The Desolate Garden

by Daniel Kemp

  The message he received this time was exactly the same. What is the difference between Public and International Law?

  It was Judith who knocked on the door at number 17, and enquired of the middle-aged man who answered it as to the whereabouts of Dietmar Kohl.

  “Hello, we're looking for Dietmar Kohl. These are both Lord Patersons, and it is rather urgent that we meet. Could we give you this directly, or must we place it in the church and waste valuable time?”

  “Er ist nicht hier,” the man said, as he closed the door firmly in Judith's face.

  “Now, that was stupid. We should have played the game as I said,” George indignantly stated. “Maybe we've screwed up altogether,” he added, as his opinion.

  We sat on the same bench that I had occupied that second Sunday amongst the gathering there that day. This Wednesday evening, the church was different in two ways. It was empty, and we did not have long to wait for a reply to Judith's demands.

  He spoke in English. “I am Dietmar's grandson; he and my grandmother are buried in the cemetery behind this church. I have two messages from Goganof one for you, and one for me. First my father, then I, have carried on this procedure of being a go-between, whilst serving the brethren here as preacher. Before I read you your message, please answer a question regarding my own, and please tell me that it is now all over. Mine reads: In my mind there is no longer any difference between the two. It is the first time any of us have had anything in print from him. He has contacted me once before, and never contacted the others of my family.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “After you came here and left the same picture. I sent the same text as I have just done, but I had forgotten what was expected of me. It was twenty years ago that I was instructed what to do if that depiction was ever left in our church, and I had forgotten the procedure. I panicked a bit, but eventually I found Dietmar's old prayer book in which everything was written down, and sent this.”

  He showed me the text, and I showed Judith.

  “What did he do the first time you sent that message, when Harry here came along, causing all your anxiety?” Judith enquired.

  “Huh! I thought I was in the middle of some Hollywood spy film. My father and I never knew what we were doing, but both of us were told never to ask. Luther, my father, told me that Dietmar had said that it was old lovers communicating about the past, but neither of us believed that. He did say, though, that an English Lord was involved, and it was all very secretive. It was something to do with the war, and imperative that we kept it all going until we were told it had finished. I thought it might have been, that last time, but he said he needed me for a little longer.”

  “What did he say exactly?” Judy asked, impatiently.

  “Sorry,” Dietmar's grandson was not focusing on what was being said. His thoughts were elsewhere. “It's just that I'm hoping whatever hold this man had over us has gone. I had sent the text as soon as you had left, and hadn't long returned from evening prayers when the phone rang once, then stopped. It rang again, the same one ring and then for a third time. I had seen this sequence mentioned in Dietmar's book when I had searched it before. If it was him, the next time the phone should ring five times before stopping and it did. When it rang again, I answered. A man's voice asked, simply,“how is the weather there?” I replied that it was fine, 'sunny,' I said. “Then go to the call box beside the water wheel, I will call you there in precisely four minutes.”

  He told me his name, and that corresponded to what Dietmar had written. He then asked about you. Each time, you see, that a message was left, I, or my father before me, had to describe the person who had called in the letter that we sent to numbered listed hotels in Berlin. This time I said that you were different, and he asked me to describe you, which I did. He said he would send me a message to leave in the church the following Sunday, and told me to be at the same call box before the midday service. There was thunder and lightning with a deluge of rain, if you remember, and I told him so when he rang because he mentioned the noise it was making. He asked if I had received the photograph of a young woman with a message on it. When I replied that I had, he asked me if you were the same man as before. I said yes, but this time you had a limp. He laughed, and said, 'I thought so,' then told me to leave the photograph for you to find. It was then that he told me 'It won't be long now that I require your services. Soon, it should be over'…which gave me hope.”

  “I think, then, that you can take it that it is over,” I emphatically declared.

  “What message did he send us, then?” This time it was George who asked, with an increased degree of impatience. Which was not assuaged by any reply.

  “Please ask Goganof to text me if it is over. Just those two words will do: it's over.” He directed his plea to me, then, passing his phone to Judith, added “You may wish to write the details down.”

  He never volunteered his name and we never asked. Perhaps we all felt an empathy towards him, which was reflected in his closing statement as we left.

  “If it is all finished, then I shall leave this place. There is something not right here in Grömwohld.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Glow-Worms and Fireflies

  Paulo, like George before him, was not completely scrupulous in his homework. If he had been he would never have instructed Katherine to meet Harry in her capacity as a CNN reporter. He could have offered age as his defence, instead of his disregard of nepotism and apathy towards his daughter's career, whereas George, on the other hand, had only ineptitude as an excuse. If Paulo had been thirty years younger than the age that he was, he would have made the same mistake. He could never have imagined that the deepest cut, into his ageing veins, would have come from his own flesh and blood, sheathed in another's hand.

  Alexi easily found Maudlin Paterson's name in old KGB files, as was Andrea Cortez. The bank was already known to him. Harry Paterson proved the link that he'd suspected. Now he needed proof that the fable of Paulo was a myth, and in Katherine he had the catalyst to bring about the reaction he required.

