Killigrew and the Sea Devil
Page 17
‘Wouldn’t water flood the contraption as soon as the hatch was opened?’
Brunel shook his head. ‘There’s a sealed chamber in the vessel with two hatches, one leading into the vessel itself and one leading out. Essentially, it works on much the same principle as a canal lock. A sort of “air-lock”, if you will. The diver dons his suit and helmet, enters the inner hatch, and seals it behind him. He attaches his air hose to a valve inside the chamber. The chamber is then flooded with water from outside the vessel, and the diver is able to open the outer hatch and operate as independently of it as his air hose will allow. Got that?’
‘I think so,’ said Killigrew.
The door opened and Napier entered, stumping along with the aid of a cane – a memento of an old war wound – and waving a bulging manila envelope in his free hand. ‘Your documents, Killigrew. You’re going tae Russia as an American journalist. I seem tae recall ye dee a fair Yankee accent?’
Killigrew nodded. When on half-pay ashore, he often amused himself – and others, it was to be hoped – by taking part in amateur theatrical performances to raise money for the charities supported by the millionaire heiress philanthropist, Angela Burdett-Coutts, and had acted in plays alongside Charles Dickens, a fellow amateur dramatist.
‘The Russians will think twice aboot treating ye roughly as long as they think you’re a son o’ Columbia,’ continued Napier. ‘They depend on American arms even more than British ones. Being a journalist will give ye an excuse tae ask all kinds of invasive questions. Being an American one means it will take the Russians at least a month tae check your background.’
Killigrew was relieved to hear it; even with his recent practice, he was not sure his Russian was good enough for him to pass himself off as a native. ‘And if I’m not in and out of Russia within the space of a month, I think it’s safe to say I’ll not be coming out at all.’
Napier handed the envelope to him. ‘American passport – you’re John Bryce of the New York Herald, by the way – letter of introduction from Mr Gordon Bennett, the editor; and various Russian documents that the Foreign Office think you’ll need. Are ye sure ye can trust this feller Leventhal? These documents could say “Arrest me, I’m a Russian spy” for all we ken!’
Killigrew took the documents out of the envelope. ‘They look genuine enough to me, sir. And Leventhal will be released?’
‘As soon as ye get safely back from Russia.’
‘That’s not the deal I made, sir.’
‘That’s the only deal Leventhal’s getting, believe you me. We dinna want him running off tae Russia in the hope of getting a reward when he tells them aboot how he made a false passport for a certain Commander Killigrew.’
‘Leventhal saved my life, sir. It hardly seems fair that his freedom should depend on my getting safely out of Russia.’
‘If this Sea Devil is as big a threat as we think it is, there’ll be a lot more people whose lives depend on ye than just this Leventhal. I should like one of oor translators at the Foreign Office tae look them over afore ye go, just tae be on the safe side.’
‘You said something about having a spy in St Petersburg, sir?’
‘Aye: his name’s Mscislaw Wojtkiewicz. Ostensibly he’s a vodka distiller; although I suspect that’s just a cover for other, less legal activities, if ye catch ma drift. But he spends a fair amount o’ time moving in exalted circles in St Petersburg and he gets tae hear some very interesting rumours. It was thanks tae him we got oor first whiff of these infernal machines.’
‘I can trust him, then?’
‘Aye, if you’re a fool. If it’s help you’re needing, there are British citizens living in St Petersburg; upright members of the business community. I’m sure if the worst cam’ tae the worst ye could turn tae them.’
‘They’re only allowed to remain on the sufferance of the Russian government, and I’ll lay odds there’s three Third Section agents assigned to watch each of them full time. My getting in touch with them will only draw suspicion on both myself and them. Besides, most of them are arms merchants, selling the Russians the armaments they need to slaughter our boys in the Crimea. Men like that wouldn’t hesitate to turn me in if they thought they could get another contract out of it.’
