Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series)

by Schettler, John

  Down they went, into dense, musty cold that seemed to find a way quickly through their coats and vests and chilled them to the bone. Ian felt a brief sensation of dizziness as they reached the bottom, feeling just a bit claustrophobic in the constricted space.

  What’s wrong with me, he thought? I spent days and days digging out that narrow tunnel to fetch Churchill’s ashes for this man, and never felt a twinge of anything like this. Yet something about the space was deeply unnerving, the quiet, the dark, the cold of decades lying here in this narrow way. They were in a long stone hall now, and this time the Duke edged past him to lead the way. It curved round to the left again, and then began to slowly angle up in a gradual climb. Ian had lost his sense of direction by now in the dark, but he reasoned they must still be beneath the castle. Another door barred the way ahead, which the Duke quickly opened with his strange key.

  “Quite a maze down here, your grace. I had no idea these passages were this extensive beneath the castle.”

  “You’re in good company, Mister Thomas, because no one else knows about them either—at least no one that matters. Here now, the final door. Just let me get this key out of my pocket again and we can begin.”

  * * *

  Two other men were also on a narrow stairway at that very same moment, though they were thousands of miles and long decades away. Captain Volkov led the Englishman up the main stairway to his room, searching it quickly and then hustling the man down the dark back stairway. Where has that proprietor gotten himself to, thought Volkov as they went? Where are my men? This whole situation was very odd, and most irregular. Who were those imbeciles posing as NKVD? They paid a very high price for their little reenactment, whatever they were doing here. He was intent on locating his men and getting to the bottom of this mess. There would be a report to file now. The local authorities would have to be called in, and the coroner. Yet he was certain his position would absolve him of any wrongdoing here. Those men had interfered with a naval officer, and threatened him at gunpoint. They got just the same in return. It was purely self-defense.

  The dining room they found themselves in was obviously the same room Volkov had been in before. He could tell by the window arrangement, but now it was all strangely different. The windows were shattered, and an amber glow from outside was illuminating the room. What was going on here? Where were the bodies of those idiots he had to deal with here a moment ago?

  Volkov was tensely alert now, and Byrne could feel his hand tighten painfully on his shoulder. They moved to the front desk, and Volkov studied the situation carefully. No one was there, just a register open on the desk, a pen there as if it had been dropped at a moment’s notice. Where was that serving girl that had been cowering behind the desk? She probably ran off when things got violent. Gunshots will have that effect, so he thought nothing more about the fact that the lobby and foyer were deserted now. He squinted at the scrawled handwriting in the register, noting the names there: Lt. Hans Koeppen, Ernst Maas, Hans Knape, and the date was very odd in the registry, 30-6-08. Sure enough, he saw the name Byrne there as well. The Englishman was telling the truth.

  “Koeppen,” he said aloud. “The thirtieth of June? The year is obviously wrong. 2008?”

  “One of the contestants,” said Byrne, glomming on to the information as if to buttress his story with this strange and dangerous looking man with a gun.

  “Contestants?”

  “In the Great Auto Race, sir. The race I am here to report on.”

  “What are you talking about, you fool? There is nothing of the kind underway here…” He had no knowledge of the famous historical event, a grueling race from New York to Paris, and not crossing the Atlantic, but heading west across the United States, the Pacific, Siberian Russia and all the way to Paris through Asia and Europe. The last three cars had endured the waist deep mud of Siberia, to get this far, and the German team was now in second place, trying to catch up with the speedy Thomas Flyer car of the American team.

  The more Volkov looked about him, the stranger everything seemed. There was no computer at the front desk, the furnishings, lamps and chairs, were all antiques, though wonderfully restored. Everything was different, and the calendar… another oddity obviously there for decor. They were making this place out to be an old inn from centuries past.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Probably out near the tracks, sir, where I should be. The Protos is leaving this morning. That’s the German team’s car. I was just running upstairs to fetch my notebook when I found the door locked on the upper landing and began knocking to see if I could gain access. Then you appeared with that other older man, and…well, I’m very confused, sir. Are you with Mironov?”

