The Twisted Patriot

by Pirate Irwin

  Why would she forgive him for the humiliation he had imposed on her and after all, behind Mirabelle’s sweet smile there lay a hard-edged personality, who was as much of a schemer as he was or had been. “How can I believe you, Mirabelle, after all I did to you, though I have to say you were a willing accomplice. I let you down in the most miserable fashion and yet here you are declaring your undying love for me. It just doesn’t make sense and I’m damned glad we are not living in Salem because I would be accused of witchcraft!”

  Mirabelle shrugged and glugged down her drink before proffering her hand with the empty glass in it and gesturing she wanted another. Sebastian fetched it for her and felt her hand glide softly over his as he handed it to her. He could feel himself going hard but resisted bending down to kiss her and went in search of some answers instead. “Tell me about the boy, what is his name?” he asked softly. When she told him it was Fletcher he couldn’t stop himself from giggling. “That’s subtle! Fortunately not too many people realize my father, for whatever worth that title is, made his home on Pitcairn Island. Does he know the real story?”

  Mirabelle shook her head vigorously. “Do you want him to?” she asked. Sebastian shrugged and then said it would be better if he didn’t know for the time being as it could be a shattering blow both to learn your father wasn’t really the man who had brought him up and his real one was on trial for treason. “I think even for the strongest minded teenager that would be too much to swallow, don’t you? No, we’ll wait and see how things turn out,” he said.

  “He’s very like you, you know. A bit of a loner but with a ruthless streak and capable of great affection, mostly towards me and not his ‘father’, who treats him as a bit of a freak because he is not interested in law but wants to be an artist instead. Which, of course, Adam thinks makes him a fairy. How open minded!” she said caustically.

  Sebastian felt relieved that Fletcher hadn’t turned out like his bitter foe and revelled at the discomfort Steiner must feel every time he came down for breakfast or saw the young man as a constant reminder of Mirabelle and his infidelity. However, he wanted to discover where exactly Mirabelle’s real feelings lay and why she could be so forgiving, for should she be totally on his side then he could plough a rich seam of information from within the opposing camp, provided of course Steiner shared some of it with her. She seemed to acknowledge this. “Sebastian, you know that not all women are like Victoria. Spurned they may be, but their feelings if positively channelled can remain fond of the man that betrayed them, and that is what I have done. In the immediate aftermath of your second rejection I was prepared to kill you, but it was Adam who came to the door and voilà, your fate was decreed to be otherwise and I was given more time to think about our situation. So I have reflected and reflected on it and tried to reject what I thought about you. I am afraid watching you in the dock has only convinced me that I was right and that I love you, even more so because of my hatred for my husband,” she said viciously.

  “Yes, but he saved you from becoming a pariah of society, surely that is worth any wrong he did since then,” said Sebastian.

  She wagged her finger forcefully at him. “You’ve got to be joking. He was simply obsessed with me and couldn’t bear to think that anyone, least of all you, would claim possession of me instead of him. You, above all, because he was inherently jealous of you, Sebastian, and that is still the case. Talk about rape! He only really got turned on when he had a rape case and he would almost become the persona of the man he was prosecuting. That is why I barred him from the bedroom, because there was no love in his sexual behaviour, it was like I was his possession, something to be taken care of and polished and then to be abused as well, but only by his highness,” she said caustically. “Then when I would say no, he would yell at me, that was Sebastian really that much better than he was, and how I was little better than a whore!” she said as the tears welled up in her eyes. “He is a monster, Sebastian, and it could very well have been him I was hearing about when that tart was spitting out her venom in the box on Friday. In fact, it sounded as if she was acting out one of his fantasies.”

  “Well, she was well coached, I’ll say that, for a last minute witness, but I think the latter part of your theory is a little too far fetched. Let’s face it, he hasn’t got to over elaborate very much with the case he has. However, I will say once and for all I did not rape her and if anyone plotted the downfall of the von Preetzs it was Victoria,” he said bitterly before adding, “though of course, it is me and not her who is being judged for that. How ironic that effectively I am being held to account for the murder of a German baron and his son and sending her to a Soviet brothel. I thought at the very least he would stick to the treason charge.”

  Mirabelle stood up and undid the pin in her hair so it flowed round her shoulders and kicked off her shoes before filling her glass again while Sebastian swirled the Scotch from his first drink round his glass. “Adam always likes to introduce a human factor into his treason cases so the ordinary Joes on the jury can identify with the misery that the defendant imposed on a person or persons. However, don’t you worry, the main charge will be brought back into sharp focus, come Monday,” she said confidently.

  Sebastian went on alert, raising his eyes from the glass and the ginger-coloured alcohol, which lay virtually untouched in it and said: “Oh, and why are you so sure?”

  “Because he has this former German intelligence officer as his next witness, and he has, so Adam says, sworn that he has the evidence to condemn you and that he was the man you approached asking if he could facilitate your entry into the German army.”

