The Widow's Son

by Daniel Kemp

  “You need food and then sleep, sir. You don't need that.” The somewhat motherly advice took me completely by surprise and it wasn't that I didn't like it, the opposite was true. My sordid imagination was thrown into disarray.

  “Call me Patrick, Hannah, and I'll stay with that beautiful name, as it suits your own natural beauty.”

  “I'll keep to the sir, and I'll have a bowl of soup with you, then I'm going home. Anything else would not be right.” Was I that obvious, I thought, then realised I had the burden of transparency to carry in my mature years.

  I flopped into the nearest armchair saddened by her rebuff and resigned to my ineptitude. As I sat I carefully watched as she heated the soup and collected two spoons and dishes, and then the abject tiredness I felt forced the closing of my eyes and I fell asleep before the soup was served. There was no superman who died in that chair and there was no woman who loved him to shed any tears of regret.

  Chapter Nineteen: Sunday

  Liam Catlin and Narak Vanlian separated at the Turkish border from where Liam made his way to Gaziantep and the home of the executive officer for Venery Munitions Ltd whilst Narak travelled to Antakya airport where he met the single American G3 'Black Ops' operative. It was his role to mark the target at Kirkuk so the top-secret 184th Intelligence Wing of the Kansas air national guard could launch a drone strike, then he would find a safe landing space nearby for the ground landing of US troops. The two arrived at the target on Tuesday 21st December, the same day as Geraldine arrived at Chearsley, in Buckinghamshire to be welcomed by a tearful Molly Ughert.

  Simon Ratcliffe opened the door to his home in the cool shadow of the Yıl Atatürk Kültür Parki and welcomed Liam Catlin as though he really was the brother he'd told the French reporter of the Herald Tribune magazine who sat next to Mrs Ratcliffe enjoying her close company. As the evening wore on and the conversation edged towards the reason for the journalist's invitation to the house, Liam feigned embarrassment in continuing to divulge stories about the Kurdish nationals he said he knew so well.

  “There's only one other thing I will say, Pierre, and then I must leave the subject. The Kurdish people are a peaceful race trying to accept the situation as it is. Being divided by international boundaries is not ideal for them and yes, it's true, there are some radicals who advocate for their own boundaries along with their own nation, but they are in a small minority, hardly worth a mention by your renowned publication.”

  When Pierre Dupont submitted his article he believed Liam was deliberately misleading him by suggesting the Kurds were not a voracious nation willing to die for their sovereignty. He was unaware that the difference between a good intelligence officer and a great one is that the great one will have you believe that the decisions you're making are your own, made without outside influence. Fraser Ughert was a great intelligence officer and Catlin was great at following orders.

  * * *

  The television opposite the chair in which I had fallen asleep woke me. I couldn't remember switching it on, but as I stretched awkwardly on waking I guessed I must have. Then I saw her and wondered where she had slept and if the gossiping had started. She read my mind.

  “If you're wondering where I slept then you have nothing to worry about. I took some of the soup for myself then went to my office and after half an hour's work fell asleep there. I came back a minute ago to make sure you eat something before you start all over again. I must have woken you. You must look after yourself, sir. Drink less whisky and eat sensibly. Here.” She passed me a breakfast dish with cornflakes and milk. I was so ravenously hungry that I almost asked for more. As I was spoon-feeding myself, watching the news channel on the television, the topic changed to a scene outside a well-appointed house in Belgrave Square, Knightsbridge, where there were several ambulances and armed police officers. I turned the volume up to hear the reporter saying that a man and a woman in their late forties, thought to be Lord and Lady Shoreham, were found dead in the house. The reporter went on to say that unfortunately two members of staff had also been found murdered. Their dead bodies were discovered, unmutilated. It was that word that shot through my body with the same amount of pain I'd felt when shot in my foot. The girl said that the Shorehams had been dead for at least two days.

  “It's her,” I shouted at the screen and then still unappreciative of Hannah's presence, “I bet they've found an empty 500 mg phial of methanol in that house.”

  “It's who?” she asked as she took hold of my tottering bowl of cornflakes.

