Top Secret Santa
It was Christmas of 1991. The Soviet Union was in its final death-throes with the Ukraine, Belarus and half-a-dozen other member States all signing documents of sovereignty. Gorbachev, final President of the USSR, looked to be on the verge of resignation and the ink was barely dry on the German constitutional merger. All in all, it had been an intense and hectic year. I was looking forward to a few quiet days over the holiday period, or perhaps I should say quieter days, as the sphere in which my life now revolved was never really without some sort of undercurrent that kept things on the move. It was my second Christmas in Sir David Bonneville's department, three months past my twenty-third birthday, and I was finally beginning to get a feel for my job. Even though I still relied upon Sir David's knowledge and experience, I was already building my own set of contacts and had participated in a number of operations which I could never discuss beyond the walls of Bonville's elegant office. I was beginning to find my feet, or at least I thought I was.
It was almost precisely at that moment I was anticipating a few days of peace and quiet when Sir David invited me into his office to discuss, I assumed, the department's activities over the holiday season. The office never completely closed and none of us were ever entirely off-duty unless we had arranged to be in some far-off location, away from email or phone. Even then, if the matter were sufficiently urgent, there were always helicopters and private jets.
"Have a seat, Mycroft," Bonneville waved expansively at one of the chairs facing his magisterial desk. "There are some arrangements we need to discuss."
Arrangements. Truly, a difficult word. It smacked of unspeakable euphemisms and danger, implying everything from covert international operations to political assassination both figurative and real. I had heard the term used too many times by various intelligence operatives to view it as anything other than deeply suspicious at best. I sat slowly, opened my ears wide and set all my cognitive faculties at their highest. I would miss nothing important in this discussion.
"Arrangements?" I smiled vaguely as I crossed my legs and linked my fingers easily together. I had become comfortable with this method of opening a discussion as it permitted me to multitask effectively. By taking a passive role, I made the speaker do all the work while I did all the observing. It was a technique that worked well for me for the most part, though Sir David, of course, knew exactly what I was doing and why. He smiled just as vaguely back, giving absolutely nothing away. My mentor could be quite unhelpful when the mood took him.
"I am taking leave," Bonneville arched his silver-grey eyebrows as his gaze held mine. "For the first time in fifteen years, I feel it incumbent upon me to depart these hallowed halls and I shall be spending a full three weeks at my nephew's castle in Scotland," he smiled mildly though I swear I detected a certain lack of relish in his statement. The novel twin notions of nephew and castle sat at the edge of the conversation, waiting for me to pick them up but I let them be for the moment as my brain adjusted to the greater surprise of Sir David believing I had come far enough to be left in charge of the department for a full three weeks. My immediate instinct was to reflect upon certain limitations in which I still needed support or at least guidance. However, Bonneville had not yet been wrong in his assessment of my capabilities and since he knew far more about this situation than I, I had no reason to imagine him incorrect now.
"I think that's a wonderful idea, sir," I ensured my tone was exactly on-point and that neither my expression nor anything else about me suggested I had any misgivings in the slightest. "I only wish you'd not been forced into a position where you felt unable to take a holiday before now." Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Sir David contemplated both me and the ease of my words. I doubted he'd take them at face-value, but I was damned if I'd let him think me anything but capable.
"Yesss, quite," he drawled, the faintest curve at the side of his mouth. "I'm sure you'll do very well, Mycroft," he nodded slowly, the ambiguity of his statement not lost on either of us. "I shall, of course, be available. If I am required. You need but call."
I determined immediately that nothing short of a direct nuclear ultimatum would make me call for help; at this time of year, even those countries who wanted nothing to do with Christmas were a little more relaxed about things, especially as half the world's diplomats would either be skiing at Klosters or swilling Moet in St Kitts. It would be difficult to start a war with so many peace-makers on leave. I was resolved that Sir David would have an uninterrupted and appropriately festive break. I lifted my chin slightly.
"You have everything so thoroughly under control that I fully anticipate a quiet time of things," I smiled more brightly. "Unless there's anything new about to appear?"
"Funny you should say that, my boy," Bonneville's eyes lit with faint amusement. "There is a small matter I'd like you to take care of for me ..."
