Security was even tighter than at New Scotland Yard. The recent press reports about British Nationals travelling to Syria to join the Jihadists and the execution of hostages in Iraq by ISIS had put the Home Office under a lot of pressure. Ralph looked around at the modern building. That glass had better be shatter proof was his first thought. They were whisked up to the 5th Floor and told to wait in the corridor outside a large oak door.
“You’ll be called in when the Minister’s ready for you,” said a severe looking woman wearing a smart navy jacket and kerchief. He was about to make a complimentary remark, but refrained when he caught a sharp glance from the Colonel. It brought to mind his school days when some misdemeanor had required that he wait outside the Headmaster’s Office to receive his punishment. Ralph heard the barely perceptible buzz from the general direction of her desk before their minder opened the door to the conference room. About a dozen people were already seated around a large conference table. Ralph and Stigart took their places in the two unoccupied seats. On the table in front of each person were name cards, a notepad, pencil and an upturned glass. Bottles of water were spaced evenly down the centre of the table.
Ralph turned the card over. The names were on both sides. There were no further introductions. From what he could make out, the meeting had just reconvened after a break for coffee. A collection of used cups and plates were on a table at the end of the room.
“Jennifer. You were about to give us an update,” said a tall gaunt-faced man at the end who smiled at an immaculately dressed woman sitting to his left.
“As I included in my report, Minister, the National Crime Agency has received intelligence from our counterparts in Antwerp that a drugs ring we’ve been tracking for the last 12 months has been broken. Cocaine made up the bulk of the shipment that they intercepted. It was a fortunate coincidence that we requested a search be made of the Moldovia. They’ve arrested its Captain, a Leo Capella. It appears that he was the leader of a syndicate operating out of Antwerp. If Commander Renton hadn’t alerted us that the stolen Magna Carta manuscripts might be onboard, the breakthrough would never have been achieved.”
Ralph glanced at Stigart who signaled that he should remain silent. He saw Renton look at him from across the table. His mind was reeling. Renton must have known that Mankovich was connected to the Moldovia. Why not stop it before it left the London Docks? And Leo, who he had thought was just an opportunist who was out to make money from whichever villains would pay the highest fee, was actually a drugs smuggler; now he was languishing in some Belgian jail with other ordinary crooks.
“Thank you, Jennifer. Good work,” said the man with the gaunt face. “The search unfortunately did not uncover the manuscripts,” he added. Stigart had written on his pad – Sir Charles Baker – Minister of State – Crime and Justice Policy.
“Robert? Any progress by your organisation at MI6 with the people in Israel?”
“We believe that Mankovich was abducted by Israelis and is presently under arrest in Jerusalem. We now know that he was flown out on a private plane from Stanstead. Ernst Mankovich was at one time an agent for Mossad in Germany. He’s accused of falsely claiming that a drugs and prostitution racket he had set up was a cover for his espionage duties and that he was acting on instructions from the Israeli government. He had claimed that any monies from that operation was being used to fight terrorists in Lebanon. They take that sort of treason very seriously.”
Ralph felt let down. Stigart had not mentioned any of this to him either when they had first spoken after he had got back from Sheerness, or at the coffee shop just before the meeting. He wondered what the hell he was doing there.
“Thank you, Colonel Stigart.” He turned to a man on his right who Ralph recognized as the man from the Home Office who he had met in Renton’s office. “Larry’s been working closely with Commander Renton at SO15 on tying up the loose ends on the Magna Carta business. How far have we got on this one?”
“Not much progress as far as finding the stolen manuscripts, I’m afraid. Professor Robert Rhodes at Imperial is being questioned, as he was central to the design of the containers that were used in the execution of the crime.”
He’s no criminal, Ralph wanted to shout out. His guess was that the police were stumped and now they were clutching at straws. He said nothing.
Fielding answered his question, at least in part.
“The firm Engineering Solutions that Professor Rhodes did a lot of work for was engaged in military work for the French. Following the suspected arson attack on the premises, there’ve been a number of awkward questions to field from our French colleagues.” There were a few grim smiles at the mention of the French.
If Bob got a police record, even a minor one, it would ruin his career and that job he was after in Germany would be a non-starter, were the thoughts that flashed through Ralph’s mind. He wouldn’t wonder that what with this on top of the divorce, he must be at his wits end. Fielding was still talking as Ralph tuned back in.
“The ransom note for the manuscripts from Ernst Mankovich is obviously on hold. So far the Press don’t seem to have got a whiff of what’s happened.”
“Thank you,” said Sir Charles. “The Prime Minister, as you can imagine has, a lot on his plate at the moment, what with selecting his new cabinet after the recent election. But I can assure you that we’ve taken care that there will be no leaks to the Press; at least not from the Government.”
There were nods of approval. A man who had been standing unobtrusively at the back of the room stepped forward and collected Sir Charles’ notes. Sir Charles stood up and walked out. Must have gone to the ‘Rupert Granger charm school’, Ralph decided.
