Title: History Lesson
Disclaimer: I own no rights, I make no profit.
Chapter 10 – Swords and Secrets
Bond's reaction to my bad pun was interesting. Either I was getting better at reading his barely existent tells or he was letting me see his mental state. I concluded that it was more likely the latter than the former but whichever it was he was very definitely amused.
"Have you really come to a standstill at this point?" He asked.
"No, actually I think I might be onto something. The linked warehouse case lists the suspected cause of death as numerous cuts with a heavy sharp object and potential blood loss. Reading between the lines, a sword fight."
"Sword fight?" Bond reached over and touched the hilt of the sword which I, for some reason hadn't realized, was currently sitting on the table.
"Um hum," I responded. "Next thing to look at is the autopsy report."
As I brought up the report Bond unsheathed the sword from its makeshift scabbard and examined it closely.
"If it was this sword," he commented, "it's been thoroughly cleaned."
Just as he spoke I found a precise set of measurements in the report I was reading.
"Let me see that," I indicated the sword.
Bond put it flat on the table. While I didn't have a ruler or a tape measure I did know the exact length of a variety of my body parts so I could get a relatively good estimate of the sword's dimensions. After a bit of measurement I concluded that this sword could indeed have made the wounds noted in the autopsy.
As I looked up Bond read the conclusion off my face and asked, "If the idea was to set me up, why clean the sword?"
That sparked an additional question for me.
"And why only plant the sword without any other evidence?"
Bond cocked his head, "If you were setting this up, what other evidence would you have planted?"
I thought for a moment, "Cleaning supplies for the sword. Put an obviously bloody rag in the in the basement roller bin to enable NSY to connect the sword to the bodies. Indications of familiarity with the warehouse in some form or fashion would be useful. I'd also put plans in your computer detailing how you got the sword out of the V&A."
I looked back at the autopsy report, "Oh, and I'd plant the dagger in the flat also."
"Dagger?"
"Yes, not only was a dagger stolen from the same case but there were also indications that a dagger was used in the sword fight."
"I'd put something at one or the other crime scene which would lead them to me," Bond commented. "It wouldn't require much since the propensity for the Yard to call your brother in for the weird ones is well known. I don't think NSY gets too many deaths by the sword in this day and age."
"I didn't see anything in the reports which would point to you."
"The more information you've uncovered," Bond stated, "the less sense planting the sword in my flat makes."
"It definitely doesn't make sense," I agreed. "If that indeed is the murder weapon," I pointed at the sword, "What was the purpose of removing it from the scene and planting it in your flat if not to frame you for the crime?"
We both silently stared at the sword on the table for a bit.
Suddenly Bond chuckled, "Maybe whomever stole it wanted me to keep it for its owner!"
I had to smile in response, "Only if you believe in prophetic recurring dreams and I know you didn't volunteer that one in your most recent Psyc eval."
"You are the only person I've told about that one Q," Bond replied, "and we both know how good your privacy protections are."
"Well, now that we've gone so far as to postulate a supernatural explanation," I concluded, "Let me see what less improbable tidbits I can find."
Of course Bond had to get in the last word in the discussion.
"Don't discount the supernatural just yet Q," he laughed. "What is the phrase your brother uses? Something about excluding the impossible until you find that the unlikely happens to be correct?"
I didn't bother to respond.
00Q/00Q 00Q/00Q 00Q/00Q
After a couple of hours of research I ended up sitting back in my chair. While I had found additional information, it still didn't make any sense. I'm not sure if I made a noise or if it was serendipity but Bond appeared and handed me a cup of tea.
"Frustrated?" he asked.
"All I have are a bunch of disparate facts which may or may not be related in any way shape or form and which don't add up to make any larger picture. I feel as if I'm doing a jigsaw puzzle and over half the pieces have been replaced with those of a completely different puzzle. I don't know how Sherlock deals with this!"
Bond chuckled, "Badly according to John."
My mental processes were effectively derailed by the implications of that simple statement. I knew John and James were friends but good enough friends for John to complain about my brother? Even worse, would James reciprocate and complain about…but we weren't…and they weren't at least as far as I could tell…so how in the heck?
"John has a rather well defined Sherlock frustration meter," James explained. "Usually it manifests itself in his violin playing habits. When he gets to a certain level he plays avant-garde works. From there it escalates to atonal and finally to something John refers to as torturing cats."
