by Robert Daws
‘I took his laptop and phone and then walked home. Once there, I went to my kitchen and baked another cake. This time a Spanish bizcocho. A gift for Don Martínez.’
‘How did you find him?’ Sullivan asked.
‘That was easy. I knew who he was already. He’d been mayor of San Roque and a very successful businessman. I’d even been to a reception at his house once – many years ago, but I remembered it. I even remembered its rear courtyard leading out onto a series of passageways. His home telephone number wasn’t ex-directory and so I called it from a pay phone just off Main Street here in Gibraltar. His housekeeper answered and I pretended to be a representative from a delivery company wishing to drop off a parcel for Don Martínez. My Spanish is good and she didn’t question me. I enquired if delivery could be made some time that evening. She informed me that she left at 7 pm, but that Don Martínez would be in and, if not, his house guest might take the parcel on his behalf. I found myself asking if the guest was Spanish. She told me he was an Englishman, but that his Spanish was good so communication wouldn’t be a problem. I thanked her and rang off. It didn’t take me long to work out who the guest was. It had to be Maugham. A taxi to San Roque was of no use, but in my garage, I had an old motor scooter I used to ride – to my surprise, it started first time.’
Broderick looked at Sullivan. His detective sergeant had been right about that, too.
‘And so, early that evening, I set off for San Roque. It is a journey I’ve done often over the years. I have many friends in San Roque. Many friends.’
Sister Clara, lost to the past, continued to recount the murderous events of that night. As she spoke, the two detectives once again weighed up their chances of crossing the room and overpowering her before she could take up the gun. Despite Sullivan’s subtle attempts to move closer, it was clear to both that it wouldn’t work. They had no choice but to remain patient and listen.
‘I crossed the border with ease and rode to the town. I arrived mid-evening, parked the motor scooter on a side street, and then walked to the rear of the Martínez house. At the back door, Don Martínez was shocked to see me. I told him I needed to speak urgently and so, reluctantly, he let me in. I gave him the cake and assured him I was alone. I also told him I was scared and that I desperately needed to know exactly was going on. This seemed to reassure him. He led me through to meet Maugham and minutes later they confirmed that the files from England were authentic. Then, as they ate the bizcocho, Don Martínez told the story of his cousin Marisella’s violent death. A murder that he believed my mother had carried out while working for the Germans in 1942. I asked them who else, other than Josh Cornwallis, knew of these facts. Both were convinced that it was now just the three of them. This was all I needed to know. Not long after that, Don Martínez gave way to the Rohypnol’s effects. Graeme Maugham, however, did not. I had no choice but to strike him across the head with a heavy ornament I found on a nearby table. The poor man tried to rise again, but I hit him once more and he died. Don Martínez, I fear, met a similar end to that of Josh Cornwallis. It was a terrible scene.’
‘We know,’ Broderick informed her coldly. ‘We saw it for ourselves.’
In the bed, Lady Ruiz’s arm began to shake uncontrollably. Almost immediately her entire body was overcome by a series of grotesque convulsions. Her eyes opened wide to reveal white bloodshot eyeballs, and her breathing became a series of rasps of increasing pain. The support machines beside the bed went into meltdown as their alarms pierced the quiet stillness of the room.
The shock of this made Sister Clara stand and step away from the bed. Taking their chance, both Sullivan and Broderick ran towards her, Broderick securing the gun and Sullivan pushing the emergency button above the bedstead. Simultaneously, the door of the bedroom burst open and three armed police officers entered the room. The first moved to Sister Clara and forced her against the wall; the other two trained their guns on the clearly traumatised woman.
Next into the bedroom came Massetti, balancing on her crutches, and Calbot. On seeing her two colleagues, Sullivan yelled an instruction that needed no clarification.
‘For God’s sake, get a nurse here. Now!’
92
The massive stroke that took the life of Diana, Lady Ruiz completed its work in seconds, leaving only a withered shell of wrinkled flesh and bone behind. Sister Clara asked if she could close her mother’s eyes and say a prayer. This she was allowed to do, before being led away to a police car and the journey to New Mole House.
