Stones of Treason

by Peter Watson

  Edward finished his message. ‘We’re in and out all today, restocking the boat, but do try me – I’d love to talk to you. We leave tomorrow for the Western Isles – that’s, oh … two to four days at sea, depending on winds and weather. So, it’s now or never. Bye.’

  He rang off. The plan now was for Victoria to keep an eye on the Strabo while he manned the phone in the room.

  Victoria was preparing to leave, getting ready her paintbox and watercolour pad.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Edward softly. ‘In some ways, a single woman is more noticeable than a couple.’

  ‘You too,’ replied Victoria. ‘Nancy’s beaten you once already, Edward. We can’t afford to let it happen again.’

  ‘Coming to you in one minute,’ said a voice over Brian Welch’s earpiece. ‘Stand by camera, stand by sound.’ The crew on the pavement in front of Welch suddenly snapped into action. People all around stared at this tiny piece of theatre. ‘Fifteen seconds,’ said the voice inside Welch’s ear. ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six …’

  Welch watched for the red light on the camera to wink on. He held the microphone closer to his mouth. ‘Here, in Downing Street, the pavement opposite Number Ten is more crowded than usual. The reason is that police have allowed two hundred demonstrators inside the gate from Whitehall, though many more have been left outside.’ As Welch said this, the camera panned across to the line of Indians with placards crowding the pavement opposite the PM’s residence. It settled on Welch.

  ‘With me I have Ayod Janata, leader of today’s demonstration, and the convener of Indian Nationalists Abroad, British sector.’ Welch turned to Janata and the camera pulled back its focus to take in both men. ‘Mr Janata, a security guard was murdered earlier today at the Metropolitan Museum in New York, when three Indians broke into the gallery and stole eight objects. Yet your demonstration has gone ahead this afternoon. Why have you done that? It could look like exceptional bad taste to hold a rally in these circumstances.’ He held out the microphone to Janata.

  ‘First, you say it was murder in New York. I am sad for what happened – but it was really an accident –’

  ‘But in the course of a burglary –’

  ‘The people who carried out that raid were merely taking objects that had been stolen from India in the first place, many years ago. You ask me why we are demonstrating here and I would have thought it was obvious. Like the Metropolitan Museum, like many of the museums in Europe and North America, British museums contain heritage objects that were stolen from India. In particular, there is a valuable and important throne that was taken from the country in the eighteenth century. That is in the Victoria and Albert Museum. Now, it appears to us that the British government is having a change of heart over the Elgin Marbles – and returning them to Greece. We Indians feel the same way as the Greeks do … we want our beautiful objects back. Now is the time for us to act, to mount this demonstration. We are naturally very sorry that a security guard, and a Greek security guard at that, was accidentally killed at the Metropolitan Museum. And in fact the Indian community in Britain is making a collection to send to the guard’s widow. But I want to make it clear that we agree with the aims of our countrymen in New York, we agree with Hindu Heritage, to the extent that we want to see many cultural objects returned to India. The West has –’

  Welch pulled the microphone back towards his own mouth. ‘Are there any circumstances in which you would go beyond demonstrations? Would you, for instance, ever contemplate breaking into a museum and stealing objects, as happened this morning in New York, with such tragic consequences?’

  For a moment, Janata hesitated.

  Very quickly Welch again pulled the microphone back to himself. Looking into the camera and raising his eyebrows, he simply said: ‘From Downing Street, this is Brian Welch for BBC TV.’

  ‘Nancy? Can you hear me? This is a lousy line. It’s Edward.’

  ‘Woodie! At last. You sound like you’re on the moon.’ Nancy had responded to his call and Leith had relayed the fact not three minutes before. Fortunately, Edward had got through to her flat in London the first time he had tried. Barely seven minutes had elapsed since Nancy had phoned Scotland.

  ‘Close, but I’m an earthling all right. I still feel I’m going up and down after days at sea.’

  ‘But why the sea, Woodie? What happened?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to tell you. The operation is still going on.’

  ‘Is this all to do with those paintings you told me about?’

  ‘Did I say that? I wasn’t supposed to. Yes.’