  “Ah, Hannah, yes, I meant to tell you about Suzanna. She's Fraser's lady-killer in more ways than one. Her modus operandi is to render her victims insensible enough to cut lumps off them, then when she's got all that she wants, she shoots them up with a massive dose of methanol to finish them off.”

  “Oh, not the sort of lady you'd want to take your eyes off then. But I doubt you've spent much time in her company with your eyes on anyone else,” she remarked in a trite manner to my annoyance but I did not reply.

  “Would you like me to contact the chief investigating officer in Belgrave Square and discreetly ask, sir?”

  “You can do that, Hannah, yes. But I think I'll ask her keeper straight out. Where's your car?”

  “Parked around the corner, sir, in the service carpark.”

  “Do you fancy another pick-up in Paris Garden?”

  * * *

  The degree of signal traffic and footfall, both in and out of the Russian Consulate in Bayswater, demanded that the alert level be raised to level two, one short of all-out war status, with double staff at Group, all signal installations and anywhere with connections to Foreign Affairs. To highlight how serious the situation was, the Russian desk/department at the box in Vauxhall was triple manned even though it was a Sunday. I was answering call after call on the drive to Peckham until in the end I had no choice but to transfer them to Abraham, the duty officer back at the Hole, with strict instructions on how to deal with the problem. Specialist Operations at Scotland Yard had no new intelligence on Fyodor Nazarov Razin nor Henry Mayler. According to all the data stored at MI5 and at Special Branch, no attempt by either had been made to leave the country by any airports or shipping ports that would generally be used. Despite the level of coverage the pair were attracting, there were more parts of this island to launch a small boat that could possibly be covered, and more fields for a small aircraft to take off from than buses in the whole of the London. I had nothing to add to the expert search, not yet anyway.

  * * *

  Fraser had a phone to his ear when we arrived and Suzanna was apparently having a bath. As he opened the door the phone was deposited in a trouser pocket before he said goodbye to whoever was at the other end.

  “No one important, Fraser?” I asked, irritated.

  “That takes us both back in time, young Patrick. Back to what Jack Price call that group of his, NOMITE wasn't it? No One is More Important Than Each. You are the most important one here, laddie, After Hannah, of course.”

  “Haven't you forgotten your Suzanna, Fraser?”

  “You're fishing for something, Patrick, so get to the point, please.”

  “Lord and Lady Shoreham, plus two members of staff, were found murdered this morning at their home in Belgravia. I happen to know that Lord Gilbert Shoreham is chairman of Blake, Harplip and Klenix, the multinational pharmacy company who were the target of a hostile take-over bid awhile back by the Indian Rawalpindi Chemical Company. I did some research about that company after their chief executive was mentioned in that Sarah Mariah file of yours. It was Suzanna Kandarian who killed him. I'm wondering if you're instigating and condoning murder in the heart of London nowadays?”

  “Your industrial knowledge does you credit, laddie. Ever heard of the Mumbai based engineering and development company named Amtamo?”

  “Can't say that I have, Fraser, no.”

  “A Russian branch of the Shoreham family survived the revolution, prospered under Stalin, going on to have th
e controlling interest in that company as well as stock in Rosneft Oil. You and I know that Rosneft are in partnership with the American oil giant ExxonMobil. It would not take too much imagination to put the Shorehams into the circle of eight of whom we've spoken. I take it Hannah is aware of those people?”

  “I'm not sure if we did get that far, but I'm absolutely sure we have only skirted around Suzanna's contribution to the puzzle.”

  “Hmm, what's the use of a PA if one does not confide in one!” He was puffing hard on his pipe as he gave me one of his stares of disgust.

  “You will have to catch up in real time, Hannah. And in any case I can explain it all better than your boss. The Doctor, Robert Zaehner, have you heard of him, Hannah?”

  “Yes, sir, I have,” she replied.

  “Good! Then at least I don't have to do your job entirely for you, Patrick. Right, onwards. Robert and I go back centuries, probably as far as the Stone Age. A slight exaggeration, but given the circumstances of euphoria then quite understandable! No, do not look so perplexed. All will be explained. Directly after you forced the husband of Francesca Clark-Bartlett to withdraw from becoming his party's presidential nomination, Robert was approached to step into the breach. I think that all occurred in '72/73, Patrick. Is that right?”