  * * *

  We all met Paulo in the Hotel Baur Au Lac in Zurich, Switzerland on Thursday, late in the afternoon. He was alone, and looked considerably older than the three years that had past since our last meeting. He rose from his seat, and greeted us.

  “I am Paulo Sergeyovitch Korovin. I was sorry to hear of your father and then your brother Lord Harry…I expect that is why you have come to talk with me. Also, let me apologise for misleading you when we last met, although I doubt the deception worked.” He bowed slightly, but offered no hand in my direction. He did, however, to his son; but the gesture was difficult to understand or interpret.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, George. However, I fear it is too late for us to have a meaningful, close connection. You must know by now that your aunt Loti is…or was…?” The lines in his forehead deepened as he quizzically gazed at George, requiring an answer to his bemusement.

  “She is still alive, and yes, I'm aware that she is my mother, but it would have been nice to have known before this week,” George replied, abruptly, to Paulo's implied question. I worried about George and his seamless acceptance of his past.

  “Well, there were reasons.” Paulo left a pause hanging in the atmosphere, mingling with the smell of coffee. “I'm sure it must have been this young lady who has discovered them, no disrespect to you, Harry, but I think your time with the SIS has been spent in other directions. Would you be so kind as to introduce us, George?” He didn't have a chance, as Judy was biting at the bit to get into the conversation.

  “I'm Judith Meadows. I work directly for Sir David Haig, the permanent Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and I am currently the one exclusively in charge of a SIS file named 'Garden.' I think you are the subject of that file, and someone on your side is trying to expose you, and intending to kill George and Harry here as an afterthought. What do you think, Paulo?” She contemptuously emphasised his name.

 
He took a deep breath, and again the ageing dull grey of his eyes could be seen clearly, overshadowed by the etched burrows above them.

  “It would seem that my efforts in assisting my father's country has not impressed you. You did realise that we were related, Harry? Ah…of course you did. Your work again, Judith? I may call you Judith, I hope? I wouldn't like to incur more scorn from you.”

  We were seated in a corner of 'Le Hall,' an opulent cherry coloured panelled bar, full of portraits of studious men drinking and sniffing wine, or smoking cigars and pipes. Paulo sat with his back to the wall, stretched out in the middle of a three-seater settee, while we occupied the three chairs the other side of a low, highly polished table. On the table rested our glasses, two plates of hors d'oeuvres and a tabletop grill, with small wedge-shaped pans to melt the Raclette cheese displayed on a huge plate, surrounded by sausages and shredded hams. With my glass of Jura lovingly cradled in one hand, I had already visualised eating the delicacies and finishing on some chocolates I had seen on our arrival. Dieting was not prevalent in my mind at that moment in time. My step-uncle read my mind.

  “Don't be so chivalrous, Harry nor you, George. I think Judith here has other, more pressing, things on her mind than local specialities. See, I've already made a start…I couldn't wait, I'm afraid. Where were we, Judith? Ah yes. You believe I'm in danger of being exposed as a traitor to Russia, don't you? And why would you think that a seventy-eight year old would attract that amount of attention? Surely whatever I've betrayed is well known by now…who could benefit from my exposure?”

  “I don't know, but you have obviously ruffled someone's feathers, haven't you?”

  “I like that word, ruffled. Such an English word…I can't think of a Russian equivalent for it.” I watched him shake his head from side to side, as I alone wantonly melted more cheese, conscious of Judy's distraction and George's obstinate attitude.

  “It is time that I enlighten you. My adversary's name is Alexi Vasilyev and, although not Russian by birth, he shares the same qualities of persistence in pursuit of what they see as right. It's because of our harsh winters. One becomes single-minded in survival, indomitable. That steadfast figure of John sums them up. They need a Luther to stir them, but once awake they don't sleep with bad memories.”

  “You know this man wants me dead, don't you?” George offered as a way of reconciliation with his father and to gain significance in the two-way conversation, but it backfired.

  “One thing that has always intrigued me, is how people blame others for their own shortcomings. Are you accusing me of being inconsiderate towards you, George? You, the same person who has had everything found since birth? Did I not arrange enough money for you in Lord Maudlin's will, or have you not checked the balance in that account recently? Please don't answer me with any sickly claptrap. You were asked not to do one thing, and that was too much for you. That trip you made to Berlin could have cost me my life…did you think of that when you ignored Maudlin's instructions, or was it sheer selfishness on your part? I put you in a place of safety, George, with a cover that not even Vasilyev has been able to break. He has discovered a connection to my father, and knows about a bank but not of you, George. He's still looking. I have been indiscreet, Judith. I may well have made mistakes in the past, but the mistake I made regarding Howell and Willis was my biggest. I presume they were arrested after my message to your man, Haig?”

  “They were, yes, days before Elliot and Edward's death,” I answered, my attention now on George and what on earth he had done to warrant his father's censure let alone Haig, who I heard Judy tell of our plan when he had called about the bomb. I was worried, and wished I had a gun in my hand instead of sausage.

  “I had knowledge of them before, but nothing concrete until a couple of weeks or so ago.” He sat forward in the settee, staring blankly at the table.

