Anzhelika cleared her throat and twisted so they could see her hands, still bound behind her back. ‘What about the woman?’ asked Hjorth.
Friherre Stålberg turned his gaze on Killigrew, who was rearranging his clothing. ‘Well? What about her?’
‘It’s all right, she’s with me.’ Killigrew finished buttoning his shirt, and quickly retied his cravat.
‘We can see that,’ growled Major Lindström. ‘As to whether or not it’s “all right” remains to be seen. Well, madam? Who are you?’
‘Anzhelika. Anzhelika Orlova,’ she told them.
Lindström’s lantern jaw dropped. ‘Not the Anzhelika Orlova of the Mariinsky Ballet…? Good God above, it is her! Hjorth, cut her bonds.’ He tucked his revolver inside his jacket and stepped forward, proffering his hand. She took it in one of hers, which he raised to his lips to kiss, bowing and clicking his heels as he did so. ‘Forgive me, mam’selle… I had no idea… permit me to introduce myself. I am Major Vidrik Lindström, formerly of the Swedish Army.’
‘Enchantée,’ she returned.
Stålberg smiled. ‘We do seem to have some celebrated people with us today: a famous Arctic explorer, and the prima ballerina of the Mariinsky Ballet.’ He turned to Killigrew. ‘Do all British spies travel in company with famous ballerinas?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Killigrew returned glibly. ‘They’re standard issue. You’d be amazed how many society doors are opened for a chap when he has a famous ballerina on his arm. Damned useful in my current line of work.’
Lindström flushed, realising how much he had gushed when he had recognised her, and Anzhelika chuckled.
‘I’m told you have a proposition that may be to our mutual advantage,’ prompted Stålberg.
Killigrew nodded. ‘I need two things. Firstly, I need to get Mam’selle Orlova here safely on board one of the British ships in the Gulf; and secondly, I need to get into Sveaborg as soon as possible.’
The Wolves of Suomi laughed as if Killigrew had suggested they help him get to the moon.
‘Sveaborg!’ exclaimed Stålberg. ‘We’ve been trying to get into Sveaborg for months! Do you have any idea how much ammunition the Russians have in their arsenal there? If we could blow that place up, it would really make the Tsar sit up and take notice!’
‘And don’t the Russians know it!’ growled Lindström. ‘That place is more heavily guarded than the Winter Palace in St Petersburg.’
‘I’ve been inside the Winter Palace,’ Killigrew said evenly. ‘Well, the Imperial Theatre, at any rate.’
‘There’s a difference.’ Stålberg crossed to the sideboard and poured out a couple of glasses of brandy. ‘They don’t sell tickets to ballet performances on Sveaborg. What’s your pressing need to get there? Would it have something to do with that huge cylinder they dragged here a week ago?’
‘What huge cylinder?’ Killigrew asked sharply.
‘You tell me. All I know is, it took two hundred men to drag the wagon carrying it; and that must have been specially built to bear such a heavy burden.’ Stålberg handed a glass of brandy each to Killigrew and Anzhelika. ‘Came all the way from St Petersburg, they say. Covered over with a tarpaulin, so no one knew exactly what it was.’
‘Would it have been about fifty feet long, twelve feet high and eleven feet wide?’
Stålberg and Lindström exchanged glances. ‘Aye,’ said the major. ‘What do you know of it?’
‘The Sea Devil,’ Killigrew told them, sipping his brandy. ‘It’s an underwater boat—’
‘A what?’ interrupted Stålberg.
‘An underwater boat. A boat that travels under water.’
Lindström threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now I know you’re lying. You’re talking like a fool: without air, the crew would all asphyxiate. An underwater boat! There’s no such thing.’
‘There is now,’ Killigrew told him. ‘A Bavarian engineer named Wilhelm Bauer designed it for the Russians. Well, actually, he designed it for the British, but that’s not important. What is important is that I destroy it before the Russians use it to sink one of our ships.’
‘Enough!’ Lindström turned to Stålberg. ‘Do we have to listen to these fairy tales, Friherre? The man’s mad… or a liar.’
