[2017] What Happened in Vienna, Jack?

by Daniel Kemp

  “A lovely place you have here, Jack. I compliment you on your taste in art. Is that an original?”

  “No idea, Mr man from Guildford, all this belongs to our friend Alain Aberman. Spying for Israel obviously is well paid. You're playing on the wrong team, David.”

  “Has this place been swept at all?” Dicky asked.

  “Yes! I had it vacuumed when we arrived over an hour ago. Found them all, so real names are allowed. Can I now address you as Sir Richard or stick to David?” he asked.

  “Dicky is fine, Jack. When is Aberman expected home?”

  “He's tied up on Agency business, won't be home for at least a couple of hours. Plenty of time for our conversation. Did Fergus tell you to fetch the brandy?”

  “He told me what you said, Jack, but I declined the invitation. Preferring you sober throughout the evening. It has never been a quality of mine understanding drunken fools.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you but I've made a start on Alain's stock. Care for one?” Jack rose from the black leather armchair, leading the way into the spacious, well-appointed lounge. “Please choose your spot, Dicky. I'm sure Fergus could do the honours.”

  For almost an hour Jack told Dicky the story of the 1937 gathering at the Viennese Chancellery, his meeting with Aberman in '45 along with his knowledge of the Nazi sympathisers that Patrick West's father had supplied him. He covered Aberman's account of the priest called 'The Hammer' and how he collaborated with Sir Archibald Thomas Finn in securing Bridget Slattery for the murder of the priest known as Father Finnegan. His animosity towards authority had gone, which both amused Dicky and caused him to worry. His first question was to be the one he'd noticed Trenchard not answer: Why he selected Patrick West to assist in his operation, but he chose to address Jack's newfound cooperation instead.

  “You've changed considerably, Jack. I expected the firebrand you were when we first met, but I have a burnt out squib seating before me. Fraser said he'd met with your characteristic aggression when he ran you down earlier today, so, please tell me, when did the conversion take place?”

  “Fraser, is it now? Well, I wasn't aggressive with you, not my style at all. I leave aggression to Job. He does that sort of thing with aplomb.” He spoke directly to Fraser who was sitting nearest the drinks cabinet.

  “If I caused offence then that was not my aim at all. My objective was to slightly annoy you. Enough so you'd believe that I'd finished with you and would not be looking over my shoulder. But I was looking and you were being played, old sport. Thought I'd put you wise on that count just in case you get too big-headed. Hope you don't mind.” He smiled that condescending smile I'd come to know so well, only I was not there to see it. Then it left him and was replaced by a reflective gaze and a humourless reply.

  “I'm on the way out, Dicky. Got liver cancer past repair. I was given one year to live back in early June last year. The bell rang on my time weeks ago, drinking up time has gone as well.” He held his empty glass towards Fraser who instantly looked at Dicky as if asking the question - should I? Dicky nodded in affirmation and Fraser poured.

  “Did that have anything to do with you choosing West to become your partner in the protection of these secrets, Jack?” Jack gave a small laugh on accepting his replenished glass.

  “You know me too well, Sir Richard, but that's what puts you head and shoulders above the other Guildford crowd. You have empathy where they were empty of everything bar the love of power. To answer your question then, yes, it was. As I've said, I knew his father. First in Italy then I got to know him better in London when he worked at the War Department. He had morals, Dicky, a high sense of duty with loyalty and honour. A truthful man who I respected. He had been wounded in Africa when a bombardier in the Royal Artillery. Do you know they stripped him of his rank when he was hospitalised because it saved the War Department money! He never complained about that, just accepting it as par for the course. His promotion to captain came about because they saved even more money. First when his battery sergeant was killed in Scilly and then his commanding officer copped one at Monte Cassino. Neither were replaced. He never had a bad word for anyone, did Harry West. If he couldn't say something good about a man he simply kept his opinion to himself. I wish there were others like him, but it don't seem to be a commodity easily found in our trade.” He paused for a swallow before continuing.

