We sat down around a conference table. To my surprise and, I think, that of the President, Mr Reynard and his adviser sat next to each other on the president’s side of the table, while the president’s own advisers sat next to each other on the other side of the president. Holmes and I sat on our own on the opposite side of the table.
As was customary for him before becoming involved in detailed discussions, Holmes reached for his pipe. Contrary to his normal practice, however, he did not then light the vesta that he had also pulled out. Instead, I could see him sniffing deeply as he drew in deep breaths from all sides. A look of quite unwonted bewilderment came over his face as his gaze fixed on the president. It was a while before he came to and started to set out Britain’s objectives for the meeting.
“It is always,” my friend began eventually, quoting verbatim from comments he had made at the time of the story of The Noble Bachelor, “a pleasure to meet a citizen of the United States. I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years should not come between our two great countries and their shared destiny as one-”
“My minister,” broke in Mr Reynard’s adviser, his words almost tumbling over each other in his anxiety to speak, “amongst his numerous good works, has set up a charitable organisation to promote the special relationship between our two great countries. My minister and I share Mr Holmes’s view of our common destiny.”
I think the president was surprised by the interruption and there was a silence before he spoke.
“So, Mr Holmes, you’re saying that the United States should take over your country? Like one of my businesses taking out one of yours?”
“I had the business model of a merger of partners in a common interest rather than of an acquisition in mind,” said Holmes after a pause.
“Normally when I take over another business, my first step is to fire all the workers,” grunted the president with no great grace. “But you are suggesting what you call a ‘merger’?” He continued, again sounding sceptical. “What do you think you can offer to make a ‘merger’ between our nations of interest to us?”
“Our interests are always aligned with yours,” broke in Reynard’s adviser ingratiatingly.
“We always have our own interests and pay no attention to whether they are aligned with anyone else’s or not,” replied the President sharply.
“Nevertheless,” said Reynard’s adviser smoothly, “there has always been common gr-”
“But we’ve already found out you’ve got a different constitution,” interrupted the President. “You’ll be wanting to keep the British pound after this so-called merger next.”
He and his advisers laughed uproariously at a concept they obviously found highly diverting.
“Why,” asked Reynard’s adviser, slightly plaintively, after the laughter had died down, “do you refer to our currency as the British pound?”
The president seemed uncertain of the answer to this question and had a whispered conversation with one of his advisers before responding. He turned back to us with a smile as though he was party to some private joke. “I understand that Sudan, Lebanon, Syria and Egypt all use currencies called the pound. We have to distinguish between all the countries with whom we have special relationships.” There was a pause before the president asked, “And hasn’t this minister you’re supposed to be advising got anything to say for himself?”
Reynard opened his mouth as though to speak, but his adviser turned to him and said in a voice which brooked no argument, for all that it maintained its suavity. “Minister, your lofty talents were fashioned for a higher calling than mere negotiations with our transatlantic cousins. Let me place my own more workaday skills at your disposal.”
“You call these ‘mere negotiations?’” interrupted the President before anyone else could speak. “Listen here!” he said, addressing all of us. “We’ve already got plenty of military alliances. And I don’t see what an economy many times smaller than ours can bring to us. From where I’m sitting, you’re just yet another medium-sized European power.”
I could see that the President’s own advisers were already gathering up their papers to depart for the next meeting and he continued in the same vein.
“To be straight with you, Mr Holmes, I’m not much interested in new trade deals. I’m busy scrapping the old ones as they don’t do us any favours. And I don’t see that I want to expand American territory in this merger you’re talking about when I am busy trying to fix my own borders. You should see the wall I’m going to build to do that. And once I’ve finished on the Canadian side, you’ll need to hang onto your hat when I do what I’ve got planned for Mexico. You’d better go tell your Queen or Prime Minister or whoever, it’s no dice.”
The adviser turned to his minister as though to say something but Holmes was the first to break the silence that arose after the President’s peremptory dismissal. “If I may summarise the President’s position, it is that he has no wish to extend the ties between our nations as he sees Britain as too small to bring his country any material advantage?”
“That’s about the size of it,” said the President, who rose from his seat and departed with the curtest of farewells.
Holmes could see no point in remaining in the American capital after the events I have described. I cabled my notes of the meeting to Mycroft and we boarded the next steamer to Southampton.
I asked Holmes on the journey why he had not lit his pipe, his companion for some of his finest thoughts, during our discussions with the President. He declined to respond other than to say, “Through my olfactory sense I made a deduction about the President which was so bizarre I will not credit it, which was irrelevant to our discussions, and the disclosure of which would breach the rules of confidentiality of the profession you’re in.” To my surprise, he seemed to shiver before he continued, “This is not a matter on which I have the remotest desire to elaborate.”
