I found a Russian officer wearing a Nagant revolver, and asked for one of his bullets. He evidently didn’t believe in reverse Lend-Lease, since it cost me a five-pound note. I’d sent Big Mike to make a call to Harding and then find Bull and see if Inspector Flack was still around. I waited in the same room where Flack had interrogated Kaz and me, playing with the 7.62mm bullet, rolling it around my fingers.
Big Mike had pestered me to tell him what I was cooking up, but I told him to wait a few minutes so I could think it through and explain it to everyone together. I had most of the pieces put together, and could guess at the rest. Proving them would be harder, but right now what I wanted was to throw as much doubt on Kaz as Vatutin’s killer as I could. I knew that was going to be an uphill fight as soon as Flack came into the room.
“This had better be good, Boyle,” Flack said, standing across from me, arms akimbo. “I’ve been on the telephone explaining to the Foreign Office how come two Soviet officers have been killed within hours of each other. And that was after explaining it to the commissioner, ten minutes after I explained it to Detective Inspector Scutt. So I am in no mood to waste time with you.”
Bull and Big Mike sat. I gestured to the remaining chair and tapped the table with my Russian bullet, waiting for Flack to sit. He had a right to complain. I didn’t envy his role as messenger when the news was all bad and he was the messenger delivering it up the chain of command. Finally, he sat.
“I want to start at the beginning, as much as I can. This began with Gennady Egorov found bound and shot in a manner suggestive of the Polish bodies found at Katyn. A map showing the route of a Russian supply truck was discovered on him, hinting at his involvement with recent hijackings. Plus, he was found on Archie Chapman’s turf.”
“Correct,” said Flack.
“In the course of that investigation, I stumbled onto an informant for Captain Kiril Sidorov. Eddie Miller, of the Rubens Hotel, who provided Sidorov with information on the Polish Government in Exile. Then Eddie was found dead. You suspect Kaz, but I think Eddie was poisoned, then stabbed, by Sheila Carlson.”
“We’ve been over all this,” Flack said, drumming his fingers on the table.
“We know that Egorov was shot with a dumdum bullet. You recovered fragments that indicated a. 32-caliber slug.”
“Which fits the weapon Lieutenant Kazimierz carries,” Flack said. “Remember, we also found a dumdum round in his desk, with the neatly filed X on top.”
“Yes, so convenient. All you were missing was a big red sign that said, ‘Look Here.’ Tell me, does Kaz strike you as stupid?”
“No, he does not. But anyone can make a mistake.”
“Sure. But think for a minute. If Kaz didn’t kill Egorov, who put the bullet there?”
“Eddie Miller, perhaps. He was working for Sidorov.”
“OK, same question. Did Eddie strike you as stupid?”
“From what I heard, he was not the brightest fellow. Gullible, certainly.”
“The kind of guy to be entrusted with a key piece of incriminating evidence, to frame Kaz?”
“We’ll never know, will we? Please come to the point, Boyle.”
We were interrupted by an orderly with a pot of coffee and a tray of cups. It was perfect timing. The coffee smelled good, and as Flack dumped in a healthy spoonful of sugar, I knew he’d stay as long as the coffee lasted.
“Two things have bothered me about this case. First, Sheila Carlson. We know she worked for MI5, for an operative known as Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown seems to have gone to extremes for king and country, and Sheila was happy to oblige, plotting to kill Tadeusz Tucholski with a poisoned cake. She might as well have, too. Everyone else was connected to each other: Sidorov, Egorov, Kaz, Radecki, Vatutin, Tad, Archie, and Topper. They all had a connection, no matter how slim.”
“Sheila was connected to Eddie,” Flack said. “She lived and worked with him.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And she killed him as well.”
“So you say,” Flack said, sipping his coffee. “Brown seems to have gone too far, even by MI5 standards. Cosgrove told me he’s been reined in, transferred elsewhere.”
“Good. And I hope you had the contents of Eddie’s stomach tested,”I said.
“As a matter of course, yes, but I haven’t heard anything yet. It is not a priority with everything else we have on our plate: murdered Russians and German aircrews running about.”
