Microbes of Power (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) Read online

  Microbes of Power

  ALEXANDER WILSON

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  1. A Report from Cyprus

  2. A Spot of Bother

  3. The Tale of a Microphone

  4. Painters’ Jackets

  5. Agent Number Thirty-Three

  6. Kidnapped in Nicosia

  7. In Her Country’s Service

  8. Thalia Ictinos

  9. A Surprise for Shannon

  10. Thalia is Frank

  11. Love at First Sight

  12. A Meeting in the Pincio

  13. Up a Chimney

  14. The Amorous Herr Kirche

  15. Shannon is Trailed—

  16. And Administers Chastisement

  17. The Man in the Flat

  18. Death in a Hypodermic Syringe

  19. At the Mercy of a Fiend

  20. From the Flames

  21. A Gallant Daughter of Greece

  About the Author

  By Alexander Wilson

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  A Report from Cyprus

  ‘Good morning, Maddison. Glorious weather, isn’t it?’

  The speaker, tall, upright, and essentially military-looking, passed into his office followed by the grey-haired, keen-eyed man who had unlocked the door for him.

  ‘Beautiful, sir,’ responded the latter. ‘I hope you had a pleasant weekend.’

  ‘It was delightful. Possibly the fact that it was the first real weekend I have had for a couple of months helped it to be more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been, but I revelled in every moment of it. The country is wonderful just now. I must confess to a weakness for primroses, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them growing in such profusion. Wasn’t it Browning who wrote, “Oh, to be in England now that April’s here”?’

  ‘I believe it was, sir,’ smiled Maddison, ‘though Cousins is the authority on that sort of thing.’

  Major Brien’s blue eyes twinkled, he ran his fingers through his fair hair, settled his jacket more comfortably to his shoulders.

  ‘Weather like this is calculated to make him lyrical,’ he remarked. ‘If he is experiencing it in the United States, I can imagine him bubbling over with appropriate quotations. And now for work.’ He glanced at his desk, made a little grimace at the heap of documents neatly piled in the centre. ‘You don’t spare me, Maddison, do you?’ he grunted. ‘If you had a kind heart, you would break me in gradually after a weekend spent trying to forget delicate international situations, foreign intrigues, diplomatic imbroglios, and that sort of thing.’

  ‘I have dealt with the majority of the reports, sir,’ the other assured him. ‘You will not find more than three, possibly four, that require much attention.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. I must confess I feel very Mondayish.’

  He sat down at the large desk; filled and lit his pipe; then, with Maddison standing by his side like a guardian angel, proceeded to go diligently through the mass of documents. Most of them had marginal notes in the calligraphy of his chief assistant, which he read carefully. In some cases he commented upon them, or asked questions, invariably signifying his approval, and appending his initials. Three were without any annotations. These were placed on one side until the bulk had been dealt with. Brien then drew them before him one by one, reading them carefully and, every now and again, sitting back in his chair, and entering into a discussion with Maddison on some knotty point. At length he made a decision concerning two of them.

  ‘It may turn out,’ he pronounced, ‘that there is some connection between these affairs. It would be as well if we learn something more definite before putting the matter to Sir Leonard. Is Cartright available?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Send him to Copenhagen and Brussels, with instructions to investigate the reports and ascertain, if possible, what relation exists between the two affairs. There are so many points of resemblance that I feel convinced there is a connection. He can fly to Brussels this afternoon, and go on to Copenhagen tomorrow. All being well, he should be able to get back on Wednesday evening. Now for this Cyprus business.’

  He read again the decoded report from the Secret Service agent in Nicosia. It appeared to give him a considerable amount of thought for, after he had gone through it for the third time, and had assimilated the information contained therein, he sat back in his chair stroking his moustache and frowning, as though puzzled.

  ‘What do you make of it?’ he asked Maddison at length.

  ‘It is difficult to say, sir,’ was the reply. ‘There seems so very little to go on. On the face of it there is no reason why Plasiras and Bikelas should not visit Cyprus. We know they have many friends there. It is significant, though, that such an effusive welcome should have been accorded them in the light of their present relations with the Greek government, and that their arrival should have been followed by a sense of excitement among the Cypriots. If you remember, there was noticeably a certain amount of unsettlement after their last visit in November.’

