by Peter Greene
“Is he tied well?” growled Gorman, putting on his harshest voice and demeanor.
“’E is, sir!” said Frey, also hissing and growling.
“’E’s goin’ nowhere, this one is!” added Fairchild.
Lord Wilder was secured tightly. Though bound about the eyes with a rag, he tried to look out from underneath. He could only murmur through the cloth gag tied firmly about his mouth. His hands and feet were fastened expertly to the chair with several knots that seemed impossible to budge.
Gorman walked around Wilder several times, making sure the captive could hear his hard boots hitting the floor. Not being able to see and only hearing the sounds of his captors would frighten Wilder to the point that he would most likely cooperate. At least that was Gorman’s expectation.
Wilder had never been mentioned by Gorman’s superiors or operatives as anyone who would be suspected of any crime, especially treason. He was an outstanding British subject by all accounts. Though he had been recently appointed to the Admiralty in a position to command assignments, all knew it was a purely ornamental position. He had no real power. It was an honor, no doubt, but one with no teeth.
No matter, thought Gorman. He is deeply involved in this mess—and most probably a traitor. I have been in this business a long while, and I have been surprised more than once with who was a player and who was not. I will let him stew a bit more.
There were three pieces of information the captain desired to extract from Lord Wilder: his admission that he was working with Mister O, exactly who Mister O was, and what his role was in this plot.
“Take off the gag,” said Gorman, “but leave him blind.”
Frey removed the gag. Lord Wilder took a huge breath of air, then another. Apparently recovered, he went on the attack.
“Who are you?” Wilder asked firmly once he had begun to breathe more or less normally. “I demand, in the name of the king—”
“Oh, dear me, Wilder!” said Gorman harshly. “You name His Majesty? We know all about your treason. You will surely hang, if there is anything left of you to hang when we are done with you.”
“Do I now get the tools?” laughed Frey evilly.
“Yes. Sharpen them up first!” replied Gorman.
“Right, sir,” said Frey, knowing his part in this. Keep the victim on edge, keep feeding the fear. He will talk. They all did for Gorman. It just depended upon how and when.
“It is you who will hang!” cried Wilder. “Do you know who I am? I am Lord James Wilder! Let me go now, and I will press no charges!”
Gorman laughed. “I don’t think that is a possibility.”
“What do you want from me?” Wilder demanded.
“Some answers, to begin with, traitor!” yelled Gorman.
“I am no traitor! I serve the Crown!”
“Oh, really? Then explain why you have been serving a known Russian operative.”
“W-what do you mean?” Wilder asked. Since his abduction, he had wondered who these men could be—French spies, surely. Napoleon’s minions would certainly benefit from the knowledge he had of the Treaty of Akbar. Lord Wilder would show them what a British spy could withstand!
“We have seen you in his carriage, taking your three a.m. rides about Van Patten. Do you deny it?” said Gorman.
Wilder felt faint. He reasoned that this abduction might have something to do with his secret meetings with Orvislat. Now he knew.
“Who are you? Let me see you!”
“I will remain anonymous. You are my prisoner, until the hangman takes you, spy!” Gorman said, as if the word were vulgar and despicable.
“I will tell you nothing. It is you who are spies! French spies!”
“You think we are Frenchmen?” laughed Gorman. “Funny coming from a Russian spy!”
“Russian? I am a member of His Majesty’s Naval Board—”
“Yes, yes. We know all that,” continued Gorman. “What we don’t know is why. Why did you hand two of His Majesty’s ships over to the Russians? Why did you change their orders? Just to make it easier for your friend in the carriage to murder the crews and capture His Majesty’s vessels of war?”
“You are mistaken!” cried Wilder. “I handed over nothing! I serve His Majesty’s commands.”
“Odd,” laughed Gorman. “I spoke to His Majesty just this morning. He knows nothing of your doings, Wilder. In fact, I must say, he couldn’t even remember who you are or what position you hold.”
Wilder caught his breath. Could this be true?