###
The small matter turned out to be one Dieter Graf, former East German propaganda expert and now special communications liaison between the British government and what was the former German Democratic Republic. His would not be an easy job, least of all for someone who had spent the bulk of their adult life writing government-sponsored lies for his political masters. Herr Graf was several years older than I, maintained a distinctly severe expression and had a reputation for being diffident. At six-feet-three, with the build and muscle mass of an international rugby forward, he also had a certain physical presence. The man had been in London less than two weeks and now his handler had gone down with the flu. Given the end of the year mass Christmas exodus of public servants, there was, apparently, no other fluent German-speaker available to babysit our visitor with the necessary level of security clearance and Sir David, thoughtful as always, had volunteered my services. Fortunately, German was the third language I'd learned as a child, so I was confident Herr Graf and I would have no misunderstandings. Not lingual ones, at least.
Dieter Graf's file was brief. He was twenty-eight, widowed, with a young daughter. Currently improving his English, he also spoke several east European languages and had trained at the Mark-Lenin-Engels Institute in Moscow. His work had involved the production of disinformation on behalf of the Communist Party and the reinterpretation of Western events for an eastern soviet audience. Since the unification of the two Germanies, Graf found himself in the position of having to reinvent his job and he had, apparently, set to with a will. So keen was the man to improve the current situation that he had been 'noticed' and his enthusiasm tagged for advancement.
As usual, whenever Bonneville was away from the department for more than a day or two, at his request I moved myself in to his office, more as an indicator of continuity than anything else. I had no real need to occupy the more ornate surroundings, my own office being perfectly adequate, but Sir David preferred it that way. He said it made people feel better to always have someone sitting at 'the' desk. I was working my way through a sheaf of letters requiring signatures when my German guest was shown in. I could have had him wait in one of the lesser offices, but it would accomplish nothing to do so. I was down to the last three letters when Dieter Graf entered. Even without looking up from reading, I felt the man pause as the door was closed behind him. I gained a distinct impression of something very large in the room which itself was no small space. Giving him a few seconds to settle himself, I raised my eyes and smiled politely.
"Bitte, setzen sie sich," I waved my free hand at one of the visitor chairs, returning immediately to a final scan of each of the remaining few letters before adding my personal signature at the bottom. I could feel his eyes on me, no doubt wondering at my relative youth as so many did. Stacking all the signed documents together, I placed them in a shallow desk drawer Bonneville used for exactly that purpose; an assistant would collect them within the next fifteen minutes. Relaxing back into Sir David's ancient yet surprisingly comfortable leather Chesterfield, I linked my fingers and prepared to let my visitor do all the conversational heavy-lifting. He certainly had the shoulders for it. The man was massive.
"Guten Morgen, Herr Graf. Mein Name ist Mycroft Holmes," I said, pleasantly enough. "Wir werden zusammen arbeiten," I added, advising my guest that we were to be colleagues for the immediate future.
"Good morning, Herr Holmes," Graf spoke uncertain English, though his tone suggested that he wasn't sure why he was here or what on earth he was doing in my office. "I am most pleased to be here in your Capital," he paused, nodding and smiling a little. "It is very beautiful city, very like East Berlin."
Never having had the pleasure of exploring Berlin, I made a note to expand my horizons into that part of Europe as soon as time and work permitted. In the interim, I wondered what in hell's name I was going to do with our large guest for the next couple of weeks.
"Yes, London is beautiful," I matched his smile and leaned forward on Bonneville's desk. "I understand you will be taking part in several intelligence briefings over the next few weeks. Have you had an opportunity to see the sights?"
My visitor stilled, a faint frown appearing as his mind tackled the colloquialism. I felt it unnecessary to make him uncomfortable and smiled again. "Sieh die Sehenswürdigkeiten?" I offered, helpfully. Immediately understanding, the big man relaxed a fraction.
"Only a few places," he shrugged, a heavy ripple of muscle lifting his shoulders. "There has been little time." How true. There never seemed to be any time for anything other than work, these days. "But please," the big man lifted the fingers of one hand. "In English if you are so kind," he raised his eyebrows hopefully. "I am needing to speak English and so must learn much better."
"Of course," my nod was a politeness, though the sudden notion of planting Graf with a private English coach for a couple of weeks whispered beguilingly in my ear. "Are your accommodations comfortable? Is there anything I may do to make you feel more at home?" I could see Graf working his way through my questions to ensure he had grasped their full meaning. He smiled, obviously relieved that I was at least going through the motions of civilised conversation. About to shake his head, I saw him pause, thinking.
