By God it would! Chemical and bacteriological warfare and what Lumsden was doing fitted together like hand in glove. 'Is he still in security?'
'No, he's executive. He mediates between the Minister and the scientists. Of course, with his experience he also handles the security side.'
I could just imagine Cregar happily contemplating some previously inoffensive microbe now armed for death and destruction by genetic engineering. 'Is he in with the Porton Down crowd?'
'The Ministry of Defence is closing down Porton Down,' said Ogilvie. 'I don't know where Cregar does his juggling with life and death. Microbiology isn't like atomics; you don't need a particle accelerator costing a hundred million and a power plant capable of supplying energy for a fair-sized city. The physical plant and investment are both relatively small, and Cregar may have a dozen laboratories scattered about for all I know. He doesn't talk about it-not to me.'
I contemplated this, trying to find a link with Ashton, and failed. There was only Penny, and I said so. Ogilvie asked, 'Has Cregar talked to her?'
'No.'
'I told you it can't have anything to do with Ashton,' he said. 'Off you go to Sweden.'
There was something else I wanted to bring up. 'I'd like to know more about Benson. He's probably filed away in Code Black.'
Ogilvie looked at me thoughtfully then, without speaking, got up and went into the room behind his desk. When he came back he was shaking his head. 'You must be mistaken. Benson isn't listed-not even under Code Green.'
'But I took him up as far as Code Purple,' I said. 'Someone is monkeying around with that bloody computer.'
Ogilvie's lips tightened. 'Unlikely,' he said shortly.
'How unlikely?'
'It's not easy to suborn a computer. It would need an expert.'
'Experts are ten a penny-and they can be bought.'
Ogilvie was palpably uneasy. He said slowly, 'We aren't the only department on line with this computer. I've been pressing for our own computer for several years but without success. Some other department…' He stopped and sat down.
'Who determines what material is added to the files-or removed?'
'There's an inter-departmental review committee which meets monthly. No one is authorized to add or subtract without its approval.'
'Someone has subtracted Benson,' I said. 'Or, more likely, he's been blocked off. I'll bet someone has added a tiny subprogram which would be difficult to find-if Benson is asked for say there's no one here of that name.'
'Well, it's for me to deal with,' said Ogilvie. 'There's a meeting of the review committee on Friday at which I'll raise a little bit of hell.' He stuck his finger out at me. 'But you know nothing about this. Now, go away. Go to Sweden.'
I got up to leave but paused at the door. 'I'll leave you with a thought. I got into the Ashton case by asking Nellie about Ashton. Two hours later I was on the carpet in your office with you and Cregar asking awkward questions. Did Cregar come to you with it?'
'Yes.'
'In two hours? How did he know who was asking questions about Ashton unless the computer tipped him off? I don't think you have far to look for the chap who is monkeying around with it.'
I left leaving Ogilvie distinctly worried.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was dark and cold in Stockholm at that time of year. All the time I was in Sweden it didn't stop snowing; not heavily most of the time, but there was a continual fall of fine powder from leaden-grey clouds as though God up there was operating a giant flour sifter. I was booked into the Grand, which was warm enough, and after I had made my call to Henty I looked out over the frozen Strommen to the Royal Palace. Edward VII didn't like Buckingham Palace, and called it 'that damned factory'. It's not on record if he said anything about the Palace in Stockholm, but that afternoon it looked like a dark satanic mill.
There were swans on the Strommen, walking uneasily on the ice and cuddling in clusters as though to keep warm. One was on an ice floe and drifting towards Riddarfjarden; I watched it until it went out of sight under the Strom bridge, then turned away feeling suddenly cold in spite of the central heating. Sweden in winter has that effect on me.
Henty arrived and we swapped credentials. 'We don't have much to do with your mob,' he commented as he handed back my card. He had a raw colonial accent.
'We don't move out of the UK much,' I said. 'Most of our work is counterespionage. This one is a bit different. If you can take me to George Ashton I'll buy you a case of Foster's.'