‘Not so hasty, Major,’ said the student, Nordenskjöld. ‘I have heard of such things. I believe that the Americans built one in their War of Independence to sink a British battleship; it was not successful, but there have been others since… who knows? Perhaps the Russians have succeeded in developing a boat that sails under water.’
Stålberg rubbed his jaw. ‘Whatever it is, it must be important for the Russians to drag it all the way here from St Petersburg.’ He regarded Killigrew with a pair of penetrating blue eyes. ‘So, you think this thing they took out to Sveaborg is your underwater boat, and you want us to help you get out there so you can destroy it?’
‘That’s the general idea.’
‘Impossible,’ said Stålberg. ‘Sveaborg was heavily guarded as it was; since that thing arrived, they’ve doubled the guards. I don’t have so many men I can afford to lose any in a futile attack on Sveaborg. Besides, why should we help the British, when all they’ve done in Finland since this war began is attack our fishing ports and burn our property?’
Killigrew grimaced. ‘Sorry about that. Some of our boys in Admiral Plumridge’s squadron getting a little too enthusiastic, I fear. They don’t understand there’s a difference between Finland and Russia.’
‘That will be small consolation to the fishermen who’ve lost their livelihoods.’ Hjorth’s tone was bitter.
‘All I can say is I’m sorry. And that if I get back to the fleet afterwards, it’ll never happen again once I’ve spread the word about how the Finns helped me. I might even be able to arrange for us to smuggle some guns to your people to help you in your fight against the Russians.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ sneered Lindström. ‘Finns risking their necks fighting against the Russians, so British sailors don’t have to.’
‘We’ve got all the guns we need,’ said Stålberg. ‘Besides, I told you that getting you on to Sveaborg would be impossible. You might succeed – if you were lucky – and if God were on your side – in getting on the islands. But this much I guarantee: you wouldn’t get off again. Well, not alive, certainly. So a promise from you about what you can arrange after you rejoin your fleet is worth as much to us as a castle in Spain.’
‘So you won’t help me?’ asked Killigrew.
‘No,’ Stålberg told him flatly. ‘Not that we wouldn’t like to. Oh, I wouldn’t mind if the Russians did sink one of your ships: perhaps then the rest of your fleet would be too scared to enter the Gulf of Finland, and Finnish fishermen and sailors could sleep soundly again at night. But anything that makes the Russians angry makes me happy, and I think destroying this secret weapon of theirs will make them very angry indeed. But it’s in Sveaborg.’
‘So?’
‘Tell him, Major.’
‘Sveaborg’s impregnable,’ said Lindström. ‘It was impregnable when I was stationed there as a young ensign back in 1809, when we were fighting the Russians and our leaders shamefully betrayed us by handing the fortress over without a fight; and since that day the Russians have been busily engaged in making it even more impregnable. Especially this past winter. We’ve been watching from the shore.’
‘Let me explain something to you, Herre Killigrew,’ said Stålberg. ‘How many members do you think the Wolves of Suomi have?’
‘No more than a few dozen, I should think.’
‘You’re not far wrong. And do you know why we have so few members? Apart from the fact that we prefer to have a small, tight-knit organisation, with less chance of betrayal, of course. Do you know why so few Finns have rallied to our cause? Because the people of this duchy are afraid, Herre Killigrew: afraid of the Russians. And it’s easy to understand. Look at a map of Finland and Russia. Russia, one of the most populous countries in the wor
ld, a country whose standard military tactic is to send its men towards the enemy as cannon fodder in a full-frontal attack, safe in the knowledge that no matter how many die, there will always be plenty more where they came from. Then look at Finland: not a small duchy, geographically, but sparsely populated. The Finns have no love for the Tsar, I promise you, but naturally they are nervous of trying to take on Russia. They are nervous because they don’t know what I have learned in the ten years I’ve been fighting the Russians: the Russians are stupid.
‘Oh, I don’t believe they’re born stupid. But from the day they’re born, their landlords beat them into submission, teach them only to obey orders and punish them for having the temerity to think for themselves. Such men do not make outstanding soldiers: I believe that one free-born Finn is worth ten Russian mouzhiki. And that is why we fight the Russians: not because we’re naive enough to think our puny efforts will be enough to drive the Russians out of Finland, but in the hope that we will show our people that the Russians are not invincible. One day, I pray, our efforts will inspire our people to rise up against their oppressors, and establish an independent state. Perhaps not in my lifetime, but if by my death I can inspire my people to fight for what is rightfully theirs, I’ll not think my sacrifice a vain one.