"There is one thing I have not done but I must do," Graf frowned in what seemed to be mild embarrassment. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me hopefully. "I am needing to purchase some ... geschenk?"
"Gifts?" I sat back in Bonneville's chair. "Christmas presents? Weihnachtsgeschenke?" Of course, he wanted to take some presents from London to his young daughter; growing up in a bleakly Communist State would have been a dreary place for a young child. It would be no problem at all to have one of the assistants take Herr Graf along Oxford Street to John Lewis and down to Regent Street for Liberty and Hamleys. There must be any number of toy shops and places to buy things for little girls. I was in the process of reaching for the internal phone to see which member of staff fancied an impromptu shopping expedition ...
"I am told by Sir David Bonneville that you will be able to show me the great place that is called Harrods?" There was a tone in his voice that was more knowing than optimistic.
"Harrods?" I stilled my fingers on the handset. "Sir David suggested I take you to Harrods?"
"It is the best place for buying the ... Christmas presents, no?" Graf raised his eyebrows at my cautious nod. "Then I would like for us to go there, if it can be arranged. Today, if it is possible? It is important for me to get there as soon as I can."
Less than two weeks out from Christmas, Harrods and just about every other major retail outlet in London would be an utter zoo. The very thought of having to battle through the madding crowd made me wince. But if Bonneville had made the suggestion, there might be more going on than met the eye, though I had not the smallest hint that Graf was anything other than what he purported to be. I sighed internally and prepared to gird my loins in a very real sense. I loathed Christmas shopping with a passion, however, needs must. Assuming a civilised smile, I checked my watch. The place was going to be a madhouse for the next six hours, though it would quieten when people went home. Perhaps a quick visit tonight would do?
"I am expected to attend several meetings today, though Harrods will be open until late this evening. How about seven-thirty tonight?" I wondered idly why Graf sounded so determined to get there. Was he meeting someone? Was his role as a communications liaison not as innocent as it seemed? Could there be another Soviet agent waiting for him? Was this the reason Sir David had foisted the man onto me? I decided to suppress my personal dislike of seasonal commercialisation and accompany Graf on his little shopping expedition.
"This will be excellent," the big man stood and offered me his hand. I could feel my knuckles grating against one another as Graf's enthusiasm took on a more physical expression. Hopefully, I would have regained full use of my fingers come this evening.
###
Having access to one of the Jaguars, it was the easiest thing in the world for Graf and myself to head out along Brompton Road to Knightsbridge and the Holy Grail of international tourists; Harrods. Dieter had asked if he might stop at his rented apartment in Alderney Street to pick up some things. I assumed he meant money and perhaps a list. Imagine my surprise when he returned to the waiting car with a small child of no more than five years old and clearly his daughter. She seemed frail, with spindly arms and legs, and eyes that were overlarge for her pinched, pale face. Helping the little girl into the middle of the back seat where she sat and watched me with huge eyes and an uncompromising stare, Dieter clambered in after.
"This my daughter, Ilse," he grinned so hard I wondered how his jaw remained hinged. "Ilse," for a large man, his voice became unexpectedly gentle as he looked down at his offspring, "This is Herr Holmes who is going to help us look for Gustav tonight. Say hello."
The child's eyes grew even wider as she scanned up my dark suit and tie, all the way to my unsmiling face. The only child with whom I'd had any real interaction had been Sherlock and I was unsure how to speak to normal children. I contented myself with lifting my eyebrows and looking curious.
"Hello," she whispered, her pale blue eyes wide and unblinking. "I am looking for a golden bear," she spoke very seriously and with much better English than her papa. A golden bear? A teddy bear? Her demeanour was such that it was impossible not to be equally serious in response.
"We are going to a very large shop where there are all different kinds of bear," I assured her, only to see her frown minutely. "Ein Kaufhaus," I explained, suddenly wondering is the child had even seen a large, multi-speciality shop before coming to London. Recalling the man was a widower, Ilse's presence became clear and evidently, she knew exactly what a department store was as her small face cleared. I wondered what sort of goods the East German merchants had if she was so determined to find a golden bear in London. Apparently, Dieter read my thoughts.
