The Dark Chronicles

by Jeremy Duns

  Fearing bristled at the scarcely veiled accusation. ‘We took all the usual precautions and more,’ he said. ‘We had sixteen Redcaps stationed inside the cathedral—’

  ‘Who were a fat lot of use,’ said Haggard.

  Fearing paused for a moment and decided not to pursue it: ‘And we conducted a thorough sweep of the building before the service began. There was no indication—’

  ‘“A thorough sweep”?’ Haggard jumped in again. ‘How on earth did the sniper get in, then? And what about the climbing ropes Paul’s just told us about – how did he manage to bring them in unnoticed?’

  Fearing’s nostrils flared. As the head of Five, he was unused to being given a carpeting. But he deserved it: it had happened on his watch. ‘We’re looking into the first matter urgently, sir,’ he said. ‘But he may simply have walked in during the service.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Haggard quietly, ‘but did you just say that he might have walked in?’

  ‘Yes. He was disguised as a priest. We did consider the security situation extensively, but St Paul’s is a public place of worship. If we’d closed it off completely, we would have created an enormous problem with local parishioners, so some access was a condition of holding the service there, as it has been in the past.’ He glanced at Osborne to make it clear that he had raised these issues beforehand. ‘The Redcaps turned tourists away at the door explaining it was a private funeral service, but there was still some toing and froing. As for the climbing ropes, the scaffolding was taken down from around the dome last year but there were still a few bits and pieces on the galleries. We checked with the Dean beforehand that this was all in order, and he told us to leave it. But it appears that he had hidden his ropes among these—’

  ‘Pathetic!’ Haggard snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of this tripe. You should, of course, have taken the Dean or whoever was responsible up there to check. And as for creating problems with parishioners…’ His shook his head. ‘Pathetic. Do we at least have any idea who was behind it? Paul said he was Italian – are we sure of that?’

  ‘I think we can be reasonably confident, minister,’ Osborne broke in. ‘He spoke the language fluently as he was dying, at which point instinct tends to come into play.’

  He had a good memory, Osborne; I had to give him that. Probably why he’d made it so far.

  ‘But why on earth would the Italians want to kill John?’ asked Haggard.

  Pelham-Jones took it. ‘The sniper may just have been a gun for hire, sir. We don’t have anything further on his identity yet, although we’ve shared a detailed description with Interpol to see if they can help. But we have had a claim of responsibility.’

  Osborne and I both looked up. ‘Really?’ I said. ‘When was this?’

  ‘About two hours ago. A call to Holborn police station from a group calling themselves the “Movement for International Solidarity”.’

  ‘Credible?’

  Pelham-Jones nodded. ‘There is no way of concealing that something happened this morning – there were simply too many people involved, and it will get out whether we like it or not. But this was still a very quick response, and at the moment we’re inclined to think it was genuine.’

  ‘I wish you’d told us this before the meeting,’ said Osborne, and I felt his shoe kick against mine under the table. I glanced across at him but he was making notes intently on his pad. I squinted at the scrawl at the top of the page: KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS OUTFIT?

  ‘We’ve been rather busy,’ Fearing said icily.

  I picked up my pen and wrote NO on my pad. It rang a bell, vaguely, but I didn’t have any facts at my fingertips.

  Osborne scribbled again. EDMUND MIGHT.

  He asked Haggard if I could briefly be excused to check whether or not we had anything on the group in our files. Haggard agreed, and I asked one of the private secretaries to show me to a telephone. It took a while to get hold of Innes, but once I had I quickly explained where we were. He perked up as soon as I told him the name of the group.

  ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘I think I might have something.’

  When I came back into the room, Pelham-Jones was handing round dossiers. I nodded at Osborne, who looked relieved, then picked my copy off the table. It was titled ‘INTERNAL SUBVERSION: ANARCHIST AND COMMUNIST GROUPS’.

  ‘If you turn to page twenty-six,’ said Fearing, ‘you’ll see the chaps we think we may be dealing with.’