  “Job and I were perfectly capable of seeing this operation through to the end and I was up for doing just that, until I heard about Alain blackmailing Gregory Stiles. That's when I planned all this. I prayed that it would be you who picked up the scent and I prayed Patrick West had a lot of his father in him.”

  “I wouldn't have, had it not been for West's second report he delivered to the Home Office. That was quite fortuitous, Jack, don't you agree?”

  “If he hadn't then there was always the old anonymous phone call routine, Dicky, but I needed to know the boy had originality and boldness.”

  “Okay, you got lucky. West had balls, but where did the reasoning come from for outing Trenchard through the Alhambra link?”

  “Two reasons really. The main one being my disgust for him and the other knowing that you would recognise the code name. I wanted your attention, Dicky, and I wanted it in double quick time.”

  “An interesting reply. Disgust, not dislike, Jack?”

  “You know my history at the Savoy, you also know about Trenchard's homosexuality. I'm not going to spell it out for you with every syllable highlighted. For all I know old Fraser here might like it and jump me. Only joking, sport. I can tell you're a ladies' man.” He winked at Dicky who smiled back.

  “Why did you need it done in 'double quick time', Jack? That I'm confused with.”

  “Are you stringing me, Dicky? Trenchard must have told you by now, otherwise the 'hands off Aberman' would not be the order of the day. Please, treat me with the same respect I give you and we'll get along just beautifully.”

  “Barrington did tell me about meeting Stiles at the Duke's funeral and how that led to Stiles revelation about the extortion, but what I don't know is how you knew of that, Jack. Care to enlighten us on that one?”

  “Okay, you have me. I first heard over a year ago, from the man I approached back in 1945 and who signed me on at the Palace. I definitely need a refill for this, Dicky and I'll get it myself, Fraser. You're a typical Scotsman when it comes to generosity.” He withdrew his cigarettes and after both Sir Richard and Fraser refused, lit one, drawing heavily on it as he poured a large measure of brandy into his glass.

  “The Lord Chamberlain, the Earl of Cliveden. I didn't mess about with just anyone, Dicky, I went straight to the head man. I had to wait for Aberman to disclose the name Stockford for about eight years I think, but when eventually I had it, I was up and running with Cliveden as my boss. With him on board I had carte blanche to do anything. He opened the doors which I walked through to nick the family silver as it were.”

  “I imagine you had a field day, Jack?”

  “No, I was extremely circumspect when it came to the Royals. They had my trust and admiration, but less of me. Time marches on, back onto your subject of how I knew. The Duke of Windsor was more or less hanging on to life over the last year. His body was riddled with cancer far worse than mine and he had more courage than me. Cliveden called me to St James's one day. It was before I had my diagnosis, I know that much, and I have the impression of blossom hanging on the trees, maybe the spring of 1970. Cliveden came straight out with it.

  Your friend Alain Aberman is turning the screw on the Windsors and it's The Palace who are digging into their pockets to fund him.

  “He babbled on a bit about whether I was in league with him or not, then asked me if I could do anything about it. I told him I could but I wouldn't as there was something happening in Argentina that Aberman was controlling and could not be removed from. I never disclosed what that was, Dicky and he never pressed me on it.”

  “Has that anything to do with Weilham's
disappearance, Jack?”

  “Everything I suspect. It's also what Aberman's doing now. There's an intermixed family of the Cliffords and the Baxter-Cliffords. They were funding the development in Argentina of a chemical that would wipe mankind from this earth if not stopped. Alain put an end to their plans and is now at the Baxter-Clifford mansion with his FBI chums either arresting Haynes Baxter hyphen, or going through the place with the proverbial. I gave Alain the tapes I had running in Weilham's UN office earlier today, thinking that he too would be arrested, but I believe Alain had rather more dramatic ideas for his demise. There's also Weilham's ex-Nazi commanding officer working for Haynes, who I suspect Aberman will turn in to the Agency if only to add weight to his condemnation of the UN under-secretary. He'll get away with the double murder, Dicky. Make no mistake on that!”

