by David Field
Inside the Banqueting Hall the top table, with the Queen in its centre, resembled a living portrait of all the senior world leaders, allocated their places in accordance with their current order of importance in world affairs. On the Queen’s immediate right was Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, heir presumptive of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, while to her left was the Prime Minister of New Zealand. Her Majesty would have much preferred to talk sheep with the man on her left, but it seemed that Franz Ferdinand was anxious to practice his English as he engaged his distant cousin in polite conversation that she smiled her way through while awaiting the soup course.
The first course platters having been swept off the table as if by sleight of hand, the waiters formed a queue at the trolley for the lobster bisque bowls that were being loaded by those in charge of them. The waiter who had been serving Her Majesty took his bowl at the same time that Abe Jacobs slid deftly past the laden trolleys and took his place in the rank of Grenadier Guards who were lining the back wall. Without seemingly taking his eyes off the Queen immediately in front of him, Abe watched out of the corner of his eye as the diminutive middle-aged waiter moved slowly down the raised platform carefully carrying a single bowl of soup towards Her Majesty. At the last moment he gave his real intentions away as he drew back one hand beneath his white serving cloth to reveal a long broad knife.
Abe waited until the knife was poised behind the back of its intended victim, then leapt forward with the agility of a panther on a young deer. The arm bearing the knife was bent back until it snapped, and the would-be assassin gave a grunt of displeasure when most men would have shrieked in agony. The two men fell to the ground, where Abe swiftly pulled the man’s arms up his back, and from nowhere came an Army uniformed colleague armed with a set of police wrist restraints. The man was pulled roughly to his feet and led away as the call went out for police to formally arrest him and take him into custody. From the door that led to the kitchen Jack appeared at the head of his small police contingent, looking confused, and the man was handed to him while Abe turned back to the stunned looking Queen with a polite smile.
‘My apologies, Ma’am. He was about to serve the soup from the wrong side.’
Back in the kitchen, Jack nodded to Michael Black and the uniformed colleagues alongside him.
‘With me, all of you. Take him outside and summon a paddy wagon.’
Out in the darkness of the Palace yard, the only light coming from the uncurtained kitchen windows, Jack drew his revolver and hung back until Black and four others punched the man to the ground and began kicking him.
‘Leave him be!’ Jack commanded.
‘We was told ter kill ’im.’
‘And I’m telling you to leave him alone!’ Jack yelled back. ‘I’m armed,’ he added as he flourished his revolver in the air.
‘But there’s six’ve us,’ came a voice from immediately behind him as a hand shot up to wrestle the gun from Jack’s grasp, ‘an’ yer’ve only got the one gun.’
‘But there are ten more here!’ someone shouted, and from out of the shadows strode a ring of uniformed officers, all armed, and with gun barrels pointing at the group. Then the source of the shouted challenge became obvious, as Assistant Commissioner Doyle stepped into the light and nodded to Jack.
‘Well done, Sergeant. My men will take over from here.’
Jack stood stock still, bewildered by all the swift and unexpected turns of events.
‘How do I know whose side you’re on?’ he enquired as Doyle’s men began carrying the assassin away.
‘You don’t, but you usually do what your uncle tells you,’ came the familiar voice, and Uncle Percy stepped into the light with a broad smile. ‘Esther’s safe at home with your Aunt Beattie, but we need to lose no time in rescuing her, before she’s talked into eating something.’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Her Majesty’s sent this excellent bottle of Bordeaux to wash down our dinner,’ Home Secretary Ridley smiled at those around the table as Manning passed among them doing the honours, ‘so the least I could do was to order beefsteak for our celebratory dinner.’
‘It’s not likely to go far among the four of us,’ Melville grumbled.
‘There are eleven other bottles in the case she sent,’ Ridley advised him. ‘It was left over from the banquet that nearly got ruined.’
‘I hope the beefsteak isn’t from the same source,’ Percy chortled, and was gratified that everyone appeared to enjoy the joke.
