A Darker God

by Barbara Cleverly

  “She’s doing well. She’ll be in plaster and on crutches for the next six months but she’s a strong girl. She was lucky. There’s a surgeon in the city, a friend of Doc Peebles, retired but with extensive experience of war wounds, who was able to dash along and operate. He saved her leg. But she won’t be striding the boards for a while yet. Thank you for enquiring, sir.”

  “I hope I would always show concern for my staff, Inspector.” Wentworth smiled.

  “What? Freddy! What are you talking about?” Letty asked.

  “It’s a deep state secret, but I’m perfectly certain the lady herself feels little allegiance to the state—any state—and will soon, herself, blurt out the truth of the matter! Under pretext of being under the influence of some opiate or other, perhaps?” He seemed pleased to intercept Montacute’s guilty start.

  “I anticipate her account: Recruited in London, she volunteered to be seconded to my staff here in Athens for the duration of a period of acute danger to the life of the Prime Minister.”

  “Recruited? Volunteered?” Montacute’s tone was blistering, lacking any deference. “Miss Templeton was coerced by the bullying servants of a corrupt Home Office! Five years in Holloway prison or do as we suggest … A fine notion of secondment!”

  “Come now! She was offered a most respectable and worthwhile assignment, Montacute. Any patriot would have considered it an honour to accept. She was fully briefed and trained in the use of countersurveillance and firearms. And, in the event, you cannot deny that she performed her duty most nobly!”

  Montacute was not placated. “She was fond of the woman she was protecting and would have given her life in her defence anyway. You were lucky there. Suppose your ‘target’ had been some loathsome ingrate—you’d still have twisted her arm.”

  Wentworth did not deny the accusation; he tiptoed around it. “We were indeed fortunate that a genuine friendship blossomed between the two. Infernally difficult to supervise and shadow a female, especially here in Greece. And this was no product of the seraglio we were protecting! Here, there, and everywhere on show in public places. Street soup kitchens in the Plaka one minute, dinner parties in Kiffissia the next! Protection could only be undertaken by one of her own sex and one who blended in with Madame Venizelos’s chosen background and extracurricular activities. We do not normally recruit females for such work. We were lucky that Miss Templeton’s particular abilities came to our notice at the right moment.”

  He leaned confidingly to Montacute: “Probably premature to make any mention of an honour in the offing, but …”

  “The right moment, you said, Freddy?” Letty challenged, sensing they had him on the retreat. “How did you know that Venizelos was in danger?”

  “Ah. We had a murmur … no, for once it was more than that … clear indications from the very highest authority, back in England, that a plot to assassinate him was—once again—under way. But this time, we were up against something more threatening than the usual student-inspired revolutionaries. There have always been signs, Laetitia, that the Royalist party … you understand to whom I am referring when I say …”

  “I have sufficient knowledge of Balkan politics,” Letty lied. “Do get on with it, Freddy.”

  “… would go to any lengths to remove the P.M. from power with a finality, but their attempts have always been easy to counter. This time … For a start there was money behind it. And the originator tapped into an increasingly strong Europe-wide linkage. We suspect, if we were able to track it back far enough, we’d find the Kaiser himself in the middle of the web. He is known to be actively pursuing the signatories of the Versailles Treaty … an implacable fellow who has not yet accepted that for him the war is over … And Venizelos has always been his enemy, the royal family of Greece his silent supporters. But the originator, the moving force behind all this—and I know you will surmise, Letty, that I am speaking of your friend Gunay—insisted on orchestrating the attempt himself. For personal reasons, which I do believe you could make clear to us?”

  “That’s true,” said Letty. “But I’m sure we’re all aware …” She ignored the attempt to divert her into an account and waited for him to carry on.

  “And, being a complete unknown, and a clever unknown, he might well have succeeded.” He left a pause and then allowed himself a little modest self-congratulation. “A cold, scheming brain fuelled by a deep personal motive, in the driving seat of a well-funded political organisation, run by the German and Greek military. Formidable opposition, you will say! And I will agree. Hard to crack!”