‘As ye will. I’ll set up an address for ye tae send telegrams tae, if ye’ve any urgent messages. Ye canna send codes via telegraph, and we daren’t risk a cypher: ye may depend upon it that the Russians will check every word ye send; backwards, forwards, sideways and upside doon. Instead we’ll use a system o’ key words. Ye send your messages as if they were journalistic dispatches: write any old drivel ye like – Christ knows, that’s whut most journalists seem tae dee – and I’ll jist look for the key words: “located” means ye’ve found the Sea Devil; “satisfied” means it’s in St Petersburg; “contend” means it’s at Kronstadt; “subscribe” means it’s at Sveaborg; “resolve” means it’s at Reval; and “moribund” means ye’ve managed tae destroy it. Put “not” before any o’ those words tae turn it intae a negative. I’m sure a man o’ your literary skills should have nae trouble working those phrases intae an innocent-reading dispatch.’
To Killigrew, that sounded like a dig at the reports he had submitted to Napier in the past. ‘Located, satisfied, contend, subscribe, resolve and moribund,’ he repeated, to impress the words in his memory.
Napier turned to Brunel. ‘Did that parcel I arranged to be delivered for Mr Killigrew arrive yet?’
‘Yes, Sir Charles. It’s downstairs in my workshop.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
The three of them made their way out of the boardroom, Brunel leading the way while Killigrew and Napier followed. In the workshop, the engineer’s assistants worked making a variety of models of various engines and contraptions of Brunel’s devising. One of his assistants sat at a bench, annotating some plans. Brunel tapped him on the shoulder.
‘How are those drawings coming along, Mr Jacomb?’
‘Very nicely, sir. They should be ready to send to the War Office by two o’clock.’
‘Good. Would you fetch Admiral Napier’s parcel from the safe?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Jacomb stood up and headed through a door into another office.
Napier peered at the plans he had been working on. ‘Whut are these?’
‘Plans for a prefabricated hospital for Scutari, Sir Charles,’ explained Brunel. ‘It should ease the conditions for our brave boys wounded in the Crimea.’
‘Prefabricated?’ said Napier.
‘The walls, floors and ceiling are constructed here in England and then shipped out to Scutari to be assembled on the spot. Each section of the hospital is designed as a self-contained unit, so even if those dunderheads at the Army Commissariat manage to separate the units, those that do arrive at the correct destination will still be of some use… Don’t touch that!’ he added seeing Killigrew toying with a model ship.
‘You’re a little old to be playing with toy boats, aren’t you?’
‘That’s not a toy! I’ll have you know you have in your hands the model for a revolutionary type of gunboat. With any luck it will result in the fall of Sevastopol and end this ghastly war. It’s transported to the Black Sea in a steam collier that’s been converted so that the bows open up to allow the gunboat to emerge from within. The armoured turret contains a single breech-loading twelve-inch gun firing three rounds per minute.’
‘Ingenious!’ Killigrew examined the underside of the model. ‘Where’s the screw?’
‘A rudder or a screw might become damaged or fouled leaving the vessel vulnerable,’ Brunel explained with the air of a man explaining something that ought to be perfectly obvious to a child of ten. ‘I’m working on a system of jet-propulsion that does away with the need for a screw and a rudder.’
Killigrew and Napier both blinked. ‘Er… “jet-propulsion”?’ echoed the admiral.
Brunel nodded. ‘The vessel is propelled by three jets of steam: one main jet for forward propulsion,
and two smaller lateral jets for manoeuvring. Of course, the jets could only work for a short distance.’
‘I see,’ Killigrew said dubiously. He had heard that the division between genius and insanity was not so much a line as an overlap; Brunel had clearly entered the overlap. ‘Bauer had an office here?’
‘Yes, upstairs. Why do you ask?’
‘I should like to see it, if I may. Even if I confine my search to St Petersburg, it’s still a big city with a good many shipyards. It’s a long shot, but there’s a chance that if Bauer left in a hurry, he might have left behind some clue as to where I should start my search for him.’
‘I’ve already got someone else working in that office now,’ said Brunel.
‘What are ye hoping tae find, a letter to Bauer from the Grand Duke Konstantin, recommending a good hotel in St Petersburg?’ asked Napier. ‘Detectives from Scotland Yard have already gone through the personal belongings Bauer left behind with a fine-toothed comb.’
‘I should like to have a look through it all anyhow,’ said Killigrew.