Henty blinked. 'Good beer, that. How did you know I'm Australian? I've not been back for twenty years. Must have lost the accent by now.'
I grinned. 'Yes, you've learned to speak English very well. Where's Ashton?'
He went to the window and pointed at the Royal Palace. 'On the other side of that. In Gamla Stan.'
Gamla Stan-the Old Town. A warren of narrow streets threading between ancient buildings and the 'in' place to live in Stockholm. Cabinet ministers live there, and film directors-if they can afford it. The Royal Palace is No. 1, Gamla Stan. I said, 'How did you find him?'
'I got a couple of crummy pictures from London, and the day I got them I walked slam-bang into this character on the Vasabron.' Henty shrugged. 'So it's a coincidence.'
'By the laws of statistics we've got to get lucky some time,' I observed.
'He has a flat just off Vasterlanggatan. He's passing himself off as a Russian called Fyodr Koslov-which is a mistake.'
'Why?'
Henty frowned. 'It's a tip-off-enough to make me take the pictures and send them back. There's something funny about the way he speaks Russian-doesn't sound natural.'
I thought about that. After thirty years of non-use Ashton's Russian would be rusty; it's been known for men to forget completely their native language. 'And Benson is with him in the flat?'
'Benson? Is that who he is? He calls himself Williams here. An older man; looks a bit of a thug. He's definitely British.'
'How can I get a look at them?'
Henty shrugged. 'Go to Gamla Stan and hang around outside the flat until they come out-or go in.'
I shook my head. 'Not good enough. They know me and I don't want to be seen. What's your status here?'
'Low man on the bloody totem,' said Henty wryly. 'I'm junior partner in an import-export firm. I have a line into the Embassy, but that's for emergency use only. The diplomats here don't like boys like us, they reckon we cause trouble.'
'They could be right,' I said dryly. 'Who do I see at the Embassy?'
'A Second Secretary called Cutler. A toffee-nosed bastard.' The iron seemed to have entered Henty's soul.
'What resources can you draw on apart from the Embassy?'
'Resources!' Henty grinned. 'You're looking at the resources-me. I just have a watching brief-we're not geared for action.'
'Then it will have to be the Embassy.'
He coughed, then said, 'Exactly who is Ashton?' I looked at him in silence until he said, 'If it's going to be like that…'
'It always is like that, isn't it?'
'I suppose so,' he said despondently. 'But I wish, just for once, that I knew why I'm doing what I'm doing.'
I looked at my watch. 'There's just time to see Cutler. In the meantime you pin down Ashton and Benson. Report to me here or at the Embassy. And there's one very important thing-don't scare them.'
'Okay-but I don't think you'll get very much change out of Cutler.'
I smiled. 'I wouldn't want either you or Cutler to bet on that one.'
The Embassy was on Skarpogatan, and Cutler turned out to be a tall, slim, fair-haired man of about my age, very English and Old School Tie. His manner was courteous but rather distant as though his mind was occupied by other, and more important, considerations which a non-diplomat could not possibly understand. This minor Metternich reminded me strongly of a shop assistant in one of the more snob London establishments.
When I gave him my card-the special one-his lips tightened and he said coolly
, 'You seem to be off your beat, Mr. Jaggard. What can we do for you?' He sounded as though he believed there was nothing he could possibly do for me. I said pleasantly, 'We've mislaid a bit of property and we'd like it back-with your help. But tact is the watchword.' I told him the bare and minimum facts about Ashton and Benson.
When I'd finished he was a shade bewildered. 'But I don't see how…' He stopped and began again. 'Look, Mr. Jaggard, if this man decides to leave England with his manservant to come to Sweden and live under an assumed name I don't see what we can do about it. I don't think it's a crime in Swedish law to live under another name; it certainly isn't in England. What exactly is it that you want?'
'A bit of manpower,' I said. 'I want Ashton watched. I want to know what he does and why he does it.'
