Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series)

by Alexander Wilson

  Once he had agreed to do their bidding, Wright had apparently entered very keenly into the scheme, though he endeavoured to make it appear that he had continued reluctantly. He knew of the disused ventilating shaft, and it occurred to him as an ideal place in which to fix the apparatus they handed over to him. The only alternative was the chimney. This had a big drawback, for, though April was well advanced and the weather quite warm, there was always a possibility of a fire being lit in the grate. There was no difficulty in obtaining access to the statesman’s room and, as he had that part of the building to himself, he was able to arrange his apparatus without fear of interruption. It had taken him a considerable part of Sunday night and the early hours of that morning, especially as he was very careful to leave no trace of his presence in the room in the way of specks of fallen plaster or anything of that nature. He had gone home to breakfast, and announced that the microphone was in place. He had then been paid £100 on account, and given his final instructions. Although off duty, no surprise had been expressed by any of his mates, when he had returned shortly before ten o’clock. It was not unusual for him to appear in the daytime. He had made his way to the roof and, with the headphones in position, had listened to every word spoken in the cabinet minister’s room up to the time when he had been discovered.

  ‘Your only reason for committing such an act,’ commented Sir Leonard scornfully, when Wright had concluded, ‘was, as far as I can make out, a desire to obtain money. You have not even the saving virtue of being confronted by ruin to advance as an excuse, like so many people who get themselves into a similar position. Greed – nothing else but greed – influenced you to become a traitor to your country.’

  ‘Not greed, sir,’ whined the man. ‘I didn’t want the money for itself – I wanted to be able to tell the missus that I had money of me own whenever she nagged me about the house and furniture and all the rest of it. I would have felt independent of her then.’

  ‘Would you!’ observed Sir Edwin. ‘I very much doubt it. If your wife is the woman you have pictured her, I should imagine she would retort by telling you that you had betrayed your country or your employers to get the money or that her own people had provided you with it. Really, Wright, that’s about the weakest excuse for treachery I’ve ever heard in my life.’

  ‘Was there anything particular you were instructed to listen for?’ asked Sir Leonard. ‘I mean to say, were you told to take note of all conferences, discussions, or conversations in general or those referring to a particular subject.’

  ‘Those about a particular subject, sir,’ replied Wright reluctantly.

  ‘And what was that subject?’

  ‘Well, it was more than one subject in a manner of speaking, sir. I was instructed to listen particularly whenever Greece or Cyprus was mentioned or two Greeks with the names of Bikelas and Plasiras.’

  Sir Leonard glanced significantly at the colonial secretary; turned quickly back to the man he was examining.

  ‘You have the names off rather pat,’ he remarked. ‘Do you know the men to whom they belong?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Wallace gave him a sharp glance; was satisfied that he spoke the truth.

  ‘How were you going to remember what you heard?’ he demanded. ‘Were you writing it down?’

  ‘No, sir. It would have been too – too dangerous in – in case of discovery.’

  ‘You’d better search him, Shannon,’ directed Sir Leonard.

  He was promptly obeyed, the burly Secret Service agent going through the watchman’s clothing with the speed and thoroughness of an expert. Everything he found in the pockets was placed on the desk. He even looked in the man’s tobacco pouch, opened out all the cigarettes contained in a case, examining the paper for writing. Wright almost forgot the position in which he stood, so fascinated did he apparently become in watching him. The colonial secretary and Masterson were no less interested. They certainly were given a display of a Secret Service man’s thoroughness. Shannon was not content in removing and examining the articles in the pockets; there was hardly an inch of Wright’s person that escaped the deft inquisition of those expert fingers. At last he turned to Sir Leonard, who was also going through the articles on the desk.

  ‘That’s the lot, sir,’ he announced. ‘Nothing of any significance on him.’

  ‘Not a thing,’ agreed Wallace, as he replaced the last article on the table. ‘You can put those back in your pockets, Wright.’

  The watchman obeyed, glancing a trifle resentfully at the opened cigarettes on a large ashtray.

  ‘Can I have the cigarette tobacco, sir?’ he asked. On permission being granted, he poured it into his pouch.

  ‘Now,’ demanded Sir Leonard, ‘tell us the names of the two men who put you up to this business!’

  Wright hesitated.

  ‘Baltazzi and Padakis, sir,’ he muttered at last with great reluctance.

  ‘Do you know why they are in England?’

  ‘No; unless it is for the purpose of finding out what is going on over here concerning Greece and Cyprus.’

  ‘What do you mean by “going on over here concerning Greece and Cyprus”?’

  ‘Only that I was to tell them what was said about those two countries in this room.’

  ‘What have they said to you about Cyprus?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. They said that Greece was anxious to make arrangements with England over something or other – they didn’t say what it was though.’

  Again he was subjected to a searching glance. Sir Leonard was apparently satisfied that he was keeping nothing back, for he nodded.

  ‘What do you know about Cyprus?’ he asked sharply.

  Wright stared at him as though the question puzzled him.

