Showing posts with label 6a. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 6a. Show all posts

Chapter 76: Mycroft Holmes


Mycroft Holmes
"How much did you tell Mycroft?" I asked.

"Mycroft is in a very delicate position," said Sherlock Holmes, "so I had to be careful."

"I assumed as much," I said, "and that's why I asked."

"I reminded him of the times he and his cohorts at the Foreign Office had fouled things up and needed me to save their skins. Not all the times, mind you -- we only had most of the day. And I couldn't spend the whole time talking. In fact, I spent most of the time listening to him.

"Mycroft is not as happy at work as he once was, and not as indispensable, either. Once upon a time, the fact that he had no job title and no job description worked in his favour -- he could make himself useful in many ways, and in many places, and there was no bureaucratic restriction against any of them. He knew everybody and everything, and everyone came to him when they needed a bit of extra thinking done.

"Now, his cohorts are all gone, everything is compartmentalised, and he works as a consultant. He doesn't know half the people, let alone half the news, and aside from a few routine meetings, at which little of practical import is discussed openly, they only call him in when things get messy.

"Sometimes the separation works to his advantage, but this is more apparent to me than it is to him. Such is the value of distance, Watson.

"If Mycroft knew what we know about this case, he would be livid. That would work to our disadvantage. And yet I needed to tell him a few things he could repeat with confidence when and if necessary.

"So after I got him started, and listened to him for a while, I gave him a few tidbits -- bait, I suppose you could say -- and asked him to do me a favour on Tuesday evening. By that point in the conversation, he couldn't refuse."

"No, I don't suppose he could," I said.

"We can expect his assistance," said Holmes, "and that makes everything else we need to do possible. Mycroft will need to hear the whole story at some point, but not before his part is played."

"What else do we need to do?" I asked.

"I regret to say I cannot tell you," said Holmes. "Don't take it personally. Just be patient for a few days and see what happens."

"After all these years," I said, "I would think you could trust me."

"I do, Watson," he replied, "but I need to protect you as well."

"I have my revolver," I answered. "I don't need any protection."

"I meant it in another sense," said Holmes. "I mustn't put you in a difficult position if it's not necessary. And I know you well enough by now, Watson. You do crosswords. You play snooker."

"What of it?" I asked. "You smoke six pipes in a row with the windows closed. You take cocaine when your boredom becomes a burden. You shoot bullets at the wall, Holmes! Goodness, man! You have no right to criticise anyone for his hobbies."

"I didn't mean it that way, Watson," he replied. "I was about to say you don't play poker. You don't play chess. You don't play bridge. You don't play any games that require you to keep your thoughts off your face. And if I may be so blunt, you aren't very good at it. Neither is my brother. He doesn't play any of those games, either. It's not criticism. It's just a fact.

"Both of you will do anything I ask you to do, if you possibly can. I respect that. I try to avoid taking advantage of it. And I try to protect you by not putting you in difficult positions unnecessarily. It's the least I can do for you and Mycroft, Watson. You're like brothers to me."

"Except he is your brother," I objected.

"You know what I mean," said Holmes. And I did.

Thus was my ego was soothed, and peace was restored at 221B Baker Street.

But Sherlock Holmes would not say another word about his brother Mycroft, or about Gareth Williams, or about his plans for Tuesday.

Chapter 77: An Unexpected Bonus

Previous: Mycroft Holmes

Metro Police e-fits of "the Mediterranean couple"
Holmes left late Friday morning dressed as a labourer, and was away for most of the afternoon. To my surprise, he returned with news from Buckingham Slate.

"Bucky gave me these e-fits," he said, "of the 'Mediterranean couple' the police say they're looking for."

"What's an e-fit?" I asked.

"It's an acronym," he replied. "The letters stand for Electronic Facial Identification Technique. It's much like a traditional police artist's composite: an image of a face, based on witness statements. But an e-fit is not hand-drawn. It's generated by a computer.

"The e-fit operator chooses a nose, a mouth, eyes and ears, a chin, a forehead, hair, and so on, from a palette provided by the program he's running."

"Almost like a digital Mr. Potato Head," I suggested.

"Something like that," replied my friend. "It's easier and faster than the traditional method, unless you count the time and effort required to develop the software.

Hampton police e-fit of a burglary suspect
"As for accuracy," he continued, "it's a young technology, with plenty of room for improvement. Some of the e-fits I've seen looked as realistic as Mr. Potato Head. Others were quite a bit better. But I have never seen e-fits as detailed as these."