'That's out of the question,' said Cutler. 'We can't spare men for police work of that nature. I really fail to see what your interest is in the man on the basis of what you've told me.'
'You're not entitled to know more,' I said bluntly. 'But take it from me-Ashton is a hot one.'
'I'm afraid I can't do that,' he said coldly. 'Do you really think we jump when any stranger walks in off the street with an improbable story like this?'
I pointed to my card which was still on the blotter in front of him. 'In spite of that?'
'In spite of that,' he said, but I think he really meant because of it. 'You people amaze me. You think you're James Bonds, the lot of you. Well, I don't think I'm living in the middle of a highly coloured film, even if you do.'
I wasn't going to argue with him. 'May I use your telephone?' He frowned, trying to think of a good reason for denial, so I added, 'I'll pay for the call.'
'That won't be necessary,' he said shortly, and pushed his telephone across the desk.
One of our boffins once asked me what was the biggest machine in the world. After several abortive answers I gave up, and he said, 'The international telephone system. There are 450 million telephones in the world, and 250 million of them are connected by direct dialling-untouched by hand in the exchanges.' We may grouse about the faults of local systems, but in under ninety seconds I was talking to Ogilvie.
I said, 'We have Ashton but there's a small problem. There's only one of Henty, and I can't push in too close myself.'
'Good. Get on to the Embassy for support. We want him watched. Don't approach him yourself.'
'I'm at the Embassy now. No support forthcoming.'
'What's the name of the obstruction?'
'Cutler-Second Secretary.'
'Wait a moment.' There was a clatter and I heard the rustle of papers in distant London. Presently Ogilvie said, 'This will take about half an hour. I'll dynamite the obstruction. For God's sake, don't lose Ashton now.'
'I won't,' I said, and hung up. I stood up and picked my card from Cutler's blotter. 'I'm at the Grand. You can get me there.'
'I can't think of any circumstances in which I should do so,' he said distantly.
I smiled. 'You will.' Suddenly I was tired of him. 'Unless you want to spend the next ten years counting paper clips in Samoa.'
Back at the hotel there was a curt note from Henty: 'Meet me at the Moderna Museet on Skeppsholmen.' I grabbed a taxi and was there in five minutes. Henty was standing outside the main entrance, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and the tip of his nose blue with cold. He jerked his head at the gallery. 'Your man is getting a bit of culture.'
This had to be handled carefully. I didn't want to bump into Ashton face to face. 'Benson there too?'
'Just Ashton.'
'Right. Nip in and locate him-then come back here.'
Henty went inside, no doubt glad to be in the warm. He was back in five minutes. 'He's studying blue period Picassos.' He gave me a plan of the halls and marked the Picasso Gallery.
I went into the Museum, moving carefully. There were not many people in the halls on the cold winter's afternoon, which was a pity because there was no crowd to get lost in. On the other hand there were long unobstructed views. I took out my handkerchief, ready to muffle my face in case of emergency, turned a corner and saw Ashton in the distance. He was contemplating a canvas with interest and, as he turned to move on to the next one, I had a good sight of his face.
To my relief this was Ashton. There would have been a blazing row if I had goosed Cutler to no purpose.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cutler jumped like a startled frog. An hour later, when I was unfreezing my bones in a hot bath and feeling sorry for Henty who was still tagging Ashton, the telephone rang to announce that he was waiting in the hotel foyer. 'Ask him to come up.' I dried myself quickly and put on a dressing gown.
He brought two men whom he introduced as Askrigg and Debenham. He made no apologies for his previous attitude and neither of us referred to it. All the time I knew him he maintained his icily well-bred air of disapproval; that I could stand so long as he did what he was told and did it fast, and I had no complaints about that. The only trouble was that he and his people were lacking in professionalism.
We got down to business immediately. I outlined the problem, and Askrigg said, 'A full-time surveillance of two men is a six-man job.'