The first thing Gus Broderick did upon leaving Buena Vista House was rush to the Rock Hotel and check that Daisy had arrived back at the ball safe and well. He saw immediately that his daughter was enjoying herself. She’d come third in the fancy dress competition and was now at the centre of the dance floor enjoying the disco. Cath, standing next to her brother, was desperate to know what had happened to Sister Clara.
‘I’m sorry, Sis,’ Broderick told her. ‘I know how upset you must be, but I can’t say anything at the moment. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Promise.’
Although distressed, Cath knew better than to press her brother further.
Ten minutes later, Broderick, Sullivan, Massetti and Calbot arrived back at police HQ expecting something of a hero’s welcome. Instead they were met by a sombre-faced Sergeant Aldarino.
‘You have visitors waiting for you in your office, ma’am,’ he informed Massetti. ‘Commissioner Barrolli would like you to brief him immediately. Chief Inspector Broderick, DS Sullivan and DC Calbot are to wait outside your office so he can talk with them, too. The commissioner has also made it clear that no mention of tonight’s events are to be made to any other personnel here at the station until he’s given clearance.’
‘What the hell’s going on, Aldarino?’ Massetti asked.
‘I couldn’t say, ma’am. He’s got someone from London with him and he seems a little vexed,’ the sergeant replied.
‘Do we have to ask his permission for a cup of tea as well, Aldarino?’ Broderick asked sarcastically.
‘Commissioner Barrolli gave no direct orders regarding that, sir,’ Aldarino replied. ‘I’m sure I can rustle up a brew and a plate of biscuits while you wait.’
As Massetti entered her office, her three colleagues reluctantly took seats outside. During the hour-and-a-half wait, Aldarino was kept busy bringing tea and biscuits for the waiting trio and taking messages into the chief super’s office. Patience was running short by the time the office door finally opened and Police Commissioner Thomas Barrolli asked them to step inside. They found Massetti sitting at her desk, her foot perched on an upturned waste paper basket. At her side stood a tall, elegant-looking woman in her mid-forties.
‘Well, well, well,’ the commissioner began. ‘It’s been quite an evening, by the sound of things.’
Broderick nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Thank you for waiting. We’ve had a lot to deal with one way or another. Firstly, I’d like to introduce you to Rachel Shapley,’ Barrolli said. ‘Ms Shapley is deputy director of operations for SIS, better known to you and me as MI6. She’s arrived here from London tonight because of a special interest in the Queen of Diamonds case and, of course, in the events of the past week.’
Rachel Shapley took a half-step forward and smiled at the assembled officers. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. It seems you’ve achieved some extraordinarily fine results in a very short period of time. You’re to be congratulated.’
‘Thank you,’ Broderick replied.
The commissioner continued: ‘As you’re aware, it’s a case that’s generated a great deal of interest in the world’s media and a great deal of anxiety here on the Rock. It seems you may have caught the perpetrator of these murders, but I have to tell you, things are a lot more complicated than they presently appear.’
‘With respect, sir,’ Broderick interrupted, ‘they seem complicated enough.’
‘I’m sure, Chief Inspector,’ Barrolli responded curtly. ‘Nevertheless,
I think it best if I hand you over to Ms Shapley for an initial insight into our thinking on this.’
Sullivan looked across to Massetti. It was clear from the chief super’s expression that she was far from happy with the unfolding situation.
‘Thank you, Thomas,’ Shapley said, taking another step forward. ‘What I have to say will most probably surprise you. As you know, the late Graeme Maugham stole a top secret file from the cabinet secretary’s special archives. It contained many things of a highly sensitive nature. Things that would continue to place the file beyond declassification for some considerable time. From my understanding of what has occurred tonight, the four of you have been privy to some of the information within those documents by way of Sister Clara’s confession. You’ll be aware that, as police officers, you’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, and because of this, I’d ask that you now keep all the facts you’ve heard and those I’m about to tell you completely confidential.’
