Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) (2 page)

‘Doesn’t our agent give any explanation of the welcome or of the interest the Cypriots seem to have in them?’

‘No; she admits that she is puzzled.’

‘But surely, when a whole population is so effusive, someone is bound to divulge the reason for the effusion. You don’t mean to tell me that it is being kept a secret by so many thousands. My dear chap, it isn’t possible.’

‘She thinks that for some reason the Cypriots, at least those of Greek extraction, are antagonistic to the present Greek government. Plasiras and Bikelas are spoken of as deliverers.’

‘Ah! Deliverers of Greece, of course – on the surface – but what if deliverers of Cyprus from British rule is really meant?’

Brien whistled.

‘Do you really think that the Cypriots would welcome a change of owners?’

‘The Greek part of the population would, no doubt. It is possible that Plasiras and Bikelas have hinted that on obtaining power they would work for the cession of Cyprus to Greece. It puzzles me, however, to know what they can expect to gain from
such a promise. It isn’t as though the Cypriots are in a position to send a naval or military force to their aid.’ He walked to his desk, and sat down. Unlocking a drawer, he took out a small, leather-bound book, and commenced to turn the pages. ‘Number Thirty-Three,’ he murmured to himself, ‘Barbara Havelock, teacher at the Nicosia High School for Girls. She’s the girl for whose education you took responsibility when her father was killed, isn’t she?’ Brien nodded. ‘She seems to have done pretty good work out there, Bill. Have you ever had any reason to suspect any lack of efficiency on her part since you obtained the job for her?’

‘None at all. Why? Aren’t you satisfied?’

‘Quite. I was only thinking that in a high school her activities are bound to be rather limited. Make a note to get her promoted to an inspectorship of schools, will you? Now for those questions you can answer.’ He locked the book away in the drawer again. ‘Who accompanied Bikelas and Plasiras to Cyprus, and where are they staying or with whom?’

Again Brien consulted the report.

‘General Radoloff, Signor Bruno, Monsieur Doreff, and two secretaries are with them,’ he replied, ‘and they are the guests of Michalis, the wealthy landowner with whom they stayed before.’

‘H’m! Very interesting.’ Sir Leonard leant on his desk and regarded his companion thoughtfully. ‘The affair begins to have great possibilities. General Radoloff and Monsieur Doreff are Bulgarians, very prominent at the moment, and likely to be important members of the next ministry. Signor Bruno, if I mistake not, is the ambitious Italian who nearly caused an upheaval when he was minister at Belgrade two years ago. He seems to have dropped out of diplomatic circles since, which is not to be wondered at. Michalis is the wealthiest
man in Cyprus. With the lot of them in association, the situation is most intriguing. I certainly think we shall have to take a hand. Let me see – Cousins is in the United States, Carter is in Paris, Hill is in Madrid, Willingdon is too inexperienced yet to tackle such an important job, and Shannon deserves a rest after his work in Lucerne. By Jove! We are short-handed at the moment; that is, of experts. Cartright is the only man available for the job, and he doesn’t speak Greek, does he?’

Brien shook his head.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I am sending him to Brussels and Copenhagen on a rather peculiar affair that I wanted fully investigated before bothering you with it. Of course, if you wish him to go to Cyprus, I’ll countermand the order.’

‘No; send him to Brussels. It will have to be Shannon.’ He pressed one of the numerous buttons under the ledge of his desk. A clerk entered almost at once. ‘Tell Captain Shannon I wish to speak to him,’ he directed. While waiting for the coming of the man for whom he had asked, he accepted from Brien the report from the agent in Cyprus, and glanced through it. A few minutes later the tall, amazingly broad-shouldered man, who was quite the most powerful individual in the Intelligence Service, entered the office, and walked across to Sir Leonard’s desk with that swing which is typical of the well-trained athlete. Although Sir Leonard’s comfortable room is large and lofty, he contrived somehow to make it appear of moderate size. He is over six feet in height, but his mighty shoulders cause him to look shorter. One of the most popular as well as one of the most efficient men in the service, he is as capable mentally as he is powerful physically. His clean-shaven face with its determined, almost aggressive jaw, other well-defined features, and clear grey eyes is exceedingly attractive. As he is thoroughly unassuming and
possesses a great sense of humour, it is not difficult to understand why everyone who knows him likes him.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he boomed cheerfully. ‘You sent for me?’