‘And wouldn’t we dearly love to strike a blow against Sveaborg? You know what the name means, don’t you? “Fortress of the Swedes.” Ironic, really, that a fortress built by the Swedes to defend us against the Russians should become a symbol of the Russian oppression of Finland. So if your Royal Navy can smash Sveaborg, perhaps I will find it in my heart to forgive your people – just a tiny bit – for the harm they have done to my countrymen since they started raiding our shores last spring. But it will be no small undertaking, even for a fleet as large as the Allied one in the Gulf of Finland at present. For a handful of us, armed with rifles and knives? The people of Finland would view us not as martyrs, but as fools bent on suicide.’
Killigrew smiled. ‘It’s often the man regarded as a fool bent on suicide in his own lifetime who is thought of as a great martyr after his death. I’m not asking any of you to come with me. Just help me get there.’
Stålberg frowned, and sighed. ‘There may be a way,’ he admitted with evident reluctance. ‘There is some bigwig from St Petersburg arriving in Helsingfors today. Whoever it is, they are having a ball in his honour at the citadel on Vargon tonight. Mostly the guests will be the officers from the regiments garrisoned in and around the city, but a few of Helsingfors’ most prominent citizens have been invited.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting our hands on an invitation or two?’ Killigrew asked without much hope.
Nordenskjöld laughed. ‘There’s every chance. The printer who’s been ordered to make the invitations is the same man who prints our pamphlets for us.’
‘The problem is, each invitation had the name of the invitee printed on it before it was sent out,’ put in Stålberg. ‘Oh, we can have a blank one printed and write a name of our own devising on it; the difficulty will be getting the same name on the guest list, because you can lay odds the Russians will have a copy of the guest list at every checkpoint between here and Sveaborg.’
‘Could you get me a copy?’ asked Killigrew.
Stålberg looked at Nordenskjöld. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult,’ the student told him.
‘In the meantime, I need you to help me get Mam’selle Orlova out to the British fleet, where she’ll be safe,’ said Killigrew.
Anzhelika looked horrified. ‘No! I want to stay with you, Kit! Besides, it will allay suspicion if you turn up at the ball with a woman on your arm.’
He shook his head firmly. ‘And supposing the bigwig from St Petersburg recognises you? I’m sorry, Lika. It’ll be too dangerous.’ He turned to Stålberg. ‘Can you help get her out to the fleet?’
The friherre and the major exchanged glances. ‘It might be possible,’ said Lindström. ‘But it’ll have to wait until after dark.’
Stålberg turned to Hjorth. ‘Would your cousin be willing to help him?’
‘I think so, for the right price.’ Hjorth turned to Killigrew. ‘I have a cousin who owns a fishing boat at Mattby; assuming the British haven’t already destroyed it since I last heard from him,’ he added sourly. ‘He’s not one of the Wolves of Suomi, but he does us the occasional favour when we need to get someone in or out of Finland without going through the usual channels, if you catch my drift. If we can convince him he’ll be paid enough, he’ll take Mam’selle Orlova out to your fleet.’
Killigrew nodded. ‘I don’t know how far the Duke of Wellington’s strongbox would stretch, but I’m sure Admiral Dundas can be persuaded to give your cousin a letter of protection ordering his boat to be spared if he ever gets stopped by the British or French.’
Hjorth laughed. ‘If Dundas can give him that, he’ll take Mam’selle Orlova to the Australias and back!’ He turned and left the room.
‘Until then you’d best stay here,’ Stålberg told Killigrew and Anzhelika. ‘I’ve a couple of guest bedrooms you can use if you need to clean up. Tonight we shall dine together, and with any luck by then Hjorth will have arranged your transport to the fleet.’
‘I’ll get started on that note to Dundas,’ said Killigrew.
