James Benn: Rag and Bone

“We broke in,” Big Mike said. “No one called the cops or came at us with a shotgun.”

“We didn’t have much at stake. We could’ve talked our way out of trouble, if it came to that. But Sidorov is wearing a German uniform, and he has everything to lose.”

“OK,” Big Mike said. “He needs to hide out somewhere safe, until they can meet up. Wonder if they have a contingency plan?”

“They’re both in the spy business. It would make sense.” I thought about it for a while. Big Mike was dead-on. Sidorov was NKVD, Sheila was MI5. Between them, they’d know the ins and outs of the trade. “There’d have to be two contingency plans, at least. One for getting together if something unexpected happened to either of them, like the move to Dover. And another in case of total disaster, like one of them being found out. That would be a whole different kettle of fish.”

“Right now, they’re probably working under Plan A,” Big Mike said. “If they go to Plan B, we’ll never find them.”

“Jesus, I hope Flack doesn’t ring up the Shepherdswell constable and tell him to walk up and down Farrier Street until he sees a Russian dressed up as a German.”

“He didn’t strike me as thick-headed,” Big Mike said. “Stubborn, for sure. You know the type-arrest and conviction, that’s what counts. Some guys prefer a tidy closed case to a messy open one.” He laid on the horn, passing three trucks this time, and didn’t slow down.

W E MADE IT back to Norfolk House in record time, and found Cosgrove in with Colonel Harding. We gathered around his desk, bringing them up to speed.

“I’ve been in touch with Scotland Yard,” Cosgrove said. “They are skeptical of your theory, but have agreed to watch Shepherdswell carefully. Meanwhile, they have brought murder charges against Lieutenant Kazimierz. The death of Captain Sidorov, if that indeed is his body, tipped the scales against him, I’m afraid.”

“What exactly are they doing in Shepherdswell?” I asked, now very afraid for Kaz.

“They’ve sent a man down to stay at the pub, posing as a businessman. He has photos of both Sheila Carlson and Sidorov.”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve arranged for two WACs to visit Shepherdswell,” Harding said. “They have a three-day pass, and I figured they wouldn’t raise much suspicion. They can walk around like tourists. Mary Stevens, from the typing pool, and Estelle Gordon.”

“Estelle? She’s back?” Big Mike piped up. “Sir?”

“Yes, she came in after you two left for Dover. I figured it would give her something worthwhile to do.”

“Well, OK, I guess she can take care of herself,” Big Mike said grudgingly.

“Any other ideas, Boyle?” Harding said. “This whole thing is heating up. The Russians are screaming, accusing the Poles, the Poles are screaming about the Katyn cover-up, and both sides are screaming about postwar borders. We need to wrap this up, quickly and quietly.”

“The only thing I can think of is to try Archie Chapman, and see if he can tell us anything. It had to be his gang that supplied Sidorov and Sheila with false papers and maybe even a stolen car. He might save us a lot of time.”

“The same Chapman who you just cheated out of a truckload of Russian gold?” Cosgrove said. “I think he’d be more in the mood to slit your throat than to help you.”

“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.” After I told Cosgrove what I needed, he left and Harding told Big Mike to grab some chow. He got no argument.

“ Ike’s back,” Harding said, after everyone had left. “Came in from the States yesterday. He wants to see you.” He ushered me into Uncle Ike’s office, one floor up.

“William,” Uncle Ike said, setting down the telephone. “How are you?”

“Holding my own, General,” I said, unaware of how much Uncle Ikeknew about what had been going on. “How was your visit home?”

“It was great to see Mamie again. She sends her best wishes, by the way. Unfortunately, I spent more time with politicians than I did on leave. Sit down, William.” Uncle Ike sat on a couch, and I took the armchair opposite. He nodded to Harding, who left the room. “I’m sorry to hear about this affair with Lieutenant Kazimierz. I wanted you to know I called the commissioner at Scotland Yard and asked for him to be released into my custody. He said no.”

“I’m not surprised. They seem to think Kaz is the answer to their prayers.”

“That’s dangerously close to the truth, William.” Uncle Ike lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “This is a tightrope we’re walking. On one side is our moral obligation to our Polish allies. Not to mention millions of Polish-American voters; FDR isn’t one to forget that. On the other side, there are the hundreds of Red Army divisions fighting the Germans right now.”

“Did you discuss this with the president?”

“What would be the point, William? If we openly side with the Poles, we cause a break in relations with our Soviet allies, just as we are beginning to plan the invasion. Do you have any idea what our casualties would be if the Soviets halted their offensive, even for a few weeks? The Germans could move a dozen more divisions into France.”

“But we can’t side with the Russians on this, can we?” Uncle Ikesmoked for a minute, staring at the carpet, the view out the window, anything but my gaze.

“No, you’re right. We can’t and won’t openly side with the Russians against the Poles.”

“Which leaves nothing.”

“Yes. We have offered to act as intermediaries, which the Russians have roundly and loudly rejected. So we wait for both sides to come to their senses, which may never happen. This entire matter may be settled by Russian tanks entering Warsaw, but don’t you ever repeat that, William.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I’ll be damned if we let Lieutenant Kazimierz be Scotland Yard’s scapegoat, and don’t repeat that either. You find whoever is responsible for these murders, and get Kaz back to work for me. Can you do that, William?”

“Yes, Uncle Ike. I can. I will.”

“Good, good. Do you need anything?”

“I’ve got Major Cosgrove organizing something that should help. I’ll let you know if I need a company of Rangers to bust Kaz out.” Uncle Ikesmiled and draped his arm over my shoulder as he led me to the door.

“I wouldn’t mind leading them myself,” he said.

The sound of a dozen pairs of boots running down the stairs in the enclosed space of the Liverpool Street Underground set up an echo that signaled lethal intent, which was the general idea. We tromped into Archie’s domain bristling with arms. The ten Royal Marines had Stenguns, and Big Mike carried a Winchester M12 shotgun. I satisfied myself with a. 45 automatic at my side and a piece of paper in my hand. No one had a round chambered, but Archie and his boys wouldn’t know that. We were going to give them something else to think about.

It was pelting rain outside, and with little chance of a Luftwafferaid, the population in the shelter was light, only those diehards who coveted their regular bunks. Plus Archie and Topper. We’d waited until we saw them go down for the night, gave them twenty minutes to get settled, then came on like gangbusters. Two jeeps and a truck, with an armed guard left to watch over our little convoy. Can’t fool me twice.

“Topper Chapman!” I bellowed as we stormed into Archie’s shelter. It was tight going with the cots and bunks, but people scattered fast to let us through. First up was Charlie, the ex-boxer who stood guard at the entrance to Archie’s blanketed retreat.

“Out of our way, Charlie. You don’t have enough newspaper for all the iron we brought.”