  “What? Mironov? I am with the Russian Naval Intelligence, and I have had more than enough of this nonsense. Is this Mironov the associate you spoke of earlier?”

  Byrne followed what Volkov said as best he could, in spite of the fact that his Russian was limited. Yet he heard enough to realize this man was an intelligence officer, and Mironov’s warning about the Tsar’s secret police, the Okhrana, rose as a warning in his mind now. “He was just another boarder,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I had breakfast with him. I thought perhaps that you were with his party.”

  He had seen Mironov go up the stairs after that other strange man left them, the one who called himself Fedorov. Then Mironov appeared again, a troubled look of astonishment on his face. He said nothing, striding quickly across the dining hall and out the main entrance there by the front desk.

  Now Volkov seemed to be peering outside. “Through that door,” he said gruffly, nudging Byrne out. They emerged to find the northeastern sky still aglow with a strange light, as though there had been some tremendous explosion there and the whole taiga forest was set aflame. There was still a distant rumble of thunder in the air, as though from a cannonade, or more explosions.

  “My God,” said Volkov as he stared at the sky. He could only think that a nuclear detonation could produce such a scene. “They’ve finally done it,” he breathed. “It’s begun.”

  Chapter 29

  The door was above them this time, and it took the strength of both men to raise the heavy stone lid with considerable effort. It opened on a cold empty room, its far wall and roof broken and open to the low sky above. A grey mist hung over the scene, pale and diffused with the light of an early rising sun. The cold air of the tunnel was unabated in the stark scene they entered, and Thomas saw here the broken remains of the castle in which they had just passed a comfortable evening’s rest.

  “My lord, where have we come?”

  “Step lively, Mister Thomas. Here, can you give me a lift up?”

  Thomas helped the Duke gain a firm hold and assisted as he climbed up through the opening. He reached down to receive the luggage and set it aside, then extended an arm to Thomas, heaving him up.

  “A bit of strength still left in these old arms and shoulders,” said the Duke, breathing in the cold foggy air.

  “My God, that stone lid looks like it hasn’t been moved in ages.”

  “I don’t suppose it has. In fact that passage will lie in undisturbed silence for another hundred years once we get it shut again. Well now, let’s get down to the lime kilns. There will be a boat there and we can row over to the mainland.”

  “But sir… What’s happened here?” What was his Lordship saying? Another hundred years? “Is this the same castle, sir, or have we come all the way over to the ruins of the old Priory?”

  “No Mister Thomas, you are standing in Lindisfarne Castle. I’m afraid it’s in a sad state at the moment. Come along, we’ve no time to lose. Set that stone lid back securely, my man. Yes, that will do.” The lid settled with a strange click.

  Thomas was still somewhat confused, but the Duke seemed very purposeful and eager to be on his way, so he took up the luggage and the two men started to make their way through the castle. It was clearly Lindisfarne. Thomas could recognize the layout of
the walls and the high whinstone crag where it was set on Holy Isle. But there was no sign of the Edwardian chambers they had stayed in on the upper battery. The grounds seemed unkempt, the walls and stairs in sad disrepair. With all the talk of imminent war, he wondered if the place had taken a bomb while they were negotiating the steep stairs and passages beneath the castle, but he would surely have heard something like that, and there was no sign that anything of the sort had happened here.

  “Your pardon, sir… but the castle—”

  “Yes, yes, a pity, isn’t it? Jacobites made quite a mess of the place in years past. Well this was the way it was most of the time, just an old coast guard lookout point. It won’t be restored for many years. The Dundee lime kilns are still working, though I doubt we’ll find anyone there at this hour. The tide is up and the sea will have the island in its grip for another two hours. By that time we should be well on our way.”

  Thomas was again thrown in to confusion. “It won’t be restored for many years? Whatever do you mean, sir?”

  “Not now, Mister Thomas. I’ll explain it all when we’re safely out to sea.”

