Chin followed from behind, dressed as a Chinese laundry worker and scuttled along carrying a bundle of clothes. Antton was ahead, carrying out the more difficult forward tail.
They had followed him for a week now and learned enough that they stopped following their other suspects to concentrate on him.
The person being followed was Sir Henry Bloomfield, a junior secretary in the foreign office with direct access to Canning. They discovered that he had exotic tastes and a lifestyle that was more lavish than his income should be able to support.
He was a regular visitor to the brothel where he preferred young boys as his companions. The Shadows had marked him for that as they detested people who preyed on children.
Bloomfield entered the establishment and was greeted by the doorman by name. Antton was about to follow him, approaching from the opposite direction, when he spotted another man who looked suspicious. He waited.
The man, dressed in black trousers and tailed jacket, wore a hat that reminded Antton of those worn by men in Paris. Curious, he held back to let him enter first.
Once inside, Antton went straight through to the back and into a lounge that was reserved for the Madam and her close associates. There he found Marty drinking tea and chatting to a buxom blond dressed in a fine dress that was just a little too low cut and blousy.
Marty looked up and asked,
“Is he here?”
“Yes, and I think there may be someone here to see him.”
Marty raised an eyebrow and looked at the madam,
“Rose, can we look into his room?”
“Yes, of course you can, all our rooms have spy holes. I hope you remember that I’m only doing this for my sister!” Rose replied sulkily.
“Of course!” Marty replied. He recognized the family resemblance between Rose and Delphia Truelove, the mistress of Admiral Duckworth in Jamaica. She had made the mistake of having a loose mouth about Marty that almost got him killed and he used that leverage to persuade Rose to cooperate.
Rose led them through a dark corridor, lit only by a lamp she carried, which had regularly spaced teardrop shaped covers that could be pivoted to uncover spy holes. She got to the one they were interested in, waved at Marty to help himself then shuttered the lamp plunging them into darkness.
He gently pulled the cover to one side and put his eye to the hole. Bloomfield sat on the bed and had his arm around a half-naked boy of around fifteen years, but he was talking to someone else. Marty tried to see who it was, but he was just out of his field of view. He could, however, hear what they were saying.
“The trap in Holland failed. We caught him but the incompetent idiots they sent to escort him back to France let him escape and then got themselves slaughtered,” reported the unknown man in Parisian French.
“I did my part and set it up, it’s not my fault your people screwed up. I still want my money,” Bloomfield replied, stroking the boy’s hair.
“You will get it. Where is Stockley now?”
“On his way back to Gibraltar. They left a week ago. Is there really a ten thousand Louis reward on his head?”
“Yes,”
“I have an idea your people may be interested in.”
“For the reward?” the unknown man sneered.
“For a fee, and if you catch him, the reward,” Bloomfield smiled.
“If the idea is workable.”
“His family is in Gibraltar; we get him sent on a mission that takes him away on a fool’s errand and kidnap them while he is away.”
“You can do that? Doesn’t Canning need to approve it?”
“Oh yes he should, but I can send a mission request to Ridgley, the local man, that looks like it came from Canning and he will pass it on. Canning need never know it was sent.”
Marty had to hold on to his temper as he heard that, his fists clenched, and veins popped up on his forehead.
“We can get a team into Gibraltar from Algeciras disguised as workers,” the mystery man stated. “I assume once we have them, we force him to give himself up to us?”
“That would be the plan, but I don’t care if you let them go or slaughter the bitch and her brats once you have him,” Bloomfield spat.
“What have you got against her?”
“My half-brother Rufus was her lover, and she spurned him. The bastard Stockley killed him in a duel.”
Marty’s eyebrows shot up and he almost said something in surprise. That was when he was seventeen and met Caroline for the very first time!”
“Rufus Arbuthnot was your half-brother?”
“My mother was widowed and married again; I was born to her second husband. I swore to avenge his death and when Canning replaced Wickham, I saw my chance. He was Wickham’s protégé as much as he is Hood’s and I couldn’t get to him then, but Canning is new to this and easily led as are his inner circle.”
Marty sat in Hood’s office with the Admiral and Canning.
“You started a bloody investigation without consulting me?” Canning swore in anger and embarrassment at Marty’s frank report that they had been investigating his department for over a month. “You presume too much!”
“Calm down, George,” Hood barked in his Admiral’s voice, causing a look of surprise on the offended man’s face, “We couldn’t be sure who or where in your office the traitor was. As it is, he sits just outside your inner circle.”
Canning’s look of surprise at Hood’s tone and the news that they knew who the traitor was, turned him thoughtful.
“Does he now! And his contacts?”
“We have a watch on the man he met at the brothel and intend to identify any people he works with, whether he has more contacts, or a network of informants. We can either sweep them all up and dump them in the Thames or you can use the informants to feed false information to the French. In which case, we will simply identify them and leave the rest to you.”
“Now, that is an interesting idea; I have just the man to run something like that,” Canning thought out loud, “Why don’t we proceed on that basis for now. We can always ‘sweep them up’ as you say later. Now, what about this planned move against your family?”
