Blackest of Lies (14 page)

“Actually, nothing.  We have some more clothes that have been altered but that’s just …”

At that point in the conversation, a messenger appeared with a telegram from Whitehall.  Fitzgerald opened it and found it was from Kell.

“I just cannot
believe
the double-dealing of politicians,” he raved.

“What’s the matter?” asked Farmer.

Fitzgerald slapped the message with the back of his hand.  “The House is currently debating the issue of supplies to the Front – well, you already know that – but it seems that Markham and his cronies have been all fired up by Bonar Law, Carson and Lloyd George to call for some sort of vote of no confidence in Lord Kitchener’s handling of the War effort.  The effrontery of the fools!  If it hadn’t been for Kitchener, there would have been
no
war effort worth speaking about!”

“Will this affect us?”

“It certainly will.  If they make a big enough noise, the upshot could be your complete exposure. Lloyd George and Northcliffe would just
love
that.  We need to neutralise them somehow.  So, Asquith has suggested to Kell that your under-secretary, Tennant, should drop a hint on Tuesday’s debate that you’ll meet any of them, either in private or as a group, at the War Office to discuss any matter which concerns them.”

“What?  How in God’s name do they expect me to carry that off?”

“He seems to think that if we do not nip this problem in the bud, they will find other ways of embarrassing you. We’d run the risk of their discovering things we don’t want them to know.  I believe the offer is to be made
en passant
during a quiet period in the hope that no-one will notice.  If they miss it, we can say we at least made the offer but if any of them are actually awake in the chamber, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go through with it.”

“Surely some of them know Kitchener, personally.  I don't think I could perform well enough to fool them at close quarters.”

Hubert joined the conversation.  “Well, you know, Henry, I don’t think things will turn out too badly, if we handle it with a little finesse.”

Fitzgerald looked round at him.  “How so, Lieutenant?”

“Well, once again, Kitchener is very uncommunicative – and notorious for it.  He does things his own way and brooks no opposition.  That’s something you
must
bear in mind, Henry.  If you don’t like something, tell them you won’t do it.  Simple as that.  Anyway, as I say, he is not well known as a garrulous man.  That being the case, I think that the offer of this interview – being so out of character – is going to be seriously oversubscribed, to say the least.  No one will want to miss the chance.  Word of mouth alone will bring them flooding in from the Shires.”

“How does that help me?” asked Farmer.

“Well, there’s no way they could
all
be fitted into your office – that allows us to choose the venue.”

“I see what you’re getting at, Hubert.  Go for one of the larger meeting rooms in the War Office or even the House of Commons where the audience is kept more at a distance,” said Fitzgerald, interested now in the proposition.

“Absolutely.  More to the point, with a larger audience like that, there would be fewer chances for individuals to button-hole Henry and get too close.”

“Very well, that’s the way we must do it.  I’ll get on to Kell.”

“I wonder if our Prime Minister will actually put in an appearance,” said Farmer.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, Oswald, in the short time I have been masquerading as Lord Kitchener, I have had no end of trouble getting Asquith to sign off on things – particularly this recruiting business that the War Office tells me is crucial if we’re not just to throw open the gates of Buckingham Palace to Kaiser Bill.  Yet, just before we drove down here, at the last hurdle, our Prime Minister declared himself too ill to pay attention to the needs of his country and the Bill remains unsigned.  I thought he had exhausted every avenue of delay: I never thought of the diarrhoea.”

**********

U-75 was well out into the North Sea by now, on its way to a holding point just north of Trondheim, cruising on the surface at a relaxed pace which belied its deadly cargo of eighteen mines.  Down below, in the Captain’s cabin, Beitzen and Grassl were enjoying an illicit glass of schnapps.

“Go on, then, Kurt, How do you think Jellicoe and Scheer will measure up against each other?”

“Who knows? There’s never been a battle of dreadnoughts before.  Jellicoe is no great tactician, that’s for sure, but he has some great ships.  Beatty, on the other hand, is in a class of his own.  If we have any problems, he’ll be at the bottom of them.”  He lay back on his bunk and ruffled his dark brown hair.  “You know, Willi, I can’t wait for this battle to be fought.”

“Me, too.  I’m dying to have a go at sinking the ‘Grand Fleet’.”

“No, it’s not just that.  This could be
it
.  A collision of the two greatest fleets in the world.  It could spell the end, one way or the other.  The war could slide to a standstill within a few weeks if there is a decisive outcome.”

“‘
One way or the other
?’  Don’t you expect us to win?”

“Don’t know.  I don’t know if I care, really.  I’m just ... tired of it all.”  He propped his head up on an elbow and looked at the other man.  “It’s been two years, Willi,
two years
.  You only just joined up six months ago, but I’ve hardly seen my wife in all of that time and completely missed my little girl’s first steps – I’ll never get that back again.  I suppose this is high treason or something but I just don’t seem to have the same ... I don’t know …
enthusiasm
for the whole thing.”

“You’re just tired, Kurt.  I mean, you’ve done a hell of a lot of patrols.  And that business of the
Farewell
– I don’t think anyone else would’ve held his nerve.”

“Thanks, Willi.” He looked down into his glass.  “And you may be right about the fatigue.  Anyway, that’s why I was annoyed at our being stuck out here while the main action’s going to be taking place further south.  We’ve got to make this a
decisive
defeat for the Grand Fleet or the whole thing will drag on for
another
two years.  Both our countries will be beggared – and for what?”

“God preserve us from that!  Yes, you’re right, the destruction of the Grand Fleet is key to everything.  If we can hammer it so hard that it never ventures out again, England and her sea lanes will just be lying open for the taking.  There’ll be no opposition
and
the blockade will be over.”