Broderick looked questioningly at Massetti. The chief super shrugged. ‘I’m as baffled as you are, Chief Inspector,’ she said.
‘Then I’ll endeavour to make myself clearer,’ Shapley said. ‘You must all be exhausted, so I’ll try to get to the point as quickly as I can. Much of what I have to say now isn’t to be found in the Maugham file. It’s in another, even larger file held by MI6. Diana Ruiz has been known to the British intelligence services in one guise or another for over seventy years, but we only made the connection to her in the present cases after hearing about Maugham’s murder yesterday.’
‘And you didn’t think to inform us sooner?’ Massetti asked angrily.
‘I’m afraid we moved as quickly as we could. Besides, we weren’t absolutely convinced. Before I get into that, let me tell you more about Ruiz.
‘Although she went by several names during her lifetime, she was born Diana Candoza in London in 1920. She had wealthy parents, was well schooled but, in her teens, became something of a rebel. At the age of sixteen, she ran away to Spain, where she joined the International Brigade on the Republican side, fighting Franco’s Nationalists in that country’s civil war. Within weeks, she was captured, interrogated, most probably tortured and finally turned by Franco’s intelligence operatives into a spy. In this guise, she was allowed to escape and rejoin the brigade. For the rest of the war, she successfully worked against the Republicans, passing highly sensitive information to her Nationalist colleagues.
‘At the end of the conflict, she stayed in Spain and lived with a Nationalist major named Carlos Ortiz, the man who had interrogated her after her capture. Soon after moving with him to Algeciras in the December of 1939, she fell pregnant. Then Ortiz disappeared and Diana was forced to have the baby alone. In September 1940, the child was taken in by a local orphanage. We know that Diana Candoza then made her way to the Rock and got a job dealing with freight imports out near the military airfield – the present-day airport.
‘During her time in Algeciras, she had been recruited by the Nazi Abwehr and persuaded to become a spy for them here on the Rock. Her ambitious missions for the Abwehr over the following years are all documented in Maugham’s file. It’s clear that she was a ruthless operative who thought nothing of sending people to their deaths. She was even personally responsible for at least two murders herself.’
Shapley could see that her audience was beginning to wonder why they were being given such detailed information.
‘I’m sorry if this is a lot to take in, but you’ll see its relevance to today’s events shortly,’ she said, straightening her back. ‘Our intelligence officers working on the Rock eventually became suspicious of her, and it soon became obvious that she was a spy. At this point, it was decided to attempt to turn her into a double-agent. One officer in particular took control of this process and achieved almost immediate success.
‘Within a short time, the German agent, codenamed Diamant, had become our very own Queen of Diamonds, recruited as an operative just prior to the ill-fated flight of the Polish prime minister-in-exile, General Władysław Sikorski in July 1943. He was killed when his plane crashed seconds after take-off from the runway here in Gibraltar. It’s long been the subject of conspiracy theories, many claiming that he was assassinated, but this was always officially denied. In fact, many in the service thought the ‘accident’ had been arranged by Stalin, who had fallen out with Sikorski. Certain documents in the file that Maugham smuggled out of the UK point to the fact that such theories are most probably true. I’ll return to this shortly.’
‘Would you care for some water?’ the police commissioner offered.
‘I’m just fine, thank you, Thomas,’ she smiled wearily and then continued her story: ‘For the next year, Diana Candoza seemed to work successfully for British intelligence, but despite this, she was still considered dangerous. Mainly because she was no ordinary spy. She was a mercenary, demanding payment from us in diamonds in exactly the same way she’d demanded them from the Germans. In 1944, with her espionage work diminishing, she married an unsuspecting South African called Ackerman and left Gibraltar for Johannesburg. Prior to this, the couple had adopted a child from an orphanage in Algeciras – the same orphanage where she’d left her own child four years previously. Perhaps she’d gone searching for it and found it gone, the adopted child becoming in some sense a replacement. We’ll never know for sure. However, it seems highly likely she knew exactly who her newly adopted child was – Rosia Martinez, the daughter of a woman she had murdered. Was the adoption born out of guilt? A need for redemption? Again, we’ll never know.’
