‘I think I must warn you,’ said Morrison stiffly, ‘that you are interrupting a police investigation, Colonel Tirov, and any unauthorized activity will not at this stage be particularly welcome. So far as this investigation is concerned there is no question of diplomatic immunity. I must warn you if there has been any investigation into this case by any member of the Soviet Embassy they or you are risking a charge of espionage.’
‘Dear me,’ Tirov stretched his huge bulk into the canvas seat and relaxed. ‘Is that so, Superintendent? A spy charge, eh? I shall have to be careful. I should not like to do anything that would affect the good relations that exist between our two countries.’ The irony of the phrase was not lost.
‘Between the peace-loving countries of the world,’ murmured Holmes.
‘As you say,’ said Tirov. His face was expressionless, like a graven image. ‘Just as you say. Between the peace-loving countries of the world. Between the countries of the world whose main interest at the moment is to have peace in Africa.’
‘Come to the point,’ said Morrison.
Tirov looked at Morrison thoughtfully. He pursed his lips and reached in his breast pocket. He took out a leather cigar case and began to turn it over and over, smoothing it with his fingers. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is the point, Superintendent Morrison. Do you see? That is the point. I hope,’ he said, ‘we shall have cooperation between our two sides. So far as I am concerned, this is an unofficial visit. It could be made official if you wish. We could make an official call upon your Mr Scott Elliot at the Foreign Office if you wish.’ He continued to smooth the leather with his fingers.
‘That’s up to you.’
Tirov nodded. ‘It would of course be done by the diplomatists, not those in charge of this investigation.’
‘As far as you are concerned there is no investigation.’
‘You make a mistake,’ said Tirov. ‘We started an investigation on the day Peter Shepherd asked Nina Lydoevna to meet him at Runnymede.’ He saw the shock on Morrison’s face before he went on: ‘The officials can be brought in if you wish, the long laborious process of the official channels can be started. Do you imagine we should get anywhere? You are aware of the process of bureaucratic delay.’
‘I have no authority to discuss this with you, Colonel Tirov.’
‘You have authority to protect the interests of your country.’
That has been done,’ said Morrison.
‘You don’t know how it has been done,’ said Tirov triumphantly and snapped the cigar case between his fingers as though playing a trump card.
In the slight pause which followed, the doctor came in. The staff nurse who followed had her arms full of chip boards and files and peered over the top of them like a faun in a paper jungle. The doctor glared round the room, at the three chairs and the three occupants and Lamb leaning against the bed locker. He exploded. ‘What the devil is going on?’
‘A police investigation,’ said Morrison gruffly. The doctor snarled. The doctor was irascible. The imponderable weight and authority of Morrison irritated him.
The doctor wagged his finger. ‘Do you realize this patient has lungs full of water, that she may well get pneumonia if she has not got it already, and that when I gave permission for police to sit by her bedside I meant one policeman and not four hulking great brutes taking the oxygen out of the air. I don’t know what the police are coming to. You may be able to do what you like outside a hospital but not here. I want all of you outside. At once.’
The nurse looked as though she was ready to sink through the floor.
‘Is there a room where we can talk?’ said Morrison.
‘You can talk in the corridor.’
To make it more confusing the patient began to come round. The eyelids fluttered and opened. She stared at the ceiling in the bemused apprehension of returning consciousness.
Holmes took the doctor’s arm. ‘My name is Holmes, of Downing Street,’ he said. ‘I realize we are breaking hospital etiquette but Detective Superintendent Morrison is acting under orders from the Prime Minister. In these circumstances, if we are disturbing you, I can only express my profound regret.’
‘You’re not disturbing me. You’re disturbing the patient.’
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to attend to the patient but I assure you that we must remain in the room.’ The doctor continued to glare. Holmes’ politeness was the deciding factor. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Nurse, get a screen round the bed. You gentlemen can wait in the room or in the corridor.’