Sir Leonard indicated a chair into which Captain Hugh Shannon sank easily.

‘I intended giving you a rest after your successful work in Lucerne, Shannon,’ observed the chief, ‘but I’m afraid Fate has decided otherwise.’

‘Thank God for that,’ murmured the big man fervently.

Sir Leonard smiled approvingly. The keenness of his assistants, who, as soon as they had accomplished one job, were invariably anxious to be away on another, was one of his greatest delights.

‘Perhaps Helen will not feel quite the same about it,’ he remarked. ‘She will probably think, and quite rightly, that it is time she had you to herself for a while.’

‘There’s no nonsense about Helen, sir,’ returned Shannon. ‘She’s as proud of the service as I am. She knew very well, when she married me, that she would be called upon to make a lot of sacrifices, and she has kept a firm upper lip ever since.’

‘Good girl!’ murmured Brien. ‘You’re a lucky fellow, Hugh.’

‘Don’t I know it, sir,’ agreed Shannon, beaming expansively. ‘She’s one of God’s own. It makes me feel pretty sick sometimes to reflect that, if Sir Leonard hadn’t sent me out to India on that Rahtz and Novar business, I might never have met her.’

‘Things like that are preordained, my dear chap,’ observed Sir Leonard. ‘You were intended for each other, and that’s the end of it. By the way, I’m glad to see her father has been appointed Home Secretary in the Indian government. A very fine fellow, Rainer. It won’t be long before he becomes governor of a province. And now to business. Have you ever been to Cyprus, Shannon?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So much the better. You will not be known to anyone there. I want you to go out at once. You’d better fly to Athens, and cross from there by boat to Famagusta; thence by train to Nicosia – it’s about thirty-six miles, I think. You’re to be a thoroughly unobtrusive visitor, but I’ll get in touch with the High Commissioner, and arrange for you to be made an honorary member of all the clubs. Your main object is to become acquainted with Mr Paul Michalis, who is the greatest landowner and wealthiest man in the colony. He is entertaining Bikelas and Plasiras, the two Greek ex-ministers, who attempted a coup d’état in Athens last December and failed signally. They have been proclaimed enemies of the state by the present Greek government. Yet they make what practically amounts to a formal visit to Nicosia accompanied by two prominent Bulgarians and an Italian firebrand, and are given an enthusiastic welcome from the people of Greek extraction or sympathies. They must have entered Famagusta quietly and without ostentation of any sort, otherwise steps would have been taken to prevent the public reception accorded them. I want you to discover, if possible, what is in the wind. The report from Number Thirty-Three speaks of an air of tension reigning in the capital, and a vague statement that the Cypriots talk of Bikelas and Plasiras as deliverers. Number Thirty-Three is a teacher in the Nicosia High School for Girls and her name is Barbara Havelock. You will get in touch with her by the usual means, but don’t draw her into your activities in any way, or be seen too much with her. It is possible, of course, that there is nothing behind this business, apart from an intense sympathy with Bikelas and Plasiras, but I am of the opinion that there is something much more significant than that in it. This vague talk of deliverers, the fact that they are accompanied by Radoloff, Doreff, and Bruno
suggests possibilities which may have tremendous results. We cannot have a Balkan plot hatched on British soil in any case, even if there is no hostile purpose against this country in their scheming.’

A telephone rang. He picked up the receiver of one of the instruments on his desk. ‘Yes, put him through,’ he directed the operator. ‘Read that, and get yourself thoroughly cognisant with the facts,’ he added to Shannon, tossing across the desk the report from the secret agent known as Number Thirty-Three. ‘Hullo! Yes, Wallace speaking … I have just been discussing a report concerning the same affair with Brien … Sent in a protest, have they? I thought they would. I’ll come across.’ He laid down the receiver; smiled at his second in command. ‘It was Spencer,’ he announced. ‘A protest has been received from Greece by the Foreign Office and passed on to him regarding the almost regal reception accorded to Plasiras and Bikelas. I am going round to the Colonial Office.’ He turned to Shannon. ‘Make your arrangements as soon as possible,’ he ordered. ‘Maddison will give you all the information you require concerning the people you are going to watch. Keep in touch daily with us from the moment you arrive in Cyprus. If you find it is necessary to put someone into the household of Michalis, cable at once in number four code.’

