Showing posts with label 1c. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1c. Show all posts

Chapter 11: Multiple Lines Of Thought


Holmes and Watson on their way to Holyhead
"I beg your pardon, Holmes," I said, "but lately you have been predicting the future so well, I thought perhaps you had the rest of the investigation laid out already."

"If only!" the great detective sighed. "If crimes such as this could be solved by following a recipe, Watson, even the dolts at Scotland Yard could do it.

"As a rule, I plan my investigations one move at a time," Holmes continued. "I always have a goal in mind, and a general idea of how to get there, but any new development can cause me to change my plan. In the present instance, I was planning to stay in London for at least another few days, but the 'sudden and dramatic' visit from Buckingham Slate -- as you put it -- has changed my mind."

"How so?" I asked.

"His presence, in disguise, no less -- and that of his followers -- served notice that direct investigation in the city might entail serious personal risk, while promising limited tangible reward."

"I see, Holmes."

"But the information he gave us supports lines of thought that had already seemed promising to me, and this support makes our presence in London somewhat less essential at the moment than it otherwise may have been."

"I didn't realize you had formed any theory about the crime," I said, "let alone one which Bucky could have supported."

"I have been thinking about this case since long before we had a client, Watson," he replied. "Most of my earliest ideas were questions such as: Why was an MI6 employee missing for a week or more before somebody started looking for him? Why were Metro Police sent to an MI6 'safe house' in search of an MI6 man? Why was there so much sensational slander in the press about what police found in the flat where they discovered the body? Why has their investigation made so little progress? Why are transparently ludicrous theories about a 'sex game gone wrong' still in circulation? And why have we even heard of this story at all?"

"An imposing list of questions," said I.

"The tip of the iceberg," said he. "There are many other important questions, but these are among the most vital at this juncture."

Holmes paused and we listened to the clackety-clack of the wheels while I contemplated the scope and nature of the task ahead of us.

"Fortunately," Holmes continued, "this is a case in which the whole appears to be less than the sum of its parts."

"I don't follow you, Holmes."

"Perhaps it's not the best analogy, Watson," he continued, "but I mean to say, if one tried to answer each question individually, he could very well go mad trying. But that would be a false approach in any case, because these questions are not mutually independent -- unlike the 'cheese' in the children's song, they do not 'stand alone.' They are all intimately related, and therefore the only truly satisfying explanation must be one that answers them all simultaneously."

"Which sounds like a very tall order, my friend," I replied.

"But is it? If there exists an explanation which answers all these questions, then surely it will not be very difficult to find, Watson."

"Have you tried to formulate any such explanation, Holmes?" I asked. "If so, I'd be delighted to hear it."

"Sometimes it helps to re-phrase the questions," he said, "and to step back and look at them from a different angle. I've been asking why certain things have happened. But if we were willing to defer consideration of motive for a moment, and concentrate on the suspects and their capabilities, we might find ourselves with multiple lines of thought, all running in the same direction. For instance:

"Who could commit such an audacious crime in an MI6 'safe house', and get away unseen? Who could disable all the surveillance systems? Who could make sure that nobody would check on Gareth Williams when he stopped going to work?

"Who could plant false stories about the scene in all the papers without fear of retribution? Who could keep 'sex game gone wrong' popping up in the headlines, even though it obviously makes no sense? Who could have suppressed this story, but decided to let it play out in public?

"Who could interfere with a police investigation? Who could hide witnesses from Scotland Yard? Who could assign Buckingham Slate to run a team who are not all qualified to investigate this case?

"Are there Russian secret agents managing the Yard's case assignments? Is there a direct feed from the Chinese Minister of Propaganda to the British dailies? Could a militant Irish Republican faction prevent MI6 from checking on an employee who had stopped coming to work? Could bearded madmen in caves half a world away have done any of this?"

Holmes paused again and we listened to the clackety-clack of the wheels while I tried to absorb what he had just said.

Chapter 12: Unbreakable


a new key every time
"The implications are staggering, Holmes," I said.

"It may be best to let them settle slowly, Watson," my friend replied. "What else have you been wondering about?"