“Sheila was the one person who stood alone, after she killed Eddie. Eddie was the only one who knew her, who might have an idea of where she’d gone. Even Brown and his MI5 henchmen couldn’t find her. Think about that,” I said, leaning over the table, staring into Flack’s eyes, willing him to see it as I did. “She needs her identity card and her ration card. How hard should it be for MI5 to find someone in England these days?”
“Your point?”
“She killed Eddie for a reason. To eliminate anyone who knew anything about her. If she was simply an MI5 agent, why would she worry about that?”
“Lucky for her she did,” said Big Mike.
“Right, but how was she to know Mr. Brown had gone off the reservation and needed to get rid of her?”
“So she had another reason,” said Bull, looking to Flack as if to coach him. Flack was silent.
“Yes. And that reason connects to the other thing that bothered me. The information on the truck hijackings had to come from within the Russian Embassy. They laid out the routes for the delivery trucks. But what was in it for whoever did it?”
“Money, of course,” Flack said as Big Mike poured him more coffee. I made a mental note to get him promoted to sergeant.
“Sure, maybe for the produce and booze. A little extra to spend in London. But what good are dollars or pounds back in the Soviet Union? He couldn’t bring them in and deposit them in a bank.”
“If I had to go back to Russia, I should be glad of extra money while I was in London,” Flack said.
“But what if you didn’t have to go back?” I asked, and watched Flack think that one through.
“We are Allies with the Soviet Union, Boyle. We couldn’t let one of their officers defect. What is the point, anyway? We have three dead Russians; no one is defecting!”
“No. You have two. Egorov and Vatutin, both murdered by Kiril Sidorov. With help from his lover, Sheila Carlson.” I sat back and took a sip of coffee. It was good.
“What?” Flack and Big Mike said at the same time.
“Sheila was working both sides of the fence. Maybe Sidorov recruited her through Eddie, but I don’t think Eddie knew. She was working for MI5 and saw no reason not to supplement her income. But it went further than that. Maybe they fell for each other, or maybe it’s all about the money.”
“What money?” Flack said. “They can’t have earned a fortune from tipping off the Chapman gang.” I knew I had him interested at last. He wasn’t sarcastic, he was working the problem.
“That was just for expenses. They needed it for forged identity papers and ration cards. There have been cases of papers stolen from bodies recovered after the bombings. I bet some of those match the descriptions of Sheila and Sidorov. Part of their deal with Archie Chapman. The real payoff was information about the gold shipment.”I told him about the half million in gold coming from Scotland.
“And you’re certain about Sheila and Sidorov?” Flack said.
“Certain enough,” I said. “I remembered that Sheila had been wearing a beige utility coat and a blue scarf when we first met her. When I was tailing Sidorov, before he met with Eddie, I saw him bump into a woman wearing the same coat with a blue scarf over her head. She dropped her pocketbook and he picked it up. I bet they were close to the end of their game, and using spy craft to be certain no one saw them together. But they had to have a way of communicating. Passing notes on a busy sidewalk would do the trick.” I didn’t mention I’d remembered the coat and scarf in my dream, and that it had been Dalenka wearing them.
“That’s something to chew on,” Flack said. “Have you alerted anyone about the gold shipment?”
“Yes, my boss, Colonel Harding. He’s sending an escort of a couple of armored cars.”
“Archie will be cross,” Flack said, a smile creeping up on his face. “What put you on to this?”
“I had a deal with Archie. I knew I’d need Chapman’s help, so I agreed to deliver a message. Topper told me to tell Vatutin ’time and place,’ that he’d know what it meant. I thought it was only another supply shipment, and figured it was worth it to get in with them. I think I made a mistake, one that may have cost Vatutin his life. I said Topper wanted to know ’time and place.’”
“How did that make any difference?” Bull asked.
“ Vatutin was a trip wire. He worked for Sidorov, and Sidorov knew anything that was said to him would be reported. Sure enough, Vatutinran right over to Sidorov when I delivered the message. I’m beginning to think mentioning Topper was not meant as part of the message, and that was too much information to let Vatutin live with.”
“‘Time and place’ alone might have done the same,” Flack said. “ Vatutin might have put two and two together if the gold shipment had been hit. I wouldn’t worry, Boyle. But I meant the whole scheme; how did you put all that together?”