When we arrived back at Baker Street, Mycroft forwarded to us surprisingly favourable press coverage of our meeting. The Daily Mail commented that discussions on a new model for Anglo-American relations had been held:
“The mere fact that such discussions were held with the American administration which has so many other pressing concerns is proof that the special relationship that binds our two countries continues to thrive.”
It was not long before we received another summons to the Diogenes Club, where we were again addressed by the Prime Minister bearing the same ashen countenance as last time with a visibly self-assured Mycroft in attendance.
“I am very grateful, Mr Holmes, and to you too, Dr Watson, for your efforts in the United States,” said the prime minister.
“The president was somewhat ungracious in his remarks,” commented Holmes, “although the press coverage of the meeting was remarkably favourable.”
“That was my doing,” said Mycroft. “Positive coverage by the press makes sure the British public will be favourably disposed to any deal that is struck.”
“So, what is the reason for your summoning us here again?” asked Holmes.
“We need you to go to Moscow to meet the Czar,” said Mycroft. “We will leave no stone unturned in seeking new strategic alliances.” He turned to the Prime Minister at his side. “Perhaps, PM, you could elaborate.”
“Some of the thinkers both in my party and in the opposition,” said the Prime Minister in a tone at least as unsure as that with which we had been addressed at our previous meeting, “believe that our interests and those of the Russians are more closely aligned than has hitherto been thought. We should explore the option of an alliance with them.”
Within three days we were at the Kremlin and ushered into an anteroom to await the Czar. I was surprised when after a few minutes we were joined, not by a man with the familiar bearded features of the Czar, but by a shor
t wiry man with protruding ears and a head only sparsely populated by hair. He was in the company of a coterie of uniformed attendants.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr Holmes,” he said in a thick Russian accent, “although when I heard that a British delegation was coming I thought I would be talking to your Queen.”
“I fear you may have been incorrectly briefed,” replied Holmes, I think surprised by the similarity between the preamble to discussions with the United States president and the preamble to discussions with the man before us. “Queen Victoria passed away some years ago and was succeeded by the present monarch, her son, Edward VII. He is the head of the British state while I represent the British government, which wields the political power in our land. For my part, I am bound to say that I expected to be meeting the Czar here today.”
“Events in our great country are hard to predict and he has been detained in Yekaterinburg, over one thousand miles to the east of us,” said the chief minister with a shrug. “I cannot say when he will be able to join us, but I am his chief minister, and you may say to me whatever you might have said to him. But forgive me, if I persist. I was still expecting to meet your Queen as I was under the impression that she was the person who makes the decisions in your country.”
At that moment, there was the sound of a loud altercation outside the door of the anteroom and, to our surprise, we heard a voice we recognised as that of Mr Reynard’s adviser protesting vigorously:
“My minister is the person who is tasked with negotiating new arrangements with powers outside the Entente. I insist he is admitted to see the Russian chief minister alongside Mr Holmes.”
The chief minister gave an immediate signal to one of his attendants and we were joined by Mr Reynard and his adviser. We went into a conference room and once again I noted to my surprise that Mr Reynard and his adviser sat at the same side of the table as the chief minister.
“Chief Minister, our countries have a long history of mutual respect,” began Holmes, “and we have few conflicting interests as our geographical spheres of influence are so divergent. In the world of new possibilities offered by our recent vote to secede from the Entente Powers, it makes sense for us to consider ideas that have hitherto received little attention.”
I could see that the chief minister, by contrast with the American president, was keenly interested in what Holmes had to say.
“Not everything has gone the way my country would wish in the last few years,” the chief minister replied in a viscous tone. “It is certainly possible that we might find matters where we could help each other.”
He paused and I was eager to hear what he would say next.
“For example,” continued the chief minister slowly, “we are a country of a great size and with a great military history. It is, therefore, an outrage that some small countries on our borders discriminate against their Russian ethnic minorities. Great Britain and Russia could form a progressive alliance to protect our people and show those who would use aggression against our people that we are not to be trifled with.”
“And what would be the British role in this progressive alliance?” asked Holmes, who I think had been anticipating a proposal on trade.
“We would not anticipate the British sending troops at first,” said the chief minister, “but it would help, in dealing with the potentially hostile reaction that realisation of my proposal may engender around the world, if Great Britain could show a mature response to our moves.”
“Perhaps you could explain further?” said Holmes.
“I would suggest that the British government issue a statement to the effect that the countries on our border have been behaving provocatively and that the Russian government is fully entitled to take steps to defend the ethnic Russians who live in those countries. Even a remark so anodyne as this would be of the utmost assistance in making our actions palatable to the global audience.”
“You make yourself very clear with regard to the opinion that you wish the British government to express in response to your planned actions,” said Holmes. “Can you also explain your remark that you would not anticipate British troops being sent into these border states at first?”