Brunel’s assistant returned carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper tied up with string, and handed it to the engineer. ‘Thank you, Mr Jacomb,’ said Brunel, using a pair of scissors to cut the string on the parcel. ‘Oh, do we still have that box of bits and bobs that Bauer left behind?’
‘I think so, sir. Would you like me to go and check?’
‘I’d be obliged.’
Jacomb hurried away again, and Brunel tore the wrapping off the parcel to reveal a mahogany box.
‘Ah, good,’ said Napier. ‘Give me your gun, Killigrew.’
The commander dug into the pocket of his frock-coat and took out his revolver, handing it to Napier.
‘Aye, I thought so,’ sighed the admiral. ‘This damned Deane and Adams again. I’ve tolt ye aboot this before.’ He handed the revolver to Brunel. ‘Ye tell him… for the last time.’
Brunel weighed the revolver in his hand. ‘Rather bulky to carry in your pocket. Not very waterproof, either.’ He tossed the revolver down contemptuously on Napier’s desk.
‘Any comments, Killigrew?’ asked Napier.
Killigrew took a deep breath. ‘I disagree, sir. I’ve been using the Deane and Adams for eighteen months. I’ve never missed with it yet. Well, hardly ever.’
‘Maybe no’,’ said Napier. ‘But it misfired on ye the other day and ye nearly spent six months in hospital in consequence. Ye’ll carry Lefacheaux… unless of course ye prefer tae go back tae standard naval duties?’
‘No, sir.’ Killigrew said firmly. Now that he had resigned himself to undertaking this mission, he was determined to take the opportunity to avenge Araminta’s death. ‘I would not.’
‘Then from now on ye carry a different gun,’ Napier told him. ‘Show him, Mr Brunel.’
The engineer opened the mahogany box to reveal a revolver. ‘Now, pay attention, Commander Killigrew: a Lefacheaux pinfire revolver. Just like an ordinary revolver, but with one small yet vital modification: these.’
He showed Killigrew a fistful of small, funny-looking objects, brass cylinders with lead bullets embedded in one end.
‘A combined bullet-and-cartridge-in-one. No more fumbling with powder and ramrod: the charge is housed in the brass cartridge, much like the pellets and charge in a shotgun cartridge. To load, open the top-hinged loading gate and place the hammer at half-cock.’ Brunel broke open the revolver. ‘As you can see, the cylinder contains six chambers, just like a Colt. Simply insert a round into each chamber, with the brass-wire pins at the base of the cartridges in the notches facing outwards. When the hammer falls, it strikes the pin, which rests against a percussion cap inserted in a small compartment in the base of the cartridge. When you’ve fired all six shots, eject the empty cartridge casings using the sliding rod here. You’ll find that with practice you can reload in a matter of seconds, even in the heat of battle. Here, you try it.’ He handed the revolver to Killigrew.
‘Open the top-hinged loading gate… place the hammer at half-cock… insert the rounds into the chambers.’ Killigrew loaded the revolver and snapped it shut. ‘Seems straight-forward enough.’
‘Also, note the absence of a trigger guard. When not in use, the trigger folds forward along the base of the frame, making it less bulky and easier to slip into a pocket. There’s a secret compartment in the base of this holdall, to help you smuggle the revolver through customs.’
Jacomb returned carrying a large box full of odds and ends, and overturned it on one of the workbenches. ‘This is all the stuff Bauer left behind.’
Killigrew and Napier sifted through it. Most of it was stationery and draughtsman’s equipment: pencils, pencil sharpener, rulers, a slide rule, a set of logarithm tables, compasses, set-squares, unused envelopes and notebooks.
‘What sort of man is this Bauer?’ Killigrew asked Brunel.
‘Hard to say. He was a difficult man to get to know. Always played his cards close to his chest. And even after he’d been living over here for three years, his English was never very good.’
Napier picked up a small framed picture and peered at it. ‘Is he married?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. He never mentioned a wife to me. Why do you ask?’
‘Sweetheart, then, perhaps?’ Napier showed the picture to Killigrew. It was a likeness of an attractive, dark-haired young woman in a white dress.
‘Anzhelika Orlova,’ said Killigrew.
