He went over to Anouk and putting his mouth close to her ear, said softly in French,
“Is that Arnaud?”
She nodded.
“You know what happened to the embassy in The Hague?”
She shook her head.
“They had a fire and an explosion just after La Plant had a close encounter with this,” he showed her the knife. “He died far too cleanly for my liking.”
“They tortured my friend Jeroen so badly he begged me to kill him. I am very angry about that, and I swore to avenge him. You know that makes the chances of you surviving the night really small. Don’t you?”
Her eyes got even wider.
“But how you die is up to you. You can come with us and tell me everything about what you know about the French intelligence network, and we will turn you over to British Intelligence. Or we can take you to our ship and I can have the crew take turns amusing themselves with you on our journey back to England until you will be begging me to let you jump overboard to drown yourself. In the end, you will still tell me everything.”
He reached for the gag.
“But first, you will tell me who Arnaud is,” he paused, “and don’t try and lie or I will cut pieces off of him until you tell me the truth.”
He pulled the gag away.
“He is my lover,” she whispered.
“And what else?” Marty asked.
She didn’t say anything, so Marty signaled to Tom and made a sign that could only mean ‘cut off a finger’.
Tom went to the bound man and retied him so he was spread-eagled with his arms tied along a pipe that ran along the wall. He kicked him a couple of times to wake him up and pulled out a tomahawk.
Where did he have that hidden? Thought Marty.
Tom then made a show of looking at Arnoud’s hands, selecting the one with most callouses.
“Right handed,” he said happily and splayed the fingers out along the pipe.
“He is a member of French intelligence and he is the brother in law of one of the committee members,” she gasped.
Marty put the gag back on and said to Tom,
“We will take him with us as well.”
They retied him so his hands were behind his back and Tom had him stand. Then, with his knife point pressed into his back, Tom pushed him out of the house and into the carriage.
Marty collected all the papers from the desk, untied Anouk’s ankles, and pulled her to her feet. He suddenly had an urge to commit arson. He picked up a lamp and threw it into the corner of the room by a set of heavy drapes. The oil spilled and caught fire immediately and when the flames took a hold of the drapes, he grabbed her by the arm and half-led, half-dragged her to the carriage.
As soon as they were aboard, Matai clucked the horses into motion and drove them back to the harbour. A look back showed flames licking the inside of the glass of Anouk’s house, and Marty pulled her around by the hair so she could see it.
They got back to the Lark with all three prisoners without incident and as soon as the tide turned headed down the river, Maas to get out to sea. The prisoners secured in the cable tier. They let the horse and carriage loose to make their own way home
Once they were out in the channel, Marty ordered Arnoud to be brought to his cabin.
He had arranged things very carefully. There was a chair for the prisoner to be tied in. Next to it, on the right, was a chopping block and a selection of hammers, knives and tomahawks. The floor was covered in sand to catch any blood that was spilt and there was a small brazier of hot coals suspended by chains from a hook on the ceiling.
Marty had his desk set in front of the chair where he sat with paper and pen at the ready. The final touch were the two men who stood behind the chair. One was Burt Longbridge, a Marine that before he joined up had been a slaughter man and had one of the most evil faces Marty had ever seen. The other was Trevor Standish, who was renowned for his totally calm demeanor whatever came to pass and had the coldest washed out blue eyes that could pierce right through your soul.
Arnaud was brought in and lashed to the chair at his chest and shins, leaving his arms free.
Marty made a show of reading some papers, which had come from the house giving Arnoud plenty of time to look around and realise what the set up meant. He was banking on him believing they were prepared to do what his people had done to Jeroen.
“I want you to tell me your name and what is your position in the French secret service,” Marty asked, putting down the papers.
Arnaud just looked at him.
“You know what they did to my friend, Jeroen?”
Still no reaction.
“Were you part of that?”
No answer.
He looked at his men and nodded. Trevor moved in and grabbed Arnoud’s right hand and forced it down on the chopping block. Arnoud kept it fisted so Trevor pulled the fingers out by main strength and flattened them out. Burt then took a large nail and placed the point against the back of the hand and picked up a hammer.
“Your name?” Marty asked again.
Arnaud was sweating and pale but still said nothing.
Marty nodded, and the hammer came down, driving the nail through the hand into the block.
Arnaud screamed and started talking. He didn’t stop talking for over two hours, by which time, Marty knew all about the French intelligence network in The Batavian Republic, its operatives, collaborators, and how they used what they knew to line their own pockets. Whenever he slowed, he had Trevor straighten out his fingers and Burt pick up a tomahawk. The pain from the nail grating against his bones and tendons was enough to keep him talking.
When he started repeating himself, Marty called a halt and had Burt pull the nail out, eliciting another scream. They locked him in the bread room after bandaging his hand.
Marty had the driver brought in and sat him in the chair. The man looked at the block, noted the fresh blood, and looked up at Marty with terror in his eyes.
“You speak French?” Marty asked.
“Yes,” the man said.
“What is your name?”
“Peter. Peter van Sommoren.”
“What was your job with the Frenchman?”
“I was Mr. Dubois’ driver.”
“For how long?”