"It may seem a small thing, Holmes," I said, "and it may be a small thing, too. But since you've asked, I'm curious about the arrangements you made for meeting Bucky. Things were happening so fast, I may have missed something, but it seemed to me you set up a secret way for him to summon you, but no way for you to contact him."

"Sometimes you are more observant than I give you credit for, Watson," he said. "Yes, that's exactly right."

"I was wondering why you did it that way," I continued, "if you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind at all," he said. "First and foremost, he's the client. In general, a client may consult me whenever he wishes, within reason. Usually they find me in our Baker Street flat, as you well know; but sometimes I arrange for them to find me elsewhere. If I have to find them, well, let's just say I'd be a poor detective if I couldn't find my own clients."

"Indeed, Holmes, but in this case --"

"In this case, Watson, the client is a senior Scotland Yard detective who's come to me in disguise! and who was followed! Surely his life is in more danger than my own."

"Do you really think so, Holmes?" I asked.

"Yes indeed," he answered. "The situation is very serious, and Bucky is cutting across the plans of some very powerful people, Watson.

"As you say, things were happening very fast," he continued. "That was because I wanted them to. The longer we had kept those two across the street waiting, the more time they would have had to see that we were onto them, and the more likely they would have been to follow Bucky and Mrs. Hudson. Or so I thought.

"I may have been wrong about that -- perhaps if we'd left them standing there long enough, they would have fallen asleep! But it wasn't the sort of chance I was willing to take. In any event, I was pushing the pace and wanted to keep things simple for Bucky.

"I set up a one-time cipher so he can call me the next time he needs me," Holmes carried on, "and I hope he'll come to our next meeting alone, which would give us more time. Regardless, when I see him again, I will give him another one-time cipher and -- what's that, Watson?"

"What exactly is a 'one-time cipher'?" I asked.

"'Cipher' means 'code', Watson," he said, "and a 'one-time cipher' is a code that is only meant to be used once."

"How absurdly simple, Holmes," I said.

"It is simple, and yet again it's not," he replied. "The main drawback with one-time ciphers is the very fact that they can only be used once. You need a new key for each message."

"And the key is --?"

"The key is the information that unlocks the message," he explained. "In some cases the key might be a password. But there are other sorts of keys as well -- it might be a pass-phrase, or a series of numbers, or even something more unusual."

"And you need a new key every time?" I asked. "That must be inconvenient."

"It is," said Holmes, "and even more inconvenient, the key must be at least as long as the message itself. But on the other hand, a properly constructed one-time cipher is an unbreakable code. Do it right and it's absolutely impossible to crack -- the only means of encryption that can make this claim. For some applications, the security is well worth the expense.

"The current situation," he continued, "calls for the highest security possible -- encryption so secure that our message can actually be broadcast!"

"Broadcast, Holmes?" I asked.

"Slate will put an ad in the paper, Watson. Tens of thousands of people will see it, maybe hundreds of thousands -- but they won't understand it. Only Bucky and I will know what it means."

"How can you be so sure of that, Holmes?"

"Because it's a one-time cipher, Watson," he reminded me with a chuckle. "If you don't have the key, you can't read it!"

"Forgive me, Holmes," I said, "but I still don't understand. Can you give me an example?"

Holmes scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. "It could be as simple as this, Watson," he said.

I looked at the paper and read it aloud:
Ernie,

I will be away until Tuesday.

Bert
"What is this, a joke? Characters from a show for children?" I asked.

"It could be taken as a joke, and it would suit me if it were, but it really doesn't make any difference," he replied. "As long as both Bucky and I have the same key, and nobody else does, we could use any message at all. It's the key that matters. In a one-time cipher, the key is virtually everything."

"And in this case --?"

"In this case," he said, "'Ernie' would mean 'Dear Mr. Holmes'; 'Bert' would mean 'Buckingham Slate'; 'I will be away until' would mean 'Please meet me at Harrington's pub at eight o'clock on'; and now you can see, can't you, Watson, that the only actual information contained in this message is the word 'Tuesday'."

I whistled softly. "It is very clever, Holmes," I said.