  I turned. The page was largely taken up with a photograph of a hand-scrawled note, which read: ‘Yankee fascism all over the world – no to racism – freedom for American negros!’

  Haggard snorted. ‘An educated bunch.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Fearing. ‘This was found in Grosvenor Square when the American embassy was machine-gunned two years ago. They managed to ruin three of the glass doors. As you can see, it’s signed the “First of May”, but we think John’s assassination may have been carried out by a breakaway faction from that group – perhaps even more fanatical. The First of May have sometimes claimed to operate under the banner of something called the International Revolutionary Solidarity Movement, which was founded back in ’61 by some anti-Franco Spanish militants. We think the Movement for International Solidarity may be a new version of that. As best we can tell, they seem to be mainly made up of anarchists and Maoist Communists, several of whom have been involved in trying to stir up violence at Vietnam demonstrations and the like.’

  I wondered if this was the information Innes was racing over here to present triumphantly to the Home Secretary as our contribution to the investigation.

  ‘All very interesting,’ said Haggard, grinding the remains of his cigar into an ashtray, ‘but flag-burning and chucking Molotov cocktails about are one thing, political assassination quite another. Are you sure this lot are capable? It’s a long way from occupying the LSE.’

  Fearing smiled tightly. ‘This isn’t a lot of student rebels, sir. There are some very dangerous people in this bunch. Some may have “graduated” from other movements, such as the CND, the Committee of 100 or the Spies for Peace, but we’re talking about the hard-core well beyond the peace movement. Perhaps you remember last autumn, when we were warned that extremists were plotting to use home-made bombs and the like to take over sensitive installations and buildings during one of the London marches?’

  ‘Yes – nothing came of it, though.’

  ‘Indeed, but only because Special Branch set up barricades at strategically important points, and because we leaked enough material to the press to scare them off. Anyway, this is the same collection of people. We think they may have also had a hand in blowing up one of the pipes carrying water to Birmingham in December. But yes, in answer to your question, this would be their first assassination. They probably had outside help.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘I’ll leave that to my colleagues,’ he said, nodding towards Osborne and me.

  Haggard turned to us. ‘Well?’

  Osborne fiddled with his tie and made eyes at me.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Let’s look at how it was done. His rifle was some sort of custom-made job, and he picked off his target with one shot at a distance of over a hundred yards, which I’d have found difficult fifteen years ago. We know he hid the ropes on the Stone Gallery, but when and how did he do that – was it this morning, or earlier, disguised as a workman or some such thing? Either way, he ran circles around our security measures. He was also extremely fast on his feet and knew how to lose a tail, or at least try to – I was very lucky to catch up with him. Finally, he had a capsule on him, and he used it. So I don’t believe he was some two-bit revolutionary, but an elite special forces operative – and my money is firmly on Moscow.’

  Osborne took a sip of water and smiled coolly at Fearing. I had decided to go hell for leather in pinning the blame on Moscow because I knew they’d come to that conclusion themselves soon enough anyway, and it might be useful to be able to remind th
em later that the idea had come from me first, especially if there were any renewed suspicions about me. I also wanted to stress my expertise on Soviet affairs so I would be put in charge of the entire investigation. The next step was to undermine Five.

  ‘I think the climbing stuff also gives us a possible angle of enquiry,’ I went on, looking at Fearing and Pelham-Jones to make it clear that by ‘us’ I, in fact, meant them. ‘He was clearly an accomplished abseiler: it’s quite a height, and he didn’t use a harness or any other equipment – just a rope. I wonder if he might have been a night-climber.’

  ‘Is that a euphemism for something?’ said Haggard.

  ‘It’s a sport,’ I said, ‘popular at Cambridge. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it, Giles, what with you being a King’s College man. Don’t you remember those undergraduates rusticated a couple of years ago for placing an anti-Vietnam banner between the pinnacles of the chapel? If I might humbly suggest, why don’t you call up some of your old chums and get hold of whoever runs the society? See if they’ve had any Italian members in the last few years, or if they know of any similar clubs in Italy that do this sort of thing. That sort of knowledge is fairly specialized, and there can’t be many people who know how to do it.’

