For Kingdom and Country (8 page)

‘At ease, Corporal,’ Ross said.

The sentry gave a stiff nod, then turned and unlocked the door marked ‘G’. Lock followed Ross inside.

Beyond the door, the cell was similar in layout to the one Lock had just left, only it was bigger, nearly three times the size. The walls and floor were of mud brick and hard earth, and again a single, barred window high up on the far side was the only source of ventilation and natural light. There were two items of furniture, a kitchen table pushed up against the right-hand wall and, in the centre of the cell, directly beneath a single electric bulb that hung limply from a rope flex, shining a sickly yellow light down, was a wooden kitchen chair. Here sat the fat man, the man Ross referred to as Grössburger, the man whom Lock had spied with Underhill in the Café Baldia, the man whom Lock had seen being bundled away from the brothel. He wasn’t tied down, but the questioning he had been subjected to had clearly involved physical violence. His nose and lip were bleeding, his left eye was swollen, and there was a cut above his eyebrow. There was a dampness around his crotch and a pool of sharp-smelling liquid at his bare feet. He was still dressed the way he had been on leaving
Cennet
.

Standing over the fat man, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and soaked in the sweat of exertion, was Underhill. He turned on hearing the door open, sneered at Lock, then straightened up and nodded to Ross.

‘Sah.’

Lock caught a familiar smell of perfume cutting through the stench of fear and turned his head to see Betty Boxer, arms folded, a burning cigarette in her hand, standing inside, next to the door. She looked, even in the weak, yellow light, pale and disturbed.

‘I took you more for an equestrian than a pugilist,’ Lock said.

Betty put her cigarette to her lips and glared back. But Lock could see her hand shaking. Was she here under duress?

‘What the hell is this?’ Lock said, turning back to Ross.

‘This is war, laddie. The gloves are off when we deal with spies and terrorists. You think you can do better?’ the major challenged.

Lock shook his head and walked over to the table that was pushed up against the wall. Spread out across its surface was a number of personal items: a pocket watch, a fountain pen, some coins, mostly Indian rupees, which wasn’t surprising as they were now the official currency of Mesopotamia, having recently been introduced by the occupying British. There was also a money clip containing Swiss franken, English pounds and German papiermarks, the red and white polka dot handkerchief, a small leather-bound notebook and the small black box Lock had seen Grössburger hand to Underhill. It was open now and inside, resting on a black velvet cloth, was a pair of pearl earrings. They looked very expensive. Lock noted that there was no sign of the coin purse, however, that Underhill had given to Grössburger in exchange for the box.

Lock picked up the notebook and flicked through its pages. They were all blank. No, what was that? He fanned the pages again, slower this time, and stopped a third of the way through. One page had three words written down, in black ink, in neat, flowing script, three very familiar words:

Lieutenant Kingdom Lock

‘Intriguing, don’t you think?’

Lock glanced up. Ross was peering over his shoulder.

‘So who is he really?’ Lock said. He closed the notebook and put it back down on the table.

‘Günther Peter Grössburger. Born 1861 in Basel. Swiss national, APOC director. But he’s also a pearl smuggler, a German sympathiser, and a spy.’

‘
Nein
,’ Grössburger muttered. ‘
Ich
bin kein Spion
.’

‘Shut it, Fritz!’ Underhill slapped the fat man across the jaw.

Lock saw Betty wince and turn her gaze away.

‘Does she have to witness this?’

Betty glared back at him. ‘I choose to be here, Captain.’

Lock frowned. He didn’t understand the American girl at all. She made no sense; her presence here, in this cell, in this city, even in this war made no sense. What was she trying to prove? Another suffragette? To what ends? He looked back at the major, but he just gave an almost imperceptible shrug.

‘Pearl smuggler?’ Lock said, changing the subject.

Ross picked up the earrings and held them up. They were very beautiful and appeared to change colour as the major turned them slowly in the light.

‘Captivating, aren’t they? The pearls come from Bubiyan Island, at the mouth of the Shatt al-Arab. They are worth a fortune and are the favoured currency, we believe, and the main source of funding, for Wassmuss’s network.’

‘A fortune?’

Ross nodded. ‘Sir Percy Cox estimated the pearl market for 1914 to be worth somewhere in the region of three million pounds. That’s something like sixty-three million German marks.’

