Litvinenko meets Sherlock Holmes

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In a particularly foggy corner of literary paradise, the specters of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson puff contentedly upon their pipes and survey the glorious ruins of a huge, celestial English breakfast with a half a dozen crumpled newspapers scattered about them. Suddenly, with a light knock on the door, the ghost of their faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, ushers a mysterious visitor into their presence.

The visitor, though visibly agitated, is yet an imposing figure, over seven feet tall, with a massive mane of glowing, blond ringlets and covered with a flowing cape that, hastily donned, fails to disguise the massive wings upon his shoulders. "Do sit down Gabriel and tell us what business brings you here," Holmes enjoins the magnificent apparition, a faint smile playing on his thin lips "... You know who I am?" replies the startled archangel. "Elementary my dear Gabriel, now please proceed.”

A bit flustered the heavenly messenger begins, "I come at the request of my employer, whose name I am forbidden to pronounce." Holmes raises his hand saying, "Be assured of Doctor Watson's and my total discretion." "Well, you see," the Angel, thus encouraged, continues, "It’s this Litvinenko affair," "Ah yes!" says the great detective rubbing his hands together, "I've been following it in the papers". "Well despite his omniscience and omnipotence it has my employer completely puzzled and we rather hoped you'd help us out. Saint Peter is frantic, don't you know, as he doesn’t really know what to do with this Litvinenko chap and the fellow is playing his cards very close to his chest and is saying nothing... hoping to stay up here, I should imagine!"

"A most curious case,” the great detective begins, “if I didn't know that he was safely in residence a few floors below, I'd swear all this was the work of professor Moriarty, especially the bizarre appearance of a flock of radioactive airplanes sowing panic around Europe. That has his masterful touch. But with Moriarty, er… um, deceased and that being impossible, eliminating that, what ever else is left, however improbable must be the truth... It can't be the professor."

"Now several things strike one straight off the bat, the method employed for example, I imagine that London still offers the murderer as infinite a number of discreet ways to carry out his task as it did in my day: pushing people under those wonderful double-decker buses is a perennial favorite. Why use something so baroque as polonium? Obviously the reason was to keep the story in the papers. Why ever would Putin want to do that?” I have trouble then believing it was Putin, quite the contrary, it must have been one or several of his enemies, he has quite a few, I believe. Every time the fellow goes off to summit or some such one of his critics manages to get killed in spectacular and embarrassing fashion. No, it really can’t have been Putin."

The great detective pauses, sighs and takes a long thoughtful draw upon his pipe and clearing his throat, continues, “To catch our villain, we should examine carefully what he has been doing and what enemies he has made.” Doctor Watson interjects, “Well Holmes, he seems to be rather down of democracy, don’t you think? Giving democrats a hard time and all that?” Holmes looks at his bluff, steady old friend with one of his inimitable looks, simultaneously both of affection and contempt. “My dear Watson, don’t be a child, do you really think that any of the people who actually run the world to their benefit care a fig for ‘democracy? For them it's only another tool. This is a struggle over power and money.” Watson flushes and stammers, Holmes to save his friend more embarrassment, calls out, “Mrs. Hudson bring some more tea for Watson and myself, if you please, and see what our angelic friend is having!” To be continued