  Sebastian went cold and had to place the glass on the card table adjacent to him lest he drop it. He stood up sharply and went over to stand by the fireplace, placing his hands on the mantelpiece and allowed his head to press against the wall. “It’s Johns; the bastard will pursue me to my grave and he might well have the satisfaction of closing the deal on Monday,” he moaned. She rose from her chair, concerned at his fragile state, and put her hands on his shoulders and whispered into his ear soothingly. “Easy, Sebastian, easy. Don’t give up. Don’t let Adam defeat you. You know at least what you will be up against on Monday and you can prepare yourself all of Sunday. Meanwhile, let’s just go upstairs and make love as we should have been doing for the past 20 years and producing some more children like the wonderful son we have. But for your arrogance and callousness we would have done,” she added tartly.

  He nodded dejectedly, and as they climbed the stairs, he muttered wearily: “And but for that arrogance I wouldn’t be on trial for my bloody life, talk about a curse!”

  *

  “How much damage is this doing to us, Alec?” Macmillan asked Douglas-Home. Mac had asked Douglas-Home down to the Prime Ministerial residence at Chequers for the weekend, ostensibly just as friends but also as the man he considered his most faithful confidant. He needed to know what the feelings were within the party and on the outside. For while Douglas-Home was not the most extrovert of fellows, he had several trusted suppliers of information and he readily accrued all this and then presented it to the Prime Minister. “Well, Rab isn’t exactly helping, and in fact quite the opposite. He is stirring up some of the hotter headed members to form what could be said to be a save Stuart campaign committee, though I have no idea what their strategy is.”

  Macmillan raised his bushy eyebrows and swore softly under his breath, cursing the fact he had been obliged to give Butler one of the highest state offices as a consolation for his missing out on the greatest prize, though he would like to see how he would have coped with the endless crises he had had to suffer. He doubted if Butler would have been able for the office, as conspirators like him can be effective at getting into power but once there, they are less sure and become more concerned that they are being conspired against and tend to descend into a paranoid state and the government becomes rudderless.

  “However, the party in the main are behind us and believe that Ste
iner is doing an effective job; out in the country, well, it is a mixed message, but all my sources tell me that we are not being condemned, though the jury is out, so to speak, until the verdict is delivered.”

  Macmillan crossed and uncrossed his legs and stroked his fine greying moustache. “Do you really think Steiner is doing a good job? I mean, we have had a disgraced civil servant, who should never have been put up there in the first place, and then a German woman of rather dubious morals and who could be construed as venting her spleen on a man who spurned her. Don’t forget all the jury are men and they may understand Stuart’s position more than hers, and quite frankly from the testimony that was relayed back to me, I would entertain some serious doubts about her,” he said gloomily.

  “Listen, Harold, it doesn’t matter, it is just part of the tactics of Steiner to paint Stuart as much of a callous and disloyal cad as possible before, as he told Kilmuir, he slips in the rapier,” said DouglasHome reassuringly. Macmillan nodded, boosted by that news because he had a major problem, which could arise should Sebastian be found not guilty and which he raised with his faithful Lieutenant.

  “That is good news, because I have had a message from the Soviets, through their ambassador.”

  “Yes, and what was it?”

  Macmillan smoothed down his pinstripe trousers and brushed at some imaginary speck of dust on them.

  “They would be most uncomfortable with a not guilty verdict and are threatening to pursue him through the courts if he is found innocent as a war criminal. Now, given the damage that they have wreaked on our intelligence services and the number of agents we have lost in the Soviet Union, I would be most loathe to help them, but on the other hand we cannot have endless court cases going on as we approach an election. So I hope you see where I am leading to,” Macmillan said, narrowing his eyes, looking more like a wizened old owl than ever.

  “Quite, Prime Minister. But I do not see how we can interfere with the normal course of justice and I know that Mainwaring is fiercely independent and would not appreciate being approached in such a manner. Besides, he is no lover of the Soviets himself. As for the jury, well, again I do not think it a good idea that we should tamper with them, for if word was to get out then we would be in such serious trouble we would have to, or at least you would anyway, have to resign, and you know what that would mean,” said Douglas-Home with his customary pragmatism.

  “Rab gets in,” replied Macmillan wearily, to which Douglas-Home nodded.

  “No, damn the Soviets anyway. We do not owe them anything and in any case Steiner is in charge, and to my mind is doing a good job, while Stuart at times is floundering and not giving a good impression of himself. Besides, he doesn’t have any witnesses that I know of, apart from a couple who will attest to his good character and bravery in the retreat to Dunkirk, which while respectable will not halt the fact that he ended up wearing a Nazi uniform. Case closed, and I don’t know why Mainwaring didn’t just draw it to an end when Stuart admitted as much in court,” fumed Douglas-Home.