Having been the inadvertent recipient of some of Sherlock's impromptu concerts I could agree with that last assessment. Bond wasn't done however.
"John has mentioned that when it gets into the atonal and cat torture stage that it sometimes helps if he talks out his reasoning up to the point where the frustration started."
I could see that also. The problem, of course, would be getting Sherlock to verbalize his thought processes without a large number of gratuitous insults aimed at the listener. Regardless, Bond's point was well taken so I moved back from the computer, cradled my tea and started talking.
"Chronologically about 5 years ago there was an opening in the office that provides pre-publication review to avoid violation of the Official Secrets Act. Generally, each agency has a group in house that does this but the Home Office has some specialized folks doing oversight and cross-agency checking. The Home Office people are usually buried in some obscure bureau for security purposes since they, by the nature of the job, end up looking at all sorts of classified and even eyes-only information. For the same reason they also end up passing an extensive background check, similar to what we do for the more sensitive positions."
I paused for a sip of tea while Bond snorted. I'm sure he was remembering how people were vetted to get into the 00 program.
"Timewise the background checks for this position and the alleged date of CIA's old list match up."
"Of course just because you say you are vetting for one position," Bond commented.
"Doesn't mean that's what you are actually doing or that the position itself is exactly as advertised. However there are just too many coincidences on this."
Bond nodded, "So you are currently presuming that the candidates for this position were on the improperly erased list."
"Presuming is the operative word," I replied. "The CIA did a bang up job of eliminating it the second time around. As far as I can tell the contents of that list were only known to the sender, the leaker and to whomever he sold it."
"I hear an incipient but"
"But I was able to get ahold of a few of the names that were being vetted during that period from other places on our side. One of them was Professor Levonson."
"Interesting."
"Even more interesting is that the position allegedly to be filled was in the department that requested the legend for Mr. Kirkland."
"Coincidence?" Bond asked.
"Don't know. A week ago Thursday, the very day the CIA notified Kirkland about the leak of the list, Professor Levonson requests emergency family leave starting the next Monday."
"So how does how end up found dead in a lorry this morning?"
"Unclear but the timing and how some of the events are related tells an interesting story."
Bond looked at me clearly attempting to put things together in his head, "I'm clearly missing some facts."
"Levonson requests leave to start on Monday. The lorry he was found in was picked up on CCTV at the warehouse where the sword fight occurred late Sunday night through midday Monday. The initial report on Levonson's death indicates that he died that Monday or maybe as late as Tuesday. The V&A theft was early Tuesday morning around 00:30 and the sword fight most likely occurred sometime during the day or early evening on Tuesday," I ticked off the events on my fingers. "The V&A theft wasn't located until Thursday morning and the sword fight crime scene was found on Saturday."
Bond looked like he was going to say something but I continued before he could open his mouth.
"In addition, one of the bodies involved in the sword fight just happened to be the guy who picked up the lorry from a dealer in the midlands the week before, just after he'd quit his job. The other two bodies were relatively recent arrivals from either the U.S. or Canada. I'd put my bet on Canada though because the CIA traced one of the leaker's frequent contacts to Ottawa before they lost the trail."
"They get a line on any other potential buyers?" Bond asked.
"Croatia, Egypt and Iowa," I replied. "They couldn't tell if they were actual buyers or just interested. All four potentials were highly skilled. I might have been able to get farther than the CIA did if I'd been on it at the time. At this date there's nothing much I can do without direct access to the servers involved. Any outbound information has been long overwritten by more recent internet traffic."
Bond thought for a moment then switched topics.
"If this is the sword used Tuesday then why not return it to the V&A since neither the theft nor the crime scene had been discovered at that point? Do you think planting it in my flat was an afterthought?"
"Who knows," I shrugged. "Regardless, there are another couple of tidbits that appear related but don't quite fit. Kirkland, who by the way had just returned from a two week holiday, also requested emergency family leave starting on Friday the day after he received the CIA's notice and there's no electronic trail after an ATM withdrawal late Saturday."
"Kirkland is a legend. The CIA's notification may have indicated his cover was compromised. You think he ditched it and went to ground? "
"It's one potential explanation," I agreed, "but it could just as easily been foul play of some sort."
Bond snorted, "Like that doesn't happen way too often for comfort in our business."