‘It has indeed to be hoped not,’ Ridley agreed, ‘since that was a week ago. She also sent her thanks in a short note in her own fair hand, in which she expressed her delight that her nation is so well served by loyal servants of the Crown.’
‘But she was never the target all along?’ Jack asked, still confused, but as happy as a child on its birthday with the way things had turned out. He’d been given the entire week off, Esther had been most loving and attentive after their reunion, his children had been told that he was a national hero, and even his mother had deigned to observe that he had at long last done something to honour the family name, conveniently overlooking his bravery medal some years in the past.
‘We were meant to believe that the Queen was the target of Fenians again,’ Melville explained, ‘because had we known what was really afoot we’d have taken diplomatic steps to have that murderous arsehole Jetnikov expelled from the country.’
‘That Russian bloke?’ Jack enquired, and Melville nodded.
‘Russian certainly, but working for the Germans, according to what we got out of him when we applied a certain amount of pressure to his broken arm.’
There were several suppressed shudders around the table, and it fell silent for a moment as they began the soup course. It was Percy who decided to ask the obvious question. ‘Why would a Russian be working for the Germans?’
‘Jetnikov works — or rather worked, since he won’t be available for employment until he’s released from Pentonville well into the next century — for anyone who’ll pay him, and his paymaster this time was our old friend Kaiser Wilhelm.’
‘But if the Queen wasn’t the real target,’ Percy persisted, ‘then who was?’
‘The bloke sitting next to her — the heir presumptive to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Franz Ferdinand.’ He smiled back at Percy’s still uncomprehending face as he added more explanation. ‘As I once remarked, Percy, international cloak and dagger isn’t your strongest suit. The Kaiser wanted Franz Ferdinand to be assassinated by a Russian so that he — Wilhelm — could beat his breast in anguished outrage, and attack Russia while earning himself a few more friends in Austria, which would have been correspondingly weakened. He’s been looking for the excuse for years, so I’m informed.’
‘So that was why Jetnikov had to be kept alive,’ Jack piped up. ‘If he’d been killed, no-one would have known who’d put him up to it, and this Kaiser Whatshisname could march on Russia in righteous revenge.’
‘Kaiser Wilhelm, Jack,’ Melville corrected him. ‘Remember the name, since we expect him to cause more trouble for us in the years to come, when hopefully you’ll be one of our number, since your grasp of double dealing would seem to be more keenly developed than your uncle’s.’
Jack preened himself at the praise, but Uncle Percy wasn’t about to take that lying down.
‘So keen that he was completely hoodwinked by his own brother-in-law.’
‘A man he’d only just met, remember,’ Melville replied in Jack’s defence. ‘But Captain Jacobs — or Major Jacobs, as he now is — also fooled the entire network that tried to inveigle him into their fold, using Mary Carmody as the lure.’
‘So he wasn’t fooled by Mary?’ Jack enquired, and Melville shook his head.
‘Far from it. We had reason to believe that Russian dissidents would try to enlist the Fenian roughnecks to do the dirty work in return for money for their cause, and Mary Carmody was their first-choice whore when it came to seducing officers and gentlemen. When
intelligence officers in Cairo spotted her cosying up to Captain Jacobs, he was called in and given instructions to go along with it.’
‘So seeking out Esther to catch up with her after all those years wasn’t part of some devious scheme?’ Jack asked, much relieved.
‘Indeed not, but he was more than surprised when he learned that his little sister had married a fine young police officer who appeared to be incorruptible. He reported that fact back to his masters, and their instructions were to get you into the Home Front Club, where you might prove useful, as indeed you were, as matters turned out.’
‘So who was calling his shots on our behalf?’ Percy enquired. ‘No, let me guess — Doyle.’
‘Doyle was certainly his main contact within the Met, and Doyle in turn reported to me,’ Melville explained, and Percy snorted with indignation.
