Melbourne shook his head. “Bollocks! There have been wars over this continent for hundreds of years because of mad men like yourself. Mad men who believe that anything that can be attained by force is theirs by right.”
“Kultur is the answer to all the prayers you made since the beginning of this war,” von Krommel said.
“I wasn’t aware I was praying for death and destruction,” Melbourne said.
The Count drew himself closer. “Kultur must be attained through any means. Even if it has to result in a mountain of corpses and an ocean of tears.”
Melbourne exchanged glances with his brother, who stared back with a frown.
“Britain will thank me, young Lieutenant. So would you if you had a future.”
Melbourne heard an odd sound behind him and realised Danielle was no longer at her side. He turned and saw that she had rolled up one sleeve of her gown and wrapped her arm in a thin cord.
She pulled hard on the cord, then picked up a syringe from the nearby table and held the needle up to her eyes. A drop of liquid cautiously rose through the hole and slid down the body of the needle. Satisfied, she dove the needle into her arm and let the morphine flow. Pulling her head back, she let out a sigh as the drug took effect.
“Leave some for me too, my darling,” the Count said.
A knock came from the door connecting their carriage to the troop carrier. A soldier was ushered in holding a piece of paper in his hand. He handed it to the Count without saying a word and exited the room. The Count unfolded the document and a slight smile appeared on his face.
“To General Wolfgang von Krommel,” he read, “I marvel at what you have been able to create for our great Germanic nation. Today is truly an historic day. You have shown courage and ingenuity, and the great Prussian Empire will forever be grateful for your endeavour. Bless this day and the victory that awaits. God is with us. Kaiser Wilhelm II.”
Count von Krommel folded the piece of paper once more and tucked it into a pocket of his jacket. Danielle chuckled, her eyes still closed as she hugged herself on the armchair.
“A telegram from the Emperor himself,” the Count said. “Today is truly a great day.”
Another knock came from the door and a soldier burst through the door without waiting for an invitation. “All is ready, Sir.”
“Excellent!” von Krommel said. “Let us proceed then. We are already late!”
The soldier nodded and left.
“We shall be arriving at Cap Gris-Nez in roughly three hours with fine weather. That will make the event a lot more pleasant.”
A sudden jolt shook the carriage, startling everyone present. Von Krommel was swung forward, and he held onto a nearby chair with both hands. Danielle’s glass tumbled to the ground, crashing into tiny fragments. She was not concerned, still in a daze from the drug flowing in her veins; the smile had not yet faded from her lips.
The Iron Shadow was underway.
Slowly the jerky huffing of the mighty engine sped up and settled down into a low yet menacing rumble.
Count von Krommel let out a sigh of relief.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “You should rest. I can tell from your eyes that you had a rough night, and you need to be at your best for the great event. This gentleman will escort you to your rooms.”
Melbourne turned to see Dead Eyes standing behind his brother, pistol in his hand. He grabbed Henry Arthur by the collar and yanked him out of his chair. His lifeless eyes turned to Melbourne, and with a gesture of his pistol he ordered him to get up as well. Melbourne did.
“Please,” the Count said. “Just this way.”
Dead Eyes shoved the gun into Henry Arthur’s spine and removed another one from the back of his trousers, cocking it and pointing it at Melbourne. The two brothers trudged toward the door, silently, exchanging glances. Melbourne turned to look at Danielle. She smiled at him, waving her fingers goodbye to the spy she had finally caught.
“Have a pleasant journey, gentlemen,” said von Krommel.
The second carriage was set up more as an office than a cosy study, full of Prussian officials discussing plans around a table covered with maps. They all stopped and stared at the prisoners walking by. They passed into a third wagon, the soldiers’ quarters, divided into small chambers that could be converted into sleeping chambers.
Dead Eyes suddenly placed himself in front of them, the two guns pointed at their chests. He opened the door to one of the rooms, and Melbourne and Henry Arthur entered it without even waiting for a sign. The room was small and cramped, fitted only with two facing bench seats that took up most of the room’s space. Dead eyes waved them to one – the seat was hard horsehair and may as well have been wood – and sat opposite.
They sat in silence. Dead Eyes folded his arms on his knees, the two guns still firmly in his hands, their elongated barrels pointing down for once. He did not take his emotionless eyes off them for a single second.
Melbourne glanced at Henry Arthur and shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll be enjoying scintillating conversation.”
“Repartee and badinage? I doubt it.”
Melbourne smiled. “You know, despite all that’s happening, I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Henry Arthur smiled back. “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”
“And I’m happy to hear that.”
“Look… I know news of my death must have caused you pain, and I wanted to apologise. My recklessness has led us to all this. I am truly sorry.”
“Apologies accepted. But how? How did you end up getting entangled in this situation? I can’t seem to put the pieces together.”
“It’s quite a long story and seeing that this journey will go on for some time let me tell it to you. I should probably start from the beginning…”
XLVIII
“My espionage escapades began by mere coincidence.