  “There must be a reason why Stuart did admit it outright. He could have claimed that the card was a forgery and a plot to disgrace one of our most fanatical critics of the Soviets, but he didn’t. That is what worries me most, because he is a very calculating individual, which to me means he has something up his sleeve, which could force an innocent verdict. However, you are right, Alec, we have to stay the course with Steiner and hope he wins. Just call it mid-trial wobbles!” laughed Macmillan, though inside his stomach was in knots as he tried to work out what Sebastian’s ploy was and how catastrophic the consequences could be for him and the Tory party.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  General Otto Dickensen, alias Colonel Johns, looked a shadow of the man that had last sparred with Sebastian in the torture chambers of Gestapo headquarters in the aftermath of the July plot. He walked with the aid of a cane, limping heavily on his right leg while his face sported a scar down the side of his right cheek and his eyes, once so fierce and prominent, were sunken and surrounded by bags, which, Sebastian brutally joked to himself, if they had been on the Normandy beaches then the Allies would never have got on to them. He was elegantly dressed, a double-breasted chalk pinstripe suit adorned with a bright silk pink kerchief in his breast pocket and a fine blue silk tie. To Sebastian it only served as a fine analogy of the man himself, the facade of a gentleman as demonstrated by his clothes but he was rotting inside as his physical appearance indicated, and he didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for him. Steiner, of course, was oblivious to such fanciful allegories and instead was revved up for what should prove his most damaging witness. He had spent the weekend down at his country house, preferring to be on his own with the General, as he prepared for what could be the most crucial part of his prosecution, though there was one other witness to come: it was Dickensen on whom he was counting to twist the rope tighter round Sebastian’s neck. Dickensen had sardonically saluted Sebastian – to Steiner’s relief it was not the Nazi version – when he mounted the witness box, calling out “Major Murat, what a pleasure it is to reacquaint ourselves again,” for which Mainwaring sharply rebuked him: “That may have been the fashion in German courts during the war, General, but it is certainly not the behaviour expected in my courtroom. So I would ask you to refrain from such impetuous actions.”

  Dickensen smirked, as if his schoolmaster had reproached him for a childish prank, and proceeded to swear the oath, though he faltered at the mention of the Queen, before under a stern gaze from Steiner he relented and completed the formality. Steiner took him through the basic questions about his role in the secret services in the war and their manner of operations before focusing on his relations with Sebastian. To Sebastian’s surprise, Dickensen played it straight, replying that yes, he had been sent in undercover to the camp and the only man he had had trouble with had been the defendant. No mention was made of the murders of the so-called agents and Sebastian’s astonishment bordered on the stunned when he addressed himself to the matter of the foiled escape plan.

  “Now, General, what role did the defendant play in helping you prevent the escape from the camp?” asked Steiner.

  “He played no part in it,” he answered firmly.

  “No part in it? But you told me otherwise before,” replied Steiner. “Yes, I did, but both answers are true to a certain extent because the only reason he didn’t play a part in it was because he was already on his way to Berlin to join up with his unit. That is not to say he wasn’t au fait with the fate that awaited his fellow prisoners and former comrades,” he said with a smug look on his face.

  Sebastian gulped as he took in the ramifications of the response, as by the initial answer he had been expecting to be absolved of at least that charge but in fact, he had been condemned by Dickensen’s smooth use of the English language. He could tell this had gone down appallingly with the jury and another dart was soon to follow. “Let me take you back to the camp and the setting up of the escape plan. I believe that there was a debate over the fate of an officer and a German guard, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” replied Dickensen.

  “And what was the end result of this ‘trial’?”

  Dickensen cast a furtive look at Sebastian and said: “Well, against mine and the others objections, the defendant insisted that in order not to compromise the plan both of them had to be executed, well, murdered actually, as we subsequently discovered they were not Gestapo agents. I later surmised, thanks to a later interrogation of Stuart, that the guard would recognize him when we made our foray out of the camp, dressed as guards, and that the English officer had discovered what the defendant was up to.” Sebastian was incandescent with rage at this outright lie but knew an outburst would not help his cause and he would work out a way to undermine it when he came to cross-examine him.

  “You, surely, though, being a plant inside the camp would have known that they were no such thing?” asked Steiner in a reproachful manner.

  “I did, of cour
se, but I was there for a purpose and I would only have exposed myself. The best I could do for them was to protest on their behalf, but I am afraid the defendant battered the others into acquiescing with him.”

  “Hmm, I understand. And who carried out the murders?”

  “The defendant.”

  “On his own?”

  “Yes.” Gasps went up in the public gallery and among the jurors. Calm yourself Sebastian, he told himself, there is nothing to be done about it for the moment. He searched the gallery despairingly for a friendly face and saw Mirabelle alongside his mother and, surprisingly, Darbyshire. All three had their heads bowed, though, Mirabelle did briefly glance up and raised a finger to her lips, to which he gave the slightest of nods.

  “Now, let us turn to the manner in which the defendant changed sides totally, though I suggest that he had already done so by his actions over the two ersatz agents. How did he broach the subject with you?” asked Steiner.

  “He didn’t, I did,” replied Dickensen proudly. “Well, after we had been arrested at the station I put it bluntly to him that he had impressed me with his ruthlessness in the camp. That we could do with people like him and surely he didn’t want to return to life in perpetuity in the dingy and boring atmosphere of the camp.”