“Chaucer and Joey Adamo,” I said. “Chaucer fled to Canterbury to get away from the Merciless Parliament. Joey Adamo was a Detroit hood who escaped the Mob by fleeing to Canada, where his death was likely faked. Last night, Sidorov said it was necessary for his government to be merciless, and that set me thinking.” I didn’t mention the thinking had gone on in my dreams. “And then I remembered what he had told me about Article 58 of the Soviet Criminal Code. It makes the nonreportingof counterrevolutionary activities by family members punishable by a stretch in a Siberian labor camp, at best.”
“Chaucer, as in The Canterbury Tales?” Flack asked.
“Yeah. He escaped to the country to save his neck.”
“I know about Chaucer, man! It’s a bit flimsy, don’t you think?”
“I’m not saying it’s evidence, but it fits. Sidorov has a wife and daughter. If he defected, they’d be punished.”
“How could they?” Big Mike said.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s how they control people.”
“Wait a minute,” Flack said, holding up his hand. “ Sidorov couldn’t have known a German plane would be shot down last night. Are you claiming he killed one of the Germans, and put the body in the bunker? It’s too fantastic.”
“No, it’s not,” Bull said. “If Billy’s right, then we put a huge crimp in their plans by moving the Russian personnel down here. Except for controlled outings, they’ve been virtually incommunicado. Telephone calls are monitored; this is a highly sensitive installation.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Big Mike. “They were all ready to go. Sidorov set up the route for the gold shipment, and made sure the guard would be on the light side, under the guise of not attracting too much attention. Sheila got rid of Eddie and gave Mr. Brown the slip. Chapman arranged for an identity swap with a couple of dead bodies on ice. And then, out of the blue, Sidorov was sent down here.”
“Right. Archie was desperate to contact him. Sidorov was certainly feeling the same way. Archie followed me down here, and probably made contact.”
“Couldn’t Sidorov have left with Chapman?” Flack said.
“Would you trust Archie, after he paid you and got what he wanted?”
“Valid point,” Flack said. “So Sidorov sees his chance. He knows about the bunker from his Home Guard tour. He volunteers to join the search party, in hopes of finding a German from the downed aircraft. Intending to kill him, and change clothes.”
“Or one of the Home Guard, or even a constable. If any of them disappeared, and it looked like Sidorov’s body had been burned in the fire, suspicion would fall on them. It would be enough to allow Sidorovto disappear, and to get around Article 58. He’d be mourned as a hero back home.”
“You’re right, it would look like one of them murdered Sidorov, and fled. That would have bought him time and confusion.”
“The German could have been already dead, killed bailing out. Or he may have given himself up, and Sidorov led him to the bunker. You should have the body examined. There could be a bullet.”
“There is,” Flack said. “I had it looked at by a doctor here. I learned my lesson with the last dead Russian. But it could have been from the rounds going off in the fire.”
“OK,” Bull said. “I’m Sidorov. I’ve just changed clothes with a Kraut flier. That’s a problem right there. Big, heavy flight boots. Flight jacket and pants with big map pockets on the thighs. He’s going to have trouble getting around without being noticed.”
“Right. I’ll have the local constables canvas the area. If you’re not wrong, Boyle, we’ll find a report of missing laundry and a stolen bicycle close by,” Flack said, pulling a notebook from his pocket. That was a good sign. What he said next wasn’t. “You don’t know where this bunker is, do you?”
“Not exactly. Close?”
“About a twenty-minute walk north, set into the woods near a crossroad. Lieutenant Kazimierz could have followed Sidorov and the Home Guard, perhaps even caught him unawares when he was separated from the group. Then he takes him to the bunker, and stages it to look like an accident. He would have had ample time to make it back to the castle and bash Vatutin in the head. If you hadn’t come along, he might have gotten away with it.”
“We have to find Sidorov,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. If Scotland Yard got it in their mind that Kaz was the killer, and if that took off the political heat, then I knew what was likely to happen. If the killings stopped, Kaz was as good as convicted. And hanged.
“Or the fourth German crewman,” Flack said, rising from his chair. “Either will prove a point. I’ll have the Home Guard out again and alert the constables.”
Suddenly I felt exhausted, my failure to fully convince Flack weighing hard. I stared at the table, trying to think of what else to say. There was nothing left, my arguments as empty as my hands.
My hands. I had dreamed about my hands. What was it? Diana, or Dalenka, or whoever the hell it was, had asked me something. The pebbles.
