“This NKVD man was wearing that jacket?” Molla nodded to Orlov’s service jacket now.
“No, that was mine. All I took was the overcoat and hat.”
“It was yours you say? I have never seen anything quite like it.”
“That was what Loban said at Gibraltar.” Orlov baited his line, wondering if the Commissar would nibble.
“Loban? You were at Gibraltar?”
“How do you think the NKVD got hold of me in the first place? They had me under that stinking Rock of theirs and Loban sent me on a little cruise.”
“I see…” Molla obviously knew who Loban was, which was exactly what Orlov was hoping. “You said the NKVD man wanted to take you to Novorossiysk?”
“I suppose he wanted to turn me over to the military there. I’m a deserter.”
“A deserter?”
“Navy. That’s where I got that service jacket.”
“You were an officer?”
“Chief of the boat.”
“Of course you know what we do with deserters. Yes? But a few more questions before I kill you. Or perhaps I should leave you for the Germans, coward. Loban sent nothing more?”
“Oh, he sent a good deal more, but I had no use for it. I’ve come a long way and I left the attaché behind.”
“I see…” The commissar slowly lowered his pistol, resting his arm at his side, and sat on the edge of his desk, just a little closer to Orlov now. “Just where did you think you were going, Orlov? What were you doing at Kizlyar? Are you a German sympathizer? A Spy? Were you trying to get through our lines to get to those pigs?”
“Of course not,” said Orlov hotly. “I’m Russian! I was looking for the pigs on this side of the wire, men who roust women and children out of their homes and truck them off to places like this in the night. Men like you, Commissar.”
Molla stood up very quickly, his hand tight on the revolver again. He had killed a hundred men for far less cause than this man just gave him; interrogated thousands more with seared and severed flesh. He was brash, young, and full of himself, and now he had a strong sense that the man he had before him was of the same dark order, a demon of a man who could kill without remorse, without conscience. These were the most dangerous men in the world, he thought. I could use a man like this…if I could control him. Then his righteous anger flared, as he realized just what the man had said to him. Bound for hell or not, we still keep order.
“You stinking piece of shit!” Molla swore at Orlov now. “Tell me…Which eye should I put the first bullet through?” He raised his pistol again, pointing it right at Orlov’s forehead.
“Tell me,” Orlov said darkly, looking him square in those icy black eyes. “How long can you breathe when I get both hands around your neck?”
Chapter 30
The Duke sat at his desk, hands folded, a light in his eyes that signaled determination. He regarded the man before him favorably, good deportment, of seeming sound character, adequately trained and possessed of skills that would be most useful. Now down to the matter at hand.
“Mister Thomas, good of you to come so quickly.”
“My pleasure, your Grace.”
“Indeed. Well, I have a matter to put before you, the long term assignment I mentioned to you at our last meeting. By the way, your delivery was certified and accepted for processing and completion by tomorrow. I’m very pleased.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
“Now then. I’m going to be taking a little trip. I suppose I should say a rather long trip, and I would like to ask you to accompany me. Your role would be to insure my safety, and secure certain effects I plan of transporting with me. You will also act as my agent in all ways—my right hand man, as it were. Might you be interested in such a position?”
“Sir… I’m honored to even be considered.”
“Excellent. But I must tell you, Mister Thomas, that this would be for a very extended period of time. There would be no termination date. You would have to consider the assignment indefinite. Given those circumstances the compensation would be commensurate.”
“Thank you, sir. I deeply appreciate your consideration and I would be most interested.”
“The situation would also find us incommunicado for the duration of the assignment. Should you have any pressing matters that would require your personal attention…”
The Duke’s raised an eyebrow, something Thomas had seen him do on a number of occasions when his mind had reached an absolute conclusion on something. He was telling him that there was no alternative. The position would require his full commitment. Lord, he thought. A full time position with the Elvington estate! Right hand man to his Grace, Duke Roger Ames! He was quick to clear the field of any potential obstacle to such an appointment.
“I am entirely at your disposal, sir.”
“Good then. We’ll be leaving very soon. Shall we say forty-eight hours? I have made all the arrangements, however, if you have to settle any personal affairs, please do so. I’m afraid I can’t be more specific as to the nature of the assignment, or the duration at the moment. It will all be apparent to you in good time.”
“I shall look forward to it, sir. And thank you for your gracious consideration.”
“Well enough. You’ll be given information on where to meet me. I shall provide for all your needs in regards to clothing. The secretary will ask you for sizing, but if there are any personal effects you cannot be without, a small attaché would be suitable. Thank you, Mister Thomas. We shall meet again in a few days time.”