  ‘And why were you –?’

  ‘Nancy! I can’t talk about it.’ Edward had discussed with Leith whether he should give Nancy a false line, something that would give the other side a false sense of security. In the end, however, they had decided that Edward should give nothing away, should behave very properly. In that way, she might not want to talk to him again. Now he changed the subject. ‘How’s the sculpture research?’

  ‘Finished. That’s why I’m back in London. Now I have to write it all up. Do you like sailing? You never mentioned it.’

  ‘I did it quite a lot as a boy. This trip with the Cashels came up just at the right time. It’s a good way to get away.’

  ‘You’re not getting away from me, are you?’

  Edward felt his breathing grow shorter. An image of Nancy, naked, her flesh half in shadow, danced before him. He was angry, shamed and embarrassed all at the same time. But he was also aroused. ‘Nancy … it’s difficult for me. The phone here is … a bit public. But … I made a mistake, a bad mistake … Don’t forget my flat – my home – is in the royal household, not just my office. I had to get away. But not from you.’

  ‘When will I see you?’

  The bitch! thought Edward. ‘I don’t know. I shall stay away until … until I can come back. Sailing is quite demanding. You have to concentrate – that’s good for me, given what’s happened.’

  ‘What do you think about New York?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? Maybe Scotland is on the moon.’ Suddenly she sounded suspicious.

  ‘I’ve heard nothing. You don’t get the papers at sea and at these latitudes we keep our radio permanently tuned to the weather forecast.’

  Mollified, somewhat, she told him about the murder at the Metropolitan Museum.

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘You may have made a mistake, Woodie, but Lockwood’s hardly a shining example to follow.’

  Edward closed his eyes. Nancy was certainly pushy, turning the conversation to her own purposes at every opportunity. ‘I must go, Nancy. Other people are waiting to use the phone.’

  ‘All right, all right. Just call me from the Western Isles.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  ‘Who knows? I may just fly up to meet you.’

  ‘You may have whatever you wish, so long as it’s Dewar’s.’ Lockwood smiled at Sir Francis Mordaunt. He was playing host again, in the flat above Number Ten. It was midnight.

  ‘Then I’ll have Dewar’s, please.’

  Lockwood stood over the equerry and poured his drink. The flat was full tonight. Besides Slocombe, Midwinter and Leith, Tom Lessor had been invited, and Hatfield, the Chief Whip, was expected. Lockwood made sure everyone had a drink, then stood with his back to the fireplace, looking down at them all. ‘Tomorrow is going to be the worst day yet. I can say that with authority because today was the worst day and tomorrow it will be in all the papers. None of you will know everything, so here goes …’ And he gave them a tour of all that had taken place in the previous twenty-four hours, from the break-in and death at the Metropolitan Museum, to the arrival of the Anglesey, the demonstration in Downing Street and Mordaunt’s conversation with the blackmailer.

  ‘How does this change things, Prime Minister?’ asked Mordaunt when Lockwood had finished.

  The Prime Minister made a face. ‘Good question. This business with the Indians in New Y
ork was a surprise, of course, a shock, and no one could have predicted the break-in, or that someone would have been killed. The demands on the Queen, over the letter, I see as encouraging in a way. We now know the motives of this Apollo Brigade and they seem rational, in a sense, even if we don’t agree with them. We know where each member of the Brigade is so we can move in on them as we wish. The only thing we don’t know is the same as before – the whereabouts of the Blunt paintings. O’Day and Riley tapped Zakros’s conversation again tonight but we are none the wiser, except that they are going to step up the pressure in some way. I’ve come to the conclusion that we cannot expect to find out much more from the phone taps in Basle. We have five days, give or take, before the Anglesey reaches Piraeus. Between now and then we must persuade the Greek in Basle to lead us to the documents.’

  ‘How do you know the documents are kept in Basle?’ Mordaunt swallowed a large gulp of scotch. He reflected how Blunt himself had been a heavy drinker.