A few minutes later a slim man of medium height, carefully, almost fastidiously, attired, crossed Whitehall and entered the portals of the Colonial Office. It is doubtful if anybody who had noticed him would have thought that behind his calm, unruffled exterior was the brilliant brain which supplied the forethought, imagination and acute perception upon which Great Britain depends so tremendously for her safety. He looked more like an idler about town than the famous head of the greatest espionage service in the world.

The Right Honourable Sir Edwin Robert Spencer, Secretary of State for the Colonies, motioned his visitor to a chair. Sir Leonard accepted it, but refused a cigarette.

‘I gather,’ remarked the colonial secretary, ‘that you are acquainted with the rather queer situation that has arisen in Cyprus.’

‘I am quite well aware of what has happened,’ responded Wallace. ‘In what way do you regard it as a queer situation?’

‘Don’t you? These two ex-ministers of Greece have been exiled from their own country and declared enemies of the State, which means to say that if they set foot in Greece they will be apprehended, tried and probably executed. But the internal affairs of Greece have nothing to do with us. Personally, I consider this protest from Athens exceedingly high-handed. As far as we are concerned, there is no reason why they should not land at Famagusta and stay with a friend at Nicosia and, if a public reception is given them expressive of sympathy, what possible harm can there be in that?’

‘You are losing sight of the fact that we are supposed to be on terms of cordial friendship with the present regime in Greece. As
Plasiras and Bikelas are enemies of Greece, and have been received on British soil with every appearance of sympathetic enthusiasm, that, to a sensitive government not too sure of itself, no doubt constitutes an unfriendly act. Thus the protest.’

‘All rubbish!’ grunted the statesman, who was generally more forcible than tactful. ‘I call it behaving in a schoolgirl fashion. It is a pity the Greek government hasn’t something better to do. Of course the Foreign Office is making a big thing of it. Of all the old women who sit in the present cabinet, Ainsley is the worst. He is forever on tenterhooks lest we tread on someone’s corns. I’ve been suave and polite, and explained that the reception to the two was in no way countenanced by the Legislative Council; that, in fact, it seems to have originated as a private welcome, and developed into a public affair through the undoubted sympathy which the Cypriots evince for Messieurs Bikelas and Plasiras.’

Sir Leonard chuckled.

‘Not very tactful,’ he commented.

‘Perhaps not,’ smiled the statesman, ‘but Ainsley can do all the wrapping up he likes. The reply goes from his department, not mine. The reason I wanted to talk to you about the affair is not because I, in any way, regard it as serious, but because Stevenson has sent me such a long note concerning it. Stevenson is the Governor, as perhaps you know. He is one of these over-efficient people, who find specks of dust where there are not any – a splendid man, of course, but fussy. He thinks that there is something serious looming in the background, and asks if he can give Plasiras and Bikelas a hint to move on. How can he do that? It is not a crime to be popular and receive a public greeting, and he certainly seems to have nothing else against them.’

‘Nevertheless,’ remarked Wallace with quiet emphasis, ‘it would
be better for Cyprus, I think, if they did move on.’

Sir Edwin Spencer stared at him questioningly for several seconds.

‘Do you know something,’ he asked, ‘that I do not know?’

‘Probably. May I see Stevenson’s note?’ The document was handed to him. He read it through carefully. ‘From this report there appears nothing,’ he observed, as he handed it back, ‘that should have caused him any perturbation. The essential points are missing. They are these: the people who welcomed Plasiras and Bikelas spoke of them, indefinitely it is true, as deliverers. The question, to my mind, is: was the term used because the Cypriots are antagonistic to the present Greek government and consider that Plasiras or Bikelas or both in power would do more good for Greece, or are they, in some manner, hoping that the two are going to encompass their freedom from British rule?

‘The second significant point is that the two Greeks are accompanied on their visit to Paul Michalis by General Radoloff and Monsieur Doreff, both very prominent Bulgarians, and Signor Bruno, the fiery Italian, whose excess of zeal over discretion almost caused a war between Yugoslavia and Italy some time ago.’

The colonial secretary pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

‘That does alter the situation,’ he commented. ‘Radoloff and Doreff have been very conspicuous in Bulgarian politics lately. I wonder what is in the air.’