“Who are you?” Wilder asked again.
“Loyalists. Loyal to England. That is all you need to know,” said Gorman.
“This is ridiculous,” said Wilder. “Let me go before you do irreparable harm to yourselves. All you have correct is that I took a few rides with my friend, the son of the Russian ambassador.”
Ah, thought Gorman, I have the answer to one of my three questions! Mister O is Seeja Orvislat, the son of the ambassador. He had been the object of a few simple observations by Slater and other operatives. A suspected spy, a player in more than a few shady dealings.
“Orvislat? He is known a spy,” said Gorman, now standing still in front of his captive. “I have been following him for years. We will pick him up soon.”
“I will say nothing further. Kill me if you must,” said Wilder. These men knew nothing, he thought. Whoever they were, he would not give them a single bit of information.
“You know,” said Gorman, pausing for effect, “Orvislat will be shot as a spy. Or maybe you can hang together, along with your tool Spears, of course.”
“Spears?” said Wilder. He now saw his entire case falling apart. They had gotten to Spears. He must have told them everything about how the orders had been changed to ensure delivery of the treaty. Yes, that is what they were after! he thought.
Gorman smiled. Looking at the posture of Wilder deflating, he knew he was on the right track. A bit more pushing and Wilder would think he had been found out completely.
“Ah! Your loose end, Captain Spears,” said Gorman in a raised and condescending voice, “Yes, I spoke to him this morning. What a tongue wagger he is.”
The blood drained from Wilder’s face.
“Possibly Spears is innocent; however, he will be a great witness to prove you are not. He has already turned over on you, Lord Wilder. He told us about the orders you commanded him to change. He told us of the treaty—again, a fabrication, according to the king.”
“Fabrication?” said Wilder softly.
“There is no agreement with the Russians,” said Gorman. “No secret correspondence. That is handled via the British ambassador in Saint Petersburg, not during some midnight coach rides with your friend Orvislat. There never was a Treaty of Akbar, Wilder. We know all this. You intended to use the treaty and prisoner exchange as a ruse to have the Echo and Paladin set up for capture. Oh dear, dear, dear! Conspiring with the enemy—and theft of His Majesty’s ships! That is treason with a capital T. And two of His Majesty’s finest ships. The king is not pleased; I can assure you of that.”
“They are just names and numbers of armaments on paper to me,” Wilder whimpered. “I knew n-nothing about the Echo or the Paladin!”
A voice came from the darkness behind them all.
“Nothing of the Paladin?”
All turned, save Wilder of course, to see Delain Dowdeswell emerge from the shadows and join the interrogation, not as a calculating interrogator but as a crazed madwoman.
“My friends are on that ship!” Delain said, completely giving in to her madness and crying out loud. “And now, they are most likely dead!” She lunged at Wilder and began striking him. He could only allow it. After a moment, Gorman pulled the girl off.
“We know of your blood money, the letter, and the notes placed in your library!” she continued.
“In my l-library? W-what are you t-talking about?”
Gorman held Delain in an effort to silence her, but she would have none of it.
“Money? Letter? I have no idea what you are—”
“And I have seen you enter Orvislat’s carriage only last week,” continued Delain. “You will hang—if I don’t strangle you myself, right now!”
It was all crumbling, thought Wilder. Whoever these people were, they knew everything. But who were they? Maybe, he could give them a little something, show some cooperation, and in exchange, they might expose their plan.
“Yes, there was a single payment to me from Orvislat,” Wilder offered. “He acted as the king’s agent. The money was a form of His Majesty’s gratitude, I swear to you! It came through Orvislat, yes, and was deposited directly into my account at Blackman’s Bank. One thousand pounds!”
“You lie!” said Delain. “I counted five thousand!”
“Five?” asked Wilder, truly stunned. “But…”
This seemed odd to Gorman. He could be lying; however, if it was true that Orvislat paid money directly into Wilder’s account, something he could verify easily, then who received the rest of the money Delain had found? Had that person deposited some for Lord Wilder and kept the rest? He looked to the girl, who also seemed a bit perplexed at the statement.