  The all-knowing avuncular look from Fraser was accompanied by Hannah's look of astonishment. I was unsure whether her surprise was for his revelation or my lack of an answer.

  “A story for another time perhaps, Hannah.” He knocked his pipe out as Suzanna, wrapped only in a white bath towel around her body and one around her wet hair, stood frowning in the doorway at him, apparently unable to see Hannah and me.

  “Good morning. Have you had a busy night, Suzanna?” I blurted out uncontrollably, ignoring everyone else in the room and trying to ignore her intrinsic sexuality.

  “He should not smoke that thing at all, but if he cannot stop, then leave it alone until later in the day. His heart will give out on him if he continues to disregard his doctor's advice.” She had the same annoying habit as Fraser of sidestepping a direct question.

  “I shall make tea for you.” Without waiting for an answer she turned away and the schoolboy inside me attempted to hide his embarrassment. Hannah cleared her throat, before adding, “Was it something I said?” To which Fraser added, “What?” When neither of us replied he continue in his narrative.

  “Anyway Robert Zaehner turned their approaches down, opting for what he called a normal life. For a good many years he served in the CIA before becoming a director of the National Security Agency.” I jumped in with both barrels loaded and the safety off.

  “You never mentioned that little fact when I told you of the NSA signals yesterday. Did you have him send the one from Berlin? Is Harwood right in blaming you?”

  “Is he like this when he's alone with you, Hannah? All pumped up and spitting dummies at everyone?”

  “Well, not yet, sir, no,” she said, looking at me before adding, “Perhaps it's the sight of a beautiful woman that's done it, Mr Ughert.”

  “Now you're fishing for compliments, young lady, and you have no need. Your speculation is obviously wrong as he casts his eyes on you every day, and your guesswork about Berlin is equally wrong, laddie. But I made some enquiries and I have a name for Berlin. That's for later. Let's resume with the Shorehams, shall we?”

  I nodded yes to that, as Suzanna placed the tea tray on the table between us and Fraser, and I could smell the aromatic fragrance of gardenia. She sat herself down on the sofa where we were, requiring Hannah and me to move closer together. I was squashed tight against two beautiful women, but Hannah's words of not being able to avert my eyes from Suzanna were proving again to be correct. She had removed the towel from her head and her long black hair hung wet against her bare shoulders as she leant across and poured the tea into the four cups, her movement caused the towel wrapped around her body to pull apart exposing her bare leg and thigh which she pressed tightly against me.

  “It would be best if you put a bathrobe on, Suzanna.” Fraser never elaborated on his reasons for that request as he added milk to his own cup, and Suzanna never needed to ask for one as she and gardenia left the room. Once again Hannah felt the demand for a remark.

  “One nil to me, I think,” she said. Fraser smiled and so did I.

  * * *

  “Look Within Yourself To Find The Truth, the opening words to the Sarah Mariah file, is a code, Patrick. It's along the same lines as Razin's with his one-time pad, except this code has only letters and not numbers. The words Sarah Mariah are also a code. They relate to a family called Bingham from the southern state of Kentucky in America. They are whom Theodore Roosevelt referred to when he said there was an invisible source of government. They are still out there, Patrick. The branches of the family have spread out since the early parts of the last century, increasing their interests in media outlets across America and other nations where English is the chosen spoken language. They also have a controlling stock in no less than eighteen different railway companies in Africa. However, as I told you before, a code is no good if anyone can decipher it. There are many codes and symbols used within Freemasonry. The one about finding the truth is used in an early initiation, but within it lies the key to that inner circle of world control.

  “Let's get back to Robert Zaehner and how he found the first two subjects covered in the file that Suzanna dealt with. He worked the code in such a way that it exposed a few companies that are legitimately owned but reasonably suspected of being under the control of one or more of the important eight. As you are aware, but perhaps Hannah is not, Suzanna…” His speech was halted by the lady in question as she entered the room dressed in a white transparent blouse and white skin-tight jeans. The flat was warm, but it wasn't that warm! Fraser looked at her then looked at me. I looked at Suzanna. Hannah coughed and I diverted my gaze to her.