Why are they in your hand?
Of course. This time, I did snap my fingers.
Faking a limp is hard. You can do it if you really focus on it, but if you slip up, you’re done for. To pull it off, try walking around with pebbles in your shoe. You limp. You have to. That’s what the mystery woman’s question meant. The pebbles went in a shoe, not a hand. They weren’t souvenirs of Poland; they were stones to put in Sidorov’s shoe, to establish his identity as a bandaged, crippled Polish pilot. He and Sheila had visited Shepherdswell several times, laying the groundwork for their getaway. They probably planned to hole up there for a while, after Sidorovpulled off the switch with whatever body Archie provided. After the gold shipment was knocked off, of course. Then, with phony identities established, they could move away when the heat died down, Sidorov healed and rich. Free of the Merciless Parliament.
Operation Frantic had thrown a monkey wrench into things. But both Archie and Sidorov were determined to get what they wanted, and were daring enough for the job. Archie and Topper setting me up with that message, and tailing us in a staff car, provided the perfect camouflage. As did Sidorov’s move, joining the Home Guard search, ready to kill again for a body to be consumed in flames.
We’d left Flack to organize the search. He was calling out the Home Guard, telling them they were after the remaining German, which worked for me, since Sidorov was wearing his clothes. Unless he’d already stolen other duds. That’s what I would have done, I thought, as Big Mike barreled the jeep north on the open road. Lots of military traffic headed for the coast, but the left lane going north was clear.
I would’ve looked for a barn or outbuilding, hoping for some work clothes hung on a peg. One of those boilersuits, maybe. A commonplace blue one-piece outfit would be perfect to cover the Luftwaffeuniform, even the flying boots. Then a bicycle, on back roads, to Shepherdswell.
“But then what?” I said, not realizing I’d spoken out loud.
“Huh?” Big Mike said as he downshifted and passed a couple of trucks. I held onto my hat with one hand and onto the seat with the other. Even with the canvas top up, the wind whipped around inside and almost blew my service cap out. Big Mike’s driving threatened to do the same with the rest of me.
“If they don’t find Sidorov on the road, I don’t think they’ll find him at the house,” I said, shouting to be heard above the wind and road noise.
“Why not?”
“He’s most likely out of contact with Sheila. If anybody local saw him enter the house, they’d think he was a thief. Even if he got in, people would expect her to be there to care for him. If she’s not there, he probably has to hide out somewhere and wait. Somewhere close.”
“We broke in,” Big Mike said. “No one called the cops or came at us with a shotgun.”
“We didn’t have much at stake. We could’ve talked our way out of trouble, if it came to that. But Sidorov is wearing a German uniform, and he has everything to lose.”
“OK,” Big Mike said. “He needs to hide out somewhere safe, until they can meet up. Wonder if they have a contingency plan?”
“They’re both in the spy business. It would make sense.” I thought about it for a while. Big Mike was dead-on. Sidorov was NKVD, Sheila was MI5. Between them, they’d know the ins and outs of the trade. “There’d have to be two contingency plans, at least. One for getting together if something unexpected happened to either of them, like the move to Dover. And another in case of total disaster, like one of them being found out. That would be a whole different kettle of fish.”
“Right now, they’re probably working under Plan A,” Big Mike said. “If they go to Plan B, we’ll never find them.”
“Jesus, I hope Flack doesn’t ring up the Shepherdswell constable and tell him to walk up and down Farrier Street until he sees a Russian dressed up as a German.”
“He didn’t strike me as thick-headed,” Big Mike said. “Stubborn, for sure. You know the type-arrest and conviction, that’s what counts. Some guys prefer a tidy closed case to a messy open one.” He laid on the horn, passing three trucks this time, and didn’t slow down.
W E MADE IT back to Norfolk House in record time, and found Cosgrove in with Colonel Harding. We gathered around his desk, bringing them up to speed.
“I’ve been in touch with Scotland Yard,” Cosgrove said. “They are skeptical of your theory, but have agreed to watch Shepherdswell carefully. Meanwhile, they have brought murder charges against Lieutenant Kazimierz. The death of Captain Sidorov, if that indeed is his body, tipped the scales against him, I’m afraid.”