"It is very ancient, Watson," he replied. "But it still works!"

Chapter 13: The 'Mediterranean Couple'

Previous: Unbreakable

Police are looking for a mysterious young couple
who appear to hail from this general area.
"It's a shame Bucky couldn't have stayed longer," I said to my good friend Sherlock Holmes. "I would have been interested in his 'take' on the mysterious 'Mediterranean couple', about whom so much has been written."

"That is one of the points on which I plan to speak with him at our next meeting, Watson," replied Holmes, "although I must say I have few hopes of making progress in this direction."

"Of all the strange and bizarre details about this case," I said, "the story of the mysterious couple appears to be the only one officially endorsed by the police. I wonder whether this is especially important, or whether --"

"Whether it's just another distraction, Watson?" Holmes finished my sentence. "The possibility cannot be discounted, especially because it would be a wise move for the police to make."

"Do you think they're using some 'mis-direction' here, Holmes?"

"That is the question." Holmes replied.

"If I were running the investigation," the great detective explained, "I would be very careful concerning the information I released. To the extent I felt forced to divulge details pertaining to 'the scene of the crime' -- or, in this case, since the police are not yet calling it a crime, whenever I described 'the location at which the body was discovered' -- I would stick very closely to the facts. I would be trying to gain the 'trust', so to speak, of the perpetrators, who would surely remember what they left behind.

"On the other hand," he continued, "to the extent that I wished to divulge information about the investigation, especially its progress and future directions, I would lie about every single detail!"

"Deliberately confounding the public?" I asked.

"Confounding the perpetrators, I would hope," he answered.

"So, you would lie about --"

"Suspects, Watson, and lines of inquiry," he replied. "Personally, I would never announce that I was looking for 'a man and a woman, both of Mediterranean appearance, aged between 20 - 30 years old', unless I were looking for somebody quite different. If I were actually looking for a young 'Mediterranean'-looking couple, I might tell the press I was seeking three middle-aged Chinese men, or a young Hindu woman.

"Several weeks ago," Holmes continued, "I was hoping -- with an optimism that seems foolish in light of recent events -- that the police might be thinking along the same lines. Perhaps, I thought, all this talk of a 'Mediterranean couple' was a decoy. Otherwise, on the surface, the story makes no sense at all, Watson."

"It seems fairly sensible to me, Holmes," I replied. "This young couple, according to the news reports at any rate, came to the 'safe house' late one night during the summer, possibly to see Gareth Williams. Is it not reasonable to ask why?"

"It may be more reasonable to ask why the police are looking for these people, Watson, if indeed they are looking for them -- if indeed they do exist. The stories about them in the press have been less than convincing. According to Richard Edwards in the Telegraph:
The only people believed to be unaccounted for in recent months who were seen at the flats on Alderney Street are the Mediterranean man and woman. Police have been told they were let into the communal front door, late one evening, either in June or July.
"If these two people were there in June or July, and Gareth Williams was killed in August, it would seem quite a stretch to connect them to the investigation, no? On the other hand, if everyone else who came to 36 Alderney Street since that time has been 'accounted for', does that not point us in a particularly interesting direction?" Holmes asked.

"According to the police description," he continued, "the point would seem to be that someone admitted this couple into the building, through 'the communal front door' -- but not into any particular flat -- and later recalled the incident, but not the exact date, and mentioned it to police. So here's another question for our list: Are we really meant to believe that somebody living in an MI6 'safe house' would admit random strangers through the front door?"

I whistled softly. The more Holmes spoke, the more bizarre the story seemed to become.

"More recently," Holmes continued, "the press has been reporting that police, having found the door to the flat locked from the outside, and a set of keys presumably belonging to Gareth Williams on the inside, now believe the 'Mediterranean couple' have, or had, their own keys! And why do they believe this? Because -- according to Stephen Wright of the Daily Mail -- nobody can remember having 'buzzed' them into the building!"

"Let me see if I have this straight, Holmes," I said. "The police found out about this 'Mediterranean couple' from someone who recalled letting them in, but now nobody can recall letting them in, so they must have had their own keys?"