‘That is exactly what I intend to find out. I don’t like this talk of deliverers. It may sound rather fantastic to imagine that these ex-ministers contemplate any move against Great Britain, but why should Cypriots, even though they are of Greek blood, be so interested in a change of government in Greece? They are British, not Greek subjects, and whatever happens in Greece can mean absolutely nothing to them. Again, where do Radoloff, Doreff, and
Bruno come into the scheme of things? They are hardly likely to be making a tour for their health in company with Plasiras and Bikelas. You can’t very well give instructions to Stevenson to order them to leave the colony without something more definite to go on, but you can order him to see that no further demonstrations take place. No doubt they have called on him by now. I should like to know what they have had to say for themselves. As for the rest, leave it to me. I am sending—’ He stopped abruptly; his eyes being fixed on a large painting of Hong Kong harbour hanging on the wall opposite Sir Edwin Spencer’s desk. ‘I am sending for news,’ he ended emphatically.

The colonial secretary frowned as though puzzled.

‘What do you mean by—’ he commenced.

Sir Leonard placed a finger to his lips to solicit silence. He rose quietly, tiptoed across the room until he was standing directly below the picture; then, drawing up a chair, climbed on it, and lifted the painting away from the wall. A smile flickered momentarily round his lips, though his eyes grew hard in their expression. Resting the heavy frame on his artificial arm, he beckoned to the puzzled statesman, who immediately crossed the room to him. The latter had great difficulty in suppressing an exclamation when he saw that neatly fitted into the wall behind the picture was a microphone. Wallace allowed the heavy frame to fall gently back into place. He signed to Sir Edwin to return to his seat; then sauntered back to his own chair.

‘A very interesting document this,’ he remarked, apropos of nothing in particular, the comment being made to delude the unseen listener into the belief that he had been engaged in reading some communication or other. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take it along to Masterson. There are a few questions about it I should like to ask him.’

‘By all means,’ returned the cabinet minister, playing up to him admirably.

Wallace leant towards him until his lips were very nearly touching the statesman’s ear.

‘Carry on as though you did not know that thing was there,’ he breathed.

He left the room, and walked along to the office of the permanent undersecretary, Sir James Masterson. There he told a greatly perturbed and indignant individual what he had discovered. Sir James showed signs of an anxiety to rush off, and make drastic investigations – forty years in the calm, unhurried surroundings of government offices had not altered a naturally fiery temperament. Wallace calmed him down.

‘We won’t find out anything if you dash about like a dog chasing rabbits,’ he observed. ‘What is behind the wall on which that picture of Hong Kong hangs?’

Masterson thought a moment.

‘Why, it must be the room shared by Barton, Marsh and Fellowes, three of the private secretaries,’ he declared, and laughed. ‘You’re not going to suggest—’

‘No,’ interrupted Sir Leonard, ‘I am not going to suggest that one of them has erected a microphone in order to listen in to discussions in the colonial secretary’s room.’

‘If, as you say, the instrument is behind the picture of Hong Kong harbour, I can’t see how anyone can listen in unless he is actually in the secretaries’ room.’

‘Dear me!’ murmured Wallace, ‘you’re a little bit behind the times, aren’t you? I suppose a fellow who is shut within the walls of a government office most of his life does miss noticing progress in the outside world. But they let you out sometimes, don’t they?’
Sir James Masterson vouchsafed no reply to such rank flippancy. Indeed his look rather suggested that he was shocked that a man of Wallace’s high position should sink so low. Sir Leonard smiled cheerfully at him. ‘If you could procure me a plan of this building,’ he suggested, ‘it would probably save me a good deal of trouble.’

‘I have one here.’

‘Excellent.’

Sir James went to a cupboard; took therefrom a large plan which he unrolled and spread on his desk. Together they studied it, the undersecretary pointing out the statesman’s room and those in its neighbourhood. Before long Sir Leonard gave vent to a soft exclamation. His finger traced a line from the office of the Secretary of State up to the roof.

‘An airshaft,’ he commented; ‘exactly what I was looking for. It’s disused now, of course, and probably forgotten, but the enterprising fellow who inserted that microphone found out about it. The wires no doubt run up to the roof, where he sits comfortably and safely listening in to the most private conversations.’

‘How could he have obtained access to Sir Edwin’s room?’ queried the outraged undersecretary.