'At least,' I agreed. 'And that's excluding me and Henty. Ashton and Benson know me, so I'm out. As for Henty, he's done enough. He spotted Ashton for us and has been freezing his balls off ever since keeping an eye on him. I'm pulling him out for a rest and then he'll be in reserve.'
'Six men,' said Cutler doubtfully. 'Oh, well, I suppose we can find them. What are we looking for?'
'I want to know everything about them. Where they go, what they eat, who they see, do they have a routine, what happens when they break that routine, who they write to-you name it, I want to know.'
'It seems a lot of fuss over a relatively minor industrialist,' sniffed Cutler.
I grinned at him, and quoted, '"Yours not to reason why, yours but to do or die." Which could happen because they're probably armed.'
That brought a moment of silence during which Cutler twitched a bit. In his book diplomacy and guns didn't go together. I said, 'Another thing: I want to have a look inside Ashton's apartment, but we'll check their routine first so we can pick the right moment.'
'Burglary!' said Cutler hollowly. 'The Embassy mustn't be involved in that.'
'It won't be,' I said shortly. 'Leave that to me. All right; let's get organized.'
And so Ashton and Benson were watched, every movement noted. It was both wearisome and frustrating as most operations of this nature are. The two men led an exemplary life. Ashton's was the life of a gentleman of leisure; he visited museums and art galleries, attended the theatre and cinemas, and spent a lot of time in bookshops where he spent heavily, purchasing fiction and non-fiction, the non-fiction being mostly biographies. The books were over a spread of languages, English, German and Russian predominating. And all the time he did not do a stroke of what could reasonably be called work. It was baffling.
Benson was the perfect manservant. He did the household shopping, attended to the laundry and dry cleaning, and did a spot of cooking on those occasions when Ashton did not eat out. He had found himself a favourite drinking hole which he attended three or four times a week, an olstuga more intellectual than most because it had a chess circle.
Benson would play a couple of games and leave relatively early.
Neither of them wrote or received any letters.
Neither appeared to have any associates other than the small-change encounters of everyday life.
Neither did a single damned thing out of the ordinary with one large and overriding exception. Their very presence in Stockholm was out of the ordinary.
At the beginning of the third week, when their routine had been established, Henry and I cracked the apartment. Ashton had gone to the cinema and Benson was doing his Bobby Fischer bit over a half-litre of Carlsberg and we would have an hour or longer. We searched that flat from top to bottom and did not find much.
The main pr
ize was Ashton's passport. It was of Israeli issue, three years old, and made out in the name of Fyodr Antonovitch Koslov who had been born in Odessa in 1914. I photographed every page, including the blank ones, and put it back where I found it. A secondary catch was the counterfoil stub of a chequebook. I photographed that thoroughly, too. Ashton was spending money quite freely, his casual expenses were running to nearly?500 a week.
The telephone rang. Henty picked it up and said cautiously, 'Vilket nummer vill ni ha?' There was a pause. 'Okay.' he put down the receiver. 'Benson's left the pub; he's on his way back.'
I looked around the room. 'Everything in order?'
'I reckon so.'
'Then let's go.' We left the building and sat in Henty's car until Benson arrived. We saw him safely inside, checked his escort, then went away.
Early next morning I gave Cutler the spools of film and requested negatives and two sets of prints. I got them within the hour and spent quite a time checking them before my prearranged telephone call from Ogilvie. It had to be prearranged because he had to have a scrambler compatible with that at the Embassy.
Briefly I summarized the position up to that point, then said, 'Any breakthrough will come by something unusual-an oddity-and there are not many of those. There's the Israeli passport-I'd like to know if that's kosher. I'll send you the photographs in the diplomatic bag.'
'Issued three years ago, you say.'
'That's right. That would be about the time a bank account was opened here in the name of Koslov. The apartment was rented a year later, also in the name of Koslov; it was sublet until four months ago when Ashton moved in. Our friend had everything prepared. I've gone through cheque stubs covering nearly two months. Ashton isn't stinting himself.'
'How is he behaving? Psychologically, I mean.'
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