Blackest of Lies (13 page)

Gallagher held the other’s stare, nodded, and left the hall.

**********

Kell had been ushered into Farmer’s office.  Once the door had been closed behind him, he looked over at the other man and sipped the cup of tea provided by Miss Thorpe on his arrival.

“Almost finished your first day,
Field Marshal
.  How do you feel now?” he asked.

“Like I said to Hubert this morning, the secretary has been a wonder.  She kept all sorts of nauseous people away from me. The only thing I couldn’t get out of was that trades’ union visit.  In the event, it went just fine, probably because none of them had actually
seen
Kitchener in the flesh, so to speak.  After a while, I quite relaxed into the role.  I seem to remember telling them that I wished the Government could keep secrets as effectively as the unions could!”

“That was naughty of you.”

Farmer gave his self-satisfied grin, “I rather thought so!”  He looked over at the other man and hesitated, as if unsure whether to reveal his thoughts or not.

“Did you wish to say something, sir?”

“Well, it’s just that I can’t understand this man Asquith.  Before the war, I was all for him.  Seemed to me that he did a reasonable job but, buffing up on what’s been going on before I was volunteered for this nightmare, all I can see is that he has prevaricated and avoided taking any decisions where possible for the past two years.  God knows how Kitchener ever got anything done.”

“He doesn’t come across as a great wartime Prime Minister, I have to agree.”

“Indeed not.”

Kell put down his tea cup.  “But, putting that aside for the moment, Field Marshal, I have some news for you.  The original plan required your services for about two to three months ...”

“Oh, God, don’t tell me that I’ll have to do it for longer!”  Farmer was appalled and then struck dumb as a further more terrible possibility yawned before him.  “For
ever
!”

Kell delivered a wintry grin that petered out before it reached his eyes.  “No, no.  Nothing of the sort.  I have
good
news. We have a way of getting you out of the country on the fifth of next month.”

“Where to?”

“Russia.”

“Russia?  Why Russia?”

“It seems that the Czar entertains a great admiration for Lord Kitchener.  His Government are in the most grotesque pickle.  His ministers, as you probably know, are licentious and unscrupulous to the ultimate degree. I’m informed by reliable sources that his generals are drunkards and the inevitable result of it all is that his troops are deserting in droves from the Front since they haven’t been paid in months and are starving to death – no exaggeration, I assure you.  Many, indeed, haven’t even a pair of boots to their name.”

“And Kitchener …?”

“The Czar felt that Lord Kitchener could talk some sense into his General Staff.  Put some iron into their collective backbone so that they could all pull together – at least until the war is won.”  Kell sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers before continuing, “And there’s another problem.  Cumming is quite convinced that members of the Russian cabinet are German agents.”

“Who is Cumming?”

Kell wheezed sibilantly.  “Cumming is the head of MI6.  One of his people, rejoicing in the name of Sidney Riley, has brought back irrefutable evidence that the Czar’s Minister for War is working for the German High Command.”

“God save us.”  Farmer mulled it over for a moment and could think of nothing constructive to say about the Russians. “But I cannot believe you are suggesting that ‘Kitchener’ sail off to Russia in the middle of the greatest conflict this country has ever seen?  You
know
I’m desperate to leave all this behind me and get back to what I do best, but won’t this arouse suspicion among the dimmest of his enemies?”

“Good point, but yes and no.  I have been with the Prime Minister this morning.  He believes, as I do, that this could be the best thing for us.  It gets you out of the reach of the IRB, keeps you out of the public gaze – although they will know exactly where you are – and it sets you among people most of whom have never laid eyes on Lord Kitchener.”

“You intend to entrust a diplomatic mission of this magnitude to
me
?”

“Your pardon, but of course not!  You are going to Russia but not on your own.  You will have an entourage that will include members of the Foreign Office and military personnel. I am also given to understand that Lloyd George will accompany you in his capacity as Minister for Munitions.  People of that sort are professional in their respective areas of expertise and will advise on every aspect of the mission, write your speeches and so forth.  Your job will be to front the whole thing – that’s all.  We plan to depart from the Clyde – it’s well protected from your point of view and there is an acceptable train service there from Euston, of course.”

“I see.  Well, that means that I can kick the War Office into touch in a couple of weeks’ time!”

“Exactly so.  And, while you are in Russia, you will begin to show all the signs of incipient collapse.  That’s where your medical background will be a blessing – a very fortunate coincidence for us.  When you return, you will go straight to Broome to ‘recover’ from the stress of the journey and, within a week or two of that, the Prime Minister will announce that you are retiring due to ill health, as we discussed.”  Kell smiled again, “You might even join the Choir Invisible, as it were, if you become
very
ill.  So, it would appear that circumstances have conspired very much in our favour and that you will be relieved of your onerous duties, for which we are
so
grateful, far sooner than you anticipated.”

“Hooray to that, say I!” said Farmer and pointed at Kell’s cup.  “More tea?”

