Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (18 page)

I glanced at the clock on the bulkhead just as the bell struck to begin the second dog watch. Six o'clock. In addition to his other irritations, I was keeping the admiral from his supper. “So, in summary, sir, we now have only two days to find and warn Martí and stop the assassination. If we don't, and Martí is killed on American soil, the press will call for war. That's a war we in the Navy, and also the leaders of the Army, are not prepared for right now.”

“Who is this unwitting source?”

“Someone who is in mortal peril should their name ever get out, sir. Drake's murder proves it.”

“You didn't answer my question, Commander.”

“I cannot answer that question, sir, in order to protect the source. It's a matter of honor.”

The instant I said that word, I regretted it. The admiral shot up to his feet, his face a contorted purple mask as he pointed at me. “
You
 . . . dare to lecture
me
 . . . on the subject of
honor?
”

I was sure the Marine sentry outside the admiral's door heard, and within minutes it would be around the flagship and across the wharf to my ship—
Did you hear? The admiral laid into Wake about honor!
That juicy bit of gossip would nicely reinforce Gardiner's visions of my imminent professional demise.

When an admiral stands, juniors stand, so I calmly rose. Knowing my career truly was over if he took it the wrong way, I replied, “Sir, you must surely realize after all these years I've served under you I meant no disrespect, absolutely none, and I would never lecture you on anything, much less honor. I made
the statement as something both of us, as men who really do try to live by a code of honor, would understand. The source is a decent person, who had no idea of the peril I have subjected them to, and I am relying on your trust in me, validated by a decade of crucial secret missions around the world under your command, to help protect that life.”

His tone was quieter when he answered. “This correspondence, a letter I presume, is the sole basis for your new theory?”

“No, sir. It instigated my new theory, but it also ties together previous information we had deduced, and our understanding of Martí and Marrón.”

“So why did you not suspect a Spanish assassination of Martí when you examined the evidence before?”

“Because Martí has been telling his people not to do anything overt against the Spanish. The struggle for Cuba's independence has been in a clandestine phase for years. Martí and his senior generals know they are not ready yet for large-scale war, but the hotheads in the lower ranks still want action. He has urged them to quietly build their support structure of finances, munitions, supplies, and manpower instead, so all will be ready when the time comes for a coordinated return to general war on the island. The Cubans aren't ready for war again.”

“Why don't the Spanish know that?”

“The egos and paranoia in Madrid and Havana. They think the rebels are stronger than they really are. Their fear is turning into panic, and that is driving this decision to kill him, even if they have to do it inside our country. The source's letter gave me important insight into that.”

“An unwitting source, you said, with no other descriptors or details. So there is no quid pro quo, no expectation of protection, and no ability of the source to protect themselves?”

I answered cautiously, for he wasn't using a masculine pronoun for the source. I wasn't going to lie to him and use that pronoun, so I'd kept it generic and hoped he would delude himself.

“No, sir. The source doesn't understand the import of the information, or that I am using it to make decisions. This makes the information even more valid, in my opinion.”

“I see, Commander,” said the admiral. “What if the source is appearing within the Spanish circle of trust, but is actually a triple agent, working for the Germans? They then feed information to the Americans, which decoys them away from the Germans as suspects. Ladies, in particular, are renowned for it, as you well know.”

Damn. That was that—he'd deduced the source.

“Double or triple agents are always a possibility, sir. But in my best judgment, this is not one of those situations.”

Walker sat down and motioned me to do so as well. “Peter, I sincerely hope the dear lady remains safe, and I'll say nothing about her. You have my word of honor on it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“All right, Commander,” said Walker decisively. “I concur with your new assessment—within two days the Orden Público will assassinate Martí somewhere in Florida. What exactly do you propose to do?”

“Not many options, sir. We warn the local Cuban groups here in Key West right away, then send warnings by cable to his probable venues in other areas of the state; Tampa and Ybor City, Jacksonville, Saint Augustine, Ocala, Pensacola.”

He nodded his concurrence. “That will be a problem. The new cable northward to the Florida peninsula is still out. They say the cable ship is en route to make the repairs. But we just got word yesterday there's a problem ashore, north of Punta Gorda. A sink hole, on top of everything else we've got to contend with, has swallowed the poles and cable.”

“Then it looks like I'll have to head to Tampa and use their cable station. But first, I'll get
Bennington
out to the anchorage. That way
Gneisenau
can come in and coal. It might help the political situation with the Germans.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Second, I need to find Martin Herrera or José Poyo, two of Martí's revolutionary colleagues over at the San Carlos Institute, on Duval Street. They'll know Martí's schedule. Once I know where he is, we'll get under way for Tampa directly and from there I can warn Martí by cable wherever he is.”

“Very well. Anything else, Wake?”

“Yes, sir. One thing—a personnel matter that needs to be decided right away.”

Walker cast a look to the overhead and groaned. “Let me guess. Norton Gardiner.”

Key West Naval Station
Wednesday evening
14 December 1892

After
Bennington
coaled and anchored out, I had Gardiner visit my cabin. “Get your gear together, Commander Gardiner. You're going ashore and won't be returning to the ship.”