  Fearing was flustered now. ‘But he used a rope, you said. I thought the whole point of night-climbing was not to use any equipment at all? And the society is anonymous. How do you propose we find out who runs it?’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought you were the Security Service.’ He scowled. Careful, or he’ll explode. I softened my tone. ‘It’s true that they don’t use ropes, but many of them go on to become mountaineers. Perhaps start with the Alpine Club or the Mountaineering Council, then, and work back.’

  I was about to suggest he also contact London Transport to see if they’d had anyone suspicious working on the freight line that led to the goods yard under Smithfield Market – it couldn’t have been closed that long, and he hadn’t looked twice running in there. But, thankfully, Innes arrived then, a little out of breath but clutching a briefcase.

  *

  We all made room for him, and he unclasped the case and took out an impressively thick wedge of papers. He was halfway to the projector when Fearing told him that it wasn’t working.

  He stroked his moustache. ‘Never mind. I’ll do it the old-fashioned way.’ He was a dapper little man, bespectacled and balding; he tried to hide the latter by arranging his few remaining strands of hair carefully across his pate. He looked like an Edwardian banker, but he was as sharp as a commando dagger. He headed up Western Europe Section, although he’d also been holding the fort at Soviet Section while I’d been away.

  He laid his papers on the table and cleared his throat.

  ‘As you have no doubt just been hearing from Giles, the Movement for International Solidarity is an offshoot of a group that has also operated under the names the International Revolutionary Solidarity Movement and the First of May.’

  Osborne smiled: Innes knew his stuff. We were in the lead again.

  ‘This group has several splinter groups across the Continent, and they seem to be particularly active in Germany and Italy. This is partly the result of wartime allegiances: some members of the younger generation are rebelling against their parents’ devotion to Hitler and Mussolini.’ He turned the page on his notes. ‘One of the group’s first attacks took place in Rome three years ago, when they kidnapped the Ecclesiastical Counsellor to the Spanish embassy to the Vatican. In August ’67, they machine-gunned the American embassy in London, which I imagine you’ve covered…’ He looked up at Fearing, who nodded. ‘Right. And, eighteen months ago, they claimed responsibility for bomb attacks on the Spanish, Greek and Bolivian embassies in Bonn, the Venezuelan embassy in Rome, a Spanish tourist office in Milan, and the Spanish, Greek and American embassies in The Hague. Quite a shopping list. Communiqués received after those attacks indicated that they were all in protest at what they called “fascist regimes” in Europe, and in solidarity with guerrillas in Latin America.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Haggard wearily. ‘Paul seems to think they’re Moscow-sponsored. Is that plausible, and if so why are they targeting us?’

  ‘I’m getting to that, sir, if you’ll give me a moment,’ said Innes, gloriously oblivious to the tensions that had been building in the room. ‘The man who shot John appears to have been an Italian, and Italy is currently experiencing a huge amount of this sort of activity. There have been fifteen attacks in public places already this year. Two of them took place in Milan just last week, with bombs going off at a trade fair and the central railway station. Nobody has claimed responsibility yet, but we believe the First of May and factions associated with it were involved in both attacks, along with Italian Communists.’ He flashed a little smile at Haggard, which was not returned. ‘Between October ’67 and last May, three members of the Italian Communist party travelled to Moscow for what we think was a four-month training course with the KGB in clandestine radio communications. We have reason to believe that other Italian party members have been trained by Moscow in how to prepare forged documents and other espionage-related activities.’

  Haggard had turned a few shades paler than usual. ‘Are you saying that the official Communist party in Italy is working hand in glove with terrorists?’