  “Yes, Hannah, Fraser was about to tell you how I killed both of those men but not before I surgically removed parts of them. Some I removed delicately whilst we engaged in a drug induced but coherent conversation, other parts not so delicately. I offered a quick death if I got what I wanted, which was the all-important truth. If it wasn't forthcoming then I indiscriminately hacked at bits of them. Big bits take longer and of course, the pain lasts longer. It requires great skill to level the methanol and the other drug I use. It is my own concoction a mixture of two potent agents, one is an animal tranquilliser and the other a surgical painkiller. The actual amounts I administer are variable depending on the agony I wish to inflict.” It was then that she diverted her attention away from the pallid-faced Hannah to me.

  “You see, I am not an object of sex you would like to bed, Mr West. I am a trained sadistic killer who one day may have to kill you.” Her smile was not reassuring and nor was the severity of Fraser's admonishment.

  “I cannot ever see the need for Patrick to become one of your victims, Suzanna, and I don't want any reference to personal feelings mentioned again. Okay?” Suzanna made no reply. It was Fraser who continued the narrative.

  “Both those men copied to the Sarah Mariah file spoke of an English landed family with great wealth and tentacles inside Russia who owned chemical, engineering, oil extraction and refining companies throughout the globe. Robert Zaehner went back to the code again and it threw out Gilbert Shoreham. At best it was a calculated guess, as any decoding is ultimately. But with all that is happening and the approaching date of Henry Mayler's all-important thirty-third birthday …” He caught Hannah's puzzled gaze.

  “Hannah looks bemused. Please rectify that as soon as you can. To carry on; I judged it prudent to act without delay. Suzanna visited that home in Belgrave Square and killed them on my orders, laddie.”

  “What did you find out?” I asked, without hesitation or thoughts of rebuke. Hannah's colouring had returned to normal and I hoped she stayed that way.

  “Gilbert Shoreham gave us another name, one that I suspected all along.
He comes from a line of extraordinarily wealthy Israelis with business connections all over this planet of ours. For the Christmas holidays he's staying in Maine, New England, as a guest of another man we provisionally put on the list of the eight. Suzanna will be making arrangements to travel there later today. The estate is called The House of Cilicia, it's at a place named Jordan Pond, in Maine.”

  “Did Suzanna go to Berlin and send that signal for you, Fraser?”

  “No she didn't, and we'll never know for sure who did, but it comes down to who you believe is telling the truth about taking something from the driver who chased Henry and Razin from Al Hasakeh about two weeks ago. If Razin took whatever it was, as Henry alleges, then our Russian friend has connections to the NSA that I never knew of. If Henry removed the damning evidence from the CIA agent then it follows that he had someone who could send the signal. And again, I never suspected that.”

  “It's a good job that little old me found out for you, then,” Suzanna's sultry voice cut into the conversation.

  “I bet this is when William B. Guerny II comes into this mix, eh? Hanging around with a gunshot wound outside the bazaar in Al Hasakeh waiting to be rescued when you just happened to be passing, Suzanna,” I suggested.

  “He was a very communicative guy, was William. Part of a three-man special reconnaissance team deployed near a town named Tal Afar waiting for fallouts between the local Sunni and Shia Muslims and taking advantage of what was left. At least that was his team's cover story if they ran into any other covert unit. The idea behind it was to blame the slaughter on Bashar al-Assad's government. The signal he received from Berlin gave map co-ordinates, times and the names and descriptions of the targets. One a Westerner; Henry Mayler, and the other his Arab driver, but here comes the bit that interested Fraser. His instructions from Berlin did not include any mention of a fire-fight. He and the team were ordered to observe and note. Not to shoot anyone. He said that came about because a big guy with the two they were sent to watch started firing at them. I insisted on more personal details than from a sterile radio signal, but unfortunately there was only one he could provide. He said he'd spoken to the man once before. He had a distinct Southern American accent.