"The technology is improving?" I suggested.

"Or there could be another explanation," Holmes replied. "Several possibilities come to mind. Are they photos? Or modified photos? Or do they simply reflect far more effort than police artists usually put into such things? I don't know yet, but I do find these images very interesting."

"So do I," I replied.

"If, as Cheryl Eastap has suggested," continued my friend, "the police are mostly trying to establish a decoy, it might make sense for them to pull out all the stops, as it were. Look at the bit of hair protruding sideways just below the man's left ear. Did a police e-fit artist select that from a menu? Did a witness describe the man in such detail?"

"What happened to the woman's neck?" I asked. "Why does the image of the man's neck fade away at the bottom, whereas her neck simply stops?" 

"I don't know," said Holmes. "I don't think we'll ever know. We should draw whatever inferences we can from these images, but I don't think we should expect any actual information about them."

Metro Police e-fit of a man
wanted for sexual assault
"Not even from Slate?" I asked.

"Bucky has to be very careful," replied Holmes, "especially since he's been taken off the case. He can't ask too many questions. I think he did very well to get these for us."

"No doubt," I agreed. "I take it you went out in disguise to see him?"

"Not exactly," said the detective. "I simply wanted to deliver a message that couldn't be intercepted. I didn't expect him to be at home, so finding him there would have been another stroke of good fortune, even without the e-fits. He will be here Tuesday as well."

"I see," I replied. "Did you tell him anything about our work on the case?"

"No," said Holmes. "He'll find out in good time."

I didn't reply, and my companion seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he said, "These e-fits may provide some of the missing links for us, Watson."

"How is that, Holmes?" I asked.

"They are finely detailed," he replied, "much more so than any others we've seen. What can that mean?

Metro Police e-fit of a man
wanted for questioning
"If they are photos, or modified photos, where did they come from? If they are CCTV images from the Alderney Street 'safe house,' then where is the rest of the video from the cameras which took these shots?

"Having got nowhere for six weeks, the police cannot suddenly reveal that they have surveillance video from the block of flats where the body was found. Can they?"

The question seemed rhetorical to me, and I didn't even try to answer it.

"I don't think so either," said the detective. "The alternative explanation is that they put an extraordinary amount of time and effort into creating these images and making them as lifelike as possible given the tools available. Why?

"And why haven't they put together e-fits of the couple with whom Gareth reportedly had multiple 'chance encounters' at the back of Patisserie Valerie near the Holland Park tube station?

"If, as I suspect, the Mediterranean couple are a decoy, then perhaps there's a good reason why the police aren't putting as much energy into pursuing the Holland Park couple."

"Yes?" I said, hoping he would say more.

"It's just a thought," Holmes continued, "but it may be worth following. It would answer a handful of questions at one stroke."

Chapter 78: A Tidy Little Knot


"What questions do you have in mind?" I asked my companion.

"What are the most significant outstanding questions about this case?" Sherlock Holmes asked in return. "In your opinion," he added.

"Well," I said, "I can follow the train of thought that says by the middle of last summer, Gareth Williams may have seen enough to deduce that the 'Terror Threat' -- particularly the danger posed by the 'Liquid Bombers' and the 'Easter Bombers' -- was not as billed, but something else entirely.

"I can see how this revelation could have led to internal turmoil for him, and I think your analogy of a dam breaking may be spot-on. And yet, we haven't spoken to anyone who talked about Gareth going through any significant personality changes, or developing what a teacher might call 'an attitude problem.' On the contrary, Sian Lloyd-Jones told us that just before his death he was 'happy and warm, the same as he always was.'

"If we're on the right track, I would have thought his inner turmoil would show after a while, but apparently it didn't. So I wonder how that could have happened. As you pointed out, he was never going to be a great actor."

"That is a very good question, Watson," he said. "What else comes to mind?"

"I think you may be right about Gareth's secondment from GCHQ to MI6 being part of a trap," I replied. "But he was brought down to London last September, and he lived here until the middle of August. If indeed he was targeted for a murderous attack and brought here to facilitate that, why do you suppose they let him live for so long before they struck? Surely they could have attacked him as soon as he got here, and if they wanted to paint him with false evidence of deviant sex, that shouldn't have taken a whole year to accomplish."