Lock gave a low whistle. ‘So he’s the paymaster?’ he said, staring down at Grössburger.

‘That’s what the sergeant major has been trying to find out,’ Ross said. ‘But we aren’t getting very far. We’ve searched his rooms at the Hotel Ezra. All there is, is that notebook containing the two names.’

The major picked the notebook up from the table and flicked through until he found the page he wanted. He held it up for Lock to see.

Marmaris

‘That’s a sleepy little fishing village on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey,’ Lock said.

‘It’s also the name of a boat.’

‘A boat?’

The major nodded. ‘Yes, a Turkish steamer, in fact.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Up the Tigris, north of Qurna.’

Lock glanced at the fat man slumped in the chair. ‘A rendezvous? A centre of operations?’

The major shrugged. ‘Could be, laddie. I hadn’t thought of that. A mobile command centre …’ Ross said, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. ‘Very good, Lock. I like it.’

Underhill snorted derisively.

Grössburger lifted his head slowly and turned to focus on the two officers staring down at him. His eyes found Lock, and he squinted as if to see better through fogged vision.

‘
Was? Was haben Sie … gesagt?
’ he gurgled weakly, as if he were trying to speak with a mouth full of water.

Underhill slapped Grössburger sharply across the jaw again.

‘Stop talkin’ that filth, Fritz!’

Lock stepped forward to intervene, but Ross held him back.

‘Leave the sergeant major to do his work, laddie.’

‘This is barbaric, sir.’ Lock wrenched his arm away.

‘Now, listen, Lock. This isn’t a game. We need to crack Wassmuss’s network, or thousands will die.’

‘Thousands are dying every day in this goddamn war. Sir.’

Ross scowled back at Lock. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

Grössburger made a rattling sound, cleared his throat, then spat to his side.

‘Lock? You are Lock?’ he said in heavily accented English, his voice barely a whisper.

Underhill slammed his fist into the fat man’s belly. ‘I said shut yer mouth.’

Grössburger doubled up gasping for air.

‘All right, Sergeant Major, enough for now,’ Ross said.

Underhill moved away from the prisoner, rubbing his knuckles. His eyes met Lock’s, inviting him to challenge him, make some comment.

But Lock held his tongue. He took the notebook from Ross’s grip and opened it up at the page with his name written on, and held it under Grössburger’s bloodied nose.

‘Why is this name here? Why is
my
name here?’

Grössburger groaned and shook his head. ‘You are Lock? Lieutenant Kingdom Lock?’ he said.

‘Yes. But I am a captain now.’

Grössburger chuckled, or at least that’s what Lock presumed he was doing. It could just as easily have been an involuntary spasm.

‘So the British do reward murderers.’

‘I’m a soldier, Herr Grössburger.’

The fat man shook his head again. ‘
Nein
, Sie sind Auftragsmörder
… You are killer … a paid assassin.’

‘All soldiers are killers, it goes with the job.’

‘Pah! Your excuses are feeble. We know what you did, what you are.’

‘We?’

‘
Was?
’

‘You said “we”. That means you are part of something … bigger. A network? Wassmuss’s network?’

Grössburger blinked up at Lock, but said nothing more.

Ross leant close to Lock and whispered, ‘Very good, laddie.’

‘Are you a smuggler?’ Lock said, ignoring the major.

Grössburger snorted. ‘Of course I am not. But I do deal in the pearls. There is a big market in this country with many soldiers wanting … How
do you say? Trinkets? …
Ja
, trinkets for their sweethearts. What do you think they are?’ He jerked his double chins at the table.

‘The earrings?’

‘
Ja
, the earrings. That … pig,’ he flicked a limp wrist at Underhill, ‘he contacted me through my source …’

‘Source? Who?’

‘The Indian cook.’

Lock glanced questioningly at Underhill, although he knew the answer.

‘Bombegy. ’E means Bombegy,’ the sergeant major said.

Lock’s mind turned over momentarily, wondering just how deep his cook was involved in this mess. ‘Carry on,’ he said to Grössburger.

‘The sergeant major wanted something expensive and delicate for a friend. I met with him and he purchased the earrings. That is all.’

‘The sergeant major,’ Ross said, stepping forward, ‘was working at exposing the German spy network that is being funded with pearls. Pearls
you
supply.’

Grössburger shook his head. ‘
Nein
, nein, nein
.’