  Lockwood nodded. ‘This Zakros character is still there. There must be a reason why he is. They have to assume that at some point they might have to deliver their threat – otherwise this whole thing is a charade. And the simplest thing, after this Brigade got hold of the paintings, would have been to move them from one Swiss bank to another. I accept Inspector Leith’s reasoning on that. No frontiers to cross, and Switzerland is in any case one of the most secretive countries there are. That’s why Blunt chose a Swiss bank in the first place. No, it all points to Switzerland, and to Basle.’ There was a short silence in the room. Lockwood looked from face to face. ‘One thing you might be able to explain, Sir Francis, is the link between Blunt and Zakros. You were told about the exchange that Riley and O’Day overheard in Basle?’

  Mordaunt nodded, placing his whisky glass on the table. ‘Yes, and afterwards I went back through the Blunt file at the Palace. As you may know, Blunt retired in 1971 but of course he kept up his relationship with us. He updated his book on Poussin, wrote about other aspects of the collection and acted as a general adviser. I noticed in the file that he had arranged three loans from the Royal Collection to Greece – in 1968, and then again in 1973 and 1978. Presumably we used him because he knew the country, all the classical bits anyway, from his earlier work and contacts. He could have met – and befriended – any number of Greeks on those occasions. He always accompanied the pictures: that’s our standard arrangement, from a security standpoint.’

  ‘And,’ the Prime Minister interjected, ‘if, as you suggested some days ago, the Greek end of the royal family knew about his wartime mission, he might have been approached?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. But, you know …’ Mordaunt sat up. ‘Blunt was a terrible snob, a very good hater and someone who really knew how to harbour a grudge. And he was really embittered by the removal of his knighthood. It would not surprise me in any way if he isn’t behind all this. He had more than three years, between his public exposure and his death, to put everything into place. This is exactly the kind of cunning plot Blunt would have relished. I can’t prove it of course but, deep down, I believe he thought up this plot, he gave the Greeks the idea, for use after he died. He told them where to find the paintings and what their significance was. He may have recruited Zakros as an art dealer with the “correct” political attitude, primed him, and then sent him the crucial bit of information, about the paintings, but to reach him only after his own death. He might even have told Zakros to try to get the Elgin Marbles returned. I come back always to the fact that Blunt never forgave the British establishment for what he thought it had done to him at the end of his life, for the humiliation heaped on him. So he conceived this plan, as revenge, to be realized after his death, when he couldn’t be touched.’

  Lockwood gazed at Mordaunt without blinking. For a while neither man spoke, then the Prime Minister murmured, ‘We’ll never know, but what you say is plausible, Sir Francis. Only too plausible. And Blunt isn’t beaten yet.’ Lockwood seemed to shake himself, as if to change his mood. ‘Anything else we should know?’

  ‘Yes, there is.’ Mordaunt picked up his glass and swallowed some Dewar’s. ‘Ogilvy wants to resign.’

  ‘What?’ Lockwood wasn’t the only person in the room to say it.

  ‘I’ve just come from Soho, where I had dinner with him at a discreet restaurant I know. He says the didn’t count on so much protest and he says he never imagined the Marbles would actually leave Britain. He’s obviously feeling very exposed – he’s the only academic or scholar who is in on all this and so he’s the only one who is not protesting. He clearly feels isolated and, since the truth can never be told, he thinks he will never be able to explain his position and rehabilitate himself. Hence he feels his only course is to resign.’

  ‘Has he actually done it? He’s supposed to resign to me.’ Lockwood punched one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘That would be a real blow. A coup for the professors.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Slocombe. ‘He could be a security leak.’

  ‘As I say,’ Mordaunt continued, ‘I had dinner with him. He really wanted to see you, Prime Minister, to tender his resignation immediately.’

  ‘So? Has he done it yet?’

  ‘No … I managed to hold him off for a while.’

  ‘How did you do that, may I ask?’ Lockwood looked hard at the equerry.

  ‘He had originally asked to see Andover. A bond between academics – but that, of course, was impossible. However, before seeing him, and because of what he had originally said, I called Andover in Turkey and I picked his brains. He was quite creative, I must say.’ Mordaunt’s face suddenly looked very cunning. ‘I’m afraid … I told him a lie. When he first phoned us, during the day, I asked him to delay at least until dinner. I said I would do my best to talk to you in the interim. I know you’ve been very busy today, with those Brussels commissioners who are here – so I didn’t in fact even bother to trouble you. I talked to Andover instead.’