  ‘Cyprus!’ he repeated vaguely. ‘It’s an island, ain’t it? That’s all I know about it. I suppose it’s got something to do with Greece, as Baltazzi is a Cypriot – leastways that is what he calls himself – and he looks the same breed to me as Padakis.’

  ‘Can you speak Greek?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Do you think he can speak the language, Shannon?’ asked Sir Leonard in Greek.

  ‘No, sir. It is obvious he cannot,’ replied the burly man in the same tongue.

  The trial was successful. Wright looked vaguely from one to the other as they spoke. It was quite apparent that he did not understand. Neither Sir Leonard Wallace nor Captain Shannon had had more than a very indifferent knowledge of the Greek language a few months previously, but having been brought into contact then with a conspiracy engineered by Greeks, and finding their ignorance a disadvantage, they had since studied the tongue assiduously. A knowledge of Ancient Greek had been helpful, of course, but the ability to master languages quickly and fluently is a necessary adjunct to the Secret Service man’s mental equipment.

  ‘Have you any questions you wish to ask this man, Sir Edwin?’ Wallace turned to the Secretary of State.

  ‘No; I don’t think so,’ was the reply.

  ‘Have you, Sir James?’

  Masterson shook his head. It was a terrible thing to him that a man in government employ, even though in a menial position, should sink so low as to betray his trust. The affair had thoroughly upset the old civil servant, whose life had become bound in the tentacles of officialdom, but who, nevertheless, had never lost his humanity. Although all his instincts had been outraged by the behaviour of Wright, he still felt a certain amount of pity for the man. It seemed to him that an otherwise honest, though perhaps ignorant and foolish, Englishman had been snared by a scheming wife and her compatriots. If Wright had married an Englishwoman, he reflected, the distasteful situation would never have arisen. He was inclined, rather unfairly perhaps, to place all the blame on an unfortunate marriage, possibly contrived by a designing woman.

  ‘Can Wright be locked up in this building for a few hours?’ Sir Leonard asked him. ‘It is essential that he should remain here for the present. Afterwards, if you do not intend to prosecute
him, he can go.’

  ‘I daresay it can be arranged,’ Masterson assured the Chief of the Secret Service.

  ‘Will you give the necessary orders?’

  Sir James left the room, followed by Shannon and Wright. When the door had closed on them, the colonial secretary looked quizzically at Sir Leonard.

  ‘If I ever went wrong,’ he declared, ‘I should hate to have to face you, Wallace.’

  Sir Leonard walked across to the wall on which hung the painting of Hong Kong harbour. Climbing on a chair, he stretched his hand up behind the picture, caught hold of the microphone and pulled it from its position. Returning to the desk, he stood examining it for some minutes.

  ‘Made by the same firm,’ he commented, ‘and very well made too.’ He laid it on the desk, and faced the statesman. ‘This business is far more serious than we thought at first,’ he remarked. ‘The visit of Plasiras and Bikelas to Cyprus must have some very significant reason behind it, since it is considered necessary to send men to find out how the Colonial Office in London regards it.’

  ‘You really think those two fellows are in London for that purpose?’

  ‘Obviously. Messieurs Plasiras and Bikelas have their own espionage department it seems. I suppose they considered it a stroke of great fortune that one of their compatriots is married to an Englishman in the employ of the Colonial Office. No doubt they would have required further and possibly more difficult tasks from Wright before they had finished with him.’

  ‘But why should they be so keen to know what was said in this office about them and their activities?’

  ‘For one thing, they don’t know how much is known about the enterprise on which they are at present engaged, and another, they are anxious to discover how their reception in Nicosia is regarded here and if any steps are likely to be taken against them.’

  ‘Do you mean to say that the fellows who bribed Wright have travelled from Nicosia since Friday?’

  ‘No; they could not have done it. I mean to say, they couldn’t have been in Nicosia on Friday and in London on Saturday unless they flew all the way. That is most unlikely. Even if they did, it would be an exceptional feat. No; they were already here or within easy reach on the continent. A telegram probably gave them their instructions. It is quite clear that a very big conspiracy is afoot, and that conspiracy involves Great Britain. Shannon is departing for Cyprus today, and I hope he will get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, we’ll see if we can get hold of Messieurs Baltazzi and Padakis and make them talk.’

  Sir Edwin Spencer made a grimace.

  ‘If you get hold of them,’ he remarked, ‘I have no doubt you will make them talk. What do you suggest? Shall I give orders to Stevenson to tell Bikelas and Plasiras to move on?’

  ‘Good Lord, no! Let them remain as guests of Michalis until we find out what the game is. Simply acknowledge Stevenson’s note. You might add that no particular significance is thought to attach to the welcome accorded Plasiras and Bikelas in Nicosia, though the Greek government has sent a protest.’

  The Secretary of State regarded him in astonishment.

  ‘No significance!’ he repeated in surprised tones.

  Sir Leonard sighed gently.

  ‘It is possible,’ he explained, ‘that there are spies in Stevenson’s household. If they obtain access to your communication, they will report the contents to their masters. The fact that no significance is apparently attached to the affair may lull them into a false sense of security.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘That’s bright of you,’ murmured Wallace sarcastically. Sir Edwin frowned a little; then he sat back in his chair, and laughed.

