Angels of Music (37 page)

The folder was passed to Madame Sara, the designated specialist in forgery of government papers. She also did teeth, Gilberte understood. That would explain why the suspiciously golden-haired Italian-Indian adventuress set up shop in London’s Strand. The English were notorious for their teeth. The Madame paged through the documents.

‘I have the authentic seals,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘And the proper ribbons. The British are, as we know, obsessed with ribbons.’

Madame Sara nodded, satisfied.

‘Thank you, Edda,’ said Kane. ‘You’re a living doll.’ Elizabeth sat down. ‘Now,’ continued Kane, ‘our expert on the big game of politics, Senator Paine, will explain the
significance
of these purloined papers.’

The light fell on the prematurely white-haired American dignitary. He was sitting next to the Sorceress of the Strand.

‘In all nations, Ministries of War sit around during periods of prolonged peace, irritably finding projects to justify their existence,’ began the windy Paine, as if addressing his Senate. ‘Great Britain, possessed of an Empire, rarely has periods of prolonged peace…’

Gurn grunted. He had begun his murdering in the South African conflict.

‘However, when the British Ministry of War has a spare moment, their armchair generals like nothing more than the drawing-up of
contingency plans
, which is to say imagining what wonderful new wars might be embarked upon. For reasons few can explain, it costs as much to compile a folder such as the one we have here as it does to make a battleship. Thus are military budgets rubber-stamped cheerfully by parliaments and despots alike. Sometimes, as with the Boer War, a conflict might be a long time coming. Plans can be framed well before the outbreak of hostilities. But, there are also nasty surprises. Sudden diplomatic rows get out of hand. An unkind word about an ambassador’s wife’s hat and the Balkans goes up in flames. From Cleopatra’s nose to Jenkins’ ear, wars have sprung up from trifles. So, ministries play games of “let’s pretend” and
plan
what they would do under certain
contingencies
.
Let’s pretend
… resurgent Viking hordes ravage Scotland! Which regiments would be mobilised, what lines of transport must be kept open, where would artillery be deployed?’

Paine tapped the folder.

‘This
contingency plan
is founded upon the “let’s pretend” supposition that France makes a sudden, aggressive move against the British in Egypt, to wrest control of the Suez Canal. Furthermore, the French Navy occupies the Channel Islands while building up the fleet – an armada, if you will – in
la Manche
. An army is landed on the South Coast of England. Jean-François strikes towards London and King and Parliament. Of course, France has no such intent, so far as we or the British Ministry of War know. Germany, Russia, Portugal, Switzerland, Japan, Pago-Pago, the planet Mars and the Lost City of Kôr have no thought of waging war on the British Empire – but plans exist to be put in action in the event of attacks by all of them.’

General Sternwood lifted a corner of the folder, took a look at a paragraph, and spat. ‘Limey crocks couldn’t defend a whorehouse from a flock of sheep – look at how they intend to fortify Andover! And no general in his right mind would set counter-invasion troops ashore on the beaches of goddamn Normandy. They’d be cut to pieces! No, Cherbourg – that’s your Frog weak spot!’

The General caught himself ranting and shut up. Paine gave him a stern look.

‘If my colleague, Mr… ah… Mr the Face… would take over.’

Paine sat down, and the spotlight fell on the Face.

‘Senator, thank you,’ said the masked man, who had a rich, persuasive, unaccented voice. Beneath the leather he might be Quasimodo with the measles, but he was as beautifully spoken as any of the well-mannered gentlemen Grandmama warned Gilberte to be wary of. ‘The importance of the papers Miss Van Heemstra has obtained lies not in details, General Sternwood, but in their shape and form. Much of the text can carry over into the documents Madame Sara will prepare. It is a simple matter of editing, of slanting the material, so that a
contingency
plan of defence will be transformed into a
definite
plan of attack. When the folder is passed to the French Ministry of War, it will be stained with the blood of many agents. The British will have made, or seem to have made, desperate attempts to get these plans back. Concurrently, strategic explosions will stir up activity in Portsmouth. An astute observer will believe His Majesty’s Armed Forces are hurriedly preparing an invasion. Furthermore, barracks in the South of England will receive shipments of pamphlets to be issued to private soldiers…’

The Face laid a specimen on the table, which was passed around. Stamped as a British Armed Services publication, it was an English–French phrase-book. Flicking through, Gilberte found such useful sentiments as ‘We are delighted to accept your surrender, Mayor’, ‘How long ago did your officers flee in terror, Private?’ and ‘Kindly tell your daughter not to put garlic in the breakfast we have requisitioned.’ She could imagine the outrage in the French press when – inevitably – a copy fell into their hands.