“What exactly are they doing in Shepherdswell?” I asked, now very afraid for Kaz.
“They’ve sent a man down to stay at the pub, posing as a businessman. He has photos of both Sheila Carlson and Sidorov.”
“That’s it?”
“I’ve arranged for two WACs to visit Shepherdswell,” Harding said. “They have a three-day pass, and I figured they wouldn’t raise much suspicion. They can walk around like tourists. Mary Stevens, from the typing pool, and Estelle Gordon.”
“Estelle? She’s back?” Big Mike piped up. “Sir?”
“Yes, she came in after you two left for Dover. I figured it would give her something worthwhile to do.”
“Well, OK, I guess she can take care of herself,” Big Mike said grudgingly.
“Any other ideas, Boyle?” Harding said. “This whole thing is heating up. The Russians are screaming, accusing the Poles, the Poles are screaming about the Katyn cover-up, and both sides are screaming about postwar borders. We need to wrap this up, quickly and quietly.”
“The only thing I can think of is to try Archie Chapman, and see if he can tell us anything. It had to be his gang that supplied Sidorov and Sheila with false papers and maybe even a stolen car. He might save us a lot of time.”
“The same Chapman who you just cheated out of a truckload of Russian gold?” Cosgrove said. “I think he’d be more in the mood to slit your throat than to help you.”
“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.” After I told Cosgrove what I needed, he left and Harding told Big Mike to grab some chow. He got no argument.
“ Ike’s back,” Harding said, after everyone had left. “Came in from the States yesterday. He wants to see you.” He ushered me into Uncle Ike’s office, one floor up.
“William,” Uncle Ike said, setting down the telephone. “How are you?”
“Holding my own, General,” I said, unaware of how much Uncle Ikeknew about what had been going on. “How was your visit home?”
“It was great to see Mamie again. She sends her best wishes, by the way. Unfortunately, I spent more time with politicians than I did on leave. Sit down, William.” Uncle Ike sat on a couch, and I took the armchair opposite. He nodded to Harding, who left the room. “I’m sorry to hear about this affair with Lieutenant Kazimierz. I wanted you to know I called the commissioner at Scotland Yard and asked for him to be released into my custody. He said no.”
“I’m not surprised. They seem to think Kaz is the answer to their prayers.”
“That’s dangerously close to the truth, William.” Uncle Ike lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “This is a tightrope we’re walking. On one side is our moral obligation to our Polish allies. Not to mention millions of Polish-American voters; FDR isn’t one to forget that. On the other side, there are the hundreds of Red Army divisions fighting the Germans right now.”
“Did you discuss this with the president?”
“What would be the point, William? If we openly side with the Poles, we cause a break in relations with our Soviet allies, just as we are beginning to plan the invasion. Do you have any idea what our casualties would be if the Soviets halted their offensive, even for a few weeks? The Germans could move a dozen more divisions into France.”
“But we can’t side with the Russians on this, can we?” Uncle Ikesmoked for a minute, staring at the carpet, the view out the window, anything but my gaze.
“No, you’re right. We can’t and won’t openly side with the Russians against the Poles.”
“Which leaves nothing.”
“Yes. We have offered to act as intermediaries, which the Russians have roundly and loudly rejected. So we wait for both sides to come to their senses, which may never happen. This entire matter may be settled by Russian tanks entering Warsaw, but don’t you ever repeat that, William.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But I’ll be damned if we let Lieutenant Kazimierz be Scotland Yard’s scapegoat, and don’t repeat that either. You find whoever is responsible for these murders, and get Kaz back to work for me. Can you do that, William?”
“Yes, Uncle Ike. I can. I will.”
“Good, good. Do you need anything?”
“I’ve got Major Cosgrove organizing something that should help. I’ll let you know if I need a company of Rangers to bust Kaz out.” Uncle Ikesmiled and draped his arm over my shoulder as he led me to the door.
“I wouldn’t mind leading them myself,” he said.
The sound of a dozen pairs of boots running down the stairs in the enclosed space of the Liverpool Street Underground set up an echo that signaled lethal intent, which was the general idea. We tromped into Archie’s domain bristling with arms. The ten Royal Marines had Stenguns, and Big Mike carried a Winchester M12 shotgun. I satisfied myself with a. 45 automatic at my side and a piece of paper in my hand. No one had a round chambered, but Archie and his boys wouldn’t know that. We were going to give them something else to think about.
