Killigrew hurried after him. ‘You’re wasting time, Friherre. I’ll hold them as long as I can, but—’
Stålberg put a hand on his shoulder. ‘No, it is you who is wasting time. This is not your fight, Herre Killigrew. Go with God: I am sorry we could not help you.’
‘You think I’m going to walk out on you now?’
Anzhelika climbed up through the hatch, followed by Nordenskjöld. ‘Soldiers!’ panted the student. ‘They broke down the front door…’
Lindström clasped him by the shoulder. ‘We know, lad.’
‘Take these two and get them to safety,’ Stålberg told Nordenskjöld, indicating Killigrew and Anzhelika. ‘We’ll hold the Russians as long as we can.’
Lindström was already descending the hatch. ‘Take them to Fru Gyllenhammar’s!’ he called. Nordenskjöld nodded.
Stålberg was about to follow Lindström down when Killigrew caught him by the arm. ‘I’m not running out on you. Perhaps I am responsible for leading them here…’
Stålberg indicated Anzhelika. ‘She is your responsibility, now.’ He tore his arm from the commander’s grip, jumped down the hatch, and slammed it after him.
Killigrew tried to haul it open again, but Stålberg had bolted it from below.
‘Quickly, min herre!’ Nordenskjöld called from where the ladder was stretched between the two roofs.
Shots sounded in the house below, shouts and screams of pain. Killigrew swore and ran across to join Nordenskjöld and Anzhelika at the balustrade. The student jumped up and tripped across the ladder on to the far roof, turning and gesturing for them to follow.
‘You next,’ Killigrew told Anzhelika. ‘I’ll follow.’
She hesitated on the balustrade. ‘I am scared of heights.’
‘I’m scared of bullets,’ Killigrew retorted, taking her by the hand. ‘Go on, it’s all right, I’ve got you. Just don’t look down and you’ll be all right.’
The two of them edged out on to the ladder. Nordenskjöld waited on the other side, ashen-faced, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. At last Anzhelika was close enough for the student to reach out and take her hand, and he hauled her to safety. Left on his own in the middle of the wobbling ladder, Killigrew teetered for a moment, but managed to regain his balance. He tripped the last few feet and dragged the plank across after them. Nordenskjöld was already hauling up a skylight, and the two of them lowered Anzhelika through it. The trap door on the roof behind them splintered asunder, and the first of the soldiers emerged. Nordenskjöld dropped through the skylight and Killigrew jumped through after him a moment before the soldier fired.
He landed on a bed, the springy mattress catapulting him off and against the wall, where he slumped to the floor. Before he had even had a chance to get his bearings, Nordenskjöld had helped him to his feet and was ushering him out through the bedroom door after Anzhelika.
‘Whose house is this?’ she asked as the three of them hurried downstairs.
‘I have no idea,’ Nordenskjöld admitted cheerfully.
On the last flight, they met a butler coming upstairs. He stopped and stared in astonishment at the three complete strangers. ‘Er… can I help you?’ he stammered.
‘It’s all right, we’ll find our own way out,’ Killigrew assured him, patting him on the shoulder as they ran past.
They reached the servants’ hall on the basement floor and Nordenskjöld led the way out of the kitchen door into the area, where a set of stone steps led up to the mews at the back of the house.
Nordenskjöld and Anzhelika were running for the street, but Killigrew managed to catch them both and laid hands on their shoulders to stop them. ‘Walk, don’t run!’
They slowed their pace and stepped out of the mews. There were soldiers everywhere, but whether they were searching for the three fugitives or merely running around like headless chickens was anyone’s guess.
Nordenskjöld led Killigrew and Anzhelika out on to the waterfront in time to see a troop of Russian soldiers marching Stålberg and Lindström across a small stone bridge that led across the narrow channel separating the island of Skatudden from the mainland. That the two men had been taken alive was small consolation: if Killigrew had been in their place, he would have preferred a quick death from a bullet to torture at the hands of the Third Section. But in that instant, he and his companions could only think of themselves, and before they could be recognised they ducked down one of the aisles between the stalls of the fish market on the quayside.
