17 November 1922, London
That evening Russell and Holmes enjoy a bounteous and delicious meal at Mycroft’s flat. As is the custom, conversation is kept casual as they eat, waiting to discuss matters of state and Mycroft’s request of them until they adjourn to the sitting room. Now settled in their respective chairs, port in hand, the men with cigars clipped and lit, Mycroft begins. “I seem to have a problem to which your skills are uniquely suited. I have recently lost one of my informants.”
“Lost, Mycroft? He could be found? Or do you mean he has been found, dead?”
“Yes, quite right, Brother. I stand corrected a second night in a row. Not all that is hidden is lost. And lost is a poor euphemism for dead. The informant and, regretfully, his wife, were murdered four days ago in their home in Paris.”
“Surely this is a matter for the Sūreté?”
“They are investigating, of course. But I have little confidence that the French authorities will resolve the question adequately. They remain ignorant of the fact he was one of my agents.”
“It could be unrelated. Political intrigue is one of the rarer motives for murder.”
“Yes, well. Given the identity of the agent and the inconvenience of his death I have little doubt that his murder is related to, as you say, political intrigue.”
“Which you find inconvenient to share with the investigators. So how would you explain our involvement?”
“He was a British national, that should suffice. Wilson was his name. He’s been with me for years. Good man, very experienced, absolutely pivotal resource since the war. Which leads me to a related matter. His loss, that is, murder, leaves a potentially disastrous gap in my intelligence network. I have identified a potential replacement. An American journalist residing in Paris. I would like you to assess his suitability and, if appropriate, recruit him for immediate service.”
With a grunt Holmes responds, “Journalists. A vile breed. I have found their brand of information to be lacking in accuracy and precision, at worst pure fabrication.”
“Yes, well, it is fortunate that you’ve had John Watson to set the record straight,” drawls Mycroft. “Some journalists do rise above such shortcomings and can make excellent informants. Hidden in plain sight, they can go anywhere, talk to anyone and no-one questions their motives.”
“You seem to have an especial need for information, Mycroft? Your best man murdered, the rush to recruit another. What is this all to do with?”
“What do you know of the Turkish War of Independence?” asks Mycroft in response.
“I know that a few short weeks ago we were hours away from engaging the Turks on the battlefield.” Unable to resist a provocative poke at his big brother, “It was a rather close call, wasn’t it, Mycroft? The situation seems to have gotten away from you.”
“Yes, the Chanak Affair. It did prove to have its unique points of complexity” deflects Mycroft.
“That’s as close to an admission of fallibility I’ve ever heard from you, Brother.”
“Hmm. Well, no-one is perfect, Sherlock. But it was more a failure of intelligence and communication that brought us to the brink of war. An incentive, perhaps, for you to assist me in my current dilemma.”
“But the crisis has been diffused, war averted, and an armistice signed.”
“An armistice, yes, but a peace treaty is not in place. Negotiations between us, the Allies, the Greeks and the Turkish nationalists, or Kemalists, are scheduled to begin in Lausanne next week, but our interests are hardly guaranteed. Relations between the Allies are, shall we say, strained and Mustafa Kemal has proved to be a most formidable tactician both on and off the battlefield. He has very handily played each interested party against the other to our detriment and his success.”
“As I said, out manoeuvred. It would seem you found in Kemal your Moriarty?”
Goaded a second time, Mycroft responds with his own provocation. “No, Sherlock. It’s not nearly so simple as outguessing a single arch enemy. War crimes, diseased monkeys and regime change, oil and shipping rights, and a roomful of unfortunate personalities make for a considerably more convoluted puzzle. Kemal is but one of many players on an ever-shifting game board.”
Russell decides it’s time to interject herself into the conversation and diffuse the rising tension between the brothers. “Mycroft, by war crimes I gather you are referring to the mass killing of Christian minorities, the Greeks and Armenians, by the Ottoman Empire during the war?”