"Tell me about it. If all that wasn't enough," I sighed, "Professor Levonson just happens to be related by marriage to the family that donated the sword and dagger to the V&A."
With that I stopped talking and looked at Bond, wondering what he made of my synopsis. Bond was looking at the sword as if it held the secrets of the universe then he started to smile.
"Since you've exhausted the electronic trail, it's probably time for a bit of old fashioned fieldwork. You up for a bit of housebreaking Q?"
I could see his point, "I have an address for Kirkland that looks like it's a legitimate flat. Whether or not it really is his flat I suppose we can check it out."
00Q/00Q 00Q/00Q 00Q/00Q
I had downloaded the building plans before we did anything. It was a relatively new building with decent security. Bond insisted that we go and put eyes on the place so we'd have a good idea exactly what we'd be dealing with. Of course, since he was still playing bodyguard, we packed everything vital into the boot and I came along. We got lucky. Someone was finishing up moving in and there was a lot of traffic in and out of the service entrance. We took the opportunity provided and slipped into the building.
Now despite what Bond thinks I am not helpless in the field. In fact, if I put my mind to it, I suspect that I'd favorably compare to most of the A list agents. I wouldn't be able to touch the 00s but then again you didn't get the kind of edge they had without a huge amount of field time and numerous life threatening situations. Overriding the electronic lock on Kirkland's flat took less than a minute with Bond keeping watch.
I'm not quite sure what exactly I was expecting but the flat did appear to have been occupied recently. Judging from the mail and other detritus of daily living the Kirkland persona was what I tended to call a primary cover. It was the kind of thing we would set up for a seriously long term placement or for someone who needed a completely separate real life. It was standard operating procedure for defectors and others in protective status. In fact, my outside the MI6 office persona was just such a cover.
I spied a computer and proceeded to examine it as Bond cleared the rest of the flat. As I had expected Kirkland hadn't touched either this computer or his on-line accounts since Friday.
"Someone has searched the flat," Bond stated flatly.
"Oh?" I replied noncommittally even though I'd reached the same conclusion.
"They were good and they had time. I suspect they wanted Kirkland to know his flat had been searched but not to tip off the average person looking about."
"Good thing neither you nor I are average." I pointedly shut the computer down and asked, "What tipped you off?"
"The bedroom, especially the state of the closet and the drawers," he replied.
Bond had moved to the messy table and was carefully looking at a pile of what appeared to be mail. He looked up at me then pointed at a plain envelope that was sitting on the top of the pile.
"Hand me a fork and knife will you?"
I was a little confused. We were both wearing gloves so why did Bond not want to touch the envelope?
I complied but asked, "Contact poison?"
"Potential aerosol distribution device, I've run into them before. They are set up to spray a powdered substance in your face if the envelope is opened normally."
"Not terribly effective as a delivery system but I could see it as a way to send a message."
Bond used the cutlery to open the envelope and relaxed. Clearly there was nothing untoward. What Bond had assumed was a mechanical trap had been merely the result of someone putting the paper into the envelope hurriedly. He set aside the implements and removed the slightly crumpled piece of paper inside.
It was a handwritten note in the center of a full sized sheet of paper. It rambled and looked like someone had dribbled something onto the paper over the writing.
Bond snorted, "A skip code in this day and age?"
He handed me the paper and I got a faint whiff of a scent. Bond was correct, the code was pretty obvious. Those dribbles started the skip pattern. It read: The arms have been stolen for over a week. You have them. I want them. Let's see if we can do business. All in all a seriously helpful message, I thought sarcastically. Context will often keep a secret better than a code was a maxim Mycroft had imparted to me when I was relatively young and it appeared to be true in this case. My brain helpfully started running through bits and pieces of my childhood. Sherlock had always wanted to play pirates but Mycroft, when he deigned to play with us, inevitably turned whatever we were doing into some sort of learning puzzle.
Suddenly I had an idea. I carefully sniffed the paper then looked around on the table. Sure enough there was an old fashioned fountain pen. I picked it up. It was sticky and smelled faintly of lemon. I handed the pen to Bond who cocked his head at me questioningly.
"You never wrote secret messages as a kid?"
He got it then and started looking around took the lampshade off one of the lamps. A couple of minutes later we had some coordinates as well as a time and date for the meeting.
