The Widow's Son

by Daniel Kemp

  Jack used that call to protect his long-term asset, Taline Kandarian, and in order to do that he had to sacrifice Emma to the State Police. By November 1956, Jack had played Taline into becoming the mistress of János Kádár, the new Prime Minister of Hungary. She stayed in that role for the remaining years of her life during which time London apportioned some of the material she smuggled out to Allen Dullas's Central Intelligence Agency, much to Jack's undying disgust. Taline's involvement in the Hungarian Revolution, including her connection to London, was obliterated from all records by Dickie Blyth-Smith and kept secret by him, Jack Price and then Fraser Ughert.

  In 1966 Kádár helped in the arrangements for his dying lover to return to Armenia, knowing precisely what she and Jack Price had done with the intelligence he passed on to her. He died with that knowledge, never divulging it to a soul. Suzanna was born three months before her mother died in the city of Akhtala. She was raised by close members of Taline's family, learning to speak Armenian, Russian, Turkish, Azerbaijani, Kurdish and English. She also learned how to steal and how to kill. To the secure files of the Russian desk was added a folder titled Sarah Mariah. On the opening A4 sheet of paper were written only these six words in longhand—Look Within Yourself To Find The Truth.

  * * *

  The original concept of the 'leaving sleeping agents behind advancing Soviet Bloc lines' policy which was the first Gladio B file, was forever corrupted by the Vice President of America, Richard Nixon, in conjunction with Allan Dullas. It was concealed inside the parameters assigned to the Office of Technical Services, or the OTS as it's referred to. From the offset, government finance intended for national security and the military was siphoned off into prearranged holding banks owned by private individuals, who over time augmented those accounts with money of their own, until eventually it was the privately held money that became the controlling influence in the direction of both Gladio B files policy. Through the 60s until late 1980, that influence was directed at predominately South American and African countries' infrastructure and economy, but it then developed into something far more sinister and deadly.

  In 1982 the file began to be transfigured in such a way as to obscure not only the names of the eight families now in complete control, but alarmingly their ambitions. It was those objectives that were to be addressed. Financial funds from one banking group in Panama found their way into the hands of the Palestine Liberation Organisation capitalising the assassination attempt of Israel's London ambassador that led to the Lebanese war in June of that year. This was the first recorded excursion into the foreign affairs of a Middle East nation by those families. Over the years that followed that area of the world became a lucrative experience for the arms manufacturing industries, pharmaceuticals, and construction companies. All the commercial enterprises who profited from this war, and subsequent unrest in the Lebanon and her neighbours, were parts of huge international conglomerates whose owners are impossible to trace. Of the outer circle who were said to be accessible, three are dead and were murdered professionally. Within a few minutes of opening the Sarah Mariah file I was reading of the people who had died at the hands of Suzanna Kandarian over a period of eleven years. Or more precisely from when Operation Desert Storm was in its combat stage.

  On the 28th of January 1991 Suzanna was in the Black Sea resort of Odessa as was a native Ukrainian, Sergey Malovich, the Chief Executive Officer of Moxon Oil. Sergey had a passion for women of a particular nature and his 'facilitators' knew his tastes by heart. Dark-haired, wheat-ish-coloured skin, tall, slim but sensuously beautiful, in fact the usual physical attractions of a hot, sexy woman but having another quality as well; intelligence and personally. In essence, enough to keep him amused whilst away from his wife and three children staying at their winter home in Bermuda. Suzanna arrived on his first evening in his hotel suite and stayed until morning. It was then she disappeared through the service entrance wearing a blonde wig, blue contact lenses and the yellow and white overalls of a cleaner, leaving Sergey lying on the bloodied, disturbed bed with what remained of a body after massive dismemberment. Although her description was circulated by international police agencies and by the various minders and facilitators of that outer circle of the twelve, no trace of her was ever found.

  In the same year, Suzanna was in Beirut when an official from the French national bank met the Lebanese finance minister purportedly to discuss France funding a dam project in the Western Beqaa District of Lebanon, but the real motive behind the meeting held at the Loravva Hotel was to move vast sums of money through the Lebanese financial mechanism into France. The money was from a Chinese pharmaceutical company exploiting families in the outlying regions of China by testing a birth restriction drug on unsuspecting mothers. Suzanna found the Frenchman on his own the second night of his stay. This time she used a drug called Devil's Breath, or scopolamine. He was laughing as she slowly cut off his penis. He told her the name of the source of the money after being tortured for over three hours during which time most of his extremities were removed. The name was in the Sarah Mariah file under—Pending.