  “Was that the occurrence at Trelew, Jack?”

  “Yes!”

  “And the Weilhams, where did they fit in?”

  “Her planes, engineers, pilots, his influence and power.”

  “The ex-Nazis, have you names?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “All dead in the water, is it?”

  “Nice pun, Dicky, congratulations. There was I thinking you had no sense of humour. As far as I know, yes, but Olivia Weilham's South African ranch could do with a going-over if you've a mind to. Argentina is clean. Bormann was one of them Nazis out in the wilds. His skull is going to be buried in a disused Berlin railway site that's due to be redeveloped later this year. Apparently Aberman promised the Argentinian Government he'd do that for them, throw the hounds off the track kind of thing.”

  “It would seem to be a good place to stop and recap one particular part, Jack, and if it's not too much to ask of you, Fraser, coffee would go down well whilst we do.”

  “Certainly, sir, I can do that. Do you take milk and sugar with yours, Jack?” Fraser asked.

  “No to the sugar, Fergus! Type one diabetic, me old son. Bet that was not down in my file, eh, Dicky?” Looking at the waiting Fraser he added, “In our day they never asked questions like that, but now, so I'm told, they ask if you have a temper and if you admit to having one they kick you out of play. I thought that would be a prerequisite to being selected.” Fraser had no time to reply as Sir Richard fired another question.

  “I'd like to re-examine your relationship with Earl Cliveden, Jack, if I may. Was it under his influence that the Police Commissioner instructed Trenchard to approach West with an offer to join?”

  “Yes, Dicky. I was there when he made the phone call.”

  “One other small point whilst we're alone and before our brain-reviving coffee is served. What exactly did Harry West do for you when he was assigned to the War Department? Only there are no accurate recordings of his work. I'm guessing you know why, Jack.”

  Jack took another cigarette from his packet. On the first exhalation of smoke he sat firmly back in his chair with his eyes fixed to the ceiling.

  “There are some things I cannot tell you. Note I did not say I won't tell you, but I can't tell. As far as I was concerned Harry facilitated certain things for me. Passports, visas if needed, and money. He provided secure phone connections to my man here; Salvatore, who in turn procured travelling documents and the means to travel. Harry, on occasions, got me the right papers, with the right signatures on them, for War Department equipment. Once he provided classified equipment for an overseas operation. His records and files were expunged of all that by a person I cannot name and quite honestly, Dicky, you'd do well to avoid.”

  “One last question for you, Jack, a personal one. What was it do you think that made young West jump from a steady, reliable job in the police to one with a questionable future?”

  “I think the answer is in your question, Sir Richard. He is how we were. We never grasped the steady and reliable when there was the unpredictable waving at us.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Képesszemély

  Who's Who

  It was Fianna who broke the silence.

  “What are thinking of, Shaun?” she asked.

  “Right now I'm wondering what's happening inside that house and whether or not I should go over there with the information you found, Fianna.”

  “You found it, not me.”

  “I thought of looking, but you found it.” I replied sternly.

  “Why so angry? It's not your fault, so why blame yourself?”

  “I was slow in recognising its worth. That's why I blame myself. If I'd taken notice sooner instead of dreaming, then who knows where we'd be now. Perhaps sitting on a beach in Honolulu drinking cold beer and watching the world go by.”

  “Maybe we'd be spending all our time in bed, Shaun. Have you thought about that?” She tickled me around the waist then ran her fingers through my hair, but not even that could distract my thoughts.

  “Look, Shaun, if you're so worried then go over there and tell Jack. You will have to one day.”

  “Yes, but not when he's with someone he has such obvious respect for. You were there when he said it - the best they've got, this David Lewis! How will it look, if I burst in saying you've been had, chum, and I'm here to show you up?”

  “You know what they say about thinking of something you can't change, Shaun, don't you?” I did, but I allowed her to carry on.

  “No, go on I'll buy it.”

  “Simple, change the way you're thinking about it. In other words accept what you got and move on. How about visualising me naked in a field of four leafed clover? Can you do that?” she asked.