  “And was poor Thetis shoved all by herself into the front line to counter all this firepower?” Gunning asked. “Was she also responsible for the Prime Minister?”

  “Ah, no. He had his own shadow. You may have noticed him playing rather an assertive role towards the end. Melton. Our Invisible Fixer. They come in useful at times like this.” He smiled dismissively. “We knew an attack was to take place. We knew the organisation would go on and on with these attempts until it was pulled up at the root. And that is what everyone longed for! The final and total annihilation of this noxious nexus.” Receiving no answering smile, he pressed on: “It was decided this time, with the full knowledge and cooperation of the Venizelos couple—who don’t lack courage—to let things proceed unchecked. The network would, it was calculated, reveal itself as it played its hand.

  “Inevitably, an assassin would creep out of the woodwork. With a bit of luck, he would be taken alive and be required to account for himself. Melton was brought in to exercise his very special skills in matters of this nature. It’s what he does. There are some men who don’t object at all to dirtying their hands in the name of their country.” He hesitated for a moment to flick an imaginary speck from his cuff with a manicured fingernail, expecting—inviting, perhaps?—a scything riposte from Montacute.

  Into the sullen silence, he went on: “The Prime Minister’s appearance at the play was the perfect opportunity for the organisation. And our man, believe me, was ready to put his body and his gun between the P.M. and any assassin who dared to put his head above the parapet.” His voice curdled with patriotic pride.

  “Geoffrey Melton? Can we be talking about Geoffrey Melton? I can see him torturing a luckless creature or two in a twisted way, but gallant self-sacrifice?” Letty huffed. “Can you be quite certain of this, Freddy?”

  Wentworth gave her a smile tight with secret knowledge. “The gentleman has an impressive record of service to the state … for one so young …” was all he cared to add. “But this whole affair was what you might call a setup. A rat trap. The Venizelos pair were the willing bait and Melton the killing blade in a trap set by us.”

  “Whoever you are! But the Prime Minister backed out at the last minute and the network knew that!” Letty objected.

  “Good Lord!” said Gunning, suddenly inspired. “Because he was never the target! It was Helena they had in their sights all along!”

  Wentworth nodded and waited for Gunning to pursue his theory.

  “It was Gunay’s twisted thought, wasn’t it? His own wife had been lost and he’d suffered her loss for years. He knew Venizelos had mourned his first wife for a quarter of a century. Uxorious chap! He could imagine the shattering effect of losing a second wife, and he relished the thought of the old man’s suffering his way to the grave.”

  “And politically, it was an astute move. And this is what appealed to the Royalist faction who couldn’t care less about the P.M.’s sensibilities. He’s an old man now. Supported, strengthened, motivated by his active younger wife. I think it’s clear to all that he would have given up and retired back to his flat in Paris had she been taken from him in this way.”

  “And who would benefit? George the Second! He’d be invited back from wherever he’s got to in Europe to take up the throne again! Disgraceful, shameful affair!” Gunning fumed.

  “You express His Majesty’s own thoughts exactly!” Wentworth sat back smiling, waiting for their reaction.<
br />
  “What are you saying? That King George was aware …?”

  “Yes, he was. An officer from the German armed forces visited him in London with a proposal. Told him what was about to be done in his name. We run a line of remarkably effective temporary valets … they say a man has no secrets from his valet. True. No surprise there. But we were astonished when the king himself strolled down Saint James’s and paid a call on one of our top men. The strength of his honour was being sorely tested, he proclaimed. He had personal dragons to fight. Time to do the right thing… (I think we have Wagner to thank for this rush of noble sentiment to the head.) He would derive no satisfaction from the assassination of an old man’s wife, however much his enemy. He scorned it for a dishonourable act! He—correctly—predicted the country would ascribe the deed to him and turn from him in revulsion. So George came clean. Confided all. Demanded absolute discretion, naturally. And here we are!” he concluded, beaming around the table and gathering his papers together. “Being absolutely discreet! Thank you all so much for dropping by—”

  “No! Here we aren’t! Not yet!” Letty burst out. “Freddy! You’re keeping something from us! You knew him! Are you ever going to tell us who he was—the grizzled old goat who aimed a bullet, to say nothing of a ton of rock, at Helena? And Thetis?”