‘Come, Colonel,’ said Holmes. He and Tirov went out into the corridor and Lamb, after a quick glance at Morrison, followed. Tirov put his cigar away and lit a cigarette. A passing staff nurse asked him to put it out and he did so. ‘I would not,’ he said amiably to Holmes, ‘disturb the routine of your hospitals. They are excellent hospitals. They perhaps lack some social amenities but they are nevertheless excellent.’
Holmes bowed. He was momentarily at a loss for anything to say. So was Lamb. They waited until the doctor came out. He came across to Holmes. It was his turn to take Holmes by the arm and lead him a few feet away. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘you can go in now.’ His voice became soft. ‘What’s going on?’
‘A security case.’
‘Really?’
‘I am afraid so.’
The doctor’s lip twisted. He was good tempered now. He jerked his head towards the room from which he had emerged. ‘Female spy?’
‘No.’
‘A lot of fuss about nothing,’ said the doctor. ‘I know. Don’t kid me. People who work in the health service are used to the high flying concepts of bureaucratic privilege. Frankly, most of our work is unnecessary. Most of yours is too. You can stay with the patient for half an hour but I warn you if she has a relapse I shall blame it on you.’
‘Nothing could be more explicit.’
‘Good. You can now continue with your activities. I hope you discover the missing file.’ The doctor went away, pleased with his simple humour.
Rosa Verschoyle was resting against a pile of pillows. If she was surprised to see the four men she showed no visible sign. Perhaps she was still numb, dazed from the effects of the phosphorus fumes, wrists and ankles still throbbing. Holmes had the feeling that he should take charge. It would be simpler to explain it to them and yet it would be tactically wrong. Morrison, who would almost certainly be offended, liked to do things in his own way, to allow things to develop as he wanted them to develop. At this stage in the investigation he would not want anyone to interfere. Holmes remained silent. The nurse folded up the screen and placed it against the wall. She went out of the room closing the door carefully after her.
Tirov was staring at the patient in a venerable way, as an elder statesman, as a guru, benevolent, hands behind his back, his heavy chin pushed forwards, eyes half closed, smiling. He appeared as if about to elaborate on a theme, to conduct an orchestra, to say a poem.
‘Now that Mrs Verschoyle has come round,’ said Morrison, ‘I must ask you to leave, Colonel Tirov. We have some questions we would like to put to her in private.’
Tirov listened. He looked at Holmes. Holmes grinned. ‘I think, Colonel,’ he said to Tirov, ‘you’ll have to tell them.’
The flat-faced woman of forty lying in bed stared from one to the other, a slight anxiety in her eyes. She looked tired and pathetic as she lay there, propped on pillows. Tirov spoke to her gently, soothingly. They know,’ he said. ‘You need not worry, Nina. You were successful. The lake was not contaminated. The troops got away. Everything will be all right.’
Morrison glared at Tirov and then at the woman in bed. The world seemed to be falling to pieces about him. He felt a gentle touch on his arm. It was Holmes. ‘She’s not Mrs Shepherd’s sister,’ Holmes murmured in Morrison’s ear. ‘You would have guessed, wouldn’t you, when you talked to her? She is Nina Lydoevna.’
‘Nina Lydoevna was deported,’ said Morrison.
Holmes smiled a
crooked smile. ‘She came back,’ he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rosa Verschoyle
‘It was Shepherd,’ explained Nina Lydoevna to the fascinated Morrison, ‘who approached me first. I had known of him. We, in Soviet intelligence, are not unaware of those on the other side. But it was he who began.’ She looked again at Tirov.
‘Go ahead,’ said Tirov. ‘In the circumstances they should know everything.’
Holmes groaned. He looked at Lamb. He liked Lamb and he disliked the thought that Lamb was going to be hurt. But he did not see how it could be avoided.
‘Shepherd was short of money,’ said Nina Lydoevna. Tie was always complaining about his boss’s lack of imagination.’ Lamb coloured and looked indignant at that and Holmes sighed in sympathy. Nina Lydoevna continued: ‘Because of this lack of imagination he was starved of funds. In the Middle East you can do nothing without money. Without money he would have failed. So it was agreed that we would help. It was convenient for us to finance British agents in Africa because their aims and ours were identical.’