"Ilse's Bär was lost in the fire that took her mother," he spoke to me softly above the child's head. "I am looking for another the same and was told that your Harrods have many Bären. They will have another that is most similar, nein?" It had been a great many years since I had bought toys and I had absolutely no idea what Harrods toy department might contain. I was however, fairly certain that if a Bär could be obtained, we were heading to the best place to obtain it.
"It was a Steiff," Graf continued, his tone hopeful. "Anna, my wife, bought it for Ilse on her birthday, you see. It is important."
"But surely the Steiff Company in Giengen would be the best place to locate a replacement ..?" I wondered why the German believed he'd have better luck finding a toy in London than through a company based in Germany itself.
"There has been so much of people looking for Western goods since die Deutsche Einheit," the big man shrugged helplessly. "The factory at Steiff cannot make its toys enough fast," he looked resigned. "I have been tried everywhere else to find Ilse's Lieblingsspielzeug, but I am not finding it before now." For some reason unknown, I felt almost sorry for Graf. To have such a responsibility thrust upon him with little or no chance of success. It must be hard for any parent to have to disappoint a child, especially when so much rested on the outcome. I hoped Harrods lived up to its maxim of Omnia Omnibus Ubique ... all things for all people, everywhere. I returned my gaze to the trusting Ilse sitting quietly between us.
"We shall search very hard for your golden bear," I said. "What does he look like?"
"Gustav is this long," Ilse stretched her hands apart by about two feet. "He has round ears and blue eyes and is made of golden fur." It sounded like a standard teddy to me, though I acknowledged my inexpertise in this area. It also became clear, based upon her skin-tone, the faintly violet hint to her lips, that Ilse was ill. Most probably her heart. Since Graf had made no mention of this fact, I could only assume he had brought his daughter with him to London to ensure her continued care. He must be juggling things quite extensively to balance his new job and tend a sick child.
"Then we shall do our best to find him for you." Lifting my gaze to Dieter's face, I realised that for such a serious individual, the hopefulness in his eyes was both unexpected and palpable. There was a great deal more here than rested on the finding of a toy. Part of my mind wondered what else was going on and I made a note to make some discrete enquiries about his private situation.
The traffic had eased marginally, though at this time of the year, it was never going to be quiet in central London. We left the car and stared at the famous store adorned with bright festive displays. There was a sharp downward tug on my hand and I immediately paused. Looking down, I saw only that Graf's daughter had stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixated on the barrage of light and Christmas décor that were Harrods's famous Christmas windows. I was not wrong in assuming the child had seen nothing like it in her short life. Part of me wondered how much time she had left to see anything else.
"Carry me, Papa," Ilse lifted her thin arms and waited to be lifted high which Dieter accomplished with nary a sound; having the physique of a Greek wrestler had its advantages. Bearing his child in one arm, Graf waited for me to lead the way. With a deep inhale, I prepared to risk life and limb in Harrods mere days before Christmas.
This close to the twenty-fifth, I had assumed the place would be a zoo. I was wrong. A zoo, despite its vague imagery of mingled animals and wandering throngs of people gazing mindlessly at Wildebeest and screeching parrots, was at least semi-orderly. No matter how crowded, there was always some semblance of order and decorum, some feeling that at least, the crowds were bringing financial success to a specific venture. Harrods was not zoo-like in the least. The general mood inside the greatest emporium in London smacked far more of the Colosseum than any marketplace. It was manic. I stalled for time, standing by the exit and removing my gloves as I assessed the scene.
Despite both Graf and I being of above-average height, I could tell we would be separated and lost from each other within seconds once we entered the fray. Had it simply been he and I alone, I would have suggested leaving the place immediately and either having one of my assistants conduct the search for the toy or, if he insisted on a personal involvement, returning first thing in the morning. Turning my head, I looked from the big man's face to that of his daughter, held high up out of the heaving masses. Ilse looked so expectant that retreat was not an option. Clenching my jaw and thinking very much about Queen, Country and St George, I was about to advance towards enemy lines when a light tap on my shoulder had me looking around to see Ilse's small hand.
"In case you get lost, Herr Holmes," she smiled shyly, waiting until I reached up and clasped her warm little fingers. I chose not to look at her father; I could already feel his idiotic grin through the back of my head. I held the child's fingers as gently as I could.