  ‘We’ve no hard proof of it, but we suspect some members of the party may be, yes. Our colleagues in Italy are worried that Communists and sympathizers may be planning a campaign of attacks across Western Europe to force a sort of “wave of revolution”. The idea would be to bring down governments – including our own, I might add – through violent means. The student movement would get caught up in it, and before you’d know it there’d be anarchy.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Which would suit Moscow down to the ground, of course.’

  ‘Do the Italians have any evidence for such a plan,’ said Haggard, ‘and if so why haven’t I heard of it before now? It sounds fairly extraordinary.’

  Innes smiled sweetly. ‘Well, this is just informal intelligence-sharing. It’s something that’s been a background concern of theirs for a while, and it’s why we have stepped up our own interest in this area. About six months ago my Section started looking at a faction of the First of May in Italy called Arte come Terrore, or “art as terror”. The name is taken from the title of a series of articles that were published anonymously in a magazine called Transizione last year, which argued that violence against the state was a form of performance art that cleansed society, which was in sore need of cleansing. Some of the ideas espoused were simply nuisance provocations along the lines of those in Holland a couple of years ago, but others seemed to be much more serious, which is why we were interested.’

  ‘Do you mean to say that John’s murder may have been intended as a piece of… performance art?’ He looked as though he were about to choke.

  ‘Possibly, sir, yes.’

  Haggard looked around the room. ‘I’ve heard some nonsense in my life, but this takes the cake, gentlemen. We are being outgunned by a bunch of art students!’

  ‘Hitler was an art student,’ said Pelham-Jones.

  Haggard ignored him. ‘Do we have any idea who the leaders of these jokers are?’

  Innes cocked his head: he was coming to that. ‘Rome Station has recently managed to infiltrate an agent into Arte come Terrore, a man called Barchetti, and he’s given us an outline of the basic structure. It seems there’s a central committee made up of a dozen members, all based in Rome. This is the leadership of the group nationwide, of which there are a few hundred members – we’re not sure how many exactly. There are several people who we either know or strongly suspect are members of the group, but Barchetti hasn’t been able to discover the identities of the leaders – he’s not yet trusted enough with that information.’

  Haggard slapped his hand on the table again. ‘Well, he’d better bloody hurry up and become trusted enough!’

  ‘Yes, sir. In fact, he seems to
have made something of a breakthrough. Last night he filed a report, via dead drop, in which he said he’d heard rumours that a faction connected to the group were planning something big – imminently.’

  ‘Obviously a warning about this morning,’ I said.

  Innes shook his head. ‘He mentioned attacks “across Europe”.’

  There was a brief silence as we took this in.

  ‘Christ,’ whispered Haggard. ‘That’s all we need.’ He took another slug of his water and scraped back his chair.

  ‘When is Barchetti next due to report?’ asked Fearing.

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Not Edoardo Barchetti?’

  Innes looked up. ‘Yes. Do you know him?’

  I nodded. I had run him when I’d been stationed in Rome in ’64. I hadn’t recognized the name at first because he’d been known to everyone as ‘Bassetto’, Italian for ‘shrimp’, on account of being about five foot tall. He had worked for the Service since shortly after the war, and I’d inherited him from my predecessor. He had hung around the fringes of Rome’s underworld for years, mixing with thieves, gangsters and the sort of criminal not too scared to get his feet wet in the spy business. Sometimes he had picked up snippets of information on blackmailed politicians and suchlike, which he’d passed on to us, no doubt after some judicious elaboration on his part. He hadn’t been terribly useful, but I had liked him: he had been lively company and I’d always looked forward to meeting up with him. But it was one hell of a move from occasional source to deep-cover penetration agent.

  ‘How long has he been infiltrated, and how has he been coping?’ I asked. When I had known him, Bassetto had been a heavy drinker, and had been so scared of being discovered passing information by one particular mafioso that it had sometimes taken hours to arrange meetings with him just to receive the tiniest scrap of gossip. I struggled to imagine him as a plausible anarchist agitator.