  ‘Ah! That’s just the point that has occurred to me. We did not take very much notice then, attributing it to the fact that the Greek part of the population was sympathetic with their aspirations. But they failed to overthrow the government in Athens, and everything seemed to have settled down, just as it did after Venizelos failed. Now it looks as though—’ He rose to his feet. ‘This,’ he announced, ‘is decidedly an affair in which the chief will be interested. He will probably send someone out. At all events, I’ll see him at once.’ He took up the report under discussion, nodding at those with which he had dealt. ‘You can carry on with that little lot, Maddison, and tell Cartright to see me before he leaves for Brussels.’

  He walked along to the office of Sir Leonard Wallace and, knocking, entered to find his chief standing with his back to the fireplace, puffing placidly at his pipe, his hands in the pockets of his immaculate lounge jacket, his whole air denoting thorough ease, if not entire repose.

  ‘Giving your celebrated imitation of a man loitering his way through life, Leonard?’ asked his second in command.

  ‘Something like that,’ was the response. ‘I suppose you have come to interrupt the even tenor of my existence?’

  Brien laughed. Knowing Sir Leonard better than anyone else, except possibly his wife, he was never deceived by the air of utter nonchalance with which the famous Chief of the British Intelligence Department invariably surrounded himself. It was not that Wallace’s attitude was a pose, nobody realised that better than the man who had known him since they had been little boys at a preparatory school together, but he possesses such an easy-going, unruffled disposition, such an unexcitable temperament and perfect self-control that he is apt to deceive those who do not understand him. Ministers of State, when coming into contact with him for the first time, have often been deluded into regarding him as an unconcerned, inattentive figurehead; they have been persuaded into believing that his fame has been achieved from the exploits of his assistants. They have always been compelled to alter their opinions abruptly and sometimes to their own chagrin. He certainly gives little indication that there are even the elements of adventure and romance in his make-up. Yet in Sir Leonard Wallace are the ingredients which sent those glorious adventurers, Drake, Frobisher and Raleigh out in little cockleshells of boats against seemingly impossible odds. His is the same spirit as that which influenced Nelson to raise the telescope to his blind eye, and thus fail to see the signal of recall at Copenhagen; he is of the breed of men who faced indescribable perils and hardships and, without thought
of fame or reward for themselves, built the British Empire into the greatest the world has ever seen.

  Those who work with him, and under his direction, are of the same fine calibre. They may not be so cool, so unconcerned, so apparently insouciant, but they are of his quality. How few, who are proud of the might of their country, realise what Great Britain owes to the gallant men of the Secret Service. Their exploits are rarely made public; in fact, to all intents and purposes, the department under which they serve is non-existent. It appears in no reference books, is never mentioned in print, except in very confidential records, yet all the time it is a hive of quiet, efficient, silent work which goes on day and night, never ceasing. The men of the Secret Service have, of necessity, to live their lives on a higher, nobler eminence than those of ordinary individuals. They cannot be influenced by the commonplace, petty things of existence. When at leisure they enjoy themselves as other men do, but that leisure is rare, and cannot be spoilt by the unsavoury incidents that mar most other lives. They have learnt to rise above the little meannesses of life; their training teaches them that only the big things count. Before everything they put the country they serve so selflessly, knowing that at any time they may be asked to lay down their lives for her. That, to them, is the greatest of all honours. They face death, as they face life, with a smile on their lips.

  Eyeing Sir Leonard Wallace, as he stood on the rug before the fireplace, Major Brien was conscious of a momentary feeling of astonishment. The years spent in the most exacting profession in the world had left little evidence of strain or stress on the attractive, good-humoured face of his friend. True, there were lines at the corners of his expressive steel-grey eyes, others between his smooth, dark, well-shaped brows; his brown hair was greying a little at the temples, but those were the only indications of the ravages of time. Brien felt that he himself showed far more evidence of tension, and his work was generally confined to the office, while Sir Leonard, on innumerable occasions, had undertaken the most hazardous enterprises, which had often resulted in his being very seriously wounded or injured.

  ‘How old are we, Leonard?’ asked the tall, fair-haired man abruptly.

  Wallace’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘Anyone would imagine we are twins to hear you speak,’ he commented.