Thomas lowered his head in a polite bow and withdrew. The Duke watched him go, smiling quietly. If you only knew what I’ve just given you, he thought. Compensation indeed! The world we know will not last another week. It’s been a marvelous experiment, a grand play, but now I’m afraid there is trouble in heaven that cannot be resolved. Time for the Angels to make their leap to freedom, and you, my Dear Mister Thomas, have just been given something few men on this earth will have here in days to come—your life.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the object there where he was fond of keeping it. I shall have to find a more secure way to keep it handy, he thought. A nice chain, simple, yet durable should fill the bill. The cool touch of metal was very reassuring, and he took the object in his pocket out and held it up to the light, smiling at the expert craftsmanship of the key. It looked like a small black iron skeleton key, the outer metal weathered nicely to simulate age, yet he knew the inside was a smoothly machined chamber that housed something very special, something he would now rely on for his very life.
The anomaly he learned of earlier had been very curious. He looked over the data very carefully, and it was certainly suspicious, so much so that he flew to London immediately to see it firsthand. The Duke was a trustee of the British Museum, and had made lavish donations over time. He was fond of the place, and would often spend long hours just wandering the halls and delighting to the exhibits. There he could lose himself for a time, forgetting the mundane modernity of the world outside and dwelling in better times in his mind. Better times.
So it was that he received a most unusual call about one of the especial exhibits—the Eglin Marbles—and he went to see about it directly. Doubting Thomas that he was, he did not believe the first reports made to him. He wanted to see the anomaly himself, and thoughts of the excursion now returned to him.
“Are you certain it has not been altered in recent years?” he asked the curator.
“Absolutely certain, sir. The piece has been here, in this very display case, for years now, completely undisturbed.”
“And was there any record of the damage, any sense of how it happened? No sir—at least not officially. There would have been an insurance claim, of course, and we could locate nothing of the sort. What we do know is that it happened in 1941, during the time the marbles were being transported for protection. As you may know, many were moved into the tube—but not all, sir. This one here was transported to the United
States for a time, aboard HMS Rodney, to be precise.”
“HMS Rodney? Isn’t that a battleship?”
“It was, sir. She was built in the interwar years and served ably throughout the conflict. Had a few very choice engagements, she did, sir.”
“Do go on, Chelmsley. I’m assuming this has something to do with this damage.”
“It does indeed, sir. The old girl found herself in more than one good scrap at sea, but there were two battles of particular note. One was in May of 1941, which is when we believe this damage occurred. If you recall, sir, that was when John Tovey was running down the Bismarck. Old Rodney was scheduled for overhaul and was actually supposed to be en-route to the US. She had a contingent of war-weary passengers aboard, a goodly sum in gold bullion from the treasury, and some very significant segments of the Elgin Marbles, this piece in particular. They were all being transported for safekeeping, sir, but the Germans got into it and the Bismarck sortie was most inconvenient. Admiral Tovey had to pull Rodney into the chase, not that she was built for such work. She might make 21 to 23 knots on a good day, but her boilers were rather dodgy at the time. It was a miracle that Dalrymple-Hamilton—that was her captain at the time, sir—was able to steer her right into the thick of things and catch that German ship.”
“You say this ship had it out with Bismarck?”
“That she did, sir, before Admiral John Tovey came up with King George V and settled the matter. A battle at sea can be a rather rousing affair, sir. Rodney was Nelson Class, and she had big 16 inch guns all laid out in three turrets on the foredeck.” Chelmsley extended his arms in a wide circle to illustrate the girth of the guns, smiling.
“The guns were so powerful that they damn near shook Rodney to pieces. Most of the damage she sustained in that battle was self inflicted. That and the rough seas at the time gave her cargo holds a bit of a good hard shake, sir. We think the damage occurred there when one of the crates shifted and burst open. We have it on report, sir. The piece was re-fitted, it seems, and must have been done by someone aboard. Unbelievable as it may sound, sir, they just tamped in a little mortar and put the chipped section back.”
“It was not noticed?”
“It may have been, sir, but we’ve no way of knowing that now. All we know is that no fuss was made about it, and no insurance claim ever filed. But…well there it is, sir.” Chelmsley pointed at the display where the Selene Horse sat in special circumstances for a rare cleaning and inspection prior to the planned relocation to a deep underground vault.
“The damage was noticed again on this very inspection, sir. We might not have even seen it except for all this war news prompting the relocation. ”
The piece was a select sculpture of the famous Elgin Marbles, segments of the Parthenon that had been transported to England by Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin from 1801 to 1812. Some called him a savior for bringing such sublime art to the shores of the Kingdom, others called him a vandal and pillager, the famous poet Byron among them. In any case, the marbles were here, and the Duke had always been very fond of them.
“Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,” said the Duke, quoting Lord Byron’s poetry. “But at least they’re here, and largely in one piece. God only knows what might have happened to them otherwise.”
“Precisely, sir.”
The Duke looked at the sculpture, still admiring the piece, perhaps the most striking of the entire Elgin collection. It’s eyes still bulged with the veins on its neck and face, the labor of a long night pulling the chariot of Selene, the Goddess of the Moon, through the heavens. It was sublime. Well, brigand or not, the Centaurs now battle the Lapith warriors here in Room 18 of the British Museum. It’s a pity their struggle ends here, once and for all time. They’ve survived centuries of strife and turmoil, but now there may be no vault deep enough for what is coming next.
“And the second engagement?”