‘Ye ken the lassie?’ Napier asked in astonishment.
‘Not personally. She’s the prima ballerina of the Mariinsky Ballet Company. I saw her dance at Covent Garden a couple of years ago… quite exquisite. They say she’s the new Taglioni.’
‘So Bauer’s an aficionado of ballet,’ grunted Napier. ‘I hardly ken how that helps; unless you intend tae go tae the Bolshoi-Petrovsky Theatre every night in the hope that he shows up.’
‘That would be rather futile, given that the Bolshoi-Petrovsky burned down two years ago,’ said Killigrew. ‘I admit I don’t know where the Mariinsky Ballet’s based these days, but it must be somewhere in St Petersburg: they’ve not toured since the war began.’
‘So there are limits tae your expertise!’ Napier snorted irritably.
‘Nobody’s perfect,’ Killigrew said easily. ‘Fortunately, I do know a little about photography – the difference between a daguerreotype and a calotype, for instance. And that likeness you’re holding is a daguerreotype.’
‘Why dae I get the feeling you’re aboot tae tell me why that’s important?’
Killigrew smiled. ‘Once a calotype has been taken, the image can be reproduced an infinite number of times; or at least until the negative wears out or fades with age, I suppose. That’s why they’re replacing daguerreotypes as the most popular form of photography.
You see, a daguerreotype cannot be reproduced: each likeness is unique.’
‘So?’
‘Bauer would have been here in London when the Mariinsky last danced at Covent Garden,’ explained Killigrew. ‘To get his hands on a daguerreotype of Anzhelika Orlova, the chances are he must have met her himself. And if he admired her sufficiently to keep a portrait of her in his office, the chances are he’ll have sought to renew their acquaintance shortly after his arrival in St Petersburg.’
‘And this is how you’re going tae track doon Bauer and the Sea Devil, is it?’ snorted Napier. ‘By chasing after some bonny lassie?’
‘It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.’ Killigrew put on a suitably noble expression. ‘For Queen and country, sir.’
Napier shook his head despairingly.
Chapter 9
Welcome to St Petersburg
‘The name’s Bryce,’ Killigrew told the customs officer in French. ‘John Bryce.’ He proffered the forged passport.
‘You are a citizen of the United States of America?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What is your business in St Petersburg?’
‘I’m a r
eporter for the New York Herald, here to report on the war with Britain and France from the Russian point of view.’
The customs officer nodded approvingly, and handed back the passport. ‘That seems to be in order. Anything to declare?’
‘There’s a couple of boxes of cheroots in my bag. They’re for my own personal use.’
The customs officer motioned for Killigrew to put the holdall on the table between them. The commander complied, and the customs officer opened the holdall to reveal a Colt revolver lying on top of the boxes of cheroots and the clothes neatly folded inside. ‘What’s this?’
‘My handgun, sir. The right to bear arms is enshrined in the constitution of the United States of America.’ Killigrew avoided looking at the man wearing a fur hat who stood against the wall nearby, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his black leather greatcoat as he scrutinised Killigrew curiously.
‘You are not in America now, M’sieur Bryce,’ the customs officer told him. ‘It will have to be confiscated.’
‘Then you’d better give me a receipt.’
‘As you will.’
It took them ten minutes to fill out the necessary paperwork; most of it in Russian, which Killigrew could barely read. His lessons from the Finnish pilot on board the Ramillies, who had given him his first grounding in Russian, had been entirely oral, and he had only begun studying the Cyrillic alphabet since he had accepted this mission.
Getting to St Petersburg had been surprisingly easy, considering there was a war on. He had travelled back through France and Germany by the same route he had travelled from Finland a few months earlier, albeit in reverse, before taking the steam-packet from Danzig. Passing through the Allied blockade in the Gulf of Finland, the steamer had been overhauled and stopped by the screw frigate HMS Arrogant. Killigrew had been forced to confine himself to his cabin in case he was recognised by any of the British officers who came on board to search for contraband of war: the steamer itself was registered in Stockholm, a neutral port, and so had been allowed to continue on its way once the boarding party had contented itself she was not carrying contraband of war.