“And the notes with a date and time written in sloppy handwriting?” asked Delain. The anger and worry she felt had completely turned into rage.
“Sloppy handwriting?” asked Wilder, sincerely confused. Then, after a moment, he said, “The meeting notes? You mean the meeting notes? B-but I never found them in my library! They were always in my shoes, or in my dessert!” said Wilder.
“Your dessert?” said Delain. “Preposterous!”
“Once they were in my coat pocket, but I never did figure out how they got there. Their purpose was to alert me to the meetings requested by the king!”
“Then what of the art letter?” Gorman asked.
“I know of no art letters!” pleaded Wilder.
“The letter cleverly disguised as a request for art?” pressed Delain. “It was also in your library, and we know that it was in code! A code directing you to steal more ships!”
“No! No! I tell you the truth!” said Wilder. “I know nothing of letters. I only saw notes with a date and time on them.”
Delain reached in her pocket and produced the letter she had taken from Wilder’s library and had decoded. Gorman motioned for Frey and Fairchild to remove Wilder’s blindfold. They quickly removed it and untied his hands from the chair.
Delain thrust the pages into Lord Wilder’s face.
“You are working for the Russians! They pay you! Your wife had suddenly become a fashion plate—a new carriage! Shopping in Piccadilly! All appearing right after I saw the money in your library. And this letter! Addressed to you!”
Wilder briefly regarded the letter, then looked again at Delain.
“You are the guttersnipe from Piccadilly!”
“One of my many master disguises!” said Delain proudly.
“I have seen you before that,” said Wilder.
“We met at the races,” she said, “where you saw the Paladin, and you asked questions about her.”
“You are Delain Dowdeswell,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Dear, dear…” muttered Gorman. “She is one of my…operatives.”
This made Delain blush. She had only thought of herself as her own operative; however, to be included in the branch of the Secret Service of the king, with prestigious men such as Gorman, Fairchild, and Frey—well, that was compliment enough.
“Slightly young to join the world of intrigue and espionage, don’t you think?” said Wilder with a laugh.
“Her code name is Midget!” said Frey. Fairchild snorted.
“Hush!” said Gorman. “What of the letter, Wilder? Do you deny it is addressed to you?”
Wilder inspected the letter again, this time in earnest. His curiosity actually helped calm him for a few moments. He recognized it as Russian, as he had a working knowledge of the language. His wife’s grandparents had come from the small southern port city of Tsaritsyn, and he had picked up some of the difficult language over the years. It indeed was a discussion of art, some disappointment about the delays in delivery, and an order for additional pieces. He then looked at the translated version. Yes, it was correct as far as he could tell. Completely vexing, however, was that it was written to “L. W.”—and surely that was he, Lord Wilder. It was also vexing as the writing was simply signed with the Cyrillic letter K.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “L. W.? That could be me…But K? In the Cyrillic alphabet? Who is K? And why haven’t I seen this if they were addressed to me? Who could have written me—”
He stopped cold. Like a bolt of lightning it hit him. “It can’t be…”
“What?” asked Gorman, now notably calmer, as if trying a different tack.
“No. No…” Wilder said, his eyes welling up in tears.
He knew it was true. He had been deceived by them all. It now explained why Orvislat did not want the captains of the Echo and Paladin to know too much—and why he was not meeting with the king himself. And the easy acceptance of his sudden change of fortune. He began to sob.
A rush of pity came across Delain. She now considered the man and wondered if indeed he had been innocent. Could there be someone else at the head of this snake? Looking about, she located a small sink and cup. She poured him a bit of water and handed him the cup.
“Orvislat was my contact,” Wilder said softly, accepting the cup. “He told me we were sending ships to deliver treaties and exchange prisoners—”
“Aggar,” said Gorman.