Marty looked thoughtful. He was thinking what Caroline would want him to do. He knew that as much as he disliked the idea, she would not want him to stop it for her sake.
“We let it go ahead,” he stated flatly. “If we stop it now, we would blow the whole operation. In any case, we can use this to see how they get over the border and if we let one get away, follow him back to their base in Algeciras.”
“Not to mention, we will eliminate a whole group of their agents in the process,” Hood chipped in.
Marty borrowed the Bethany to get the team back to Gibraltar via Scheveningen to pick up the new puppy. A robust, feisty little fellow he named Troy. Blaez took to him immediately, and the two played happily together. Marty was amazed at how gentle Blaez was, even when Troy nipped his ears with needle sharp milk teeth.
They sailed in to Rosia bay having made good time to see the Formidiable at anchor. Marty first called in at the barracks to see what was afoot. Old Will, the mess steward, informed him that the Eagle and Alouette were out delivering an agent into Northeast Spain and making a nuisance of themselves respectively. Will also informed him that the Hornfleur was in Malaga picking up the marine instructors.
There were around thirty marines still in the base commanded by Sergeant Bright, including the Tool Shed. He picked up his correspondence from his desk and walked to the family home with Blaez and Troy in close attendance.
It was all quiet as he walked in, and he paused. It was unnaturally quiet. His stomach tensed, and he quietly put the letters on the table in the hall and drew his left-hand pistol.
He stepped quietly forward. Blaez picked up on his tension and went on to alert, slinking forward with his belly close to the ground, senses high. The puppy sat and watched with his head tilted. He moved up to the door to the drawing room and listened.
; He looked at Blaez, who was watching the door with his head to one side, hackles slightly raised. He reached out, wrapped his hand around the doorknob, and slowly turned it. The latch came free, he gently opened the door a crack, and looked through. He couldn’t see anybody, so he eased it open a little more and stepped into the room.
He smelled something; he wasn’t sure what it was, but it was vaguely familiar. The room was empty. Caroline’s latest needlepoint project on the table looked abandoned.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and crossed the room to the door to the parlour. It was slightly ajar, and he could hear someone moving around quietly.
Blaez was sniffing something in a basket on the other side of the room. Marty looked at him, distracted for a second, and the door opened.
Tabetha stepped through, threw up her hands, and screamed as she saw a man with a pistol standing in front of her. She then realized it was Marty and cajoled him in her rich Jamaican accent,
“What you doin’, Massa?! Creapin’ around wid date gun? You scared me half to death!!” She looked across at Troy, who was pulling a cloth from the basket watched by Blaez.
“And you get away from those dirty nappies, you disgustin’ dogs!”
Caroline appeared making shushing noises, but it was too late. The twins woke up and burst into full-voiced howls.
Marty looked into the parlour and saw a harassed Marie picking up Constance, Amara held Edwin.
“We just got them off to sleep!” Caroline scolded him, then saw Troy, “You got the puppy!”
Marty grinned and put his pistol back inside his jacket, and knowing he just ducked a scolding, walked over and took Edwin from Tabetha. The baby immediately quieted, gave Marty a big smile, gurgled, and went to sleep.
“Well really!” Caroline huffed, and picked up the puppy to get to know it.
Later, when family equilibrium had been restored, Marty sat with Caroline in the drawing room.
“I was going to let them use us as bait to trap the French, but I will write to Hood and tell him I have changed my mind,” Marty concluded after he explained to Caroline the plan.
“Why?” she asked in surprise.
“When I got home and it was so quiet, I was suddenly terrified you had all been taken,” he confessed.
“Love, we know they are coming and where from. We can move the children to James’ house and secure them there,” she suggested.
“That won’t work. They will watch the house before they move. Better we make a secure room the children can be moved into when the attack comes. But I think it’s still too big a risk,” he responded.
“Well, I don’t!” she told him firmly, “as long as the children are protected the risk to me is manageable. Every member of this household can defend themselves and we have extra marines on guard. We make the house a fortress and too risky for them to try and me an easier target.”
Marty looked at her in wonder. She was beautiful, brave, strong, and determined. He was such a lucky man!
“Alright, we will stick with the plan,” he agreed, then shuddered as a chill ran down his back.
Chapter 7: The best laid plans
No warning came for the next month and Marty was beginning to think the French had given up on the idea. Then he got orders to sail.
“They want us to take the Flotilla up to the French/Spanish border at Cerbère and try to intercept a shipment of arms the French are supposed to be sending to Barcelona. This would conveniently empty the base of almost all the marines and remove me and the Shadows from the peninsula,” Marty told the assembled officers and Ridgley. “We can assume that they will be watching for us to leave, so we will make a show of preparing and embarking.”
“Where will we drop you and the team off?” Wolfgang Ackermann asked.
“As soon as we get around the other side of the peninsula, we will return by Sandy Bay,” Marty answered.
He was reassured that his men felt the same as him, that this was a ruse to get them out of Gibraltar and that he was making the right call. The marine contingent on guard at the house were on the alert and all the staff armed. They were as ready as they could be.