  Thomas knew enough not to press on the matter, so he labored along with the luggage as the Duke led the way. They worked their way down to the edge of the sea near the lime kilns where they saw two old boats overturned on the stony shore and tied off to a rusted metal ring anchored to the ground.

  “This one looks to be in better shape. Let’s get it tipped over and then we’ll ease it to the water’s edge.”

  They heaved the boat up, the wood heavy with damp moisture of a recent rain. Wooden oars wrapped in a heavy tarp were tucked away underneath. Once they had it right side up the two men pushed from the stern and slid it along over the smooth wet gravel of the shore. Thomas heaved in the two bags and then fetched the oars, pushing the boat until its bow was well floated on the listless surf.

  “I see you’ve a good pair of boots there, Mister Thomas. Those will work out well. Let’s have another shove and then I think we can ease it out with the two oars.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  In time they were both on the boat, settling in on the broad wood bench and fastening their oars to begin rowing. “I’ll have you know that I was in the thick of it with Regatta racing on the Thames at one point, Mister Thomas. Why, I’ve launched at three in the morning near the Horseferry on the Thames and rowed to Sunbury for breakfast at half past seven. Then it was on again until lunch at the London Stairs above Staines. After that I pushed right on through Windsor Bridge by two in the afternoon to Eaton. I haven’t the strength of a twenty year old any longer, but I prepared for this sojourn with a daily workout for the last six months and I’m fit as a fiddle. We’ll have to be quick about it, as I mean to take the South Low over the mudflats rather than going all the way round the seaward side of the island. Fortunately the tide is still well up. I think we’ll make it well enough.”

  They rowed for some time, a long pull for nearly ten miles up the coast to Berwick upon the River Tweed, and there they saw the outlines of a large sailing ship, with two prominent masts lying at anchor off the mouth of the river.

  Thomas was grateful that they seemed near the end of the long haul, but understandably perplexed. The Duke had hinted he might soon get his wish and ride in a sailing ship, and here it was!

  “May I present to you the Brigantine Ann, Mister Thomas. She’s a British merchantman, as you can see, the sails nicely squared off on both the fore and main masts. My, My, her rigging and cordage look to be in very good shape. I’ll bet she’s grand when all those sails get unfurled and into the eye of the wind.”

  “Amazing, sir.”

  “Quite so. Well… I promised to fill you in on the details of our situation, and I suppose I had better do so before we make our final approach. You may find this somewhat awkward at first, Mister Thomas, but I had my eye on you for some time and selected you precisely because I believed you had the character and daring to fill the bill.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “A great deal may be asked of you on this little adventure. At first you may feel quite out of place, but the situation will grow on you in time…Yes, in time…”

  The Duke looked over at Thomas, noting the confused expression that crossed his face and then a wry smile taking its place. “Oh… I understand now, sir. A nicely made adventure, just as you hinted. I had no idea there would be a tall ship on the coast this week, but it will make a grand play in any case.”

  “Yes, well I’m afraid we are not playing at this adventure, Mister Thomas. It would take a good deal of time to explain it all to you, but if you’ll just ease into the thought that we are entirely somewhere else at the moment, and let me do most of the talking when we board that ship there, I think the situation will grow on you soon enough.”

  Thomas raised his eyebrows, yet was not surprised by this development. He had worked with many noble and wealthy men over the years and was much acquainted with their eccentricities. Sir Roger Ames was no different from many he had come to know. They collected oddities like the ashes of great men before them pressed into gemstones, and they moved in arcane circles of which he hadn’t the slightest notion. He was only glad to have been taken under the wing of the Duke, and decided he would certainly not be one to spoil the party here. He would play along and indulge the man. This was to be his grand fantasy, a little safari on a sailing ship and then off to parts unknown. Well enough. He was ripe for an adventure, and something told him this would be a very nice change of pace. It certainly beat digging tunnels beneath graveyards. A jaunt on that ship seemed most appealing.

  “Ahoy!” the Duke raised an arm as they approached the brig.

  “Who goes there?” came a throaty voice from the gunwale.