‘You paid Shepherd money!’ exploded Lamb. He was as white as a sheet.
‘We didn’t pay him directly,’ Nina said. ‘He didn’t know anything about it. We financed the agents he used, men who provided information.’
‘Men like Ian Dixon?’ suggested Holmes; and Nina nodded.
‘Dixon is dead,’ she said. ‘The Brotherhood got him. He took a consignment of the drug and tried to sell it on the black market. So they killed him. They got something else out of Dixon too before he died. They tortured him and he gave them Shepherd’s name. They tried to get Shepherd twice in Africa and they followed him to London.’
Holmes said, gently: ‘So Shepherd was successful in Africa?’
‘It took a long time,’ she said, sipping her tea, ‘but he got what he wanted. It was better than he thought, better than any of us had thought. The scheme was complicated. It was the work of a genius. We all recognized this. If it were to be sabotage it would need brains of the very highest order.’
Morrison took the cup from her and put it down. She lay in silence, her eyes far way. There was a sudden expression of tranquillity on her face, the powerful lips softened as she looked at Tirov.
‘Who got me out of Uplands?’
‘Mr Holmes.’
Holmes was aware of the large violet-coloured eyes fixed on him, like deep pools with soft margins. He was surprised at their intensity and intelligence.
‘So you are Mr Holmes?’ she said. ‘I have heard of you. You are the most famous of them all!’
Holmes bowed.
‘Go on with the story, Nina,’ said Tirov, gently.
When Shepherd came back to this country,’ she said, ‘he had everything he wanted to know to complete a case and make a report, except the details of the distribution of the drug and the attitude which my country would take.’
Holmes said, ‘He did not know you were financing Ian Dixon?’
‘Not even Dixon knew that,’ said Tirov. ‘We arranged for Dixon to make a profit out of a certain transaction. The profits could not be declared but he would be in a position to use them. That is the way to finance agents. You give them power, position, money.’
‘We must recommend the technique to the Foreign Office,’ murmured Holmes.
‘You can recommend it,’ said Tirov, ‘but they would never adopt it because it would not be cricket.’
‘It would be private enterprise,' grinned Holmes, ‘which would be better.’
Morrison grunted. Lamb, who was leaning forward to look at Nina, said to her: ‘Shepherd got in touch with you about the attitude your country would take?'
Nina Lydoevna nodded. ‘Shepherd was intelligent,’ she said. ‘He knew the struggle that was going on in Africa. He had seen the Chinese agents at work in a dozen countries. He had seen the trade missions from Peking. He knew the infiltration that was going on. He had seen the contacts between the missions and the Brotherhood. In every sphere the contact was made, though in every sphere the manifestation was different. Sometimes it was a movement for colonial freedom. In another country it would be a movement for continental unity, in another a nationalist opposition movement that was purely dependent on harnessing the discontent and the poverty. But, for whatever reason, the organization was the same, and behind each organization was the money from China and the brains of Akano.'
Lamb asked the obvious question.
‘Akano,’ said Nina Lydoevna, and her voice carried the vibrancy of her conviction, ‘is the finest military genius that the continent of Africa has produced. He is the head of the Brotherhood. He is a Masai, the son of a tribal chief, the son of a fighter, but he has none of the Masai laziness or pride. He is that rare creature whose intelligence transcends social and racial boundaries.’
‘Have you met him?' asked Lamb.
‘Once,’ she replied. ‘He is a tall man who says little and who has none of the African's emotional instability. He impressed me greatly. That was in the Sudan when I did not know who he was.’
‘And why,’ said Morrison, ‘do you consider him a genius?'
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘He created the Brotherhood,’ she said, as if that were a sufficient explanation. She went on earnestly. ‘Do you know what that means? I find it difficult to convey to you if you do not know Africa. The Africans are still children. They are excited, emotional, devout, idealistic. They have no discipline, in the sense that we in Russia understand discipline, in the sense that you in this highly disciplined England of yours understand it. For the African, the Brotherhood is something completely foreign to his nature and to his tradition. Yet Akano created it out of Africans. It is a movement of an iron discipline with the fervour and secrecy of Jesuits.’
