punished?”
“Difficult to say. It was just before an election, so the voters could have taken care of that. I guess you have to ask yourself, why this affair was not given the attention it demanded.”
“Was your decision to leave your post and go to Denmark related to that event?”
“Yes.”
“But doesn’t Denmark have the same problem,” a Danish journalist wanted to know. “Here an intelligence officer showed that the government also entered the war although the Danish prime minister knew that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.”
“As a foreigner living in Denmark, I have no intention to comment on that affair,” Mr. Lockwood said.
His son immediately added, “And what did you do to inform the public about it?”
“I was working in the sports section then,” the man answered, to which his colleagues laughed, knowing that they themselves were no better off.
“Have you been in London since then?”
“No!”
“Are you afraid that you might be arrested?”
“Yes.”
“But almost two years before, another person revealed that the weapons of mass destruction did not exist. He was not arrested …”
“He was found dead in the woods,” another supplemented.
“Dr. Kelly was a microbiologist with special knowledge of a certain subject. I evaluate my crime as a governmental employee as more serious,” Mr. Lockwood answered.
“Do you think Dr. Kelly was murdered?”
“It seems pretty certain. It was meant as a warning to everybody else.”
“So you must feel pretty uncomfortable yourself. Did you get any death threats yourself?”
Mr. Lockwood hesitated a few seconds before saying, “No comments.”
“What is the reason for the bandage on your left hand?”
“It was a small accident at home and has nothing to do with this case. You should not strain your phantasy.”
Andrew helped leading away from the problem by addressing another female journalist, who posed a question in another direction, leaving Mr. Lockwood some seconds to recover. “Mrs. Lockwood, when did you learn about this problem?”
“We discussed it at home and I fully agreed with my husband, including his decision to leave the government and go abroad.”
“Was it far enough away?”
“My wife is Danish,” Mr. Lockwood interrupted. We have friends and family here.
“Time will show if was far enough,” Mrs. Lockwood resumed. “So far, we have been very happy for living in Denmark,” she finished.
“Charlottenlund is not typical for Denmark,” someone muttered, but this remark was not commented further.
“Mr. Lockwood, you talked before about your ‘crime,’ do you really feel guilty of having committed anything unlawful?” an elderly reporter asked.
“This is a typical problem of all whistleblowers. We wait for a long time, perhaps too long, hoping that somebody else would step forward. Then you decide that your own conscience does not permit contributing to a cover-up of higher official’s crime, and you are prepared to take some negative consequences. Afterwards, you wonder that those officials, who really committed crimes, got away with it so easily. Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that this is where you should ask yourself some serious questions.”
“Are you assuming that the press failed their responsibilities?”
“Yes!”
“I agree, but with one reservation,” the old reporter continued. “We can write whatever we want, but there is somebody else who decide, which part will actually be printed – and where.”
“Now you are sounding as a whistleblower yourself,” Mr. Lockwood concluded. “Who is your employer, whom you are betraying now?”
“I am working free-lance, and in some way, I am retired. ‘Take care of the old men, they have nothing to lose,’ if I may cite an old colleague.”
“I am not so old, and I have indeed something to lose,” Mr. Lockwood responded. “Fortunately for me, the executive committee of the company yesterday evening has decided that the current matter shall have no consequences for my position as COE of the firm. I hope to conclude this case soon, having now made a full admission of my part in it.”
He did not come so easily away with it. There were lots of questions following, which Mr. Lockwood answered with great patience, but which were hardly referred in the media afterwards. I lost my patience in the middle of this conference and called Alice, but she was in no mood to talk with me after my absence last night. Then I called Mr. Smith, who should now definitely be in his office, enjoying his coffee and some sweeties his doctor had long fought against – in vain, as his physiognomy proved.
“Mr. Lockwood made a full confession: yes, he was the one who leaked ‘The Downing Street Minutes’ to the press. But that was half an hour ago, he said so, and they are still talking about it.”
“Can you bring them here on the way back?”
I thought I did not hear right. Mr. Smith was not the spontaneous type, on the contrary: everything he did was usually carefully planned, leaving the panic to others, such as me, his assistant.
“No reason for despair,” he said. “Just bring them for a few minutes on the way back, provided you come within the next hour.”
I confirmed and hung up. I knew that this was not an invitation but a demand. I went to Andrew and told him, “It looks better if you stop the session, rather than wait till they have no further questions. Then we’ll still be here tomorrow.”
As soon as his father had finished a sentence, if not the answer, Andrew grasped the word, saying, “Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks for your keen interest. Further questions can be given in written in the information office. Thank you and Goodbye.”
Judging from the lack of reaction, this interruption was not unwelcome and no written questions were later received. Andrew called the driver from his mobile, and a few minutes later, the big car was waiting for us outside the building.
“Mr. Smith also wants to ask you some questions. It won’t take long,” I said with good conscience, knowing how he was looking forward to another occupation afterwards.