"Another good question," he said. "That makes two. What else?"

"My third question," I continued, "is closely related to the second. If he was, or was perceived as, a security risk of some kind, and was silenced for that reason, wouldn't they have wanted to do so as soon as possible? Wouldn't it be dangerous from their perspective to give him opportunities to leak secrets, if that was his intent?"

"Three out of three," said Holmes. "Are we missing anything?"

"Why would Gareth travel to Holland Park -- five miles from home and work," I replied, "to sit and wait at the back of a pastry shop near the tube station? Who were the couple he was meeting there? Why were they meeting him? And why are the police evidently less interested in them than we are?"

"I've lost count, Watson," said my friend, "but those are all good questions. Crucial questions, indeed. What would you say if I told you they all might have the same answer?"

"I would be amazed," I replied. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, of course!" he answered. "The following is speculative, but it may not be unfounded. Suppose Gareth came to understand that all the scary stories about the 'bombers' were frauds, and that he had been helping to perpetrate some very damaging hoaxes. What could he do about it?

"He might have tried to 'work within the system' by bringing the matter to the attention of his supervisor. If so, what do you think would have happened? Gareth would have been told, 'We'll look into it,' but nothing would have come of it, except they would have begun to see Gareth as a threat.

"Perhaps that was the option he chose. If so, it could easily have led to the sequence of events we have been investigating.

"Another option that could have led to the same sequence of events would involve a discussion between Gareth and his so-called 'best friend,' who worked with him at GCHQ along with her husband. Both husband and wife were transferred to Denver, if you recall, shortly before Gareth was last seen alive, and the FBI were reportedly prevented from speaking to them after his death, by British officials."

"We discussed this possibility on our way back from Wales, if I recall," I said.

"Indeed," replied my friend. "Certainly, Gareth had other options. He could have kept his mouth shut and started looking for another job. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to find a good one, but we have found no evidence that he ever tried to do so. It may be that we have missed something, or that he chose not to follow this avenue. In any event, he continued to work for British intelligence.

"Perhaps another path would have been to forget about what he had seen and go on about his business. But I believe this option would have been impossible for Gareth."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because he was a gifted logician, Watson," replied Holmes. "I understand the gift from personal experience, and it is a curse as well as a blessing. The gift renders its recipient absolutely incapable of believing something that is false, if he has direct evidence that it is, in fact, false.

"So I don't think he could have forgotten about it," Holmes continued. "Not with a mind like his. If you've come this far with me, given that he stayed in his job, and given what we know about his personality, then I think you must conclude that he found -- or thought he found -- a way to do something about what he had learned.

"As I see it, either he felt confident going through the usual channels and tried to do so, or else he felt enormous internal pressure, and he needed to release that pressure in a way that would help to rectify the damage he had unwittingly done. Suppose he took the latter route. What could his release have been?"

"I don't have any idea," I said.

"Let's look at the problem from the other side," Holmes continued. "Suppose MI6 had custody of a GCHQ officer who was thought to be a security risk. Wouldn't they want to test him? I think they would want to find out what he thought, what he could prove, how far he was willing to go, what information he was willing to give away. They would want to 'capture' anything he was 'tempted' to leak, wouldn't they? And he would have been sorely tempted.

"A 'chance' meeting would have been easy to arrange. Gareth's path could surely have been made to cross with that of a couple of agents pretending to be dissident journalists. Perhaps they claimed to represent Wikileaks. Perhaps they said they were doing something else. It really doesn't matter from this vantage point.

"But if a couple of faux dissidents did establish a relationship with Gareth, and did gain his trust -- which might not have been difficult! -- he may have started feeding them information in the belief that he was helping to rectify the damage the hoaxes had done. If so, British intelligence would have prevented any breach of security, and at the same time would have obtained a very clear picture of what he had learned and what he intended to do about it.

"With the leak contained, so to speak, they could have taken their time making up their minds what to do about him, as they apparently did. They had a full year, Watson, and they used all but a couple of weeks. They clearly were in no hurry.

"Similarly, the police are apparently in no hurry to find the mysterious couple with whom Gareth reportedly had a series of 'chance' meetings in a pastry shop far from home. Could it be that we have stumbled upon the reason why?"

"Do you think this couple are themselves MI6 agents?" I asked.

"Technically," replied Holmes, "domestic counterintelligence is a job for MI5. But it doesn't appear as if anyone were concerned about technicalities in this case. So I wouldn't be surprised if you were right.

