off next time?’
    ‘Oh, come on. Jack,’ said Audley. ‘They think he’s dead, or they will when the newspaper announces he’s missing. You knew he was alive - but did you recognise him straight off? Did you?’
    Audley was trading on that half minute they had walked across the lay-by, before the Rover’s door had burst open.
    ‘You think a uniform and a hair-cut and a blond rinse and a bloody stupid little moustache will do the trick?’
    ‘Why not? Christ, Jack - I think he looks perfect! ‘
    Butler took a step back, scanning Mitchell up and down appraisingly.
    ‘Hmm … If I didn’t know you so well, Audley, I might have taken longer spotting him, it’s true. I must admit the moustache looks lifelike …’
    ‘And you’re trained to look carefully. As far as we know they’ve only seen him close up once, and that was in artificial light at night - even then they had to make sure by asking him who he was.’
    ‘You brought in Perman to handle his appearance?’
    ‘Naturally. He said the haircut and the fair hair would alter the shape of his head - take your beret off, Paul - see, Jack? And the moustache broadens his face. Add the uniform and you’ve got a different person altogether - a soldier.’
    Butler scowled.
    ‘That’s the trouble: a soldier is what you haven’t got. That’s what gave him away just now - he doesn’t march, he doesn’t walk - he slouches like a pregnant washerwoman on a wet Monday. My God, man - you may not be an infantryman, but you’re meant to be an officer in the Royal Tank Regiment, and that means you can’t drag yourself around on all fours. Stick your chest out. Get your shoulders back and pull in your stomach. A uniform doesn’t make a soldier: it’s the man inside the uniform who is the soldier. At the moment you’re just so much stuffing. ’
    Mitchell drew a deep breath, his cheeks burning.
    ‘That’s better. Now salute me - go on, salute me. I’m a colonel and you can’t wave at me as though I’m your girlfriend - salute me! ’
    It had been the first thing Mitchell had done in the privacy of his room at the hotel when Audley had left him alone: he had stood in front of the full length mirror and had saluted himself. Longest way up, shortest way down - he remembered the formula. It had looked gratifyingly military at the time. And it hadn’t looked like anyone he’d ever met.
    ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Butler. ‘Where did you learn to salute?’
    ‘I used to play soldiers in the Cambridge University OTC, Colonel Butler,’ he answered with insulting politeness. ‘I’ve also played Raleigh in the college production of Journey ’ s End and Carrington in the Godsey Players’ version of Carrington VC. I’m a real veteran.’
    Butler gave him a hard look.
    ‘For your sake I hope you’re half as good as you think you are.’
    ‘I hope so too.’
    ‘ Sir. As of this moment you call me “sir” in public when you’re in uniform. And when you’re in mufti you call me “Jack”. I take it your Christian name is still the same?’
    ‘I’ve been left that, yes.’
    ‘Sir . ’
    ‘ SIR. ’
    ‘And whose bright idea was “Lefevre”?’
    ‘Mine,’ said Audley. ‘It’s his second name and his mother’s maiden