‘Then why,’ Ross said, ‘did you meet secretly in a cafe back room?’

‘Thieves, Herr Major, they are everywhere.’

It was Ross’s turn to give a shake of the head. ‘No, no, no.’

Grössburger smiled thinly up at him. ‘How ironic then, Herr Major, if what you say is true, that British money is funding your own destruction.’

The room fell silent.

‘Did you arrange the attempt on my life?’ Lock said, after a moment.

Grössburger turned his gaze back to Lock. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, but they burnt with arrogance. It was a look he had seen before, in Wassmuss. For a moment the hairs on the back of Lock’s neck bristled. Was this man Wassmuss in another elaborate disguise? Impossible. No, his eyes, they were different. But still, it
was a haunting thought that took a while to fade.

‘Assassinate the assassin?’ Grössburger said. ‘No, Herr Lock. But there
is
a price on your head.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Lock said.

Grössburger chuckled again. ‘You, Lieutenant—’

‘Captain.’

‘
Ja
, ja
, Capitan Kingdom Lock of the A.I.F. who, contrary to the Hague Convention of 1907, shot and killed in cold blood
Kaymakam
Süleyman Askerî Bey of the Ottoman Empire. There is a price on your head. An eye for an eye.’

Lock was stunned. He had no idea what the fat man was talking about.

‘What? When? When was I supposed to have done this … murder?’

‘Three weeks ago.’

Lock shook his head in disbelief.

‘I presume the attempt on your life,’ Grössburger said, ‘was an act by one seeking the reward.’

‘Who, who says I assassinated this … Süleyman Askerî?’

‘The witness.
Binbaşi
Feyzi.’

‘Never heard of him,’ Lock said.

Grössburger shrugged.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Lock turned away from the Swiss. ‘What does it mean, sir?’ he said to Ross.

The major was pulling at his moustache, his brow furrowed, a puzzled look across his face as he studied Grössburger.

‘Outside. All of you.’

Sergeant Major Underhill rolled down his shirtsleeves, rapped twice on the cell door and, when the sentry on the other side unlocked it, he pulled it open and waited for Betty to step out first. She caught Lock’s eye on her way out, but Lock could read nothing in her expression. Did she think he was an assassin? Lock followed Underhill out, and the major came after.

‘Corporal, keep an eye on our guest,’ Ross said.

‘Sir.’ The provost sentry stepped into the cell.

‘I demand to see the Swiss cons—’ Grössburger shouted.

Ross cut the protest short by slamming the cell door shut.

‘Well, that at least sheds some light on your shooting, laddie.’

Lock shook his head. He didn’t believe it, he couldn’t believe it. It made no sense.

‘Did you kill him?’ Ross said, as he began to lead the way back down the corridor.

‘I’ve never even heard of Feyzi or Süleyman Askerî.’

Ross looked doubtful, and glanced at Betty and Underhill.

‘Come on, sir,’ Lock said. ‘I’ve either been drunk or laid up in hospital since the Battle of Barjisiyah Woods. You all know that. How the hell can I have killed him? By magic?’

Ross nodded his head. ‘I know, I know.’ He gave a heavy sigh and passed a hand through his hair. ‘Well, it must be Wassmuss up to his tricks again. A rat in the White Tabs, Bombegy working for the enemy, and now this. Oh, he’s a proper little spider, our slippery German friend, isn’t he? The more I think about it, more’s the pity that your bullet missed him at the quay.’

‘What about the fat man? He must know more than he’s letting on,’ Lock said, jerking his head back towards the cell door.

‘I doubt we’ll get anything else out of Grössburger,’ Ross said. ‘Perhaps we’ll have better luck with Bombegy.’

‘I can’t believe Bombegy’s involved, sir.’

‘Up to ’is scrawny brown neck, sah, ’e is,’ Underhill said, with a certain amount of glee.

The group paused as they came back out into the vast hall.

‘All right, everybody, go get some rest,’ Ross said. ‘We’ll assess the situation in the morning.’

‘It is morning, sir,’ Betty said. She smiled at Lock, then turned and slipped her way past the lone provost sergeant still sat at the desk and on towards the main entrance.

Underhill stiffly saluted. ‘Sahs,’ he said, then marched after Betty, the clump of his hobnailed boots echoing loudly.

Lock walked with Ross in silence for a moment, his mind a mass of inexplicable questions and theories. He stopped short.