“Sir?”
“You say this battleship had two battles of particular note.”
“Ah…Yes, sir. The second was a rather cloudy incident in the Med. She was with HMS Nelson, her sister ship during a big relief operation bound for Malta. Something happened, I’m not exactly sure what, but it sent both battleships and the whole escorting force racing back to Gibraltar, leaving their charge early. It was most unusual, but I’m told the ship encountered something very mysterious in that campaign, and both Rodney and Nelson sustained damage that the Royal Navy was keen to cover up.”
“I see…Well, war is war. Secrets are secrets, and the two are often bedfellows. Very good, mister Chelmsley. That piece there is the damaged segment?”
“It is, sir. I’ve left it aside, but of course it’s the horse’s head itself you’ve come to see. If you would be so kind as to put on these gloves should you wish to inspect it more closely…”
“Of course. That will be all now, Mister Chelmsley.”
“I shall be right outside should you need me, sir.”
The Duke waited until the man left him alone, then slowly pulled on the white museum gloves as he regarded the small chipped segment that had been set aside. He leaned forward, noting the curious depression in the stone, and was truly amazed at what he saw. Could it be, he thought?
He reached into his pocket, removing a small object and looking furtively about him to make certain there were no surveillance cameras. Chelmsley had assured him complete privacy for this special viewing, but he remained a naturally cautious man.
The key sat in the palm of his gloved hand, starkly contrasted against the satin white. He reached out to steady the chipped segment as he placed the key into the depression in the stone, amazed to see it was an absolutely perfect fit! The key was now nestled snuggly in the chipped segment and he realized that a similar object must have been embedded there at one time. My Lord! A key! In the Elgin Marbles…
And not just any key.
The unique shape and coded teeth of this key made it unlike any other. He was one of the very few privileged to hold one, though it was now clear to him that someone else had deliberately placed another in this very sculpture—embedded within the Selene Horse! Was it there when this segment was chipped off—perhaps during the sea engagement Chelmsley described? Astounding if it was. Who could have placed it there, ages and ages ago when the sculpture was first given life in Classical Greece? And more, who might have taken it if it was discovered in the hold of HMS Rodney in May of 1941? His mind was full of questions, and a light of excitement was in them.
We aren’t the first, he realized now.
There were others…
He reached for the key, putting it safely back in the special inner pocket of his jacket and reminding himself to be sure to get that chain so he could wear it around his neck beneath his clothing in the future. He must never be without it again.
That thought shook him from his reverie and his mind now ran down particulars of the arrangements. Everything seemed in order now. He had not overlooked anything of any importance. The Duke was a very careful man.
Now he was increasingly confident that all would work as planned. The tuning had been very precise, or so he was led to believe. The location was now secure, all the riff raff and commoners seen off to their dull, unwitting lives. It would be a fine morning for the trip, and everything was ready. He would take the drive up through Newcastle tomorrow and do a last bit of sightseeing. Then it would be up and over the causeway beneath the Snook along the narrow neck of Holy Isle to Lindisfarne castle. He would be sure to keep his appointment by arriving a full day early.
Ah, if they really knew what it was all about, he thought. The whinstone on Beblowe Crag hides more than anyone could possibly imagine. Good hard rock, whinstone, which is why it has survived the tides of both time and sea for so very long, not to mention the considerable turmoil and bother of politics through the ages. A pity that it will not survive any longer.
They had but three days left…all the Angels were ready to leap from this heaven o
n earth into worlds of newfound freedom. How would it be? Lucifer fell for nine days, he thought—nine days falling into hell. That will certainly not be the case for me, not for his Grace Sir Roger Ames, the Duke of Elvington. I’m off to keep a special appointment with yet another Duke! Let the other Angels and Demons fall where they may.
Part XI
Breakout
“This late dissention grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
And will at last break out into a flame.”
― William Shakespeare
Chapter 31
Battleships are awesome things, thought Halsey. He was riding one now, and staring off the starboard side of the bridge at its twin sister. Missouri and Iowa were works of sublime engineering, steel shaped in long, graceful lines, yet with stark edges and raw power that was evident in every angle and curve of the ship.
Speak softly and carry a big stick, thought Halsey. That’s exactly what he had in hand now. ‘The Big Stick,’ battleship Iowa, was winking at him as it executed a 10 point turn to starboard, signaling by lantern. Her long, swept bow cut through the rising sea leaving a frothy white spray to wash the foredeck where the big “61” was painted in clear block numerals.
The two ships had steamed north together, but now, in keeping with the new plan of attack proposed by the British Admiral Fraser, the they were spreading out in a wide line of advance. Iowa was peeling off to starboard to take a position at least ten kilometers to the northeast. Halsey’s ship, ‘Mighty Mo’ held steady on. Together the two big battleships would be the center of the line with their massive 16 inch guns. Heavy cruisers would flank them at ten kilometer intervals. Boston and St. Paul were on the far right, speedy ships at 33 knots but with nine 8 inch guns and twelve 5 inchers to go with them.
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