“Yes, quite right, Mary. More than a million killed. It is hardly surprising the Greeks launched a new offensive against the Turks within months of the armistice between the Allies and the Ottoman Empire.”
“And the monkey?” continues Russell. “Didn’t King Alexander of Greece succumb to an infection from a monkey bite? That allowed Constantine to take back the throne about two years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Right again, Mary. The repercussions from that random event are still playing out today. You know Constantine was no friend of the Allies, especially France, during the war and that remains true today. It was the opposition party that had Greece join the Allied effort. The Allies returned the favour at the end of the war by supporting Greece in the peace treaty negotiations in Sèvres and sanctioning the Greek occupation of Smyrna. That support put us in direct opposition to the emerging Turkish nationalist movement, ably led by Kemal, and inflamed by the occupation. Between Kemal’s offers of economic enticements to the Allies and the Allies disdain for Constantine, Britain has become increasingly isolated in its support of Greece. Only with intelligence from people like Wilson were we able to know what Kemal and the Allied Powers were up to, find common interest and maintain a very delicate balance in the region.
“Until the Chanak Affair,” says Holmes.
“Until the Chanak Affair,” repeats Mycroft. “The Greco-Turkish war escalated, and terrible atrocities have been perpetrated by both sides. Two months ago, the Kemalists retook Smyrna and advanced toward the allied position at Chanak, threatening the neutrality of the straits. From our informants, we knew that France had withdrawn from Chanak and was actively negotiating with Kemal. But it was Wilson’s opinion that the French, although unwilling to oppose Kemal, were counselling him in moderation and could keep him from attacking us. Nothing was certain, and the home office was deeply divided. Ultimately Wilson was right, Kemal occupied the neutral zone but did not engage. We maintained our position at Chanak, and the armistice was signed in Mudanya.”
“Which brings us to the present. You believe Wilson’s murder is related to all this and the upcoming treaty negotiations in Lausanne.”
“Yes, almost certainly. But it is the exact nature of the connection that eludes me. I believe it is one of the three key players at the upcoming negotiations who orchestrated the murder. Knowing who was behind it and installing a replacement is essential if we are to have successful negotiations.”
“Three players. From what you’ve told us, it would be France, Greece or the Turkish nationalists. Do you have a favourite, Mycroft?” asks Russell.
“It is one of those three” replies Mycroft, “but I don’t have enough information for a favourite, as you say.”
Holmes volunteers, “It may well be the French. It’s the most direct explanation – they discovered a leak and plugged it. Wilson’s intelligence gave us a stronger hand at the negotiating table since we stayed in Chanak when France didn’t. They’ll want to keep their position secret for the treaty negotiations.”
“But Kemal,” says Russell, “you described him as a master manipulator, dividing the Allies to his advantage. And a pragmatist. He’ll remember the original peace treaty and how the Allies pulled together in support of Greece. This time, he would prefer confusion and guesswork between the Allies in order to capitalize on his advantage.” says Russell.
Holmes interjects, “And then there’s the Greeks. They are in the weakest position given their military defeat. The terms of the armistice are disastrous to them. They could have killed the informant in retaliation for collusion between Britain and France to Greece’s abandonment. They will want to weaken our position, even derail the peace process if it prevents the Turks from establishing an independent state. We may not be able to solve this murder, Mycroft. Not before the conference begins at any rate. ‘Unique complexities’ is a bit of an understatement and the trail will be cold by now. But even if we can’t solve the murder, you’ll want a new agent in place. Who is he?” asks Holmes.
“Ah yes. The Journalist. I discovered him while perusing the international papers. He writes for the Toronto Star. He was on assignment to cover the Greco-Turkish war and arrived in Constantinople during the Chanak Affair.”
“So he’s familiar with the situation and players. Convenient. Does he write favourably of the British position?” asks Russell.