"Precisely, Watson!" said Holmes. "Are you starting to see how all this fits together?"

Chapter 14: What 'National Security' Angle?


In the months before his death, Gareth Williams
worked at MI6 Headquarters, Pimlico, London
"Aisde from the hint that the mysterious couple -- if they exist at all -- may be foreigners," I said, "there has been very little in the press concerning the one aspect of this case which I should think would be foremost."

"Surely you refer to the 'national security' angle?" replied Holmes, and I nodded in assent. "The way in which it has been handled," he continued, "may be one of the most fascinating aspects of the case."

"It has been very confusing," I continued. "On one hand, we've lost, in a most shocking manner, one of our leading warriors in the fight against the terrorists, and yet on the other hand, it's as if his job -- apparently the most remarkable aspect of Gareth Williams' life -- were the most unremarkable thing ever!"

"Precisely," said Holmes, "and one could apply that statement equally to the press and the investigators. The police announced almost immediately that they were looking for clues to the mystery in Gareth Williams' private life -- even though he seems to have had no private life to speak of. And the press, even with so-called 'security experts' at their side, still don't find anything interesting about the professional life of a man who worked not only for GCQH but also MI6, and if those trips to the USA are any indication, NSA as well.

"Before Bucky came to see us," Holmes continued, "I was under the impression -- perhaps I should now say 'delusion' -- that the police might be working an elaborate 'dodge', pretending they were mostly interested in the private life of this unfortunate young man while they were in fact doing otherwise, to further their investigation. But, according to Bucky, that's not the case, and I suppose we're left to wonder whether the police are running an elaborate 'dodge' for other reasons entirely."

"The security experts who comment on such matters seem to agree," I said, "that there could not be a threat to national security, unless Gareth Williams had sold, or given away, state secrets."

"Right," said Holmes. "Rupert Allason said the very same thing, in just so many words, according to Jonathan Owen in The Independent. And all the other experts seem to agree -- to a man, they are unfazed by the rather obvious fact that a brazen and brutal crime has been committed, ostensibly against MI6, within walking distance of MI6 headquarters, and in a supposedly 'safe' MI6 house!"

"It was almost as if," I tried a simile, "someone broke into an art gallery and vandalized one of its most valuable exhibits; and then the police, the press, and even international art experts all said the gallery's security hadn't been violated because nothing appeared to be missing!"

"Indeed!" said Holmes. "Most outrageous, is it not? We would expect at least one of them to mention that -- since a valuable work of art had been damaged within the confines of the gallery -- the question of whether security had been breached was in fact a rather ridiculous one."

"Holmes," I asked, "do you happen to remember the horse named Silver Blaze? He was kidnapped from his own stall in the dead of night, and you were able to deduce that the kidnapper was well-known in the stables because the dog which slept there did not bark."

"I do recall something of that case, Watson," he replied.

"These 'security experts' are beginning to remind me of that dog, Holmes," I said, and he almost laughed.

"There's another 'dog that didn't bark' in this story as well, Watson," Holmes continued. "For his entire adult life, Gareth Williams served his country at the very highest level, first in Cheltenham and later in London. With valued service always comes protection, and with any violation of that protection one would expect a reaction, at least on the diplomatic front."

"In other words, Holmes," I said, "if Gareth Williams was killed by an agent of a foreign power --"

"-- or if our intelligence people even suspected as much --" Holmes interjected.

"-- then the official response would have been much different, would it not?" I asked.

"One would expect the diplomatic channels to be churning, but there has been no sign of any unusual activity," said Holmes. "Quite the contrary, the 'official' pronouncements from the security services on this matter have been calm and reassuring.

"If foreign involvement were suspected," Holmes continued, "one would expect the Official Secrets Act to be invoked, in which case we would not have heard about this case at all until William Hughes arrived on our doorstep."

"What does an incident such as this do to the morale of the security services?" I asked. "I can hardly imagine what Gareth Williams' former colleagues at MI6 and GCHQ must be thinking!"

"I don't think too many of them believe he zipped himself into the bag and locked it, Watson," Holmes replied, and again we sat quietly for a time, listening to the clackety-clack of the wheels.