  ‘You’re not very forbearing with us poor cabinet ministers, Wallace, are you? I think you regard us as fools.’

  ‘Most of you are,’ retorted Sir Leonard bluntly, ‘though you’re not as bad as some.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ returned the colonial secretary, sarcastic in his turn.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ murmured Wallace with a smile.

  Sir James Masterson re-entered the room, followed by Shannon. The former reported that Wright had been locked in a small room in the basement of which he himself had retained the key. Sir Leonard expressed his satisfaction, promising to let the undersecretary know as soon as it was wise to permit the ex-night watchman to depart. Having ascertained Wright’s address, the Chief of the Intelligence Department took his leave. He sent Shannon on ahead as he did not wish them to be seen together. There was just a possibility, he thought, that one of the two spies was watching the Colonial Office and might know him. In light of the enterprise Shannon was about to undertake, it would not do for him to be associated in any way with Sir Leonard Wallace. Shannon, in fact, was instructed to walk away from the Colonial Office, and not to return to Secret Service headquarters until he was certain that he was not being followed.

  Sir Leonard saw no sign of any lounger, who might be keeping the Colonial Office under observation, as he sauntered back to the innocent-looking building inside which so many tremendous secrets were stored and projects of such worldwide importance planned. He went up in the lift to the floor where his room was situated, but, instead of entering that apartment, walked along the corridor to Major Brien’s office. He found his deputy immersed in work, but the soldierly-looking man pushed it aside, and eyed him eagerly. Sir Leonard closed the padded door with his foot and, crossing to the desk, planted himself on it. He told Brien all that had transpired in the Colonial Office, concluding with:

  ‘Jump in your car, will you? And go along to Number Seventy-Two Brook Street, Kennington. Wright lives there, and I want you to get hold of Baltazzi and Padakis, and make them talk, if you can. Take Maddison with you and a couple of the juniors, and be careful not to do anything that is likely to alarm them and enable them to get away. If they’re not in, wait for them. Afterwards, take them and Mrs Wright along to Scotland Yard, and ask the SB to take charge of them for a few days.’

  ‘Hadn’t I better take them there first, and question them when they’re nicely lodged in a place from which they cannot get away?’

  Sir Leonard shook his head.

  ‘They may talk more readily in their own quarters. Of course, if they won’t, you must do the questioning at Scotland Yard. But don’t leave the woman behind. She may be in it as much as the others, and is quite as likely to telegraph the news to Cyprus.’

  ‘What about the children?’ queried Brien. ‘Didn’t you say there is a family?’

  ‘M’m, yes!’ Sir Leonard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t any idea how many or how old they are, though. You’ll have to find that out, and make arrangements accordingly.’

  Brien immediately sent for Maddison; instructed him to choose two of the junior agents, and bring them to his office. The small, keen-eyed man promptly made his choice from the half-dozen eager young fellows who were in the process of winning their spurs in the very exacting and dangerous profession they had chosen, and for which they had been selected, after the most exhaustive investigation into their family history, character and attainments. Willingdon, like several of Sir Leonard’s more famous assistants, had graduated from the Special Branch of New Scotland Yard. Foster, the son of a well-known soldier, had himself passed through Sandhurst into the Guards. A spirit of adventure, an amazing aptitude for languages, and a daredevil disposition had presented this old Salopian with an opportunity of which he had quickly and eagerly availed himself. Sir Leonard, standing now on the hearthrug, eyed the two with an air of approval. Jack Willingdon was about Maddison’s own height, which was not more than five feet five inches, but he was stockily-built and owned a pair of powerful arms. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a slightly Jewish cast of countenance, he was the personification of intelligence. Bernard Foster presented a great contrast. He was tall and thin, fair-haired, pale, and possessed a pair of sleepy blue eyes, which were one of his greatest assets, for they gave him an air of bland innocence. Yet anyone less sleepy
than Foster it would be hard to imagine. A small moustache, adorning his upper lip, added to his appearance of harmlessness, while when he wore a monocle, which he did frequently, he looked thoroughly and completely guileless.

  Having assured himself that his instructions were quite understood, Brien departed with his assistants. Sir Leonard had a final interview with Shannon before the latter left for Cyprus; then spent the rest of the morning making certain searching enquiries, most of which were connected with the stability of the Greek government and the possibilities of revolution. It appeared that the existing regime was apparently as secure as any in Europe at that time, and though there was a decided tendency in certain quarters to demand the return of the monarchy there was no suggestion of any rising to that end. The ill-fated attempt of Plasiras, assisted by Bikelas, to obtain power in the previous December had, it was confidently asserted, been crushed not only for the time being but for ever. The force of the two ex-ministers had been practically annihilated in an attack on Corinth, which had been followed by imprisonment, trial, and the summary execution of various officials and others of importance known to have been in sympathy with them. The Foreign Office expert on Greece, whom Sir Leonard consulted, scoffed at the idea of the two attempting another coup d’état.