They slipped down an alley at the side of the Imperial Palace and turned left into Senate Square. Nordenskjöld led them through a labyrinth of back streets and alleyways until they emerged on to a wide boulevard where a strip of parkland with trees and grass separated the north and south esplanades. A few blocks further along, Nordenskjöld abruptly ducked sideways through the door of a dressmaker’s shop, and Killigrew dragged Anzhelika in after him.
The young woman standing behind a counter where ribbons and artificial flowers were on display looked up in alarm at their pell-mell entrance. ‘Fru Gyllenhammar!’ she called.
A plump but elegantly dressed woman wearing just a little too much make-up to conceal the ravages of age emerged through the curtained doorway leading to the back of the shop.
‘Trouble,’ Nordenskjöld told her.
‘It’s all right, Helga,’ Fru Gyllenhammar told the shop assistant, holding aside the curtain and waving Nordenskjöld, Anzhelika and Killigrew through.
In the back room, there was row upon row of ball gowns, and various hampers on castors. Nordenskjöld pulled one of the hampers aside to reveal a trap door below. He heaved it up to show a ladder leading down to the basement. Killigrew scrambled down, pausing at the bottom to help Anzhelika climb down after him before turning to take in their surroundings. They were in a cellar with whitewashed walls and a flagstone floor. There were several rows of shelves, each shelf bearing dozens of hatboxes. There were no windows, so Killigrew took out his matches and lit a brass oil-lamp hanging from a beam overhead while Nordenskjöld climbed down after them. The trap door was closed above his head.
‘Now what?’ asked Killigrew.
‘I don’t know!’ Nordenskjöld protested in anguish. ‘Let’s wait here a bit, see if any of the others made it.’
‘Did Hjorth get back from his cousin’s house?’
Nordenskjöld shook his head.
‘What about the other Wolves of Suomi?’ asked Anzhelika.
‘What other Wolves of Suomi?’ retorted the student. ‘There was only ever the six of us, unless you count Professor Forselius, and we can’t drag him into this. He’s already suffered more than his share for the cause.’
Anzhelika’s jaw dropped. ‘Six of you? You mean to tell me there were only ever six Wolves of Suomi?’
Nordenskjöld nodded. ‘Originally there were only five, until the professor introduced me to Stålberg. I managed to persuade him that I could be of some small use to the cause.’
‘He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he preferred a small, close-knit organisation, was he?’ remarked Killigrew.
‘The fewer of us there were, the less chance there was that someone might betray us.’
‘Well, someone certainly betrayed you,’ said a new voice.
Killigrew turned, and groaned when he saw who was climbing down the ladder from the shop above. ‘You!’
Aurélie Plessier reached the foot of the ladder. She turned to face him with a smile. ‘We meet again, Commander Killigrew.’
‘You do have the habit of turning up in the most unexpected places,’ he told her.
‘As do you.’
‘You heard what happened?’ Nordenskjöld asked her anxiously. ‘Stålberg and Lindström arrested?’ She nodded. ‘I guessed that if anyone got away you’d plan to rendezvous here. I was coming to the house when I saw the soldiers ahead of me. That Third Section officer with a limp was there.’
‘Lieutenant Kizheh?’ asked Killigrew.
‘I gave him the limp!’ He looked from Aurélie to Nordenskjöld and back again. ‘You two know each other, I take it?’
Aurélie smiled. ‘We’ve been working with the Wolves of Suomi for months.’
‘“We” being the French secret service, I suppose. You might have told us!’ Killigrew added bitterly. ‘We could have used their help.’
‘Friherre Stålberg specifically asked us not to get the British involved,’ Aurélie told him. ‘I can’t imagine why that should be, can you?’
Anzhelika was pawing at Killigrew’s sleeve. ‘Kit, who is this woman?’
He sighed. ‘Lika, meet Aurélie Plessier of French military intelligence. Aurélie, this is Anzhelika Orlova—’
Aurélie nodded. ‘Prima ballerina of the Mariinsky Theatre, yes, I know. You have an interesting idea of working undercover, Commander: taking one of the most famous women in Russia with you wherever you go!’
‘You were saying something about someone having betrayed us when you came in?’ Killigrew reminded her.