  * * *

  “Katyerena, your father has become a very insular man. He has detached himself from Moscow politics, existing in Switzerland, doing nothing for his beloved Russia. I want you to visit him there, and tell of your handling two English agents; he is bound to be delighted by your exploits. He was, you know, one of our finest intelligence officers in the Cold War. He achieved many great feats, including seeing off that belligerent Ronald Reagan a warmonger, that man, you know. Almost blew us all up, but your father stopped him. You didn't know? I must tell you all about it before you go visiting.”

  She would not have been a willing participant in Alexi's scheme of dethronement had she been aware of that deviant side of her lover's nature. But she suspected nothing underhand in his proposal. It was a tragic assumption. On her arrival, Paulo's mood brightened considerably. He had been thoughtful since meeting Harry in Moscow, preferring his hermit status away from the limelight. She was young, with all the exuberance of youth. Let's go here, Papa, let's eat there, let's sail your boat around the lake! Praise me, Papa, because I'm following in your majestic footprints! I'm a spy runner, just like you with 'Mother.'

  The promise he'd sworn in Beirut had not been broken by himself but by an arrogant Polish upstart. He was too laboured in his ways now for journeys to Berlin, and had not been there for over a year. He decided on the course of action he took when he first heard of British industrial spies giving up information regarding bio-fuels from an associate within the circle of oligarchs who frequented his favourite eatery, the Seerestuarant, before spending the night at the card tables in the casino up the stairs. Switzerland had become a favoured tax haven for many such millionaires and they came no bigger than Paulo, to whom they all owed greatly.

  * * *

  “If this Alexi knew so much, why do you suppose has he waited so long?” Judy asked.

  “Perhaps for the conclusive proof that he now has…who knows?”

  “Then why the need to find George? Why not just come here and confront you, scurry you off to Moscow and hang you out to dry?” she continued.

  “I have been expecting that since I read of Elliot's death. If he were Russian, I'd say he was after the Order of Lenin and on his way to becoming the next President. He has me…so why, indeed? Unless he wants something else…and there is a second game that he plays. The clues are there for you to find, Judith. Look closely, and maybe, like me, you will find them.”

  He sat back, smiling victoriously, then added, “I have been in this business for over sixty years and am still alive to tell the tale. I had Maudlin to guide me at the beginning, and he taught me well. Keep things close, he would say. Do everything yourself; never involve more, or speak to more, than is necessary. Call it luck, call it what you will, but I survived all those years following that simple advice. Alexi has not got a Maudlin in his life to advise him but he has someone else, maybe of an equal standing. He never killed your father and brother, Harry. He persuaded someone else to have the deed done, and I use the word persuade intentionally.”

  “How could you persuade someone to kill?” I asked.

  “Oh…hundreds of ways. Loss of pride, loss of face. As they say, today: how could you allow that to happen without retribution? Or, is it not time you took your revenge for what he did to you? Conceivably, in this case, my name was incorporated with the very worst thing that the Russian secret society can envisage; a traitor who lived amongst them. We are proud people, peddling our wares of lies and misinformation. If we took no pride in ourselves or in our work, then our errors would be like fireflies in the night, easily preyed on. We don't like mistakes that haunt us, and we would like to eliminate those memories before our fellow merchants remind us of them. People such as I don't murder anyone. We arrange death with about as much regard as a normal soul would select from this menu.

  You seem to be the only one eating, Harry. I was told once by a Georgian General that the best snipers he had ever seen had huge appetites…particularly after a killing spree. That would make you very good in the role; and you, George, very poor. Did you see action in Afghanistan, Harry? No, don't look surprised. You we
re spotted your first day there. That's how I knew it was you in Grömwohld. Your limp gave you away. There is more, much more I can tell all of you but I am tired, even if you are not. I have arranged three rooms for you, and the keys are with the concierge. I will continue this elucidation tomorrow after breakfast. Let's say, eleven-thirty. I take life at a leisurely pace, nowadays, I'm pleased to say. If you don't mind, I would ask you to indulge an old man and excuse me from your company. However, George, if you have the stamina, and the interest, I invite you to accompany me to my room. I think it best that I fill in the details of my life that affected you. It may help to placate your anger, if not your dislike of me.” George left with Paulo without a grin or a frown, leaving me wondering what was going through his mind.

  “What was that all about with George in Berlin? Sounded a bit uptight about that, didn't he? What do you make of him, Judy?” I asked.

  “I'm reserving my opinion at the moment. He certainly appears to know about you, though,” she replied, looking distinctly pensive and lost in thought.

  “And Haig seemed to be implying that he's behind all this. Was it really necessary for you to tell him we were coming here? I think I should check out your room for explosives, and perhaps park myself in there for the night…what do you think?”

  “I don't think he was implying that at all, and if you applied yourself, rather than occupy whatever it is between your ears on foolishness, you may have worked that out. I won't comment on your offer, Harry. It's like the rest of you: superfluous.” The wistfulness I thought I had detected had been replaced by anger.

  “I knew you would come round to liking me…I'm only surprised it took so long. Shall I order something from the kitchen for you? A bag of bones, perhaps? You can gnaw on them while your superior cerebral content churns over. Bet that sounds really appetising, huh?” I retaliated, in the only way I knew.