"And if that is so," he continued, "all the loose ends of this case tie themselves together in a tidy little knot!" 

Chapter 79: A Surprising Toast


"We have some excellent French cognac.
Will you join us?"
Stuck for words, I whistled softly. "It is, of course, possible," said Sherlock Holmes, "that I have something wrong, or several things wrong. But I think the chain is strong enough to survive a test."

"How can you test it?" I asked.

"You will see on Tuesday," Holmes replied. "Slate and one of his friends will join us for dinner. Will you be available in the afternoon to assist with preparations?"

"Certainly," I said. "Whatever you need. Just say the word!"

"Good man!" said Holmes. "Mycroft will arrive after dinner. Unless I am horribly mistaken, he will bring with him a man who can answer all our questions. If we play our cards properly, perhaps we can induce him to do so.

"There is very little you or I can do before Tuesday noon," Holmes continued, "so I propose we take a hiatus from all this madness." He spoke no more of the case to me for three days. 

"Let's go for a walk," he suggested early Tuesday afternoon, just after lunch. "We can give Mrs. Hudson a chance to clean up the flat, fill our lungs with fresh air -- or such as London offers at this time of year -- and stretch our legs." I readily agreed, and we didn't speak again until we were in Baker Street.

"Is your old army revolver clean and loaded?" Holmes asked as we walked along.

"Yes, of course," I replied.

"When we get back to the flat," Holmes said, "please put it in the pocket of your jacket. You don't have to wear the jacket all afternoon, but you must slip into it by seven-thirty this evening, if not before. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said I.

"Good," said he. "You can relax until Slate arrives, but then you'll want to pay close attention. I think you should make careful notes of everything he says -- for your book, if nothing else.

"But there must be no notes," he continued, "and no notebooks, from seven-thirty onward. Mycroft will arrive shortly thereafter, and we want his companion to speak as freely as possible."

"I understand," I said.

"I thought you would," said my companion. "If and when I need you and your revolver, you will certainly know it. Until then, you should do whatever you can to make our guests comfortable. You are much better at it than I am, so don't be afraid to take some initiative."

"All right," I agreed.

"But don't say anything about the case," he added. "Leave that to me."

"I understand," I said, "and I'll do my best."

"Excellent!" said Holmes. And we walked together without speaking, enjoying the autumn air.

I placed my revolver in my jacket pocket.
When we returned to the flat, I placed my revolver in my jacket pocket, as Holmes had requested, and admired the job Mrs. Hudson had done in preparing the flat. I thought it was remarkable enough that she could tolerate Holmes, let alone do things like this.

Holmes closed all the curtains, turned up the lamps, and sat in an armchair to read. I picked up a book, and we both sat quietly until shortly after four-thirty, when we heard footsteps upon the stair.

"That will be Slate and his friend," said Holmes, getting up to answer the door. But when he opened it, we found ourselves looking at a haggard old woman.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," she said, in a deep and strangely familiar voice. "Come on in, Scott. Meet Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson."

We watched an old man shuffle into the room, carrying a suitcase over which he was bent in obvious discomfort. The old woman closed the door and removed her shawl, then her hat, and finally her hair, revealing the familiar face of Buckingham Slate. "Hello, Dr. Watson," he said. "It's a pleasure to see you both again, gentlemen. This is my friend and colleague, Scott Robinson. Take off your wig and say hello, Scott."

The old man dropped his suitcase, removed his white wig, straightened his back, and offered us his hand. "Pleased to meet you both," he said with a smile. "Thank you for inviting us."

"I am happy to see you again, Bucky" I said. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Robinson."

"Please call me Scott, sir," said Robinson.

"Did you bring everything I asked for?" Holmes inquired.

"Yes, sir," said Slate.

"It's all in this bag," added Robinson, pointing to the suitcase.

"Good," said Holmes, and he gave me a subtle nod.

"Please make yourselves at home," I said, "or as close as possible, in any case. Will you take a drop with us?"

"It's a social visit," added Holmes, "and we have some excellent French cognac."

Our guests quickly accepted the offer, and Holmes filled four snifters. After giving one to each of us, he turned to Slate, raised his glass and said, "Congratulations, Bucky!"

"Thank you, sir," replied Slate. "But may I inquire as to the reason for the congratulations?"