It was pelting rain outside, and with little chance of a Luftwafferaid, the population in the shelter was light, only those diehards who coveted their regular bunks. Plus Archie and Topper. We’d waited until we saw them go down for the night, gave them twenty minutes to get settled, then came on like gangbusters. Two jeeps and a truck, with an armed guard left to watch over our little convoy. Can’t fool me twice.
“Topper Chapman!” I bellowed as we stormed into Archie’s shelter. It was tight going with the cots and bunks, but people scattered fast to let us through. First up was Charlie, the ex-boxer who stood guard at the entrance to Archie’s blanketed retreat.
“Out of our way, Charlie. You don’t have enough newspaper for all the iron we brought.”
“This ain’t right,” Charlie said, holding his ground. “You all stop where you are.”
“Billy, hold this,” Big Mike said, handing me the shotgun. He put up his fists, and Charlie did the same, despite the fact that Big Mike stood a foot taller than he did. Big Mike pulled back his right fist, and Charlie moved his arms to block the punch, but Big Mike jabbed him in the stomach with his left, a quick punch that sent Charlie to his knees, gasping. I handed Big Mike the shotgun, and we all stepped around Charlie, who’d done his duty and lost only his wind.
“Topper Chapman!” I said again, and heard the scamper of feet as more residents of the shelter fled the scene. “Time to serve king and country.”
“What’s this then?” Clive said, open mouthed, as he peered out at us from behind the makeshift wall. Stanley pushed Clive forward, his hand in his jacket pocket. He took it out slowly, and empty, as he watched Big Mike’s shotgun aimed straight at his chest.
“Down! Down on the floor!” The Royal Marine sergeant shouted, and with the snouts of several Sten guns to guide them, Stanley and Clivewere spread-eagled in ten seconds. Two more marines pulled down the hanging blankets, and Archie Chapman was revealed, sitting in his chair, reading a book, Poems from the Trenches. He carefully placed a bookmark between the pages, then calmly watched the proceedings. Topper sat in a hard-backed chair, his legs crossed nonchalantly, a drink in his hand. The Chapmans were a couple of cool customers.
“Come in, Peaches,” Archie said. “I’ve been hoping to see you.”
“I came to see Topper. To give him this,” I said, holding up the piece of paper. “His enlistment has been reinstated. Turns out your Dr. Carlisle has lost his medical license, which invalidates his diagnosis of whatever phony condition he cooked up for you.”
“Bollocks!” Archie cried, throwing his book down. “You can’t do this, Yank.”
“I’m just the messenger,” I said, handing Archie the paperwork. “These gentlemen are here to carry out the lawful order of your own government.”
“You can’t be serious,” Topper said, but he knew I was. It was just something to say. He drained his drink, stood, and nodded to his father.
“Come, Mr. Chapman,” the Royal Marine sergeant said, addressing Topper. “Everything’s in order. Let’s get to the barracks and get you kitted out.” He took Topper by the arm and as they left, I thought I saw a glimpse of what-excitement? — on Topper’s face. Joy, maybe. The Royal Marines had to be an improvement over life with Archie.
The place cleared out quickly. Two marines remained at the entrance to the shelter to keep the denizens out. Big Mike took a few steps back and cradled the shotgun in his arms. I took Topper’s chair, pulled it close to Archie, and sat.
“No poem for the occasion?” I asked. Archie frowned, a bitter, deep frown that pulled down the corners of his mouth as if he were caught on a fishhook. He looked at the paper, the stamp of the Crown, and the legalisms that had taken his son away.
“You want praise for this maneuver of yours, Peaches? I think one of your own, an Irishman, put it best.”
You say, as I have often given tongue In praise of what another’s said or sung, ‘Twere politic to do the like by these; But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
“That’s Yeats, but I doubt you know it. This maneuver is a fleabite. I’ll have Topper back in the time it takes to buy a politician, which is to say by dawn. What do you want with him? Have you taken him as a bargaining chip?”
“I’d like some insurance against taking a bayonet over that business with the Russian gold,” I said.
“So that was your doing? I thought perhaps. What a surprise that was. Armored cars, machine guns, not what we expected. A great fortune lost. And such a loss does build resentment, so you’re wise to have Topper at hand, at least for as long as you’re down here.”