“I guess you could say it all started while I was stationed in the British Cape Colony during the Second Anglo-Boer War towards the end of the fighting, about 1901. I was back in Cape Town after the battle at Moedwill to stay by Lord Kitchener’s side and to help plan the next moves against General Koos de la Rey’s forces. We had new recruits coming in, and I was tasked to show them around our camp and facilities. There was one fellow that stuck out among the bunch, I can’t remember what his name was. But I remember him being curious, slightly more curious than the average recruit. He asked questions on everything and was particularly interested in our strategic installations. He never really told me why. There were roughly twenty new recruits around that period as well, and they all seemed to look up to this man. There was something wrong with him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“And then it clicked.
“His face was familiar.
“I stayed up a few nights thinking, trying to remember where I had seen him. And then it dawned on me. The Battle of Colenso. We had captured a contingent of enemy troops, and he was amongst the captured. A few of them managed to escape and were never heard of again.
“I began following him around the camp. At night he would meet up with some of the new recruits, especially one particular man. One afternoon, I followed that fellow outside of the camp, as he was heading towards the border of the Orange Free State. I tried my best to hide from his view. He met with a woman, his wife, and they began talking – in Afrikaans. My suspicions were correct, he and his fellow men were not British, they were Boers. That was all I needed to hear. I headed back towards the camp and reported immediately to Lord Kitchener.
“The man I had seen at the Battle of Colenso was arrested while he was attending a dinner with the governor of Cape Colony for conspiracy against the British Government and espionage. The man was revealed to be a German spy who went by the name of the Black Panther. He seemed to have a particularly strong grudge against Lord Kitchener and it was revealed later on that one of his primary goals was his assassination. He was court-martialled and due to be shot with the other 20 Boers b
ut decided to collaborate instead and reveal secret codes. I don’t know what became of him after that. I’m sorry I never told any of this to you, Melbourne. It was of utmost secrecy, I’m sure you can understand.”
“Of course. Now more than ever.”
“Lord Kitchener was grateful for my swift intervention and I was awarded a medal for saving his life. He told me he would remember me should the British Empire require my services in the future. I felt honoured. And thirteen years later, I received his message.
“I was working for the Relief Fund and was due to ship to the Front quite soon when I received a letter from Lord Kitchener asking to meet me. I was surprised, and yet I felt a tinge of excitement. He had kept his promise. We met in his office where he asked me to take on a brief mission before leaving to the Front. It was espionage. However, it was not that that startled me the most, it was the nature of this so-called mission. He wanted me to get a haircut.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, truly. Down by Pimlico, close to the edge of the Thames, was a barbershop headed by a gentleman who called himself John Smith. Mr. Smith seemed like a hardworking fellow and his business did fairly well, despite the war. I headed to Pimlico and walked inside his shop to get a haircut. He seemed young, kind, humorous, and intelligent, with a fuzzy brown beard – nothing out of ordinary at first blush. A flag of Great Britain hung on the wall of his shop surrounded by pictures of important personalities – King George V, King Edward VII, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Lord Kitchener. All normal. It was not until I watched the shop on three consecutive nights that things began turning quite odd.
“Four men, always the same four, would enter the shop every night at around midnight and leave a couple of hours later. At the back of the building, in a dark alleyway, was a small window close to the pavement that gave light to an underground cellar beneath the shop. I saw the light of flickering candles coming through it and heard soft voices. I crouched down low to try to make out what they were saying, and found they were talking in German.”
Melbourne remembered the hat shop where he had been introduced to British Intelligence. Apparently, the Germans had their own such establishments. “What did they say?”
“They were talking about making their escape. Smith was to hang a sign saying that the business has failed – plausible enough in a time like this. Then they would sneak out of the country and meet with a figure called the Count. They mentioned a project called The Iron Shadow.”
Melbourne glanced around the small compartment, rattling through the countryside behind the massive gun like a dog cart hitched to a plough horse. “Ah.”
“Of course, I had no idea what The Iron Shadow might be, but I had heard all I needed to hear to understand the situation was grave. I followed the four men as they left the shop and noted down their looks and whereabouts. The following morning, I gave the information to Lord Kitchener who contacted the police and let them take care of the spies. I was to take care of Smith. Later that morning I followed him outside of his shop towards the train station, where he bought a ticket to Dover. I did the same, staying hidden from his view as best I could.
“In Dover he headed straight for the docks. He bought a ticket for a ferry to Calais and boarded the boat. As it was about to leave, he jumped back onto dry land and scuttled off in the midst of a crowd of people. I tried jumping off as well but it was too late. That sly fox must have known he was being followed. I was furious, but logic led me to believe that he would probably fetch a later boat. I still had a slight chance of catching him.
“I waited at the docks in Calais for his coming and I was right. He got off a ferry and I followed him to the train station, where I boarded the same train he was on. It was headed to Lille. I took my precautions and steered clear of him, staying just close enough to still keep an eye on him. But he was more cunning than I was.”
“No, he’d simply had more practice.”