“We shall be happy to accept the invitation,” Mr. Lockwood answered. ‘It is an interrogation, not an invitation,’ I thought but kept it for myself. “I know, Mr. Smith does not leave his house, and driving you home gives us a good occasion to follow suit, in particular after Andrew cut off the conference early.”
“It was not early, we were shortly before discussing the weather and religious matters,” Andrew argued.
It was only a short ride back. While we were driving, I called Mr. Smith and told him we were coming. He asked me to bring the guests directly to him in the office and not, as usually practised, in the music room while waiting for the right moment.
5 – How Kelly Died
The two main persons knew each other, but it was obviously an ancient acquaintance. Mr Lockwood was obviously astonished over Mr. Smith’s appearance as he entered the office, the windowless ‘inner temple’ of the old white villa in Hellerup, just a few kilometres North of Copenhagen.
“Gosh, you have obviously changed since I saw you last time,” he burst out. “It must have been 15 years ago, while we were both in London” he explained to all of us.
“And now we have been in Denmark for some years together. It was high time that you came around, Timothy,” Mr. Smith answered.
“I did not realize that you lived so close to us. I often pass by the road there,” He pointed in direction of what he thought was Strandvejen, but actually it was just the road they had entered. “Theodore, you have gained weight in the meantime,” he said humorously.
Both men were speaking out their full, long and complicated names, not ‘Tim’ and ‘Ted’ as most of their compatriots would do, having adopted the American style. Working with Mr. Smith for some years, I understood that this was a fine formalistic difference: ‘I can talk to you using y
our first name, but I am not intruding your privacy sphere in mutilating it,’ it meant – class 2 friends, if you understand. For class 3 friends and all others, both men were still using titles and surnames, against all modern trends.
“I have probably doubled my weight since we met last time. I am now confined to a wheelchair, due to a neurological disease. It diminishes the physical activity while the drugs seem to increase my appetite.” This was in direction of the truth: Mr. Smith’s appetite was indeed legendary, aggravated through the fact that he was a keen gourmet and oenologist, but I doubted that his weight had only doubled. How many stones he was good for was not only a secret, it was nearly impossible to find out, no ordinary person’s weight could withstand the pressure. One of the few times, I had him in the old Bentley, I tried to drive around a car weight with the purpose later to drive around again when empty, but he discovered the plot in time and directed me in sharp words to avoid such tricks.
It was difficult to imagine Mr. Smith as a young, slim, dynamic and athletic type. The fat man looked much elder as he was (now around 50), only his dark-blond hair betrayed that he was not qualified to be obtained in the white-haired men’s league, although I regarded many of his principles to be nothing less but antique.
“Perhaps this was the positive side of the current case since we are both threatened to leave the surface of the earth soon and suddenly, me for medical and you for other reasons.”
The guests shuddered. You could see that this was an aspect they had not cared about before. After a short intermission, Mr. Lockwood answered, “we shall do our best to prevent a foreshortened end, with your help; and if you want it, I can give you some advices on, how to prolong your own life-expectancy.”
Mr. Smith showed a grim expression in his face; I could see that he was considering ending the meeting already, if necessary through escape. “Without an improved quality of life, no prolongation of this misery. My affinity towards good eating, excellent wines, music and literature are the only qualities I consider now. Don’t take them away from me – which leaves your case as the only one, which is possible to cure, Timothy.”
Our guest flushed. “Certainly, I shall not mix up in your affairs, I promise, Theodore. Let us then constraint our efforts to my own case. I fear it has not been solved with yours and Mr. Gusto’s lifesaving efforts yesterday, but I would like to honour that with a cheque. But what do you think my life is worth?”
“Not very much if you ask an insurance agent for a life insurance. Make a cheque of 100 crowns for Mr. Gusto for a start, I shall then send you a bigger bill if we manage to stop the assault at your life.”
Mr. Lockwood wrote a cheque for me personally. Fortunately did Mr. Lockwood not share Mr. Smith’s evaluation and wrote it for 10,000 Danish Kroner, some 1,000 £ to stay in his original currency, not bad for a day’s work. I stuck it in my jacket without telling Mr. Smith that it exceeded his proposed 100 DKr.
Mr. Smith did not rest long upon his success. “Timothy, it is probable that very powerful forces are standing behind the assault yesterday. If that is the case, we cannot define as a target that we can draw the responsible to some sort of punishment. The primary goal must be to prevent that it happens again.”
“I don’t demand more than that,” the victim said.
“All right. Anyhow, we have to analyze what happened yesterday evening. I presume that Mr. Erlandsson has questioned you thoroughly already.”
Mr. Lockwood sighed loudly. “If he had asked my name at the end, I am not sure I would know it.”
“Then I hope you can give us a brief summary, at first without being interrupted by us. At least, I hope the coffee is better than the one they offered at the hospital this morning.”
“Certainly, that almost brought me to a confession, had I only known what I should admit and Mr. Erlandsson been around. But to tell my story,