‘He certainly had me fooled, and I no doubt owe him an apology.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Melville objected. ‘It was his job to make you so suspicious of the entire Met that you lost no effort in exploring every nook and cranny inside it. We really did need to know the extent of the corruption, in an effort to see who was behind it.’
‘You’ll probably take back the compliment you paid me regarding my intelligence skills,’ Jack conceded as his beefsteak appeared on the table in front of him, ‘but I’m still confused about who was behind all this.’
Melville looked across the table at Ridley, who nodded and supplied the answer.
‘It operated on three levels. On the ground floor were the Fenians, who believed they were working with the Russian revolutionaries, to foment rebellion and working-class anarchy within the nation. They were told to move in and corrupt as many Met officers as they could, and stage outrages such as the Hatton Garden gem raid and the Wapping fire. One of the more depressing aspects of all this is how successful they were at that, and we’re indebted to you for flushing out those responsible.’
‘Why were some of them then murdered, while others were kept on, and what will happen to men like Michael Black?’ Jack enquired.
‘The ones who were murdered by their own paymasters were no longer of any value to them, and there was always the risk that they’d talk if caught,’ Melville explained. ‘The remaining ones had obvious reasons for hiding themselves away and were recruited into that little team that was standing by to kill Jetnikov after he’d assassinated Franz Ferdinand, which he would have done had it not been for your brother-in-law. It was he who instructed that you be inducted into the Home Front Club to lead that team, since he was banking on being able to persuade you to keep Jetnikov alive.’
‘So Abe Jacobs was part of the Irish lot?’
Melville nodded. ‘So he led them to believe. Mary Carmody’s been a key member of the Fenian movement for some years now, so when she approached your brother-in-law, he was instructed to appear as if she’d succeeded in seducing him into her little network. So yes, he was operating at the ground floor level, infiltrating the Fenians, many of whom we now have under lock and key.’
‘You didn’t say what was to happen to Michael Black,’ Jack prompted him. ‘I know he was a disgrace to the uniform, but I feel sorry for his wife and children.’
Melville smiled. ‘All we could realistically accuse him of was desertion from his post. He was very helpful to us with inside knowledge of how the club was operated, so we closed it down with immediate effect, and Black goes back to foot duties in Whitechapel next week, with a big black mark on his service record. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever make sergeant.’
‘What about Padley?’ Percy enquired.
‘On remand in custody on a charge of grand larceny,’ he was advised. ‘He’ll probably get ten years, but he should be happy in jail, given his preference for male sexual partners that got him blackmailed into the subversive fold in the first place.’
‘Markwell and Ingram?’ Percy persisted as he reached for more potatoes.
‘Currently in custody awaiting charges of corruption, to which they’ve both indicated a willingness to plead guilty, rather than be charged with treason and hanged. And before you ask, Sergeant Cameron has been reduced to the rank of Constable and transferred on a permanent basis to Records, inside the Yard. Despite his undoubted corruption, he had some passable excuse, given his son’s medical difficulties, and this way he can at least be more regularly on hand to assist in the boy’s nursing, and we’ve come to some arrangement over the cost of all that. Again, he was most forthcoming regarding the Fenian involvement in the theft of the uniforms and police wagon.’
‘So how did the Fenians come to get involved with that Russian bloke?’ Jack asked, still trying to take it all in.
Melville took a sip of wine before explaining. ‘They were plotting to assassinate the Queen, obviously, since the heir presumptive to the Austro-Hungarian Empire was of no great propaganda value to them. Their previous attempt ten years ago failed dismally, so they put the word out that they were looking for someone who could do the job properly for a substantial fee. They were approached by Jetnikov, whose provisional target was indeed Her Majesty, but when the word leaked out through the revolutionary channels, our Russian friend was offered double by agents of the Kaiser if he’d transfer his murderous talents to Franz Ferdinand.’
‘There’s clearly no honour among scum like that,’ Percy muttered, and Melville chuckled.
‘Still the old-fashioned copper at heart, eh Percy?’