“That may be. That night, as I was just about to fall asleep, he quietly entered my compartment. With one eye open, I saw the light of the moon reflecting off a knife blade and quickly jumped out of my bunk. He was on me before I could turn the gas lamp on. He punched me in the face and pinned me down on the floor. With all my strength I held his hand with the knife as far away from me as I could. I made out his face from the light coming in from the window. It was far different from the kind man I had seen in the barbershop.
‘What do you want from me, you goddamn bastard!’ he said. ‘You one of them?’
“I said nothing, having no idea who ‘they’ were. We struggled on the floor for some time, me trying to get rid of the knife from his hand, he trying to take my windpipe from my neck. All of a sudden, he let out a cry and tumbled off of me, stunning me in the process. It was then that I noticed the shadow of a bulky man standing in the doorway.
“Smith quickly got back on his feet and lunged at the shadow who punched him hard in the face, then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. In a fit of fury, Smith cracked his forehead in the man’s face. driving him back, then slashed his arm with his knife. The man let out a scream. I was about to get back up on my feet, but Smith kicked me in the stomach and jumped over me. He opened the window and put one leg over it, turned around to look at me and smiled. Then he jumped out of the moving train.
“I quickly turned the gas lamp on. The bulky man was bleeding from his arm, but the wound was not deep. As I approached him he removed a pistol from his coat and pointed it at me. He had a big grey moustache. I had never seen him before.
‘Police? Gendarmerie? Or one of them?’ he asked in perfect French.
‘None of the three,’ I answered.
‘British, I can tell from your accent.’ He put the gun away. ‘How do you know the German man?’
‘I was following him.’
‘So, you are one of them. A British spy.’
‘You need to get that wound tended.’
‘This is just a scratch. I asked you a question, young man. How do you know that man?’
‘He posed as a barber in London calling himself John Smith. I believe he was headed for Lille.’
‘Brussels to be more precise. John Smith heh? I would have expected something more original. Your London barber is Bruno Stein, known as the Chameleon. Highly dangerous individual. If it wasn’t for me, you would be bleeding to death by now.’
‘Thank you. My name is… Arthur.’
‘You can call me Doctor V.’”
“Ah, so this was the infamous Doctor V.”
“Yes, and I never did learn his real name. We shook hands and I helped him to tend his wound. He told me he had been searching for the Chameleon for some time and had heard of something called the Iron Shadow, but he had no idea what it was. He was sent to find out.
“Upon our arrival in Lille I sent a telegram to Lord Kitchener to tell him what had unfolded. His answer was almost immediate – investigate the Iron Shadow by any means possible. I decided to stick close to Doctor V who did not mind a bit of company. We got hold of a car and crossed the Front into Belgium. It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that. It was terrifying.”
“I have only seen it from above, but even then…”
“We arrived in Brussels and quickly set out to establish ourselves. I found a room for rent in the house of an old lady while Doctor V rented a room a little further off. We had a lead. The Count. We did not know who he was yet but it was something. And we were going to be finding our clues in Brussels.
“We decided to hold meetings in a small, quiet pub halfway between our houses called Le Rossignol Chantant. It was there that we decided that our first move was to contact someone in the Resistance. A few days later we met Luc, a small, intelligent man who had contacts everywhere around the city, from the hospitals to the government buildings. We gave him the description of Bruno Stein and he assured us that if he was in the city he would know.
“The next move was discovering who the
Count was. The most logical deduction was that he was an important German, if he had hired the Chameleon for a job. We knew there was a connection with London somehow but we knew too little to narrow it down any more. Throughout the day we would split up and investigate on our own around the city. Most of the time we would come up with nothing, sometimes we would find a lead that would reveal itself to be false. We would convene at Le Rossignol Chantant at night to share our findings.
“It was there, one night, that things began changing for the worse. As I was discussing a false lead with my partner, a beautiful blonde woman took the normally empty stage and began singing. Everybody inside the bar, including Doctor V and myself, I have to admit, were absolutely mesmerised, not only by her beauty, but also by her voice. After her performance, she passed by our table and Doctor V asked her if she wanted to join us for a drink. She did. We came up with lies about our identities, saying we were doctors from France who had come to help the sick and wounded – I believe that Doctor V really was a doctor in real life. She was ecstatic to find some French men in the city, as she told us that she was French as well. Her name was Danielle and her story was terribly sad. And like idiots, we bought it.”
“I know,” Melbourne said. “I did as well.”
“I could tell that Doctor V was growing particularly fond of her. He was more interested in going to Le Rossignol Chantant to see her perform rather than to talk about our findings. As I understood, he began seeing her even outside the club. He made it his mission to save her, to bring her back to France. I guess that devil of a woman somehow convinced him. It became almost as important as finding the Iron Shadow. I didn’t mind, as long as it did not get in the way of why we were in Belgium.
“Then, one night Luc came to us with good news. The Chameleon had been spotted. And not only that, he had a list of German Counts currently residing in Belgium. Doctor V and I decided to split up – I would investigate the Chameleon’s whereabouts while he would take care of finding the Count.
The Iron Shadow Page 27