“Think carefully, Archie. Think about what it takes to get a doctor’s license revoked. Think about what pull it takes to get Topper into the service, without a question asked about his record. They weren’t picky, right after Dunkirk. But now, criminal associations should keep a guy like Topper out. But there it is, in black and white. The Royal Marines, no less. Maybe a commando unit. Think about that.”
He did. His mouth went slack for a moment, then he clamped it shut. He reached for a bottle of gin, a couple of glasses, and poured. He downed his before I got mine to my lips.
“Pass me that book,” he said, pointing to the volume he’d thrown to the floor. I did. “You won’t believe what I was reading when you burst in here. Isaac Rosenberg. Jewish lad, died at the Somme. Would have been a great poet, perhaps, had he lived. I was in the middle of ‘On Receiving News of the War.’ Listen.” In all men’s hearts it is. Some spirit old Hath turned with malign kiss Our lives to mould.
Red fangs have torn His face. God’s blood is shed. He mourns from His lone place His children dead.
“What do you think of that, Peaches?”
“I think you did everything a father could do,” I said. “I know my dad did, but I’m still here. Fate has a hand to play as well.”
“You could be right,” Archie said, letting the book drop to the floor. “So what do you want? It must be more than safe passage through Shoreditch should you come visiting.”
“I want everything you know about Kiril Sidorov and Sheila Carlson.”His eyebrows rose, a sign of admiration.
“So you’ve put those two together, have you? Regular lovebirds.”
“I didn’t know if it was love or money,” I said.
“The course of true love runs a lot more smoothly cushioned by cash. Still, they seem to be dedicated to each other. I’m giving no evidence here, understand. We’re just having a chat.”
“About two people we both know,” I said, gulping gin.
“And this chat will give the good doctor his medical license back? And Topper back to me?”
“Yes,” I said, “if I’m satisfied.” I wanted to tell him to let Topper go, but I was a military detective, not a social worker.
“I don’t know, Peaches,” Archie said, staring into his empty glass. “I can get another sawbones anytime. And maybe Topper should serve. He told me the other day how it might be hard for him to hold his head up high after the war. That some in the neighborhood might think badly of him.”
“Really?” I cursed myself for giving Topper that line to get him steamed.
“Really. If he’s thinking that way, then he’s weak and needs toughening. Once you start caring what others think of you, then you start living by their rules. Might as well get a proper job.”
“I know some fellows in Boston who’d agree with you. They’d also agree that you should make that decision, not have it made for you.”
“You’re leavin’ me with only bad choices, Peaches. I don’t like selling out a client. It isn’t good for business.”
“Listen, Archie. Once we pick these two up, there’s going to be no public trial, no testimony. This is wartime, and they’re spies, pure and simple. If they’re not hung they’ll be thrown in a deep, dark hole far away from here. MI5 is backing me on this, and they’ll back you, too, if you want.”
“You’re an interesting one, Peaches. A mere lieutenant who haunts the streets and tunnels of London, but who also can have Shoreditchdeclared off-limits, bring a squad of Royal Marines along as your own muscle, ruin my doctor’s practice, and at the same time cavort with the likes of MI5. They’ve shed their share of Irish blood, haven’t they? Don’t you feel hatred for them? Who are you really, Peaches?”
“A mere lieutenant,” I said. “Who understands what family means.”Archie sighed, and refilled our glasses. We drank some more, but that sigh told me everything I needed to know. I relaxed, and Archie filled in the details, his mind clear even as his belly filled with gin. Names on fake identity papers and ration books. Make and model of the stolen car, plus stolen license plates. Dates and amounts of payments. Details on the split Sidorov would have received if the gold shipment had been taken. It was impressive.
Sidorov had controlled security for the gold shipment, and had talked his superiors into the low-profile approach. Egorov had been suspicious from the get-go, and Sidorov thought he had gotten too close, so one night he led Egorov to Liverpool Street and gave him the Polish treatment, down to the hands tied with twine. He planted the map on him to draw suspicion toward Egorov as a victim of thugs, Poles, or both.