‘When the British war plans are delivered to the French government,’ said the Face, white spittle flecking the corners of his mouth-slit, ‘they will be convinced the Coldstream Guards are on the point of marching up the Champs-Élysées. They must believe they have no time for diplomacy, and mobilise at once against perfidious Albion.’

‘Then,’ said Natasha, taking over the narrative, ‘bombs shall fall from the skies. Our air-destroyer
Ariel
, presently moored on the Scots isle of Drumcraig, will strike against targets in England and France, chosen for sentimental or patriotic associations. The White Cliffs of Dover. The square in Rouen where the English burned Joan of Arc. Where the
Ariel
does not reach, we Terrorists shall employ agents willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause. Waterloo Station shall be blown up! The vineyards of Champagne shall burn! There must be war!’

Gilberte thought Natasha might be unhappy in love. The armoured insurrectionist fairly squirmed with delight at the thought of carnage on a global scale as other girls her age warmed at the prospect of an extravagant new hat with ostrich feathers or a small but exquisitely stylish diamond pendant.

‘Now,’ said Kane, reclaiming the spotlight, pausing a moment so that Evil Emeric could fix him in the intersection of two beams, ‘the small matter of the big bucks. Those of you who are professionals do not come cheap, and those of you who are zealots are in need of operating costs. Miss di Murska, I know to the last gear and strut how much gelt it takes to launch an air-destroyer. Well, I am not complaining. I’m here to buy a war. My friend Mr Boltyn has thrown in with me, so we can afford all the toys we want. His associate Mr Hattison is an inventin’ fool. Thanks to his ingenuity with electrical wires and levers and trickinesses well beyond my brain-pan, each of you will leave this casino a winner, to the tune of better than a half-million dollars.’

Irma Vep herself couldn’t have thrilled as much at the sound of that as Gilberte did.

‘Personally, I’d like nothing better than to hand the money over in sacks right here in this room… but there are official bodies to be placated. My accountants have to fill in their forms and justify all my expenditures. I’m known for spending freely, but even I can’t just say I’ve bought a job-lot of statues and paintings and hope not to answer any more questions. So, you will legitimately win your war chests. I have leased the baccarat, chemin-de-fer and roulette tables from the Bath Water Society. For this season, I am the bank. Tomorrow night, you will collectively break me. You may find this shocking, but every game of chance in this town is rigged. Our good friend Mr Hattison has made sure of that. Anyone in the gaming business knows you can’t run the racket without letting some mug win large from time to time, to keep the rest of the suckers playing. Tomorrow night, my friends, you can’t lose. Oh, it won’t be obvious – there’ll be reversals, early losses to build up the pot, to keep other players in the game. But, at the end of the evening, you’ll walk off with your pockets full of chips.’

Around the table were happy faces. Even the Face’s leather mask seemed to smirk. Only Natasha kept frowning.

‘I’ve laid out bait enough to attract all the high-rollers and big operators in the so-called “professional gambler” line,’ said Kane, ‘and it’s my hope the pack will sense blood in the water and bet against you. That smug bastard Johnny Barlowe is here, and you know what he’s like, with his “independent air” and his “mass of money, linen, silk and starch”. The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, hah! I’m happy to give you good money for services rendered, but I’ll be additionally tickled puce if you take what you can from parasites like Barlowe. Not to mention Gaylord Ravenal, Basher Moran and half a dozen other gussied-up sharks in frilly shirts. Take their rolls as well as mine, and go with my blessing. A superfluity of Fatty Feasts, Meaty Morsels and Vril Grills are about to be express-delivered from the Burgher Kane in the lobby, so anyone who cares to join me in dining heartily is welcome to get their faces in the trough.’