‘For seven years the Wolves of Suomi have evaded all attempts by the Third Section to trap them; and yet on the very day you and Mam’selle Orlova turn up on their doorstep, they are raided by the Third Section and Stålberg and Lindström are taken into custody. It is very curious, n’est-ce pas?’
Realising the import of her words, Nordenskjöld looked from Killigrew to Anzhelika with a hardening expression.
‘Very curious,’ agreed Killigrew. ‘Are you suggesting I led them there?’
‘Inadvertently, perhaps.’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘They put our heads in a sack and drove us all around town before taking us to the house. There’s no way Lika or I could have led them there.’
‘Yes? And what about the scarf?’
Killigrew narrowed his eyes. ‘Scarf? What scarf?’
‘The scarf that was hanging from one of the second-floor windows.’ Aurélie turned to Anzhelika. ‘I suppose you hung it there? When did you agree with Colonel Nekrasoff that that would be the signal to let him know where the Wolves of Suomi were? Back in St Petersburg, or after you arrived here in Helsingfors?’
‘You think I am the traitor?’ spluttered Anzhelika. ‘That is ridiculous! I’m a ballerina, not a spy for the Third Section! Kit, tell this woman she talks like a crazy person. She is the traitor!’
Killigrew felt only one emotion – rage – but the rage was torn between Anzhelika for fooling him and himself for being fooled. ‘Is she?’
The colour drained from Anzhelika’s face. ‘But… even if this is true, surely I would let myself be taken by the soldiers who broke into the house, not escape with the rest of you.’
‘Escape with the rest of us… in the hope we’d lead you straight to another cell of the Wolves of Suomi,’ he said bitterly. ‘How could I have been such a fool? All this time I thought I was leading the Third Section a merry dance, when in fact I’ve been dancing to their tune! They didn’t need watchers to keep an eye on me, because they had you.’
‘But… Kit! Was it not I who told you Bauer had gone to Helsingfors?’
‘Yes, so I’d lead you and your Third Section pals straight to the Wolves of Suomi. How long have you been working for Nekrasoff, Lika? Did he contact you after we met outside the Winter Palace that night, or was it before that? Were you working for him when you seduced Bauer into defecting to Russia with the plans for the Sea Devil?’ He advanced on her, not sure what he was going to do, only aware that for the first time in his life, he felt an urge to hurt a member of the fair sex; and not just hurt her, either, but kill her. It was only with difficulty he restrained himself from grabbing her by the throat and choking the life out of her.
She took a step back apprehensively, and suddenly pulled a tiny two-barrelled ‘turn-over’ pistol from inside her fur muff. Smiling now, she levelled it at his chest.
‘You did not know I had this, did you?’
Chapter 19
A Dirty, Filthy Business
‘Hidden inside her muff?’ Apparently unconcerned, Aurélie clucked her tongue mockingly. ‘That was careless of you, Kit. I would have thought that would be the first place you looked!’
But if Aurélie was unconcerned by the gun in Anzhelika’s hand, the ballerina was equally unconcerned by the Frenchwoman’s insouciant tone. ‘Yes, I’ve been working for Colonel Nekrasoff for over four years now,’ she taunted Killigrew. ‘He approached me back in ’fifty-one, when I danced at Covent Garden. He knew all about the Sea Devil even then: he was in London to persuade Bauer to defect to Russia with the plans. He gave me a chance to serve my country, and I was proud to accept. We did not succeed then, but the seeds were sown. Over the next few years, Bauer became increasingly convinced that Scott Russell was seeking to steal his plans. Finally he contacted Nekrasoff and sent him a copy of the outline he’d originally shown to Prince Albert. Nekrasoff went to London to arrange Bauer’s defection, and while he was there he received a telegram telling him about how Jurgaitis stole the outline from the Admiralty, and Commander Kit Killigrew got the plans out of Finland…’
Killigrew nodded. ‘So he sent Ryzhago to ambush me at Folkestone, and when that didn’t work he turned up at my rooms in Paddington.’ He frowned. ‘But he must have guessed I’d go straight from London Bridge station to the Admiralty with the plans.’