While Lindström showed Anzhelika upstairs, Stålberg took Killigrew to his library and gestured to the desk. ‘There’s notepaper in the drawer. Is there anything else I can get you?’
‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’
Stålberg grinned. ‘Coffee it is.’
As the friherre went out, Killigrew sat behind the desk and dipped a pen in the inkwell. He gnawed at the end of it: it had to be brief, yet convincing. He started scratching away. Stålberg returned with a cup of coffee, but Killigrew was so engrossed in his writing he did not look up, so the friherre left the cup and saucer on a coaster. When Killigrew had finished the note, he took the five blank sheets of paper that had been below the sheet he had been writing on – they bore an impression that could easily be read by anyone with a pencil – and the blotting paper he had used, and put them on the fire in the grate, making sure they were properly burning.
He emerged from the library to find Stålberg coming down the stairs. ‘Here’s the note,’ he said.
The Finn grimaced. ‘I’m afraid the situation has changed drastically since you started writing it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you’d better come and see for yourself.’
Bewildered, Killigrew followed Stålberg up two flights of stairs and into a loft. The Finn pulled down a ladder and climbed up it, pushing up the trap door at the top. Killigrew followed him up, and found himself standing on the roof of the house. Major Lindström was already there, standing next to Stålberg at the balustrade with a pair of opera glasses levelled towards Sveaborg. He proffered them to Killigrew, who raised them to his eyes.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘The flag they’ve just raised over the citadel on Vargon.’
Killigrew found it with the glasses: a white standard bearing an image of a double-headed eagle. ‘The Imperial Standard.’
‘That means that our bigwig from St Petersburg has arrived,’ said Stålberg. ‘And that he’s a member of the Imperial Family. The Tsar himself, perhaps, or his brother the Grand Duke Konstantin.’ He shook his head. ‘He must be crazy to come to Sveaborg, now of all times!’
‘Crazy, or very brave,’ said Killigrew. ‘He’s probably come to boost the garrison’s morale. Still, the Russians must have a lot of faith in their granite casemates if they’re prepared to risk his life like that.’
‘Either that, or they know something your Admiral Dundas doesn’t,’ growled Lindström. ‘In any event, you can forget about getting on to Sveaborg tonight. If they doubled the guards when this German contraption arrived, they’ll quadruple it now there’s a member of the Imperial Family there.’
Realisation hit Killigr
ew like a mule’s kick in the chest. ‘It’s the Grand Duke Konstantin,’ he said.
‘You can recognise him?’ Lindström said incredulously. ‘From here?’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘He’s come to see the Sea Devil in operation. That’s why it hasn’t attacked yet. He wanted to be here when the Duke of Wellington was sunk.’ He handed the opera glasses back to Lindström and turned to Stålberg. ‘You’ve got to help me get on that island. Now more than ever.’
‘And I tell you it’s impossible.’
‘Nothing is impossible. There must be a way… there must.’
At the sound of a commotion in the street below, Lindström leaned over the balustrade and frowned. ‘Ah… I don’t want to worry you, Friherre, but we’ve got visitors.’
Killigrew and Stålberg joined him at the balustrade, looking over to see two dozen Russian infantrymen gathering at the front door below.
Lindström was already running across the roof to look down at the other side. ‘They’ve got the back covered, too!’ He pointed his revolver at Killigrew. ‘It’s him! He led them here! How else could they have found us?’
‘Then why would he be so insistent that we take him to Sveaborg?’ demanded Stålberg.
‘So he could lead us into a trap!’
Stålberg knocked Lindström’s gun aside impatiently. ‘But we’re already in a trap.’ He crossed to the side of the house and picked up a ladder resting against the balustrade.
Killigrew helped him lower it across the gap so that the far end rested on the house on the other side of the alley. Stålberg smiled sadly. ‘I always knew this day would come,’ he explained.
‘Lucky you were ready for it, then,’ Killigrew said briskly. ‘You and Lindström get across. I’ll go downstairs and send Mam’selle Orlova up to you. Just get her to the British fleet. I’ll try to hold them as long as I can.’
Stålberg turned to Lindström. ‘You still think he is an agent of the Third Section?’ Before the dumbfounded major could reply, the friherre was already striding across to the hatch.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 36