Like almost everyone in Kane’s company who wasn’t American, Gilberte and Elizabeth professed to have dined earlier. They withdrew and tactfully had to detach themselves from Natasha – by telling her an especially oppressive archduke was playing whist in a private room with a bloated factory-owner, a corrupt cardinal and a brutal chieftain of Cossacks. The Queen of Terror trotted off to investigate, regretting she had not worn a bandolier of dynamite sticks to offset her metal-plate dress.

‘That girl needs more fun in her life,’ Gilberte observed.

It was as Erik had guessed. The casino was the pump of Kane’s machine.

Tomorrow night, however things panned out, would be exciting.

I
N THEIR SUITE
at the Grand Hôtel, the Persian unrolled architectural plans. Riolama was at his shoulder, big eyes taking in details. She was a quick study. The bird girl still didn’t talk much. Gilberte couldn’t imagine her upbringing, but she had a lively mind.

When he leased the bank, Kane made many alterations. He had openly put in gaming machines, Mutoscopes and a Burgher Kane, stamping his K everywhere. The secret purpose of the work was to turn the Casino into a giant machine. A transparent overlay, initialled by Engineer Hattison, showed electrical wires threading through the building like nerves. The globe of lights in the main salon was hollow, like a diving bell. Using telescopic devices, a small person concealed within could have close-up views of every gaming table in the hall. A panel of switches and levers could dictate each spin of a wheel or turn of the cards. The croupiers were literally hooked up; special garters threaded wires through their shoe-soles to make contact with metal plates – the K motifs in the carpets. The Eye-Ball could apply tiny shocks in coded patterns, conveying instructions to the men on the floor.

Decks of cards, printed and sealed on the premises, arrived at the chemin-de-fer table or the baccarat shoe pre-shuffled to suit the house, backs marked in an ink which showed when viewed through a red lens the controller could slot into the telescopes.

‘How did Monsieur Erik obtain these plans?’ Gilberte asked. ‘I’m surprised Kane is careless with such things.’

The Persian tapped his long nose. ‘It’s one thing to
pay
for such a system, but another to design it, and quite another again to build it. Few firms are capable of executing such a commission. The fellow who said he didn’t care what it cost to have a cathedral-size pipe organ dismantled and reassembled in a cavern under Paris has more goodwill with those specialists than a Yankee vulgarian who quibbled about every franc spent on installing his wonderful cheating machine. Among other accomplishments, Erik is the greatest secret architect of the age. Who do you think the workmen who built Kane’s Europa-Xanadu look to for regular employment? We had these plans from the draughtsmen even before Kane did.’

Riolama held up one of the flimsies, looking at it several ways, and made little cooing noises.

‘Monsieur Kane is no believer in games of chance,’ Gilberte observed.

‘Americans always brag about how much they love to gamble,’ said the Persian. ‘What they mean is that they love to
win
. Kane doesn’t even think of this as cheating. He is simply unwilling to play any game where he doesn’t make up the rules. He takes undue pride in his own cleverness…’

‘The vain in Kane is mainly in the brain,’ mused Elizabeth.

‘I think she’s got it,’ said the Persian. ‘By Georges, she’s got it. The vain in Kane
is
mainly in the brain, and the bane of Kane is plainly to our gain. So have you seen it?’

Gilberte snapped her fingers.

‘Gigi, you’ve seen it!’

Kane, swelling inside his waistcoat from too many Fatty Feasts, could not personally run his machine. He had paid for a marvellous toy, but someone else blew the whistle and rang the bell.

‘He takes one enormous risk,’ she said. ‘He must trust whoever sits inside his Eye-Ball.’

‘Just so,’ said the Persian, pulling out another plan. ‘But Kane takes precautions. In the average casino, the heaviest security arrangements – the biggest guards and the thickest doors – are for the vault where the money is kept. In Royale-les-Eaux, the most inaccessible room is directly above the main hall. Kane keeps his newest acquisitions there, paintings and statues and trinkets. The gallery is also the only point of access to the Eye-Ball. The sky-light is electrified. The windows have shutters, sharpened like guillotine blades, which slice down if something – say, a burglar’s limb – is thrust through. Monsieur Voltaire personally ensures no one even gets up the stairs to the main door, which is also electrified. The American cracksman Jimmy Valentine cased the gallery last month, and decided not to bother. Even the authentic Irma Vep couldn’t get in easily.’

Gilberte shrugged. Irma could take care of her own reputation.