  “No! It's raining in my imagination,” I laughed out loud but the joke was lost on her. I soon found out why.

  “That car coming in our direction is the same kind that you and Aberman drove off in earlier today, Shaun. They like their cars big over here, I know, but that's bigger than big, it's enormous.”

  “It felt as though I was getting into a truck, but it handled like a car and looked like one inside.”

  Alain Aberman was at the wheel as he passed us, his attention diverted presumably looking for somewhere to park.

  “What shall we do, Shaun?” Fianna asked.

  * * *

  Fraser had re-entered the room carrying the cups of coffee on a small, polished wooden tray.

  “How did Barrington know of you witnessing the robbery last Thursday and subsequently your London address, Jack? I'd very much like to clear that question away.”

  “Haven't you found my statement yet, old boy?” Jack replied sarcastically.

  “Funnily enough no, we haven't. Rather a cruel trick to play on old BT, don't you think?”

  “Not at all. Deserved every moment of sweat and tears, did that one! Bet it made you think though, eh. Did I get Pilchard in trouble for telling porky pies? Shame if I did.” Jack laughed whilst both Dicky and Fraser smiled.

  “Now that the Duke is dead, Jack, what arrangements have been made regarding the girl he's said to have fathered? Are you in charge of that or is Aberman?” Dicky resumed his interview process whilst sniffing the coffee aroma.

  “Alain's job, not mine. He's flown both the mother and daughter to Israel. Offered the brother the same, but he elected to stay on in America where he owns a pharmaceutical company. It was his chemical plant that Weilham planned to use in the manufacture of the toxin used in Namibia. There was a German chemical company called KGA being courted as a possible partner with Stockford's, but neither they nor Richard Stockford, knew about Weilham's plans.”

  “You're full of surprises today, Jack. We in London knew nothing of this and nor do I suspect did the South Africans. All this written down somewhere, is it?” Dicky asked, more hopeful than expectant.

  “Job has the address of where I've left a detailed report à la recommended by good spy manuals. It's perfectly safe with him.”

  “Bit of a character, your Job.”

  “Eaten bullets for me, Dicky! It will take a bull elephant at full charge to kill that one.” Jack poured a l
ittle brandy into the remnants of his coffee and offered the same to Dicky.

  “Don't you think you should leave the brandy alone, Jack?”

  “Why? Will it add years to my life if I did?” Sir Richard frowned and never supplied an opinion to that.

  “What do you think Aberman will do when he walks in and finds us waiting from him?”

  “Not sure really. I haven't given it any thought,” Jack replied.

  “I think you have, Jack. I think you'll try to kill him.”

  “It was you who suggested Job and I came armed, Dicky. I think it's you who want him dead and I'm wondering why that is.”

  “Did you know that he used many aliases throughout your partnership, always based around that name of Alain Aberman?”

  “I was aware of that. Did you discover it when tracing West to his flat in Covent Garden?”

  “That was one we found, but I came across him in the Middle East under the name of lan Balearman. Heard that before have you?”

  “I think so, yes. Where's this going exactly, as I doubt he'll be long now?”

  “Alain Aberman was never at any meetings between Hitler and our Duke of Windsor, Jack.” Dicky stared at Jack, waiting for a reaction.

  “That meeting in November 1937 took place, Dicky, I saw the notes!” Jack vehemently announced, looking directly at Sir Richard as if it was the devil taunting him.

  “Oh yes, the meeting took place, of that I have no doubt, Jack. But it was under his real name that Aberman attended it. Ever heard the name; Képesszemély, András Képesszemély before?” Jack's violent, absorbed expression instantly altered to a look of incredulity and astonishment.

  The intoxicating atmosphere was shattered by the reverberation of a crash of metal somewhere near, but outside the building.

  “The Irish girl has rammed Aberman!” Job shouted as he filled the doorway. Squealing tyres proceeded another crash.

  As all four dashed towards the street there was the unmistakable sound of two gunshots before the night was reclaimed by its previous silence.