“Just the last year.”
This continued for several minutes until a name that hadn’t been mentioned before came up.
“Who was that?” Marty asked.
“Mr. Mercier?”
“Yes.”
“He came in from Paris. A member of the committee, I think. He was talking about how the factions were in danger of tearing France apart and that something needed to be done. They forget that the driver can hear everything that is said in the carriage.”
“Did he say what needed to happen?”
“He said that it would be better if the group, that had taken over in June, removed the Jacobean faction. Leaving Sieyès, who is in charge of the directory, in total command. They have brought back Napoleon from Egypt to assist them.”
“Have they bedamned!” said Marty out loud.
“When will all this happen?”
“He said they were aiming for November.”
Marty kept calm with an effort. He thanked Peter van Sommoren and said he was free to take a walk around the deck.
Tom sat in a corner listening and said,
“That is very interesting. Do you think they know about this in London?
“I don’t know,” replied Marty, “but I think we need to tell them asap. Let’s see what our femme fatal has to tell us.
Anouk was brought in and pushed down into the chair. She saw the block and the blood and her face paled.
“Where is Arnoud?” she asked in English.
Interesting, thought Marty, she didn’t do that before, but he answered,
“He is down in the bilges. He may live to see tomorrow if you cooperate. He resisted but now he knows what poor Jeroen went through.”
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She paled even more, and her hands went to her mouth.
“He told me some interesting things.” Marty continued checking his notes. “Now let’s see if you can confirm some of them.”
He asked her about the French Intelligence network in Holland, and she confirmed many of the things Arnoud had told him. Then he asked,
“Have you heard of or spoken to a Mr. Mercier?”
She said that she had met him through Arnoud, and he was someone important in Paris.
Marty then quizzed her about any conversations she had overheard and what was said. From what she told him, he basically confirmed everything the driver had told him but didn’t get much more.
He had her taken back to the cable tier and sent for Arnoud again. He also got Burt and Trevor in again and had Tom sit in the corner to listen.
This time, he immediately asked about Mercier and the coup. Arnoud would say nothing. He had recovered his courage. Marty had him tied to the chair again and had Burt break two of his fingers.
The tap opened, and information poured out of him. It confirmed everything the others had said plus gave them some new names. When they had spent about three hours cross-checking and cross-examining, they let him go and put him back in the bread locker.
Marty was writing the last of his report when there was a knock on the door. A sailor entered and told him,
“John Smith says we is ‘bout five miles off the estuary, sir.” They were nearly home.
Chapter 6: Insertion
Marty and Armand sat in Admiral Hood’s office waiting for the Lord to finish reading Marty’s report. As he finished each page, he passed it to William Wickham, the Spy Master, who was also reading every page with ferocious intensity.
Wickham suddenly looked at Marty and asked,
“All the hair on the back of your head?”
He twirled a finger for Marty to show him.
“Good gad!” he said when he saw the red healing skin.
He went back to reading.
Hood looked up and asked,
“Nailed his hand to a butchers block?”
Marty nodded, the good Lord shuddered, so Marty explained,
“I was angry.”
Hood raised an eyebrow at that.
Twenty minutes and numerous comments later, Wickham put down the last sheet.
“Well my boy, it seems that your act of vengeance has produced unexpected benefits. The news about the coup is very interesting,” Wickham concluded.
Hood sat back in his chair staring at the ceiling and Marty thought, he is looking old. Hood’s attention snapped back to the meeting as he looked at Wickham and said,
“Only one thing for it. We need someone on the ground in Paris to monitor this coup and to stir up the factions to keep the French off balance.”
“Yes,” replied Wickham, “If they get a stable government in place, they will be an even bigger threat than ever.”
They turned as a pair and looked at Marty.
Oh shit, what’s coming now? Marty thought but kept his features as calm as he could.
“You have a talent for working in enemy territory and now your hair is short, you could hardly be recognised as the boy in Toulon,” said Wickham.
Marty said nothing. He just waited.
Wickham looked at Hood and stated,
“Linette is back from her latest sojourn. They work well together.”
“Hmm, yes but methinks that this needs to be a three hander,” said Hood. “Someone who can also bring a bit of muscle would be useful.”
Marty looked at Armand, who shook his head.
“I am too well known in Paris mon cher,” he explained, “How about Campbell?”
“Aah now. Mr. Campbell.” Admiral Hood said thoughtfully.
“M’Lord?” Marty asked.
“Speaks French like a native. He is half French, y’know. Bare-knuckle fighter. How’s he been as part of your team?”
“Fits in, m’Lord,” replied Marty, “Fights a ship and manages his men well. Brought the two prizes back under his joint command with a senior Mate running the second.”
“His French is excellent, as you would expect, with a slight Burgundian accent. He would pass as a servant to Martin and Linette if we give them the cover of a married couple.”
Marty coughed as his breath caught in his throat at that. What would Caroline think of that, he thought in a mild panic.
Wickham chortled at his reaction,
“Don’t worry, my boy,” he chuckled, “That vixon of a girlfriend of yours won’t hear about it.”