  Two years later, in a tunnel leading from a recent borehole of a South African coal mining company, the mutilated body of Arjun Laghari, the amalgamation and procurement Chief Executive Officer of the Indian Rawalpindi Chemical Company, was discovered by returning miners after a three-day break caused by the collapse of an underground connecting shaft. Beside his shredded body was an empty 500 mg phial of methanol. He had, according to police reports, been tortured for the best part of two days. Methanol was the same poison used on Sergey Malovich before various parts of his body had been systematically removed. In both toxicology reports there was mention of two unknown chemicals in their blood stream, related to but not containing, Fentanyl, an opioid used as a pain medication. The following two recorded deaths were just as brutal using the same method to sedate and torture, then a lethal dose of methanol injected to finish the victims, but it was the last murder that interested me the most, set out in a separate narrow folder within the file marked—EnQ

  According to the file the victim, a tall, medium-built man with blonde hair, aged between twenty-six and twenty-eight took ages to determine, but eventually was identified as William B. Guerny II of Florida, America. The confusion over his identity was twofold; one, his hands, feet, teeth, and face, but not head, were missing and two; William B. Guerny II had died on a service operation executed by American Special Operations Command during the Gulf War in the Saudi Arabian city of Khafji, on 30 January1991. He was one part of a three-man Navy SEAL team referred to as Task Force Blue.

  His crudely disfigured body was found in an abandoned car left at Mosul Airport, Iraq, on the day of my appointment as Director General of Group. There were no notes inside the file to account for the American Embassy seal being at the top of the completely redacted document, but his body was identified by two bullet wounds in his left calf and by his unusual blood type, and he too had been tortured over a period of days. The following inscription to the EnQ folder was added to the brief biography and signed by Fraser Ughert.

  William B. Guerny II was shot dead by agent Sarah Mariah on orders originating from my office.

  The letters IAR, meaning Incinerate After Reading, were in the margin after his signature.

  Chapter Fourteen: A Death

  At eleven minutes past three on Thursday morning I was awoken by the buzzing of the telephone on the occasional table next to where I slept in the dayroom. It was the Duty Officer who broke the news to me.

  It took Jimmy, with Frank beside him, fourteen minutes to arrive at The Hole, but less than thirty minutes to drive the forty odd miles to Chearsley in Buckinghamshire with three police outriders as our escort. Molly was waiting in Fraser's office, staring lovingly at his vacant office chair. I had never enquired into how long they had been married, that was not in my nature, but for some reason only known to her, now she decided to tell me.

  “It would have been forty-three y
ears in January, Patrick, since we pledge our vows on one freezing cold day in the Kirk of St Nicholas, Aberdeen. I was two years younger than Fraser and according to his mother making the biggest mistake of my life. No woman has ever made a better choice of a husband.” She did not cry, I think her innermost sorrow overwhelmed that show of emotion.

  “You must all be wanting some breakfast. The best I can do for so many would be to offer toast and marmalade, I'm afraid,” she declared apologetically and then needlessly asked, “Would that be okay, Patrick?” I told her that we could send out for something to eat and drink but she was adamant with her offer which I hadn't the heart to refuse.

  When we arrived the Ugherts' sprawling home was surrounded by uniformed police officers of varying ranks with the compulsory blue tape around the entire perimeter. Inside the house it was overrun by forensic analysts with their white sterile uniforms, their cameras, and their tripod-mounted lighting. In the still dark morning the place was mystically quiet and ineffable. Even in death it seemed as though Fraser's spirit was monumental. I was acquainted with Chief Superintendent Maxwell of the Ministry of Defence police who was in charge of the scene, having had several dealings where our paths had crossed over in Northern Ireland. During my time in Ireland it seemed to me the Irish desk employed more within its authority who were concerned with bureaucratic issues and less personnel for the capture and prosecution of terrorists. He was another Geoffrey Harwood in that regard, being especially interested in routine documentation and administrative tasks. Needless to say we did not share a respectful relationship. He was talking to the Home Office pathologist who I'd met once before. As I approached them my burner phone rang; it was Razin. He was angry and worried. I didn't bother to ask how he knew because as soon as I'd said hello, Geoffrey Harwood and entourage arrived in an emergency response flashing convoy. I turned off the phone without explaining why. Hannah was in the lead vehicle with Geoffrey and after I greeted them both, the three of us entered Fraser's office.

  The weapon, a Russian Nagant M1895 revolver with the suppressor attached, was in a numbered plastic evidence bag with its cylinder separated and beside it. The detachable cylinder was empty with the one fired distinctive round lying beside it. There was no 'live' ammunition in the bag. I had been told Fraser had been shot once in his heart. Either this weapon was carried by a supremely confident and accurate assassin or one who was extremely sloppy. Hannah saw what had registered in my mind and read my thoughts.

  “I'll run it through our systems, sir. Although I don't see how I can keep the search from other agencies if we're serious about finding whoever's done this.” I could feel her anger in the words she chose. I nodded at her request, then sent her off to console Molly as only a woman could do.

  As was looking around the scene Maxwell had his notebook open and was approaching. Frank, my protection officer, was standing beside me. A glance from Maxwell in his direction was met by a steely, wide eyed stare in return.

  “An expert kill. According to the pathologist the shot went into the centre of the heart,” he said without any acknowledgement in my direction. However, I managed to get past his surprise of seeing me at the scene without having to raise my voice despite his incredulous disposition which he did not try to hide. When, with a sarcastic tone to his voice he asked who to make his report to, me or Harwood, I loved every micro-second it took me to tell him that it was I who he reported to.