A large store guide positioned close by advised that the toy department had recently moved to the fourth floor. That then, would be our objective. Taking a deep breath and holding carefully onto Ilse's hand, I led my German entourage directly towards the nearest visible lift. Looking neither right nor left, swerving around and side-stepping multiple obstacles, gangs of argumentative old ladies and a complete pantheon of lost-looking husbands, we arrived. There was an incipient queue, but at the sight of Dieter carrying his daughter, people parted like the Red Sea and we were able to catch the lift directly to the fourth floor.
If it were at all possible, I would have sworn things were a magnitude worse up here. The noise-level alone had me wishing for earplugs as the combination of classical carols and the shrieking laughter of children. The dogs of war had been let slip in Harrods and every last one of them was up here on the fourth floor. I wondered if Graf had any idea of how far beyond the pale this entire scenario was for me. Taking another deep breath and about to step once more into the melee, I felt Graf's free hand rest on my shoulder.
"This place is very occupied," he spoke quietly. "We do not have to be here this evening if you do not wish it."
The thought of simply turning around and heading back the way we had come was immediately tempting, however, a single glance at Ilse's silent intensity made me realise our undertaking could not stop at this juncture. For some utterly unknown reason, I wanted to find the little girl's teddy bear and irrationally, I was determined to do so no matter the cost. Shaking my head at Dieter's well-meant suggestion, I gripped his daughter's hand once more and began ploughing through the crowd of parents and children surging around the lift we had recently exited. Oddly, once we were a few feet away, the noise-level seemed to drop. Perhaps it was finally that time of evening when people had decided to make their way home, or perhaps the sight of my large German companion striding towards them had everyone running for cover. Whatever the reason, I found my shoulders relaxing as the crowd diminished and we made our way towards the massed ranks of brightly lit shelves on the far side of the floor. A harried young woman wearing the Harrods' name tag Jonet Bosisto on her smart black suit headed towards us and stopped as she met the question in my eyes.
"Soft toys?" I enquired. "Teddy bears?" The woman's eyes flicked swiftly to Ilse's yearning expression.
"Certainly, sir," she smiled professionally and turned to lead us back the way she had just come. In seconds, we were in a different world with a ceiling of glittering lights, surrounded by every toy one might conceivably imagine. Doll's houses the size of a small shed; trampolines, swings, racing cars and stuffed animals of all species including several very realistic giraffes taller even than Dieter. Not far from where we stood, an entire phalanx of teddies, large, small, dark, light ... held court. I had no clue which might be the most suitable, but apparently, Ilse had no such problem.
A female customer at a nearby sales desk was in the process of paying for a teddy, holding it up to the light as the sales assistant sorted out appropriate wrapping for the gift. The toy's rich golden fur blazed bright beneath the department's twinkling canopy.
"Gustav!" Ilse hissed as she identified the purchased toy and batted hard at her father's shoulder. "Papa, the lady has Gustav." Thankful at least that Harrods had not disappointed, I smiled politely at the saleswoman still with us.
"Specifically that teddy bear," I indicated the transaction at the sales desk. Ms Bosisto's rather fine hazel eyes narrowed as a light frown creased her forehead.
"I'm very sorry," she smiled apologetically, "but that was the last of that particular Steiff model we had in stock." She indicated several nearby broad shelves home to at least thirty of the things. "There are a number of other Steiff toys that might suit the young lady ..?"
"Gustav," Ilse wriggled violently until Dieter put her down on the ground, though he held her hand despite her struggle to be free of him. "The lady has taken Gustav, Papa," she almost wailed, looking up beseechingly at Graf, silently pleading with him to rescue her precious friend.
"Nein, mein Schatz," the big German kept his words gentle and soft. "It is the lady's bear now. We must look for somewhere else for your Gustav."
"Gustav," Ilse whimpered. For some reason, it was not a sound I could tolerate. Stepping over to the nearest wide shelf of bears, I glanced across at the prices and general colouring, selecting one relatively close to the bear already heading towards the lift.
"Stay here," I said to Graf, striding after the woman with the other bear clutched under my arm. I caught up with her several feet from the lift doors.
"Madam," I said, reaching into my coat for my wallet and extracting several fifty-pound notes. "By sheer chance, you have bought the very last bear that my niece has set her heart on," I lied shamelessly. "Her original toy was lost in the same fire that took her mother and she has been desperate to reclaim her little friend ever since," I added. "You would be doing me an enormous favour if you would consider exchanging the bears," I nodded down to the large package in her hands. "And do permit me to purchase you a second toy of your choosing as a token of my gratitude."