‘Phew!’ Morrison wiped his head. ‘That sounds a tall order.’
‘With anyone else but Akano,’ said Nina Lydoevna, ‘it would have been impossible. It would need a genius of astonishing power even to create such an organization. It is not based on blood, like the Mau-Mau, nor on hatred, but on the idea of a united Africa. It is based on love, on patriotism. That is the driving force behind it; and the driving force is Akano. He is, in himself, the new Africa. That is what makes him powerful. He is the new movement of the African people beside which the early stirrings of men like Lumumba were no more than primitive destruction of old faiths.’
‘Go on,’ said Holmes.
‘Shepherd had heard of him,’ she said, ‘but never met him. He had no idea of his power nor of the strength of his organization. He did not believe it. He came to ask me.’
‘At Runnymede?'
‘We met at Runnymede,’ she said. ‘It had taken time to prepare. Shepherd had discovered that Uplands was one of the centres of the Brotherhood. They made use of it because these health clinics have a world-wide link through the health movements and their advantage is that they are peopled with cranks and harmless characters who in themselves create no suspicion; also they have no race prejudice.’
‘Ah.’
‘Shepherd took infinite precautions. He pretended to have an ulcer. He went to a hospital and from there, pretending dissatisfaction with conventional treatment, to Uplands. We arranged our meeting through Mrs Wrythe.’
‘So she knew,’ said Morrison firmly.
Nina Lydoevna shook her head. ‘Not at all. We made use of her. I was a Russian health cure addict at the embassy who recommended Shepherd as a patient. Mrs Wrythe was innocent. Shepherd, however, found out he was watched. Akano was thorough. I told you the man was a genius. The African students at Uplands were members of the Brotherhood. Two of them worked in the kitchens. They were, so I believe, genuinely interested in the preparation of health food. To that extent they were genuine. They were given a cellar to carry out experiments into purely African food problems. They experimented on plankton foodstuffs.’
‘The excuse,’ said Holmes, ‘for the fish?’
Nina Lydoevna nodded. ‘You se
em to know. The fish were for the distribution.’
‘Go back to the meeting,’ said Holmes.
‘I met him at Runnymede,’ said Nina Lydoevna. Her eyes were dreamy. ‘It was a beautiful day. There were picnickers by the river.’
‘And fishermen on the banks?’ That was Holmes. ‘Fishermen?’ she frowned. ‘Yes. There were. One or two. I remember. It was idyllic. It seemed so absurd somehow, so far removed from Africa, from Akano, that it was difficult to believe in the reason for our meeting. He asked me for information. I said I was prepared to give it for a price.’
‘What price?’
‘We wanted to know what he had discovered.’
‘He was willing to tell you?’
‘He was willing to bargain.’ Nina Lydoevna looked thoughtfully at Holmes. ‘Being willing to bargain information is not a crime. I will tell you one thing about your man Shepherd. He was a patriot. He believed in what he was doing. He was as much a patriot as I am or as Colonel Tirov. He would not have given us information which was against your nation’s interests. What he was doing was unorthodox and perhaps against your criminal code but it was done from the highest motives. He wanted to be able to put the full case, intact, to the Foreign Office, with every detail perfect. He was a perfectionist, perhaps, but he was no less a patriot.’
‘It is something which I understand,’ said Holmes.
‘I’m damned if I do,’ said Lamb. ‘Why the devil didn’t he come to me? Why didn’t he ask us for help?’ Lamb glared. ‘He was going behind the department.’
‘What did he want to know?’ said Holmes, ignoring Lamb.
‘He wanted to know who was behind the Brotherhood, who Akano was, where he came from, everything about him. I told him what I knew. He seemed unwilling to believe Akano was as efficient as I assured him he was. He still thought it was a wildcat scheme. I remember him using the word. He said that if he told his superiors about it without anything to back it up they would laugh themselves sick.’
The Shepherd File Page 15