  Apparently Maxwell had arrived approximately ten minutes before us and some five minutes after Fraser's body had been removed by the pathology team on the instructions of the police officer who was first on the scene. He judged it more important to the integrity of the site that Molly Ughert was not subjected to a sight of her dead husband and his removal made no difference to the investigations. When Chief Superintendent Maxwell read this from his notes I praised that decision, asking him to pass that on to the officer.

  From his notes I learned that entry to the house had been made through a fairly small pantry window that although barred, the cement was old and too soft to hold the steel. It was possible for a slim person to get through. The silent alarm was triggered and flashed up on the Home Desk special operations screen at MI5 headquarters on Millbank. The duty officer paged Special Branch at Barnes, the SO15 department at Scotland Yard, number Four Regional Crime Squad and Thames Valley Divisional Headquarters at Kidlington, who instantly assigned two ARVs, armed response vehicles, patrolling nearby, along with despatching their helicopter stationed at RAF Abingdon. They arrived almost simultaneously at the Ugherts' residence, blue light rebounding from the low black clouds, sirens bouncing off buildings half a mile away and the helicopter's search lights illuminating the thick woodland that encircled the property as far south as the River Thame. Fraser had an aversion to cameras inside the house which he never switched on, fearing interference with his and Molly's privacy, but although those outside were working, none had captured any image of any intruder.

  Although the shock of Fraser's death made it difficult for me to focus, two things were obvious: Fraser's computer was shut down and where I had last seen it, and his prized red-leather desk blotter was missing one vital object. Molly had presented him with the prestigious blotter last Christmas and whenever I visited there was always a ringed notepad lying open across it waiting for his scribbled pencil additions. I looked further in case he had shifted it in any struggle, but no—no sign of a struggle and no notepad. There was a glass holding a small amount of whisky beside his pipe which was extinguished but not cleaned out as was his habit, had he finished whatever it was he was doing and retiring for the night. As I scanned the desk more thoroughly I noticed the computer screen was not central to where he would have been sitting. It had been moved. Maxwell was droning on in my ear about the lack of footprints outside on the hard frosty ground and the amount of smudge marks on the kitchen door as well as Fraser's office door. “The killer wore gloves,” he announced as though that would be the damming evidence to solve the case. I tried to look interested in the boring details of nothingness but within this structured chaos my mind would not function.

  Hannah appeared with two welcome mugs of tea for Frank and me, along with news that Molly was keeping herself busy and intent on holding Christmas despite what had happened. According to Hannah, Fraser's brother and wife were flying in from Canada and due to arrive this coming Sunday, and Molly's older sister with her husband, daughter and the two grandchildren were arriving from Scotland this weekend as well. Geraldine's plans could not be altered at this late stage, Hannah added with what appeared to me a suggestive smile on her face. It was not the smile that intrigued me as much as what she said Molly had told her.

  “Molly said that Fraser had been burrowing, her word not mine, away at something he'd found in a file on his computer a little while back. He had moaned all day about it and told Molly that he wouldn't give in until he'd sorted it out. Seems strange that the computer is turned off, don't you think, sir. Unless of course, he'd found whatever it was and was on his way to bed.” Frank, not one to usually comment, made a gruff hmm sound and then pretended to cough.

  Hannah's suggestion had merit but the fact that his reading glasses were in another evidence bag alongside the one holding the murder weapon, meant that he was either wearing them, or had them around his neck, when shot. That detail, with the displacement of the computer screen and unfinished-with pipe, nagged away at me arguing that he must have been working when the intruder broke in. Then I saw it! A thick, heavy book lying vertically on top of the upright others on the shelf. The title was Great American Feats, Fraser's pet after-dinner subject. He argued there were no great American feats but there were many great Scottish American feats and even some great English American feats, but until America had more than three hundred and eighty odd years of history there could not be a true American feat yet other than a Native American's great feat. The 'feat' thing was the bit of the joke. Frank followed my line of sight, and from the almost imperceptible
nod of my head invited Harwood and Maxwell to follow him towards Molly Ughert's appetising tea and toast. Inside the hollowed out book was a remote controlled, wireless tape recorder that was switched on and running. I removed it, placing it in my pocket then followed my nose. I was confident I had covered everything.

  * * *

  I was quietly admiring Molly, who was keeping thoughts ofer dead husband to the back of her mind by concentrating on providing everyone with at least a hot drink and her mental preparations for Christmas. She was in conversation with her elder brother, who had just arrived from Aylesbury, a few miles away. Both looked in my direction as I entered the packed dining room.

  “You are still coming for the holidays, Patrick?” she asked and by the look in her brother's eye he too needed an answer. I said that I wasn't sure but would obviously try my best, at which point Molly burst into tears which has always been too much for me to deal with. Her brother recognised my discomfort and took over consoling her, presenting me with the opportunity I required. Within five minutes Frank, Hannah and I, with Jimmy driving, were on our way back to Lavington Street.