  “Ah yes.” Wentworth’s expression became less unctuous. “Albanian bandit whose name escapes me? Would you believe?”

  They glared at him in hostile silence.

  “Won’t quite do, Wentworth,” said Gunning.

  “No, I thought not. Well, that’s what you’ll read in the papers. May even prove to be one of your old sparring partners, Montacute! Busy boys! If these blokes exist—and we only have your word for it—they must be laughing their socks off when they read about their continuing exploits in the press. Oh, very well. Here, take a look at this. Top Secret, of course. Swinton has your signatures, I remind you.”

  He passed a sheet of paper to Montacute. A sheet of typed paper with a photograph paper-clipped to the front. They leaned over Montacute’s shoulder to inspect it.

  “That’s the man!” said Letty. “The man who was dancing attendance on you last night. What a villain! He actually looks like someone who’d put a bullet in you as soon as look at you! Gunay, I begin to think, could never have killed anyone face-to-face. Not even a weed like me. So he hired this ruffian to do the dirty work. Who is he?”

  Montacute pushed the photograph aside to reveal a sheet from a Home Office official file.

  “Good Lord!” he said, stunned, and passed it to Gunning. “This is a bit hard to take! Did you have any idea, Wentworth? This is going to do you no credit when it gets out.”

  “‘Rose to the rank of major in a very illustrious British regiment?’” Gunning read out. “‘Special Branch experience …’ Five years with those bully boys … Scottish father, German mother … Name of Grant. ‘Attached latterly to the British Embassy, special duties.’ Nothing out of the way there? Means nothing to me, I’m afraid. But why? Why on earth would such a man attempt political murder?”

  “Money and danger? Those eternal incentives? Old soldier with a chip on his shoulder, you know how it is … Expected to go higher. Passed over … Strong fighting instinct. Aggressive, ruthless. No outlet for it these days … May have had some family connection through his mother with the Kaiser’s mob.” Wentworth paused to assess the level of disbelief in his audience. Then he sighed. “No? Well, we haven’t got to the bottom of that quite yet.” He grimaced and added, disarmingly: “We’re still working on a convincing story.” He stirred uncomfortably in his seat and leaned towards them. “Look, there’s an outside possibility that he may have been obeying orders from on high. I mean, higher than we have cognisance of …”

  “‘On high’?” Montacute was scoffing when he cut him off.

  “How high? You mean the top floor of the War Office? So damn secret they don’t even know who they’re meant to be themselves? There are always fanatics up there—Royalists by instinct, most of them, feudal-minded fossils who still tug forelocks and bend the knee. Men who despise the idea of democracy, let alone a Republic. And they’re always ready to meddle. Always ready to send a man over the top with a handshake and a patriotic tear in the eye. And the right phrase ringing in his ear … Scottish, wasn’t he, this Grant? One of the Bonnie Charlie brigade, no doubt! You’ll probably discover a white cockade next to his heart. Lord! I could have been one such myself if I hadn’t seen them coming! And this poor bugger, Grant, was their triggerman, the one who set up the killing scene at the theatre.”

  “The maintenance man, according to the night guards, who have been interviewed afresh. They shared many a bottle with him after hours. They hadn’t thought to mention it because he was, after all, just a Briton like the rest of those lunatics … This one came in occasionally to check up on security. Had a full set of keys and all … They actually heaved on a rope to help him reinstate the statue when it toppled over.” Wentworth shook his head more in sorrow than in anger. “We asked questions your squad appear not to have thought of, Montacute.”

  “Already on the inside, he could operate in total anonymity and security from a base right here in the Embassy under your nose, Wentworth,” Montacute countered.

  Wentworth flinched.