Chapter 15: Getting Closer


Holmes sat quietly
"If you have no pressing questions at the moment," Sherlock Holmes said, "perhaps you can answer one for me, Doctor?"

"Of course!" I replied. "Ask me whatever you wish."

"We haven't seen the body of Gareth Williams, nor shall we," Holmes continued, "so we cannot know exactly how 'advanced' the state of decomposition was when the body was discovered."

"No, Holmes," I replied, "we really don't know anything except the description provided by the police."

"But we do know something about the holdall," said Holmes, "and we know Gareth Williams was alive at most eight days before he was found in it. I realize you are more accustomed to seeing live patients than dead ones, Watson, but I believe you have more experience with the latter than I. So I must ask you to speculate a bit. Do you think the body could have reached 'an advanced state of decomposition' naturally, so to speak? Or do you think some unnatural 'assistance' would have been required?"

"It is very difficult to speculate without knowing the cause of death," I replied. "We still don't even know whether he was dead when he was put into the bag, or ..."

My voice trailed away, but Holmes sat quietly.

"Some poisons, and certain viruses," I continued after a short pause, "kill by breaking down tissue. If he was killed by one of these methods, one would expect the body to reach 'an advanced state of decomposition' quite rapidly, with or without the bag. With the bag, which is virtually airtight, the body might have lain undiscovered for quite some time. Without it, the smell of decomposing flesh would have become overpowering, and the body would likely have been found in far fewer than eight days."

"Would it be possible to kill a man with one of these poisons, or viruses," Holmes asked, "without the cause of death being detected?"

"I suppose it would be, Holmes," I replied. "Forensic testing on a body which is rapidly breaking down is very difficult indeed. And, even without the complication of advanced decomposition, it would be impossible to test for all toxins and viruses."

"If, as we have some reason to believe," added Holmes, "the police -- or at least some of them -- are more interested in shielding the crime than solving it, then determining the cause of death would be -- shall we say -- even more challenging."

"On the other hand," I continued, hoping to give my friend as much benefit of my medical knowledge as possible, "if he was alive when he was put into the bag, and suffocated there, or died from a heart attack, as some reports have suggested, then one would expect the body to decay much more slowly. Even in the heat of August, it could hardly reach 'an advanced state of decomposition' in little more than a week."

"Can we take it as probable, then," the detective continued, "that Gareth Williams was poisoned?"

"I think it sounds more like a virus, Holmes," I replied, "although, as you say, we cannot be certain."

"Indeed," said Holmes, "and there is always the possibility that new evidence may surface which changes our minds. But with what we know at this point, no other explanation makes any sense."

"I suppose it may be possible," I suggested, "that some substance -- chemical, or perhaps biological -- could have been placed in the bag with the body, to speed the decomposition."

"Anything particular come to mind?" he asked.

"None at present, Holmes," I answered. "But I take it you wish to consider all the possibilities, and it is certainly possible that the cause of death and the cause of rapid decomposition were quite different."

"Of course you are correct, Watson," said Holmes. "I may have been indulging in a bit of wistful thinking, assuming we knew something we didn't in order to simplify the analysis. But self-delusion never helps, so it's a good job you've brought me up short."

I nodded. Holmes sighed or growled, or something in between, and said, "If we only knew when, or where, or how, or by whom, or for what reason this crime was committed, I would feel we were getting closer."

I had rarely seen my companion express so much frustration so eloquently. Mrs. Hudson, our long-suffering landlady, who has cleaned up many a mess left behind by the world's most frustrated consulting detective, would have been tickled to see him acting in such a civilized manner -- unless she happened to notice that there was nothing in our compartment suitable for smashing.

"All is not lost, however," continued Holmes with a hint of a grin, "for we are certainly getting closer to Chester. We'll change there, and after a few minutes on our new train, we will be in Wales. I promised you some scenery, Watson."

"You did," I replied.

"And I do hope you'll enjoy it," he said.

With that, Holmes straightened himself in his seat, threw back his head, and proceeded to sing one of the most lovely and intricate melodies he has ever played upon the violin -- Scarlatti, I believe he once said it was.

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