Sidorov had traded information about the earlier produce shipment with Archie, to establish his bona fides and to put his hands on enough money to purchase the phony papers and rent the cottage in Shepherdswell, disguised as a crippled RAF pilot. That way, he’d be ready to pull his disappearing act once the gold was snatched and Archie supplied a body.
“It was our good fortune Jerry came back,” Archie said. “I’ve got a stiff on ice, didn’t even have to kill the poor bastard. Concussion did him in. Sidorov had given me enough of his uniform gear over time that we got him all outfitted. Need a dead Russian, Peaches? Fire sale, you might say. Ha! Wasted effort, that was, with him going off to Dover, and you spoiling our grand plans.”
“It was clever, the way you used a staff car to tail me,” I said, wanting to steer the conversation away from my monkey wrenching and on to how brilliant Archie was. “You didn’t have any other way to contact Sidorov?” I said it casually as I filled my glass for what I hoped was the last time. I didn’t want Archie to know how important this was. Otherwise, there’d be a price tag I might not be able to pay.
“Sure we did, Peaches. But we couldn’t wait. There’s a blind drop at the railway station in Shepherdswell. One or both of them was to check it every third day, five o’clock in the morning. It was a place to leave emergency messages, or to rendezvous if things went south. I didn’t want to wait three more days.”
“It had just been checked?”
“Aye. Sheila had been there the morning we last met, but my men told me she’d had no word from Sidorov. She was frantic, so they said, desperate for her cut. I thought we’d lost our opportunity, but with you willing to carry our message to Vatutin himself, it was easier to ride your coattails, so to speak.”
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass and finishing off the gin. The stuff was beginning to grow on me. Now I knew where Sidorov would be in two days. No need to beat the countryside, just let him come to us, to the rendezvous with his lover at the station. It was more than I could ask for, but I had one more question.
“Did you give Sidorov a book of poetry?” I asked.
“Why, Peaches? Are you hurt I haven’t given you a gift?”
“Just curious. Did you mark that passage, the one about the ladder?”
“I did give him the Yeats, yes. Marked it, no. I’m too careful with my books for that,” Archie said, pouring himself another glass and smacking his lips as he drank. He leaned back in his chair, and we could have been sitting in a warm room by the fire, from all you could tell by the expression on his face.
“Did you write the Latin inscription?”
“Latin? No, I didn’t go to no toff school to learn Latin! Didn’t go to school much at all. What did it say?”
“The bodies are asleep, the souls are awake,” I said. “That’s what was written in Latin.”
“I showed him Yeats, and pointed out the poem he should read. The book had no inscription when I gave it to him. I wouldn’t chance some bright detective snooping around and finding my hand in Sidorov’s book. But he had a need of poetry, that man.”
“Why?”
“Oh, he’s a tortured soul, did you not see that, Peaches? For all the brains you’ve got in that Yank head, couldn’t you see into his heart? It was ruined, and this was his way back.”
“His way back where?” Now I was confused.
“To himself, foolish boy! That’s what he’s escaping, don’t you know? The Bolsheviks are bad enough, and worth fleeing, but he’s running from something deeper and blacker, rooted in his very soul.”
“What?”
“Haven’t a clue, and don’t give a goddamn. Ha! There you go. But mark my words, there’s torment under that sharp mask he wears. I gave him the book so when he was free of Stalin and that bloody bunch, he’d understand. That there’s no escaping the foul rag and bone shop of the heart. I know, Peaches. Believe me, I know.”
“I’m sorry, Archie.” I didn’t know exactly for what, but I was. And for some reason, it was important for this half-mad criminal to know it.
“You must be a good son, Peaches,” he said, clapping a friendly hand on my arm. I couldn’t help but wonder what Dad would make of Archie. I was glad I’d never find out.
“Thanks,” I said, and saw Archie grin as he stared past me.
“Now lookit those two. No sense of propriety, they should be fighting to the death! Ha!” Archie pointed to Big Mike and Charlie, who were sitting next to each other on a cot, the shotgun resting between them, as Big Mike lit up a Lucky for the ex-boxer.
“If Big Mike starts in about Detroit, he’ll talk him to death,” I said as I got up.
“Tell Charlie to come over and have a drink with me, willya? Then you go your way and I’ll go mine, and neither of us will speak of who said what here tonight. Agreed?”
I agreed. Again, it seemed the only sensible thing to do.