  ‘Well, we’re practically the same age. I was wondering how you manage to look so outrageously young, while I—’

  ‘While you, poor overworked mortal,’ interrupted the other mockingly, ‘look so aged and senile. One of your vanities, Billy my lad, is your belief that you appear older than I. Well, you’re wrong; you don’t. Both of us look our ages, which in my case is thirty-eight years and seven months, and in yours is thirty-eight years and two months.’

  ‘You don’t look a day older than thirty-two or three.’

  Wallace laughed.

  ‘I feel very much flattered,’ he remarked. ‘I’ll return the compliment. You don’t look a day older than thirty.’

  ‘Bah! What about my bald spot?’

  ‘What about it? You don’t think, do you, that because you’re a little thin on top you appear a kind of old inhabitant? What is that you have in your hand?’

  ‘It is a report from Number Thirty-Three,’ was the reply. He held the paper out to the chief.

  Sir Leonard shook his head.

  ‘Let me hear what you have to say about it first,’ he suggested. ‘You’re an interesting talker, Bill, and I can very often grasp facts better when you put them before me in your usual succinct manner.’

  Brien regarded him doubtfully, rather inclined to think that he was jesting. Sir Leonard’s face, however, was perfectly serious.

  ‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’ asked the former.

  ‘No; I’m perfectly comfortable here, thanks.’

  ‘But what’s the good of standing there when there’s no fire?’

  ‘You know as well as I that it’s a favourite position of mine. Hang it all! Can’t I do what I like in my own office?’

  ‘Well, I don’t see why I should stand?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to do so, did I? In fact, I wouldn’t think of it – an old chap like you can’t be expected to stand for long. Sit down, ancient! There’s a seat behind you nicely upholstered in leather, and thoroughly comfortable. I can recommend it.’

  Major Brien grunted something uncomplimentary, and sank into the chair indicated.

  ‘You remember, of course,’ he began, ‘that, towards the end of last December, Plasiras and Bikelas the Greek ex-ministers, who were members of the government turned out of office in July, made a determined effort to overthrow the present government.’ Wallace nodded. ‘You probably remember also that in November, that is, about six weeks before their attempted coup, they were in Cyprus and, whether or not it had anything to do with their visit, there was afterwards a good deal of unrest on the island, especially noticeable in Nicosia.’ Again Sir Leonard nodded. ‘Well, this report from Number Thirty-Three states that they arrived with several other people – the names are given – in Nicosia on Friday afternoon from Smyrna. It seems that their arrival was expected by the population, for they received a most effusive welcome. The streets through which they drove were lined with Cypriots, who cheered them with great heartiness, numerous Greek flags decorated the buildings, and altogether their advent had the appearance of a triumphant homecoming. Since Friday, Nicosia has been in a state of excitement. There has been no disorder or anything of that sort, but the people have congregated continually in the streets and other public places, and an air of tension seems to be prevailing.’

  Sir Leonard’s manner did not seem to denote that he was particularly interested. He removed the pipe from his mouth; knocked out the dottle into the fireplace.

  ‘The Greek government will be sending a protest, I expect,’ he commented, ‘at the welcome accorded to the two. They have been declared enemies of the Greek State, and that such a greeting should have been given to them in the crown colony of a friendly country may be regarded as an unfriendly act.’

  ‘You do not regard the matter as particularly important?’

  ‘On the contrary, I regard it as one that merits the fullest investigation. It is significant that they should pay two such visits to Cyprus. There is nothing particularly striking in the fact that they are regarded with sympathy by some of the Cypriots of Greek extraction – we already knew they had warm friends on the island – but it is a trifle ominous that practically the whole population should turn out and give them a demonstrative reception. One would have thought that their dismal failure to snatch power with their followers in December would have put them entirely out of court as likely aspirants for power in the future. I want to know; one: what interest the Cypriots have in them; in other words, what does it matter to the inhabitants of a British colony who is in power in Greece; two: why have Plasiras and Bikelas gone to Cyprus; three: why did they receive such a welcome; four: who accompanied them; five: with whom they are staying and for how long six: has there been any rumour of the coming fall of the present Greek government? I think I can answer number six myself with a fairly decided negative, for if there had been any trouble in government circles we should have known about it. Now, Bill, can you answer the other five?’

  ‘I can answer two of them,’ replied Brien, consulting his report. ‘I can tell you with whom they are staying and who accompanied them to Cyprus.’

  ‘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?’