“I don't understand. Why?”

“You're being transferred to the Boston Navy Yard, where you'll be equipment officer under Captain Selfridge, the commandant.”

His face transformed into a pinkish red hue. “That's an insult! I'm leaving
Bennington
now? This way? Is this because of our stupid conflict last week and your obvious jealousy of my class and status? People from your station in life can never really understand the burdens of wealth, can they?”

“No, it's for the good of the service, because of your gross incompetence, Commander Gardiner. I need an executive officer
I can trust, which eliminates you, for you are not trustworthy in either seamanship or leadership. The fact you are going to Boston is a gift of charity toward you by the admiral.”

“Charity? The admiral! You and Walker cooked this up so I'll be disgraced in front of my family in my home city, sent there to be an underling with a menial office. My family is expecting me to be given a proper command and they will not stand for this at all. They are very close friends with Senator Lodge, and you and Walker will regret this. You both will be ruined. Count on that. Ruined!”

His performance disgusted me, but I was not about to get into a shouting match with the likes of him. I kept my demeanor calm, which seemed to madden him even more.

“Yes, actually it was charity, Commander. If you would rather go to Mare Island Naval Yard in California to spare your ego any humiliation, I understand there is a vacancy there for an
assistant
equipment officer.”

To preclude further whining, I judged it time for the coup de grâce. “And as far as Senator Lodge goes, perhaps he might be interested in learning what I just learned ashore—you have had marginal evaluations for the last ten years, you were never considered for command of
Bennington
or any other ship, and you have been passed on from one station to another as a political payback for your family's campaign donations. Your assignment to this squadron and in this ship was the last chance to prove that your skills were worth everyone putting up with your character flaws. You failed. It's over.”

Gardiner started to say something, but I cut him off. “And if you do or say anything even remotely insubordinate from this moment onward, I will have you arrested instantly and court-martialed. Do you understand?”

He didn't answer, so I said, “This was where you should've said, ‘Yes, sir.' And where I would've said, ‘Good luck.' But you didn't, so get out of my sight, get your gear sent down into the boat, and remove yourself from this ship.”

That did the trick. The petulant arrogance vaporized. He sat there, dumbfounded.

“I said, get out!”

In a daze, he made his way to the passageway and out of my sight. I called for Lieutenant Commander John Warfield to come to my cabin.

He arrived in a hastily donned working uniform, with the middle button undone and a pencil behind his right ear. “Yes, sir?”

“Sit down, please. I have some substantial news for you.”

He lowered himself into a chair, regarding me as one might a strange dog, uncertain whether he was going to be bitten or licked. It was a feeling around superiors I knew only too well and I couldn't help but inwardly chuckle. Did I really have that kind of reputation? I hoped not.

“Effective immediately, you are
Bennington
's executive officer. Commander Gardiner has received a new assignment at Boston Navy Yard and is going ashore as we speak. You will move into his quarters straightaway and work out a new officers' watch bill.”

Warfield was understandably stunned for a moment, but his recovery was rapid and he answered in a steady voice, “Ah, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“My yeoman is typing the order for distribution to all divisions this evening. Whom do you recommend for your former billet as navigator?”

“Lieutenant Lambert is the best of the lot, sir. He'd do fine.”

“And for the new gunnery officer to replace Lambert?”

“Manning, sir. He knows the guns well.”

He showed no hesitation in the recommendations, I was pleased to see. Warfield knew his brother officers in the ship.

“Very well, make it so. I will be going ashore soon, myself. Not sure when I'll be back, it might be late. When I do return, I will brief you on the past and present particulars of our mission, which are very confidential. The ship needs to be ready for
getting under way as soon as possible. No liberty ashore for the crew, I'm afraid, but as soon as we can, they'll get several days ashore, wherever it is we end up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know this is a lot to absorb so suddenly, John. But you are a good officer and have shown me you can handle it. Go ahead and brief the wardroom about this change at supper. However, I want you to make sure there are no negative comments regarding Commander Gardiner or his departure. I will not stand for any of that sort of nonsense.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“You must have a thousand questions in your mind. Any I can answer right now?”

“None that can't wait for our meeting later, sir.”

I stood, which prompted him to do so as well. Holding out my hand, I said, “Not much time to offer my congratulations, I'm afraid. Please know I am glad to have you as my number two.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A check of the clock showed it was getting late. “And now I must go ashore. We'll talk later, John.”

We both got down to business, Warfield heading for the bridge and me racing down the ladder into my gig, where I told the coxswain to hurry. That he did, and when we rounded the bow the boat moved heavily through the chop of the anchorage, for the southwest wind was rising. The straining boat crew kept their eyes averted from mine, but not before they registered I was in civilian attire, unusual for a captain ashore in Key West. The smell of rain was in the air and I peered through the darkness, trying to ascertain the shape of the clouds. They were low and in long lines. Squalls from the southwest and west. A bad sign.

Seeing my uneasiness, the coxswain commented over the splash of oars and waves. “Storm a-coming, sir. And a bad 'un at that. Gonna be a rough night, sure as hell's hot.”

Key West