“Yes, quite convenient. And no, not particularly loyal to any side, I would say. But I do not require fealty. Just awareness and observation. Look at his coverage while on assignment last month. There are a few examples on the table there. His writing… he’s keenly observant of the smallest details and reports them simply. I find his writing blithely impartial but to great emotional effect; capturing the situation in a way that exceeds the facts. The result is most striking, immediate.”
So unusual, literary even, is Mycroft’s description that Holmes and Russell both have raised eyebrows as they turn their attention to the copies of the Toronto Daily. “Here we are, from September 30th” reads Holmes, “British Strong Enough to Save Constantinople. It’s under the by-line Ernest M. Hemingway.”
“Ernest? Is that his real name? Doesn’t seem prophetic of a spy” quips Russell.
“You could say the same of Sherlock and detecting, Mary, and yet he’s had some modest success” reflects Mycroft with a smirk.
Ignoring Russell and Mycroft, Holmes quickly scans one edition after another. “The format, with headings and sub-headings, suggests the editor takes him quite seriously. It’s more a feature column than an update on the facts. But I see what you mean, Mycroft. The details, small and precise, very evocative.”
Russell turns her attention to the article she had picked up. “Listen to this one, from two days ago, Refugees from Thrace. It ends with a conversation with an inn-keeper and a Turkish proverb ‘It is not only the fault of the axe but of the tree as well’. Blaming the victim and the perpetrator alike. As you said before, atrocities on all sides. This Hemingway, he’s a cynic. That’s what you want in an informant?”
“A cynic. Or a realist. Either way, an acute observer. I don’t need him to take sides, to find the right or wrong. I just need him to report what he sees with deep understanding and clarity. That way I can see all the threads, their weight, know which one to tug and which one to knot.”
“Well it looks as though you’ve found your man. October 23: Russia Spoiling the French Game. It very neatly summarizes what you just told us of the recent history between Britain, France and the Nationalists, adds in Soviet Russia and the Balkans and concludes with the implications for Britain. October 24th: Turks distrust Kemal Pasha. October 31st, Afghans: Trouble for Britains.” reads Holmes, continuing to sort through the pile.
“If he’s impartial and we cannot appeal to his higher sense of purpose, how are we to recruit him?” asks Russell.
“He is young and poor, and, I surmise, ambitious. He’s putting a great deal of effort into his writing; developing a style. He will want to make a name for himself and not just as a journalist. I have had prior dealings with the Star’s managing editor, John Bone. It should not be difficult to come to an understanding.”
Holmes and Russell finish scanning the papers while Mycroft watches. Before long the papers find their way back in a stack on the table and the couple settle themselves comfortably back into their chairs. Holmes breaks the silence. “Mycroft, it’s late and Russell and I have much to discuss.” With a pointed look to Russell he continues, “I made preparations for travel. Just in case.” Turning back to Mycroft. “We could depart tomorrow should we decide to do so. You could prepare the French police for our involvement?”
“Naturally. The Inspector in charge, a man by the name of LeMarc, is not particularly helpful but he can be ordered to cooperate should you choose to assist in the matter. I can also have the preliminary findings and pictures from the crime scene made available to you at police headquarters.” Mycroft slowly raises his obese body from the chair, snubs his cigar and offers a nod to each of them. “Mary, Sherlock, I bid you Adieu. Should you need assistance in the morning, Mr. Sosa is at your disposal.”
Russell and Holmes both remain in their seats as Mycroft leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Holmes discretely watches his wife in the reflection off the window as she processes her thoughts for a few minutes. He reaches for his pipe, tamps in the tobacco and lights it.
When she finally looks over to him, it’s clear she has made her decision but that she is not at ease with it. “Schemers. The both of you. It’s a wonder I get to pursue my research at all.”
“Would it be better to travel abroad without a change of clothes?”