  Letty was unsatisfied. Freddy had coughed up this information too easily, she calculated. And he was diverting Percy, running him down safe channels of his own choosing. Enmeshing him in a private duel. A slippery customer, Wentworth, she guessed, who had one last wriggle left in him.

  “All the people you’ve mentioned so far, Freddy, have been pawns,” she commented, stepping between the drawn swords. “Essential perhaps at times, but expendable. There’s someone else … behind all this, just out of sight …” she speculated. “No! Listen! None of us in the company even recognised this Grant. He was never there when we were about. But someone knew every move we made in the theatre, rehearsal times, plans for the libation ceremony … Things he couldn’t have learned in a boozy after-hours exchange with the Greek watchman.”

  Wentworth began to rise to his feet. “All surmise,” he said dismissively. “I think we can safely leave it there. You have the names you wanted. Now—if you wouldn’t mind …”

  They sat firmly in their places.

  “No, Wentworth. Letty has it right. Give her another minute and she’ll be along the trail like a hound,” advised Gunning pleasantly. “Listen to her—she’s usually worth hearing.”

  “Lattimore!” she exclaimed. “He really didn’t take part in the killing, but he did make a contribution! His big mouth! He was teaching English to the family of General Konstantinou—a wonderful way to get information from him! ‘Do tell the children all that you did today … so good for their English.’”

  “And the General listened!” Montacute fixed Wentworth in his seat with his sharp words. “And used the information and passed it to Grant. Who planned accordingly; who experimented after hours on-site with wedges and angles and ropes until he had it right. And then he put his simple gear back in the storage shed where he’d found it. He brought down Dionysus as nothing more than a distraction. It was the shot that was meant to kill her. If a woman’s lying dead under a heap of stone, everyone in range is going to assume in the confusion that she’s been crushed to death. They’re going to crack their muscles and dig with their hands to release her body while the perpetrator slides away under cover of the chaos into the bushes unnoticed. And who comes out of all this smelling of roses? The General, who, in his infinite wisdom, ensured that the Prime Minister was dissuaded from appearing. A distancing move. How we applauded his caution! He didn’t care—he was the only man who knew, apart from Gunay, that the Prime Minister was not a marked man anyway. Konstantinou, eh? Poor old Wentworth! You’ve got your work cut out smoothing this one over. Your Invisible Fixer still on the books, is he? Hang on to him, you might be needing him!”

  “Oh, it’s the assassination in
Macedon all over again,” Letty said quietly. “And Grant himself was doomed. The gunman was never going to be captured and questioned. The bold young major made absolutely certain of that. Carrying out his General’s orders. What’s the betting that he modestly accepts a rise in rank after a decent interval? Does this violence never end? Oh, I could weep! What has been achieved? What are we left with?”

  “You need me to spell it out?” Wentworth was losing patience. “We’re left with a World Statesman and his wife unscathed. We’re left with the unmasking of a particularly nasty and dangerous element right here in Athens and a whole network which is, even as I speak, being rolled up throughout Europe!”

  Letty was silenced by the truth of this but Montacute was flashing with anger. “No, Wentworth! What we have on our conscience—those of us who have one—is a young woman who may never walk again. Smashed to the ground and crippled by a distraction! A woman who was press-ganged into a damned dangerous job by a callous Home Office that can’t even live by its own rules. We’re left with a very angry policeman who was sent out here to do nothing more than stand by with the handcuffs. A cardboard cutout, an acceptable face of officialdom, providing a reassuring presence. After all, the Embassy can’t go about arresting anyone in a foreign country should they be left, by some lapse of judgement, with an undead villain on their hands. Better have on tap a compliant bobby. Just in case.

  “And what’s your bobby left with? The assurance that the royal families of two countries will be graciously thankful for his efforts! No crowned head need be embarrassed by a messy and uncalled-for killing. Well, I said it at the time and I say again: Sod the royal families!”

  A self-destructive speech which would be followed within twenty-four hours by instant recall to London to hear of his dismissal from whatever government post he at present occupied, Letty reckoned, aghast at the inspector’s flourish.

  Montacute got to his feet and stormed from the room.