“We sail on the next tide.”
The weather made getting the Flotilla out of Rosia bay and around Europa Point a lot slower than usual. But every cloud brings a silver lining, and the lousy weather effectively concealed the boat that brought Marty and the Shadows ashore.
They had just left the beach when a figure appeared and ran towards them. It was Tom, he almost fell as he rushed up to them and cried out,
“They got Caroline and Josee!”
“What? How the fuck did that happen?” Marty shouted in shock.
Tom stopped in front of them and caught his breath.
“They ambushed them about halfway between the base and the house, killed the escort, and grabbed the women. Caroline got off a shot, which alerted us. But by the time we got there, they were gone.”
Marty realized they had been duped. The French never planned to attack the house and his children were never the target. It had been Caroline all the time. It was like India all over again but this time he was up against determined professionals, not a bunch of amateurs.
“Matai, Antton, Garai - get over the border and see if you can find where they have been taken. They either left Gibraltar through the border or by boat to Algeciras, so you should be able to pick up their trail.”
The rest of them headed back to base where Marty found Billy Hooper, who had taken to hanging around old Will’s kitchen where he could scrounge food and keep warm.
“Go and get Frances Ridgley and tell him its urgent,” Marty told him and flipped him a shilling.
When Francis arrived, he told him what happened and that they should expect a message to be sent by some means or another. Then he started making preparations for all the contingencies he could imagine. One thing he was certain of, he would get the girls back and the French would pay. Oh, and when he got his hands on Bloomfield. . .
A note was found by a guard, pinned to the doors of the base two days later addressed to Captain Stockley. It was left in the dead of night and the sentries saw nothing.
‘If you want your women to be freed, you are to come by boat to the Torre de l’Almirante at midday on the 15th of the month where you will surrender yourself to us in exchange for your wife and her companion. The boat must only have a minimum crew sufficient to row it.’
“Short and to the point, the 15th is in two days,” Francis observed.
“This was written by an Englishman; can we assume that our bird in Canning’s office has flown?” Marty pondered and then determinedly, “We can assume that whoever is behind this has thought out their plan carefully. The rendezvous is an old fortified tower on a deserted beach with sight lines in all directions. It will be almost impossible for a team to get close enough to affect a rescue without being seen.”
“We only have two days; what do you want to do?” Francis asked, concern in his eyes.
Marty looked at him and Francis was surprised to see he had a confident look.
“Get my wife and Josee back,” Marty replied grimly.
It was a five-mile row across the Bay from Rosia to the Torre and the six-man crew of the barge was silent. Marty was left to his thoughts as he steered, and he wondered at the mind behind the trap that was set.
The beach approached, and Marty got ready. He was wearing his working uniform, hair clubbed at the nape of his neck. He carried his dress sword but was otherwise unarmed. He decided on wearing shoes rather than his lace-up boots as he didn’t know whether Bloomfield knew about their secrets. He wasn’t taking any risks with Caroline or Josee’s lives.
He could see the Torre behind the beach, which sloped up from the shore to a range of dunes. A glint of sunlight on a lens told him someone was watching from the top of the tower. There were eight blue uniformed soldiers stationed on top of the dunes nearest the beach in a large arc effectively isolating it.
A reception committee stood in a group above the high-water mark consisting of three civilians flanked by two Army officers and behind them a squad of six soldiers surrounding Caroline and Josee.
Marty’s analytical mind quickly assessed the situation: The two end soldiers on the dunes are too far away for an accurate shot with the French musket. That leaves the six in between, of which the centre four are the biggest threat. The six on the beach around the girls are all carrying muskets with bayonets fitted – not good. The two officers have swords, no pistols visible. The civilians look unarmed, but I must assume that at least one is carrying a pistol.
The boat ground up onto the sand, and the bow men jumped out to steady it. Marty moved to the bow and jumped onto the sand without getting his feet wet. He took a moment and looked around at the landscape; the dunes were studded with scrubby clumps of Lyme grass, which presented very little cover if any. The beach was empty in both directions.
He looked up the beach to where Caroline and Josee stood surrounded by their escort. He smiled and nodded to them as he walked up toward the high-water mark.
“Stop there, Captain,” Sir Henry Bloomfield commanded and when he complied, one of the officers stepped forward and searched him.
Not very thorough, Marty thought. They even left him his sword. Bloomfield stepped forward as the officer stepped back, a pistol appeared in his hand, which he held competently.
“If it were up to me, I would blow your brains out here and now then cut your bitch of a wife’s throat, however, my French friends want to spend some time questioning you. I suspect their methods will be somewhat brutal, so I will have to satisfy myself watching you suffer,” he gloated.
“When did you know we identified you as the traitor?” Marty asked, ignoring the tirade.
“You fools thought we were totally unaware of your men. We knew who and what you were from the time you arrived in England. You can flatter yourself that the whole operation was just to get you here. The French really want to get their hands on you.”
The Trojan Horse Page 7