  They were all engrossed in Mordaunt’s narrative, Lockwood especially.

  ‘When we had dinner, I lied and told him that I had spoken to you. I said that you didn’t want him to resign, that you would be very disappointed and angry if he did, and that if he didn’t resign he could expect a seat in the Lords. But I added that precautions had been taken during the day, that in view of all that is currently happening at the museum at the moment a new director would have to be appointed straight away. I said that preliminary soundings had been taken and that your preferred candidate, Prime Minister, was Richard Salford. That was Andover’s suggestion.’

  ‘Why did you say that, Sir Francis? And who the hell is Richard Salford?’

  ‘According to Andover, he’s Martin Ogilvy’s fiercest rival, sir. Like Ogilvy, he is an archaeologist, but when you’ve said that you’ve listed all that they have in common. They hate each other with a loathing that not even Cain had for Abel. They disagree totally on every professional issue there is and are not on speaking terms. Ogilvy dropped his fork when I told him and wouldn’t touch his fish after that. The lure of the Lords and the spectre of Salford seems to have done it for the time being. He agreed to stay on.’

  Lockwood was looking at Mordaunt rather oddly. Then he looked at Slocombe. ‘What do you think, Eric?’

  ‘I think I could be out of a job soon. It’s brilliant, Andover’s bloody brilliant. Ogilvy won’t resign after this – he’ll be in too deep. Today was the time to resign, if he was going to. Well done, Andover.’

  Lockwood was smiling, too. ‘A narrow squeak,’ he said, ‘but the political jungle is full of such noises. On to the next.’ He looked around the room again. ‘What I need now is some brainstorming, from the minds assembled here, as to how we might persuade this Zakros character to panic and rush off to the place where the Blunt paintings are hidden.’

  For a minute or so no one said anything. A late-night plane droned overhead. ‘I have an idea, Bill, but may I have another drink first?’ Slocombe held out his gla
ss. There was a faint smile on his lips.

  Lockwood reached for the bottle, filled Slocombe’s glass and did the same for some of the others who had also finished. He went back to the fireplace and waited.

  ‘You said it yourself, in fact. The one way we can be certain he will dash to the documents is if he thinks we’re going back on the deal. Remember when Andover argued with him over the phone? He went AWOL for a couple of days and then that picture turned up in Vienna. Now we’re on his tail, if we could do the same again, he would lead us to the hiding place.’

  ‘Bit risky, isn’t it?’ Lockwood looked at Slocombe and frowned.

  ‘This whole thing is risky.’

  ‘Say we accept your reasoning, Eric … if we provoke the Greek, how do we know he won’t go public with the whole thing?’

  ‘We don’t know. But for once I think events may be on our side. Tomorrow or Wednesday the Anglesey leaves for Piraeus, and the Apollo Brigade will be much closer to success – or so it will seem to them. If, at that point, we throw a spanner in the works, they are not going to throw over a victory so easily – it’s not in human nature. They will redouble their threat – yes, I see that. But I’m willing to bet that they won’t junk the whole enterprise.’

  Another long silence ensued before the Prime Minister said: ‘Thank you, Eric. A clear statement, leaving the decisions to me. Every time you say something, I get another grey hair.’ He smiled grimly. He was about to say something else when the door to the flat was opened by the security guard and the Chief Whip rushed in.

  ‘Jocelyn, I’d given you up for lost. We’re almost finished, I’m afraid.’

  ‘No you’re not, Prime Minister.’ Hatfield looked flustered. Slocombe rose, poured a fresh whisky and held it out to him.

  Hatfield took the glass and gulped down some of the contents. ‘I’ve just come from a long meeting with Ted Adams, the opposition’s Chief Whip. They’ve got some Commons time coming up very soon. Arthur Page has indicated he wants a full-dress debate on the Marbles affair. The Speaker has agreed and there’s nothing I can do about it. Bill, I don’t like it. This could turn into a vote of censure against you.’