“I think British soldiers are the best peacekeeping troops in the world,” said the Russian chief minister, his tone showing a sudden and unexpected warmth. “Once our troops have secured acceptable conditions for the ethnic Russians, British troops could be sent into these countries to keep the peace. We would reward you by offering you one of our ports in perpetuity. Königsberg has the right location, a Russian population in urgent need of defenders, and has been hard for us to secure in the past. It could become your eastern Gibraltar, though we might want to change the name before we hand control to you.”
“And,” burst in Mr Reynard’s adviser eagerly, “as Great Britain is no longer bound by the onerous restrictions of the Entente, we would sell you weapons to achieve your aims. I have many connections in the weapons industry. I am sure you would use any weapons supplied responsibly in your justified efforts to defend your countrymen, just as we are defending our own country from the onslaught of Entente powers.”
He turned to Mr Reynard. “And I am sure, Minister, that, given sufficient orders, the arms companies could be persuaded to make a donation to one of your excellent charitable foundations whose good works you explained to me so...” and he broke off to think of the mot juste for what he wanted to say, “...penetratingly, on the way here from London.”
Reynard’s adviser’s voice rose in a crescendo as he continued, “Minister, through your commercial brilliance, you are on the verge of a stunning business coup, creating jobs for British workers. There are those who say the only deal you have ever done is to pay back parliamentary expenses which were retrospectively rejected as inappropriate. But it will be clear to all that your reputation for having an intimate knowledge of foreign trade is fully justified, since the deal which the Russian chief minister has offered will give you the reputation of a diplomatic wizard capable of securing huge orders for British companies. And to show his good faith, the chief minister has offered us territorial gains as well. People will see that Great Britain is becoming even greater as a result of leaving the Entente.”
There seemed nothing more to say. After a brief pause at the British Embassy in Moscow to cable to Mycroft the results of our discussions, Holmes and I returned to London.
As our train steamed across Europe, Holmes expressed his concern to me about the deal that had been proposed in Moscow. “I thought our brief was to broker trade deals in new territories. While business opportunities will undoubtedly arise out of what is proposed, territorial aggrandisement was not part of our brief. And once British forces are used as peacekeeping troops, there is no knowing how they will be used nor for how long.”
No sooner were we back in London than Holmes and I were again summoned to the Diogenes Club to meet Mycroft and the Prime Minister. The latter seemed quite overwhelmed by the dilemmas facing the nation and this time Mycroft did all the talking.
“I am happy to say, Sherlock, that your diplomatic efforts are winning all the battles we want around the world. I have penned an article in a popular style for the Daily Mail and I expect that they will include its contents in full if they want to continue to have access to government thinking. He read from his proposed text:
“‘Whether in the United States or in Moscow, it is clear that secessionist Britain has the ear of the great powers in a way it has never had before. Whether as part of a larger United States, or as a player in a military alliance with Moscow, it is obvious that secessionist colours will be red, white and blue.’”
“Does the British Government measure its success by favourable articles in the Daily Mail?” asked Holmes.
“I was not aware there was any other measure,” replied Mycroft serenely.
“And what is it you want us to
do next?” asked my friend.
“To be ready,” replied his brother. “I shall be surprised if you are not on another diplomatic mission again very shortly.”
The next day, Holmes and I opened the newspapers expecting to read Mycroft’s article in the Daily Mail and reflections of it in all the other newspapers. Our expectations were fully met and I anticipated no need for any immediate summons to the Diogenes Club. It was thus a surprise when a messenger brought an epistle requesting our presence at the Diogenes Club post-haste.
That the Prime Minister still had a visage white with tension will be something my reader was expecting, but Mycroft was even more his imperturbable self than ever.
“Another diplomatic visit for you to go on, Sherlock,” he said. “It is all going exactly as expected although perhaps slightly more precipitately. I have made an appointment for you with the French president who is also the president of the Entente Powers’ administration for a six-month term in office. You need to be on the boat-train tonight.”
“What am I to see him about?” asked Holmes.
“You will understand your brief when you are in front of the president,” replied Mycroft and would not be drawn further.
The next morning saw us in the Élysée Palace, where we were ushered into the president’s spacious office. The president sat behind a huge writing desk, bare apart from a helmet perched on it. I think the president saw my puzzled face at the sight of the helmet and explained:
“My predecessor left this behind as a good luck charm. He said that he wore it at the moment critique of all his most important engagements.”
“But”, he went on, “I am delighted to see representatives of the British government here. I thought your country’s decision to secede from the Entente had terminated all such collaboration. The news is terrible. Russian troops have taken over the countries on Russia’s western border. The Russian press agency has said they are on a goodwill mission to express their solidarity with the ethnic Russians in these territories. And troopships have been sighted in the Baltic, but there is no clarity on where they are going. There have been no Russian troops this far west since they occupied Paris in 1814. I fear the worst.”
The Redacted Sherlock Holmes - Volume 4 Page 10