Anzhelika’s grin became fractionally broader. ‘That’s the most brilliant part of the plan. Nekrasoff knew it was too late to retrieve the plans, but he saw a way to cut his losses by learning the identities of Wolves of Suomi.’
‘So he tortured Araminta because he thought I could tell him. But I couldn’t, so he killed her. He gained nothing. I fail to see what’s so brilliant about that, Lika.’
She laughed. ‘Still you do not see it? Nekrasoff knew all along you knew nothing of the Wolves of Suomi. But he saw a way to make you lead us to them. That is why he went to your rooms: he knew if he killed Miss Maltravers, you would go crazy for revenge, no? And when your Admiralty saw the plans for the Sea Devil, they would send you to destroy it.’
Killigrew shook his head, unwilling to believe, even in the face of her admission, that she was a spy for the Third Section. ‘No. You’re lying. You must be. Nekrasoff framed me for murder; and then sent two assassins to kill me. Why would he do that, if he wanted me alive to come to Russia and lead him to the Wolves of Suomi?’
‘Nekrasoff did not send the assassins; Tabard did. That is why Nekrasoff had Tabard killed; and made sure you had an alibi when it was done. He needed you to think he wanted you dead, but was careful to make sure your name was cleared.’
‘And I played right into his hands,’ Killigrew said bitterly.
She faced him with her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing defiance. ‘So, now what? You’re going to try to make me see the error of my ways? The great Kit Killigrew, such a passionate lover, no woman who has lain in his arms won’t be converted to the cause of Queen Victoria and the British Empire!’ She shook her head. ‘You’re good, but not that good. As a lover, I mean. As a spy, you are hopeless. You should have stayed on the quarterdeck of the Ramillies, where you belong. Nekrasoff was right about you: you were out of your depth from the beginning.’
He stared at her, shaking his head. ‘I loved you.’
‘No. You were using me… or rather, you thought you were. In reality, I was using you. It was not difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I enjoy it. As a ballerina in Russia, I am treated like a serf, but as a spy? I get respect from men like Count Orloff and Colonel Nekrasoff. And I get to make fools of men like you, who would treat me like a plaything which serves no useful purpose but their amusement.’
‘You enjoy lying to people, tricking them, using them?’
‘Do you expect me to believe you have not enjoyed yourself over the past two weeks doing exactly the same thing?’
‘What I’ve done, I did for Queen and cou
ntry—’
‘Do not lie to me! It is a game: you know that. Using people like chess pieces while they are still useful, disposing of them when they become expendable. It is like being God, is it not? Knowing things other people do not know, getting to decide who lives… and who dies. But do not dress it up by pretending you were forced to do it in a noble cause.’
‘You make me sick,’ he told her bitterly.
She laughed. ‘Of course I do. Because you look at me and you see a reflection of yourself.’
He started to turn away, then swung back and caught her by the wrist, forcing the gun aside. She struggled like a wildcat, trying to claw at his face with her left hand while bringing the gun back to bear with her right. The two of them grappled, Killigrew’s greater weight and strength pushing her back through the shelves behind with a crash. As the hat boxes cascaded down around them, she managed to break free. Killigrew looked up and found himself staring down the barrel of the pistol, and there was enough hatred in her eyes to convince him that she meant to pull the trigger.
And then the light went out in those eyes as blood squirted past his head, jetting from either side of the haft of one of Aurélie’s knives where it was embedded in Anzhelika’s throat. She crumpled to the flagstones.
Killigrew staggered back, staring in horror at her body where it lay amongst the debris of the shelves and crumpled hat boxes. Remembering all the hours they had shared in one another’s arms, and looking down at the bloody corpse at his feet, he felt sick.
Aurélie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are all right?’
He nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Nom d’un chien! You really loved her?’
Killigrew shook his head. ‘I fell into the same old trap.’
‘Oh?’ She crouched to retrieve the knife, wiping the blade clean on Anzhelika’s fur coat before secreting it about her person once more. Her foot knocked against the turn-over pistol on the floor; she stooped to retrieve it, hitching up her skirts to tuck it into a garter.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 37