Clearly taken aback, the woman, in her late forties, well-dressed, obviously financially comfortable and middle-class, paused as I spoke. I had no reason to expect she would give me Ilse's bear, but I found I wanted the thing and was surprising myself at the lengths to which I was going in order to get it. I held up the replacement bear I had pulled from the shelf.
"This one, though similar in general size and colour, is significantly more expensive and would no doubt suit your young grandchild just as well as the one you hold," I added, not bothering to explain how I knew she was Christmas shopping for a young relative. "I would not dream of making such a request, except that my niece would be devastated if she finds she has lost her little friend yet again," I paused. "Her mother's death was quite recent and another Christmas without either of them would be cruel, don't you think?"
"Oh, my god, yes of course the child must have the bear if it's so important to her," the woman sounded horrified as she turned to stare at Ilse standing next to her father. "The poor little thing. My grandson is still far too young to notice details yet," she continued, watching as Ilse pressed both hands across her mouth, turning to hide her face against Dieter's side.
Carefully murmuring my thanks, with a light hand on her elbow, I guided the woman back to the sales desk where I arranged for the replacement toy to be appropriately wrapped and after paying for it, I insisted the woman take the rest of the money to purchase a second gift. A giraffe, perhaps?
As soon as she wandered off clutching her unexpected windfall, I picked up the teddy bear of which I was now the proud owner. It was a well-made thing, with thick golden fur and two very bright eyes that stared back at me somewhat accusingly. He was a handsome chap, I decided, fluffing up a small curl just above his brow. I met Dieter Graf's gaze that was almost as wide as his child's.
"I think this belongs to you," I said, crouching down to Ilse's level and holding out the toy. "I think he was lost, so you'll need to hold onto him until he knows where he's supposed to live."
Reaching out slowly, as if she wasn't certain she could take him, Ilse's expression wobbled between tears and smiles. Settling eventually on wrenchingly sad happiness. I felt something uncomfortable in my chest and immediately stood up, inhaling hard. I had no use for this sort of sentimentality and had absolutely no clue as to why I'd allowed myself to be dragged into such a foolish situation. At least now, with the desired outcome secured, we had no reason to stay in Harrods any longer.
"Shall we go?" I looked between father and daughter, already starting to pull on my leather gloves.
"I cannot thank you enough," Dieter was staring at me as if I'd suddenly grown antlers. "I thought it was to have been too late for Ilse's Bär," his eyes looked suspiciously moist. I knew if he hugged me, I would be asphyxiated as my lungs were slowly crushed. Deciding on a strategic withdrawal, I pulled out a vague and noncommittal smile, indicating the lift.
"Don't mention it," I withdrew into the safety of non-emotion, putting both hands in my pockets and stepping away. "Time though that someone was in bed?" I raised my eyebrows and flicked a look down to the child still in silent ecstasy over her returned toy.
"Ya, that is right," Graf nodded, almost to himself. "You will permit me to share a drink with you at my apartment?"
The last thing I wanted now was to have a drink with Dieter; things were already far too uncomfortable to invite yet more potential awkwardness.
"Please, Herr Holmes," Ilse's soft request had me looking down at her small form. The child barely came up to my thigh and I had no intention of spending more time with either she or her papa than I must.
"I will see you and Gustav home," I compromised. "But I cannot stay," I met Graf's eyes again and he shrugged in an almost Gallic way.
The drive home in the Jaguar was peaceful and quiet, with Ilse holding tight onto her new teddy bear and Graf holding on tight to his daughter. Their flat was in Bayswater, taking only minutes to reach after cutting through Hyde Park. It was a nice enough place, though somewhat sterile for a small child I would have thought. The front door light was on and I waited as Graf and Ilse opened their front door and entered.
"I'll see you in the morning," I smiled my vague smile again, already feeling the urge to back away. Ilse darted inside.
"Good night then, Herr Holmes," Dieter held out his hand. "You have my eternal thanks for ..." He got no further as Ilse rushed back out, her face creased with fear and upset.
"Papa, something awful has happened inside," she cried, tugging on the bottom of his jacket.
Both Graf and I entered the flat where it was immediately obvious that someone had very thoroughly turned over the entire apartment. Furniture was tipped over; books and cushions lay everywhere, pictures smashed and discarded.
Someone had been looking for something.