  “You may announce me as Sir Roger Ames, Mister Thomas, but make no mention whatsoever of my title as Duke. Address me as Mister Ames, if you will, from this point forward. There was no Peer of the Realm in Elvington until I was appointed, and these gentlemen will not recognize any Dukedom established there. Simply tell them I seek passage on this ship, and a conference with their Captain Cameron.”

  Thomas nodded and cupped his mouth to project his strong voice. “His Grace Sir Roger Ames, seeks passage and lodgment aboard, if you please. Can your Captain Cameron receive him straightway?”

  “His Grace?” came the voice out of the mist again, and they could hear hobnailed boots moving on the wooden deck. “Very well, come abaft. There’s a good rope ladder astern.”

  “No need for the honorifics,” the Duke cajoled. “Mister Ames will do in most cases. You may use the prefix ‘sir’ if you wish. It was as much a simple politeness as anything else these days, and did not necessarily indicate knighthood.”

  “Sorry, sir. Long habits I suppose. I’ll be more mindful.”

  The slip made by Thomas had actually worked to their advantage, for when the Boatswain heard it he thought the better of sending these two unexpected sea vagrants on their way. Instead he sent word to the Captain that a gentleman had come calling, and asked for him by name. Yet the Duke, thinking that loose lips sink ships, decided to reinforce his point with Thomas.

  “When mixing with the men on this ship I would advise you to be rather mute, Mister Thomas. There should be no mention of current events, news, and certainly no babbling about with anything to do with our ridiculous pop culture. In fact, it might be best that you remain dutifully seen, but seldom heard, if you follow my meaning. Please don’t take offense, but beginnings are delicate matters and I should like to set the tone here.”

  “I understand, sir. No offense taken.”

  They maneuvered the boat, shipping oars when they came alongside with a gentle bump. Thomas tied off the boat and then took a firm hold on the ladder. “Shall I go up first, sir? I’ll get some men to fetch the luggage.”

  “Well enough.”

  The Duke stood up, rolling his weary shoulders. In spite of his daily regimen, the long haul was a bit
taxing for his 50 years, and he could feel the soreness in his upper back and shoulders. He was second up the ladder and Thomas helped him through a narrow gate and onto the main deck.

  “Mister Ames’ effects are still below,” he said. “Oh yes,” Thomas remembered his manners now. “May I present Sir Roger Ames.”

  A heavy set man in a plain white shirt, waistcoat, and grey trousers made an affable bow. “Thomas Delson, sir. I’m Boatswain here, and welcome aboard the Ann. Forgive me to say we were not expecting to take on any further passengers.”

  “Yes, yes, well it can’t be helped. Yours is the only ship off the coast just now. I’ve an urgent need to get somewhere, and this seemed the only practical solution. Now then, is Captain Cameron aboard?”

  “That he is, sir, below decks in his cabin. I’ve sent a boy to alert him. Just follow me and I’ll lead the way.” He turned to two hands who were watching the scene with some interest. “You men there, up with that luggage.”

  “Good,” said the Duke. “My footman, Mister Thomas here, will wait with the bags while I see the Captain and settle affairs.” He gave Thomas an admonishing glance as if to reinforce his earlier remarks about being seen but not heard.

  “Very good, sir.” The Boatswain had given the two men a good long look, and thought their clothing and manner of dress to be most unusual, but he was not prepared to question the men further. The gentleman certainly carried himself well enough, and looked to be upper class in deportment and aspect, though his hair was close cropped and he did not wear a wig. That was not unusual, so he would leave it to the Captain to sort this business out.

  Thomas waited as Ames was led off, taking a hatch and short stairway down to the Captain’s cabin, where the Boatswain knocked gently on the door.

  A muffled voice answered—“Come,” and the Boatswain eased the door open. “Visitors, Captain. One Sir Roger Ames.”

  The Captain was seated at a narrow wood desk studying a map and rose with a polite smile. “It isn’t often I receive such a pleasant surprise in the morning. Do come in, sir. That will be all, Mister Delson.”