‘That is to be found out. And,’ Wallace added grimly, ‘I propose to set about the job at once. May I use your private phone?’

‘Of course.’

Sir Leonard rang through to his own headquarters, and instructed the operator to connect him with the mess room. This was a large apartment in the basement of the building, comfortably furnished and containing a buffet, reserved as a rule for the use of senior members of the Intelligence Service. It was under the charge of an ex-sergeant of the artillery and a retired policeman, both of unexceptionable characters and records. The latter answered the telephone.

‘Is Mr Cartright or Captain Shannon there?’ asked Sir Leonard.

‘Captain Shannon is, sir.’

‘Ask him to join me at once in Sir James Masterson’s room at the Colonial Office.’

‘Very well, sir.’

In less than five minutes the young giant was shown in. Wallace explained.

‘You and I are going to investigate, Shannon.’ He added, ‘You may have an opportunity to work off a little of your superfluous energy.’

‘I suppose the blighter hasn’t another microphone connected in this room, sir,’ hazarded his assistant.

Sir Leonard shook his head.

‘No,’ he declared, ‘I had a good look round when I entered.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Sir James with the air of a man who has made a great discovery. ‘Now I understand why you were wandering about as though looking for something. You got on my nerves a bit I must confess – in fact I thought you a trifle – er – impolite. Sorry!’

Wallace laughed.

‘Don’t apologise, Masterson. I suppose my conduct did seem a little cool. Now will you go along to the colonial secretary’s room, and start a discussion with him about something that sounds important but isn’t. I hope to catch the delinquent red-handed.’

The undersecretary nodded, and obeyed. Sir Leonard and Shannon made a further study of the plan, ascertaining the exact position on the roof where the ventilating shaft commenced. They then made their way up the stairs, preferring not to use the lift. On the top floor were two ladders, one at each end of the corridor, connecting with the roof above. They chose that which they had calculated would be farther from the man, if indeed there was anybody up there listening
in to the colonial secretary’s room. Sir Leonard went first. He raised the trapdoor very gently and, cautiously lifting his head through the opening, surveyed the scene. Close by was a chimney stack, a little farther away was another, in fact it would not be very much exaggerated to describe the roof as a forest of chimney pots, so many were there. He saw no sign of a man or men and, stepping through, motioned to Shannon to follow him.

Presently they stood hidden behind the stack; then, taking advantage of all the cover afforded them, went softly towards the spot where Wallace calculated their quarry should be situated. They caught sight of him at the same time. He was leaning on one of the chimneys in an attitude of ease. On his head was fastened a pair of earphones, the wires connecting them with the microphone below, running into the mouth of a ventilator. He was a big fellow wearing the regulation government uniform. Shannon sighed softly to himself as his eyes fell on him; he was hoping, it must be confessed, that the man would make a fight of it. Something appeared to alarm him, for suddenly he straightened himself and looked round. A cry of astonishment and fear broke from him and, snatching off the earphones, he dashed them on to the roof, and made a desperate rush for the other trapdoor, convinced without doubt that it would be useless to stay and attempt to bluff out the situation. Shannon was after him like a greyhound. Anticipating his intentions, the Secret Service man went straight for the trapdoor; succeeded in cutting the fellow off from his objective. Then commenced a regular game of hide-and-seek round the chimney stacks. Sir Leonard stood and watched, content to bar any attempt the man might make to reach the other descent.

For a while Shannon was quite cleverly baulked. Once or twice they approached perilously near to the edge of the roof, and Wallace
was impelled to shout a warning to his assistant. At length the latter feinted to go one way, promptly went the other and, throwing himself forward, tackled his quarry in rugby fashion. He caught and brought him down with a crash, but the fellow had no intention of giving in without a struggle. He resisted desperately with a pluck that was worthy of a better cause; but, although a big man himself, he was not the equal of the young man whose strength was the admiration of his colleagues and the fear of opponents who had, to their great regret, attempted to measure theirs against his. Before long Shannon had rendered his antagonist helpless and very nearly lifeless. He took him by the collar of his coat, and dragged him along to Sir Leonard, depositing him at the latter’s feet in the manner of a dog that has retrieved a stick for its master. Wallace looked down at the purple countenance of the gasping victim of a Shannon hug, and sighed.