A shocked silence greeted this information. Shapley moved quickly on.
‘And so the Ackerman family flew south to start a new life. That could well have been the last we ever heard of her. However, sometime in 1962, MI6’s attention was drawn to a Lady Ruiz, a resident of the Rock and wife of the hugely influential international businessman Sir Paul Ruiz. Her name had been flagged up by the Soviet defector Anatoly Golitsyn. You may remember that he was one of the Russians that MI6 used to help identify the spy, Kim Philby. Golitsyn stated in interview that he’d heard that a major KGB agent was the wife of a leading executive with connections to Gibraltar. It didn’t take MI6 long to discover that Diana Ruiz had once been the British double-cross spy known to the agency as the Queen of Diamonds.’
‘Excuse me,’ Sullivan interrupted. ‘Did you say KGB spy?’
‘Indeed I did,’ Shapley replied. ‘I said this case was more complicated than you imagined. On Golitsyn’s tip-off, MI6 officers went back decades through the files and investigated further. One hugely important piece of information finally identified Ruiz as a KGB operative. The name of the intelligence officer who had turned her from a German spy into a British double-agent in 1943 was the then head of MI6’s Iberian section – Kim Philby.’
Gibraltar, July 1943
The next few minutes would be vital.
Hidden high on the upper reaches of the Rock, the British intelligence officer checked his watch and raised a silver-plated drinking flask to his lips. Two large gulps of fine malt whisky brought a burning sensation to the back of his throat. A delicious discomfort. The time was now precisely 23.05.
The man had a 360-degree view from his position on the Rock. The Bay of Gibraltar to the west, with Spain and Africa to the north and south. Ignoring those panoramas, the tall and darkly handsome head of MI6’s Iberian section focused intently on the Mediterranean, its blackened canvas spreading endlessly before him to the east. Conditions were perfect. The air balmy and warm, the stars diamond bright in the night sky above. It was hard to believe that there was a war going on.
Returning the near-empty flask to his jacket pocket, the officer tried to visualise the events taking place on the nearby Gibraltar airfield. The commander-in-chief of the Polish army and prime minister of the Polish government-in-exile, General Władysław Sikorski, would by now have boarded his plane. With him, his daughter and members of his staff. The general would be weary from his two
-month tour of the Middle East, inspecting his forces and raising the morale of the Polish troops. With his beloved country divided between German and Soviet occupation, the path he was treading continued to be a dangerous and potentially treacherous one.
The B24 Liberator would be ready for take-off at the side of the short Gibraltar runway. The airfield had been built on land reclaimed from the sea, and was prone to dangerous updrafts of air currents circling the Rock. Take-off and landing were challenges for even the most experienced of pilots.
As soon as clearance was given, the Liberator’s Czech pilot, Eduard Prchal, would commence his journey towards the western end of the runway.
Some 240 metres above him on the towering limestone Rock, the officer reached once more for his whisky flask and readied himself for a show.
The next few minutes would be vital.
***
Many feet below, on the northern edge of Gibraltar Town, someone else was watching.
Standing on the roof of a three storey-building on the town side of the Gibraltar airfield, a woman waited nervously for the final stages of her operation to be over. She had been involved in many acts of espionage since arriving on the Rock two years earlier, but this one was different in both scale and expectations. It was also different in one other respect. Her loyalties had changed. The direction of the war had shifted, and so had her allegiance. It was a brave new world for those who had the guts to exploit it.
In peace time, the building below her had been occupied by an insurance company. Requisitioned by the army, it had served many purposes over the war years. Most recently it had been used as a records and processing office for all military and civilian air supply and cargo services. The work was highly classified and the young woman had held an important clerical position within the department. English-born, she had retained civilian status on the Rock and was completely trusted by her superiors.