Grassl got up, crouched in the confines of the tiny living space.  “And so, with your permission, Kapitän, I’ll get back to my compass-dynamo and stop us bumping into Norway.”  He looked with affection at Beitzen.  “Honestly, Kurt, you should just lie back and get some rest.  I’ll call you when we’re on station.”

**********

Farmer wasn’t too worried about the whole affair, now that he knew that he’d have so many experts to step in and help him if he was making a hash of things.  Sitting in the main drawing room of Broome, he was listening to Fitzgerald’s thoughts on how to deal with the military aspects of the Russian visit. 

Dudeney continued to be a useful sounding board for his developing Kitchener impersonation and they were together often in the gardens and estate buildings.  Farmer found it amusingly odd how he, too, had acquired a sort of proprietorial feeling for the roses, Kitchener’s own pride and joy.  Perhaps he was getting
too
good at this thing and he wondered just how he would manage when the time came to cast off his assumed persona.  Would anything ever be the same again?  He shivered in the warm breeze as Kitchener, figuratively speaking, walked over his grave.

**********

“Mr Duquesne.”

“Colonel Datchett.”

The two, well-dressed men shook hands shook hands like old acquaintances meeting by chance.  Datchett looked around with some disgust at the peeling paint of a rather seedy tea shop in the Cromwell Road.  One could catch something nasty in here, he thought, and mentally made a note not to eat or drink anything just in case.  He glanced across the greasy table at the other man while beckoning the waitress to take their order.  “What can I tempt you to?”

In the end, just tea was ordered and, once the girl had scuffed away into the darkness of the kitchen, Datchett slipped a small package under the table.  “Something
really
good for you this time, Mr Duquesne.”

“Worth the journey I had to make from South America, I hope.  My employers are becoming underwhelmed by the quality of information you’re supplying.  It doesn’t always stand up to scrutiny.   Personally, I’m not at all sure it’s worth the money they’re paying you.”

“This one is for free,” said Datchett.

Duquesne scowled.  “Nothing’s ever for free.  Not if it’s worth anything.”

“This one is.  And it is almost tailor-made for you, personally.  That’s the reason for your journey.  Let’s just say that our planets are in temporary alignment.  Read the instructions carefully and make the preparations I’ve detailed.”  Datchett beamed a languorous smile, almost hugging himself.  “Believe me, Duquesne, this is the culmination of everything you and I have been working for.  All your Christmases are in that envelope.”

**********

Just off Birsay, the main island of the Orkney group, the destroyer
Unity
laboured to complete the last sweep of the channel to the west of Marwick Head.  The deepening swell had made the entire operation difficult and her Captain was glad that he could head back for Scapa.  In the radio room, the ship’s operator transmitted his message, for the fourth time that hour, to Admiralty HQ in London. 

CHANNEL TO WEST OF MARWICK HEAD SWEPT CLEAR OF MINES

He looked down at his written instructions as he had done before each transmission.  They had just come in just before transmission began and were signed by old ‘Badger’ himself – Vice Admiral Sir Frederick Brockman, Commodore of Longhope Shore Establishment on Hoy.  They were quite explicit – send the message,
en claire
, every fifteen minutes to Admiralty HQ in London. 
Not to Longhope
.  As he grabbed for his pen, which was in mortal danger of rolling off the table on to the floor, he puzzled over the order.  Why
not
send the message to Longhope?  That was the normal course of action. 
And
four times, unencrypted, in one hour!  Something important had to be going down soon for the Admiralty to give a damn about a place like Birsay.  He stretched back over his chair, trying to get some feeling into his cramped muscles.  Well, the whole thing was above his pay scale and, in any case, he was just about to go off watch.

**********

When the news of Jutland broke early on the second of June, Hubert and Farmer were relaxing at the War Office after a conference of civil servants over which Farmer had presided.  Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday had slipped past without incident, taken up with duties outside Whitehall and, so far, the rest of the week had proved to be equally inoffensive.

Hubert was reading over a brief on the situation Kell had couriered over. “It seems that Jellicoe did not give the High Seas Fleet the drubbing everyone expected.  Looks like they fought to a sort of draw and the Germans made off under cover of smoke.  Our lot are claiming victory, of course, but that’s not the way it looks when you count numbers.”

“Damn!”

“Succinctly put, Commander-in-Chief.  Seems that we let ourselves down, partly by incompetence but also, apparently, by the quality of our
shells
.”  Hubert scratched his chin, scanning through the turgid prose.  “At any rate, the High Seas Fleet has slunk back to Kiel, leaving us master of the field, so to speak.”

“What about us?  Any serious damage?”

“Well, yes.  We lost some capital ships and a lot of pride.  The fleet’s back at Scapa, licking its wounds and feeling very sorry for itself.”  He tossed the report aside.  “But there is a reason for telling you all this.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed.  Kell has been on the phone.  This Russian thing – it seems we could kill two birds with one stone.  It’s become apparent in the light of what happened at Jutland that we really should try to buck up the Navy’s morale.  You’ll remember that we were supposed to be departing from the Clyde and, while that would doubtless have been the better idea – you know, short journey there and a well-checked channel to depart from – our sailors have been through such a God-awful scrap that the Admiralty think a visit from you to the Fleet at Scapa would do wonders.  So, it’s up to Thurso by train for you, across the sea to Orkney and from there to the frozen steppes.”

“Fair enough.  Makes no odds, really.”

**********

Infesting the basement of a building just off the Strand, the Turkish Baths were dingy and depressing.  Cracked green tiles abounded amid peeling paint to give the place something of a neglected look but appearances, as is so often the case,
were
deceptive – behind the scenes, the establishment was the most discreet vice parlour in London, attracting an endless supply of diplomats and the very wealthy.