‘Always will be,’ Percy growled, ‘and the thing that bothers me is that none of this has been made public. In my book we should loudly broadcast every success we have in suppressing lawbreaking, in order to deter others.’
‘The Queen was most insistent that we draw the curtain of silence over the entire business,’ Ridley explained. ‘Apart from the embarrassment of the infiltration of our security network, we don’t need to stir the waters with Germany just at the moment. She’s accepted that her grandson is a disgrace to the dynasty, and a dangerous near lunatic, but we’re seeking an alliance with Russia, and the Foreign Secretary persuaded her that the last thing we need is to accuse them of sending an assassin to her party, mainly by threatening to expose Wilhelm’s part in all this if it became public knowledge. Not good for the family image, it seems.’
‘Talking of families,’ Jack muttered as he pushed his empty plate away, ‘was it really necessary to have my wife held hostage like that?’
‘It could have been worse,’ Melville smiled. ‘Liam Brennan — who’s likely to be taking the drop for treason in the near future — thought that you weren’t keen enough to lead what he believed would be a murder squad. It was important to have Jetnikov done away with in circumstances in which it could be claimed that he was seeking to escape custody, and an upright officer such as yourself, with a Queen’s Bravery Medal to his credit, would be above suspicion. But when you seemed less than totally committed to the cause, Brennan suggested that they kidnap your wife. In the event, she suffered no more than a few weeks enforced holiday with her own brother.’
‘That’s not quite how she tells it,’ Jack muttered, ‘although she was most appreciative when she found herself back at Aunt Beattie’s, and unharmed. It may be a while before she invites her brother back home to our place, but I think she understands what it was all in aid of.’
‘Now for the sweet course,’ Ridley announced as the lemon syllabub was brought in, ‘and in more senses than one. Her Majesty was obviously anxious to ensure that you two gentlemen were adequately rewarded, but unfortunately we can’t present you with medals or anything, because then we’d have to explain what they were for. So it has to take some other form. Percy first.’
‘Early retirement on full pension?’ Percy enquired hopefully, but Ridley shook his head.
‘You’re too valuable, Percy. According to Assistant Commissioner Doyle, anyway. That’s why he’s asked that you be appointed to head up a new team, with the rank of Chief Inspector. Given your demonstrated enthusiasm fo
r sniffing out corruption within the Met, it will be labelled the Disciplinary Branch. Put more crudely, you’ll be kicking constabulary arse with a promoted rank. The added attraction — to you — will be that you report directly to Doyle, thereby sidestepping Chief Inspector Bray, with whom you seem to regularly engage in conflicts of philosophy.’
Percy grinned widely, then paused to think for a moment, and looked sideways. ‘Will Jack be working with me?’
‘No!’ Jack said firmly, then looked sheepishly down at his syllabub. ‘Sorry and all that, but if I were to move back into the Met I’d have to give up living in Barking, and my family are happily settled there.’
‘No fear of that, so breathe more easily,’ Melville advised him. ‘In fact, your daily train journey may well become easier, since I believe that your home station of Barking is on the Fenchurch Street line to Southend.’
‘You’re sending me to Southend?’ Jack enquired nervously. ‘That’s even further out than Chelmsford. And what about all the work I’ve got to catch up on there? I’ve been gone eight months.’
‘And you won’t be going back, if you accept our offer,’ Melville smiled.
‘What offer’s that?’ Jack half croaked at the prospect of having to tell Esther than they might be moving again.
‘Tilbury,’ Melville replied. ‘More specifically, the Port of Tilbury, which is so strategically important to us in terms of exports, imports, the ferry across to the south bank of the Thames, and foreign types coming in hoping to escape scrutiny in the London Docks that we’ve established our own police force there — the “Port of Tilbury London Police”. It operates as a normal police force but reports to Special Branch and the Foreign Office. It’s also about to become in need of a new Inspector, when the existing one retires. Interested?’