Russell decides not to answer that question and remains silent, clearly unsure whether to say what’s on her mind. “Russell. You’re troubled. Not by a hiatus from Oxford and not by my role in pulling you away. It is, I believe, my brother that concerns you. Better to say it out loud now than to carry your ambivalence into a case.”
Rather than air her concern directly, she starts with a question. “Holmes, why a consulting detective? You could just as easily be an accountant. Isn’t that Mycroft’s title? Keeping the accounts of the British Empire, manipulating the balance for political or economic advantage. You have the skills for it.”
“I’ve told you before, Mycroft’s mind is superior to mine. My knowledge is local. With a bit of chemistry. A few languages. His is global. Encyclopaedic. And his deductive reasoning faster, more astute.”
Holmes is seldom self-deprecating, and for good reason, but she lets it slide. “He works from the armchair. Wouldn’t Britain be well served to have you on site, deducing the motives, anticipating the conflicts. If you wanted, you could act on the international stage, help maintain world stability.”
“Your suggesting a career change? You know I have served in that capacity on more than one occasion. But what Mycroft does? I haven’t the taste for it. I’ve no interest in brokering power between nations.”
Holmes can tell he has reassured her but knows she has more to discuss. He remains silent and repositions himself, leaning back in his chair with legs extended, ankles crossed, eyes closed and pipe in hand, to show her he is prepared to wait and listen with his full but unobtrusive attention.
After a few minutes, Russell states quietly “He frightens me, Holmes.”
There. She’s said it. Holmes waits for her to elaborate.
“His power is extraordinary and his calculations cold.” Repeating Mycroft’s words, “Pulling one thread, knotting the other. Forging an alliance or abandoning it. All for the interests of the moment, sure to change in the next. The ramifications are profound. How does he reconcile the consequences?”
“On a global scale,” is Holmes’ quick response. Holmes knows this is important. Russell is trying to understand her own role, how she wants to behave in this world and the kind of responsibility she is willing to bear just as much as she is asking about himself and Mycroft. He chooses his words carefully before continuing.
“Russell. We have gifts; you, me, Mycroft, even Moriarty. And we choose how to wield them. Our choice is reflected in what we do and how we do it. I have chosen to solve crimes as the world’s only consulting detective. I have chosen to act on a human scale instead of influencing nations and political trends. And to act personally, not as a representative of an authority such as a government or Scotland Yard. It’s at that scale and on those terms that I can trust my abilities are equal to the challenge and I am willing to be judged. Even then the ramifications can be terrible. There are victims I cannot or will not help. But those are decisions and consequences I can live with.”
“And Mycroft?”
“I would not do what Mycroft does. But insomuch as the world needs accountants, then it’s better that Mycroft is one of them. He has the brain for it, the mental acuity, and the moral backbone. He understands the consequences, in great detail, and accepts the responsibility.”
Russell takes a minute to consider this and, in the end, agrees. Sitting upright, signalling she has reconciled her thoughts, she turns to Holmes to ask of him, “And me?”
Holmes opens his eyes to look into Russell’s. “It is your choice. But in this instance, I believe you have already chosen. We will go to France, together, will we not?”
“Yes. But that is not quite what I meant. What do you suppose I will do with my gifts, and how will I do it, Holmes?”
“Oh Russell, that’s easy,” replies Holmes with a glint in his eyes. “You will pursue Wisdom while solving murders and saving lives. You will do it with reckless zeal and abiding compassion. And when you are very, very lucky, you will do it with me by your side.”
Russell matched Holmes glint with a low chuckle. “If I’m lucky, you say? It’s you who should be so lucky. Remember, you had to cheat to find me.”
Holmes stands and reaches a hand to Russell to help her up from her chair. Tucking her arm in his and escorting her to their room, he asks, “Russell? Are you challenging me to a rematch?”
“Not at all, Holmes. I’m challenging your win. You’ll have to do better than waylay me outside a closet to finish the game. You’ve let your impatience get the better of you.”
“Russell, you have no idea.”