Caroline or ‘Lady Candor’ was Marty’s love. She was a widow at twenty years old and extremely rich. Not that it mattered as he was independently wealthy himself, thanks to his prize money. She was tall, slender, shapely, Auburn haired, and had green eyes that could turn cold grey when she was angry. He had fought a dual on her behalf where he killed her former lover. He was head over heels in love with her.
“Does she know about your work as an intelligence officer?” Asked Hood.
“She guessed I’m not an ordinary sailor and she has visited The Farm, but we have never spoken of it and she doesn’t ask questions,” Marty answered.
“Not of you maybe, but she has given me more than one grilling,” Hood harrumphed, “She damn well told me to my face that if I get you killed, she would personally see that my ‘balls would be found in separate counties’ quote unquote.”
Marty was quite red in embarrassment by now and proud at the same time.
“Quite a girl,” laughed Wickham at Hoods discomfort, “maybe we could use her too?” he pondered.
“Now here!” Marty spluttered.
Wickham grinned and said, “Only joking my boy, only joking.” With a short bark of a laugh. “But she would make a formidable weapon in the right hands.”
“Now then,” said Hood, pulling the subject back to business. “I think we are agreed. A team of three. Martin, Linette, and young Mr. Campbell. You have a little over a week to work up a cover story and get everything in place. We want you in Paris by the first of November, so you must leave the farm by the twenty-fifth. Linette will join you at the farm in three days. You can relax until then.
Relax? How the hell am I going to relax? Marty wondered.
He left the admiralty and went to Caroline’s house, but she wasn’t at home. The servant said she was at her estates in Cheshire preparing the Christmas celebration she would throw for her tenants. Marty was frustrated in more ways than one and took a brisk walk to the De Marchet’s house, via a chop house for lunch.
The Count was at home alone, as all the womenfolk and his son were on a shopping trip, so the two of them settled down next to the fire in the library with a bottle of Brandy between them.
“’ow did you burn your hair off like that?” The count asked when he saw the state of Marty’s head.
“A small case off overlooking a powder keg when I was burning down the French Embassy in den Hague,” he replied.
The Count nodded unperturbed by the revelation.
“I will probably get more details when I see Hood and William next time.”
William! First name terms with that rogue are you, Marty thought.
“While I am here,” Marty said softly, “can you tell me about Paris- where the government is based and the main ceremonial routes?”
“Now, why would you need to know that?” The Count asked with an amused look.
“I am sure ‘William’ will tell you when you see him next,” Marty retorted.
The Count laughed.
“My, you have grown up fast. What happened to that cabin boy I sponsored?”
“He had to grow up fast before ‘William’ managed to kill him,” Marty reposted with a grin.
“Touché!” laughed the Count and started giving Marty a detailed briefing on the revolutionary government, where it was run, and the route they took to parade their heroes. He had a map, which he pointed everything out on.
Two and a half hours later, they heard the front door open and an excited Antoine, the Counts young son, rushed in followed by the Countess and her daughter Evelyn. He could see a couple of servants in the hall outside struggling with a pile of packages.
He knelt and hugged the young boy, who looked at his head with wide eyes.
“Where is your ‘air?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s a mighty tale,” teased Marty, “It was sacrificed for King and Country!”
“Can you tell it to me as a bed time story?” Antoine pleaded.
“As long as he keeps it short,” said the Countess indulgently, looking fondly at the two of them.
“Madam,” Marty said as he stood to embrace her and kiss her on either cheek.
“Evelyn.” He hugged her and kissed her cheeks as well.
“’ow is Caroline?” she asked archly, knowing full well if she was in town, Marty would be in her bed.
“In the country setting up a do for her tenants,” he replied, “I would go there, but I have to be back at our base in two days.”
“Another mission?” asked the Countess with concern. “You ‘ave just returned from the last one, and you are ‘urt!”
“Not seriously” Marty re-assured her. “The hair will grow back quickly. And I have a few days before we leave again.”
“I suppose where you are going is a secret? Don’t answer! Your face says it all,” Evelyn snipped, a little put out not to be the centre of attention.
“Of course, it is. That’s the way it works,” Marty grinned at her.
“Now, don’t ask questions of poor Martin you know he can’t answer,” chided the Count.
“Well, will you be back for Christmas or my wedding?” Evelyn asked. Marty didn’t miss the pleading, concerned look in her eyes.
“I think I will be back by then,” he said, “but you know the Navy. Nothing is ever certain.”
They dropped the subject then as a servant announced that dinner was about to be served.
Marty stayed the night. He didn’t forget his promise to Antoine and told him a story of spies and daring do. In the morning, he made his excuses and returned to the farm.
Back at the farm, he got an enthusiastic and wet greeting from Blaez, who insisted on pinning him down in a chair and washing his head. He then curled up on his lap and went to sleep. Now having half a hundredweight of dog go to sleep can keep you warm, but it can also give you dead legs. Then, when he starts dreaming of chasing rabbits and his legs twitch like he is running, it can get somewhat uncomfortable as dog claws and human skin aren’t a good match. So, it was with a small amount of relief that Tom walked in, and Blaez woke and jumped down to greet him.
Agent Provocateur Page 4