"Unless I am very wrong," answered Sherlock Holmes, "you are about to crack the biggest case of your career!"

"I am?" Slate asked in astonishment.

"I do believe you are," said my friend.

"I will certainly drink to that!" declared Buckingham Slate.

He did, and the three of us followed suit.

The cognac was delicious. Château Vernet, '97.

Chapter 80: Preparations


"Where do you suppose
we should put the microphones?"
"If you please, Mr. Holmes," said Buckingham Slate, "I am very anxious to know about the case I am about to break, sir, especially since I still don't know how I am going to break it!"

"All in good time, Bucky," replied Holmes. "Mrs. Hudson will be bringing our dinner shortly. Why don't you slip out of that dress and into your own clothes? You can use my bedroom if you wish."

"Thank you, sir," said Slate. "I can hardly sit here and eat dinner with a dress on, can I?"

"Not at all," said my friend. "This way, Bucky."

Slate picked up the suitcase Scott Robinson had carried in and said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I won't be a minute." Holmes showed Bucky the door to his room, then returned to sit with Robinson and me.

"How long have you known Slate?" Holmes asked Robinson.

"I met him just after I joined the Force, sir," Robinson replied. "That would be ten, eleven years now, sir."

"Have you worked together often?" continued my friend.

"As often as possible," answered Robinson with a smile. "He's a good one, sir."

"I should say so," agreed Holmes. "The work he's done on this case has been nothing short of miraculous!"

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," said Robinson.

"He'll be glad to hear it, too," said my friend with an ironic smile.

Then Slate reappeared, looking far more presentable in a suit than he had in a dress. "You may as well change next, Scott," he said to his colleague. "I left your suit on the bed."

"Well, Mr. Holmes," said Slate, as Robinson took his turn in Holmes' bedroom, "I've brought everything you asked for. Where do you suppose we should put the microphones?"

"Good question, Bucky," replied Holmes. "Our guest will sit on the couch and we will sit in these armchairs facing him. Find a couple of suitable places."

"I would suggest putting one in that vase of flowers on the mantle," said Slate after a few moments' thought, "and the other one on your desk, if that's possible, sir."

"You could probably hide a small elephant amid all this clutter," said Holmes, gesturing toward the chaos on his desk. "Find a spot that suits you, and occupy it."

"Excellent, sir," said Slate. "This looks perfect. I've left some other audio gear in the bedroom, sir. Scott and I will not only be able to hear everything that's said, we will also be able to record it."

"Very good," said Holmes. "Then it won't come down to your word against his."

"My word against whose?" asked Slate, but Holmes wouldn't bite.

"We can test the mics in just few minutes, sir," said Slate. "And once we're happy with the signals, I would suggest soft lighting, Mr. Holmes, to help with the camouflage."

"I agree entirely," said Holmes. "We would dim the lamps for dinner in any case. What else have you got?"

"These are the cuffs I was telling you about, sir."
"These are the cuffs I was telling you about on Friday, sir," said Slate. "They have the quickest locking mechanism on the market, and they are extremely secure."

"How do they work?" asked my companion, and Slate gave him a short demonstration.

"Excellent!" declared Holmes when he was satisfied. "Our guests will arrive shortly after seven-thirty. By that time, the two of you will be in my bedroom, listening and recording."

"Yes, sir," said Slate. Robinson simply nodded.

"And, no matter what happens," continued my friend, "I want you to stay there, as quietly as possible, until we call you. No matter what. Is that clear?"

"Are you sure, Mr. Holmes?" asked Slate. "We're both armed, and we wouldn't want you to get hurt, sir."

"Please don't worry about us," replied Holmes. "It'll be two against one at worst, with the element of surprise on our side. Watson will be armed. I will have these cuffs. It is extremely unlikely that we will get into trouble. But if we do, we will call you, loud and clear. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," replied Slate. "Now can you tell us about the case I'm about to break, Mr. Holmes?"

"Not yet," replied Sherlock Holmes. "Make sure all your audio equipment is working first. We can talk about the case over dinner."

It took them a few more minutes to get the microphones and the recorder working, and by that time our landlady had starting bringing in the dinner she had prepared.

"Mrs. Hudson, you have truly outdone yourself this time," said my friend, when he saw what she had made for us. "I asked her for something a little bit special," he said to our guests, "but I never expected anything like this!"

I daresay Sherlock Holmes was not the only man destined to encounter something unexpected in our flat that evening.