“If you’ll just follow me, this will take only a few moments,” said a short rotund man, who Ralph had noticed sitting at the other end of the table to Sir Charles. He and Colonel Stigart followed him to a smaller room that overlooked the street. As they walked in, he saw Rajit Kumar, Martha Wilkes, Brendan Ogilvy and a woman that he did not recognize. It struck him that they looked like anxious parents waiting to be told if their child had passed the prep school entrance exam.
“I think most of you know each other? I’m Mike Alderton, Permanent Secretary, Home Office. Please have a seat gentlemen.” He waited until he had everyone’s attention. “Robert,” Alderton said as he looked at Stigart, “wishes to remain anonymous for reasons that I won’t go in to.” He smiled. No one asked what the reasons that he had alluded to were.
“We haven’t met,” said the woman in the group that Ralph did not know. “I’m Angela Winthrop-Jones. Curator at Lincoln Castle.” Ralph shook her hand. “Ralph Chalmers, Kingston University.”
“Good,” said Alderton. “Now that Doctor Winthrop-Jones and Professor Chalmers have met, I’ll come straight to the heart of the matter. It appears almost certain that we are unlikely to find the stolen Magna Carta manuscripts.”
“But we must let the public know,” said Rajit.
“There will be no announcement. That’s why you are here.”
“But surely people will find out,” said Ralph.
“You four are the only civilians who are aware of what’s happened to the manuscripts,” said Alderton.
Ralph attracted a few puzzled looks as to why he had not been included in the head count.
“But with all due respect that is monstrous,” Rajit interjected. “The public must be told; the world must be told!” Rajit was now standing up.
“The decision has been made. That it would not be in the National interest,” said Alderton. “This is not a subject for debate or personal opinions, I’m afraid.”
Ralph could see that Alderton was accustomed to dealing with agitated or irate people. Rajit was no different to staff he had seen at college ranting at their Dean and at the VC when they felt their professional integrity had been challenged or when their principles where at stake.
“Doctor Wilkes has assured us that only an expert using state of the art technology
could discover that the ones on exhibition are not the original manuscripts. People look to them for inspiration. They’re symbolic, nothing more. If I went to Salzburg and looked at what I believed was an original Mozart’s score, the fact that it later turned out to be a fake wouldn’t diminish my enjoyment when I heard it played at the Barbican.”
Alderton paused.
An impassioned plea, thought Ralph, but he has a point. The rest of the audience were not convinced.
“Your point is well made, Mr Alderton, but we at the British Library spend our whole lives authenticating manuscripts and now you are asking us to engage in deceit,” said Ogilvy.
“I’m afraid that your personal concerns are not part of the equation. I’m asking for your co-operation, not approbation. This whole business might well be cleared up in the fullness of time, but until then I must ask for your cooperation until such time as Ernst Mankovich plays his trump card. At that time the Government will buy back its National Heritage. Do I have your agreement on this ladies and gentleman?”
There were murmurs of “agreed”.
“Excellent. Now, if I could ask all of you except Professor Chalmers to sign those documents in front of you. The Professor has already dealt with this formality on a previous occasion,” he added by way of explanation when he noticed the puzzled expressions on some of their faces.
Ralph was about to mention that Katie was aware of what had happened, but when he looked at Stigart, the Colonel must have read his mind and shook his head.
King John’s Barons might have enabled the law to protect the ordinary man, Ralph mused, but power was still wielded by a few people at the top. That hadn’t changed in the past 800 years.
As he walked along the Embankment with the Colonel, he mentioned that no one had said anything about Henry Gunter. Stigart explained that Gunter was their main link to Mankovich and that he was being held in custody on a charge of being party to theft of a National Treasure.
“No crime to having a rogue Uncle,” said Stigart. “We’ve probably all got one in the cupboard somewhere,” he laughed. “But according to Renton, he got a bit rattled when it was suggested that he knew about the murders. And your Mr Dobson gave the police a full statement about having spoken to him and Mankovich. Of course that’s not a crime, but it does add one more piece to the puzzle.”
“Thanks for the ‘heads up’ before the meeting, Robert.”
“Now you’re part of the team, it was important you understand how these people operate. They’re not the least bit interested in what you did to crack this one, Ralph. I know you expected some form of thanks or recognition; I get mine when I check my bank account.”
Ralph thought about telling the Colonel that he had had enough cloak and dagger and just wanted out. But the sun was shining on the river, and the job had its plusses. Frank Dobson’s protégé, Alvaro, would have his work seen by thousands of people and a few crooks had got their just deserts.
“How about we celebrate, Ralph? There’s that boat tied up alongside the Embankment at Charing Cross.”
“The Tattershall Castle.”
“That’s the one.”
Ten minutes later they were sitting with a cold beer looking out across the water to the Southbank Centre. The early afternoon sun came out from behind a patch of white cloud as a train rattled across the river bridge. Probably on its way to some place deep in the Kentish country side, thought Ralph. A cool breeze sprang from the river. It was the nearest you could come to being at sea in the centre of London. They sat there, each with his own thoughts. The Colonel turned.
“To genuine treasures, Ralph,” the Colonel said as he raised his glass.
“The Queen,” they said in unison.
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The Magna Carta Murders (The Ralph Chamers Mysteries Book 12) Page 14