“Yes. That is what I thought I was doing!” cried Wilder. “The notes simply instructed me to meet Orvislat at specific times. I believed they came from the king himself. I…” his voice trailed off as he stared at the letters before him. Who told him the notes were from His Majesty? It was Orvislat. At their first meeting. Dear God! he thought, How could I have been so foolish?
“Lord Wilder,” said Gorman. “Many English lives are at stake. If you are truly loyal to the Crown, you will tell us all you know about Orvislat and his purposes.”
“They wanted only the fastest ships,” said Wilder, “to support swift communication. But I see now that they wanted small, maneuverable craft to steal. Why, I do not know.”
“I suspect for battles in the Black Sea,” said Gorman. “Larger ships would be easily outrun by the Turkish galliots. They need powerful warships—but fast and maneuverable. The Paladin and Echo fit that bill.”
“They suggested that for the prisoner exchange involving Aggar, we assign the Echo. I agreed. That was to begin the treaty negotiations. “I simply changed the orders to send them to Telašćica. I had Spears do the paperwork.”
“That fits with what Spears told me,” said Gorman out loud.
“When they asked for a ship to deliver the treaty to the tsar, I suggested the Paladin,” Wilder said flatly, almost resigned to the fact that he had been totally cheated and used. “Orvislat told me it was an honor. But now I see. It was the second ship he was stealing. I didn’t know!”
Wilder held his head in his hands.
Gorman now had his admissions. Wilder had worked with Orvislat. He had sent the ships to Telašćica. But most likely, he was innocent. He could have been used, and it would be hard to convince any court that a lord of the House was a spy. Unless he could get his last piece of information.
“There is someone else involved, Lord Wilder. Someone who knows Orvislat, but who also would have access to your library, your shoes, your dessert, and be able to make account deposits without your involvement.”
“The other L. W,” Wilder said. “The one who was to receive this letter.”
The room was silent. Another L. W.? The letters were to another person? All anticipated th
e lord’s next words.
“That is why I never saw them. The letters weren’t for me. They were for…Lady Wilder,” he finally said.
Delain was speechless, almost. Now it made sense to her. Lady Wilder certainly had motive. She needed money. Delain never trusted her, nor did she like her. But to become a traitor?
“My wife is Russian born.”
“Russian?” said Delain.
“From the town of Tsaritsyn. I met her years ago, before the war of the first coalition. In Paris. We fell in love. I think we did, at least…” His voice trailed off, and his breathing stopped for an instant. He shook his head in disbelief, then took a deep breath. “K could be a relation of hers. Yes, she had an uncle,” said Wilder. “I don’t know much about him, nor have I ever met him, but he is Russian.”
“The uncle’s name?” Delain prodded.
“Kharitonov,” said Wilder.
Frey and Fairchild gasped, their faces turning white with shock.
“Ian Kharitonov?” asked Frey.
“Commodore Ian Kharitonov?” asked Fairchild.
“Of course,” said Gorman, nodding.
“Yes. Yes, that is his name and title,” said Wilder. “Yet I believe the title of commodore is perfunctory. He is a man of little importance, I have been told.”
“You have been lied to,” said Gorman, rising. “And Kharitonov is no pawn. Ian the Cruel, he is called, a ruthless villain. I am certain he has set this all in motion. He is the one requesting the ships. Orvislat is in his employ, as is Aggar. As are you, unknowingly.”
“Orvislat mentioned the boss,” said Lord Wilder, “the person at the head of this snake. He must have meant my wife.” Wilder paused, then added, “She assisted him! And used me to change the orders.”
He now lapsed into silence, only now and again looking up to the others, taking a breath, and then hiding his face again in sobs and self-pity.
“The Paladin’s crew is either stranded,” said Gorman, “serving under the command of Aggar and Kharitonov or—”
He stopped himself short, knowing that Delain was following his every word. He could not bear to say the words.
“If Jonathan, Harrison, and Sean are smart,” he continued, “and they are, they would try at all costs to remain alive. Alive long enough to escape or be rescued. It will take months to find them. I will send word for a ship. There are a few in port that owe me a favor. But we all must keep this silent.”