**********

Beitzen trudged made his way home to his hiring a mile or so from the docks.  It was a very small apartment but this was war.  It wasn’t forever, anyway - he was an only child and would inherit a sizeable estate in Bavaria on his father’s death – but at twenty-five, such things seemed a lifetime away. Then again, he and Magda loved each other dearly and when you’re that lucky, he thought, one-bedroom flats just don’t matter.

They lived near the top of a five-level tenement in a reasonable part of the town and Magda was overjoyed to see him return safe again.  The minutes slid past in silent joy as he held her tightly in his arms, not daring to let her go.  She was so tiny!  He smelled the mass of glossy blonde hair and wished that he could stay forever and forget about returning to sea – pretty much the whole spectrum of thoughts countless sailors down the ages had felt on returning home.  As though she understood his thoughts, she led him into the tiny living room with its frayed carpet and sparse furniture.  He looked around.  This isn’t what he wanted for her!  The British blockade made paupers of them all, but things would be different after the war.  He would make it up with his father and they would all go back to Bavaria and live with him. 

Magda was excited.  “Karl, wait till you see this!  Trudi, darling, look – Papa’s home.  She sat down on the sofa hand and stood the little girl between her knees in the age-old way.  “Walk to Papa, darling.  Go on.”

The little girl tottered across the small space, tipping from one side to the other with arms outstretched, and ended up landed in a heap in Beitzen’s lap as he sat on the floor.  He gathered her up and hugged her.

**********

The thought of ever becoming a permanent installation in the War Office horrified Thompson and, for that single reason, he was always happiest when walking out of its front door.  But this time, in particular, there was something to celebrate.  Young Fredericks had only been down at Broome to provide sufficient weekend cover for the protection –
protection!
– squad.  Now he was back at the War Office, trying to track down this damn leak and, when they least expected it, he had found something to go on.  A junior minister had coughed up the fact that he was passing information to the Ministry of Munitions –
funny old thing
– and that he agreed with others that Kitchener was a menace to the country and needed to be ‘downed’.  As he headed back to his own offices, Thompson reflected sourly on the information Fredericks had culled from the posturing fool.  They were out to put Kitchener on the spot and that could mean exposure of Farmer and the assassination.  There would be fun and games in the Commons – and damned soon – by means of a vote of no confidence against the Secretary of State for War.  On the other hand, it was one more line closed down that might have exposed Farmer and, joy of joys, Kell had passed him the word that Bailey’s hideous dossier was at the bottom of Tralee Bay.  Pity Casement hadn’t gone down with it but at least he and his kind wouldn’t be exposing this Farmer chap.

**********

Beitzen returned to Admiralty HQ as required.  His shore leave, as always, had just evaporated before he realised it and now it was time to return to operations.  Parting with Magda was always difficult but this time it seemed to be more so.  She clung to him as though she’d never let him leave, despite his promises that he’d take no unnecessary risks and look after himself.  For a while, they spoke about their plans for after the war but he knew she was just whistling in the dark to keep her spirits up – who could make plans in this madness?

Finally, with tearful reluctance, she let him go. Twenty minutes later, he was standing in front of his Commanding Officer once again, listening without much heart to his congratulations.  Beitzen, it seemed, was to be decorated for winning his argument with the
Farewell
.  Fortunately, he was able to drum up enough enthusiasm to smile and express his thanks.  He got away with it at any rate, or perhaps his Captain had more perspicuity than he gave him credit for.

“Very well, enough of all that.  Now, then Beitzen, listen up. This is classified ‘Top Secret’.  Next Wednesday, the High Seas Fleet will put to sea.  The plan is to engage Jellicoe off Denmark. Our U-boats are moving at this moment to lie off targets close to the British mainland.”  He stood up and moved over to his wall map.  “U-44 is covering Scapa Flow; U-47, the Moray Firth; U-67, the Firth of Forth; UB-21 and -22 are looking after the Humber estuary and U-32, -51, -53 and -63 are being held in reserve near the Dogger Bank. The general idea is to drive or draw the British Grand Fleet over our submarines and sink every ship while, at the same time, bottling up reinforcements in their harbours.”

“So, it’s happening at last.”

“I thought that might wake you up!”  He turned back to the chart and gazed at it.  “This is going to be the greatest naval battle in history – not a doubt of it.  The British are fond of boasting that Jellicoe is ‘the man who could win or lose the war in a single afternoon’. They’re about to discover that the same might be said for Scheer.”  He turned back to Beitzen.

“I want you to act as catch-all to nail any stragglers who try to make their way northward from the battle area.  Lie-to off the coast of Norway, around Trondheim.”

“I’d prefer to be closer into the action, sir.”  If Beitzen's crew played second fiddle to the rest of the Flotilla, they’d never be allowed to live it down.

“I understand your feelings, Beitzen, but it’s important that you follow these orders.”  He paused, as though about say something further, but then thought better of it.  “We may have additional, more … more sensitive work for you to undertake so I’ll need you to maintain daily contact with this HQ at 0100 hours on the dot.”

“These additional duties - can you give me any hints?”

“Not right now, Beitzen, but I will say that they won’t be
unconnected
with the work of your recent passenger.  You did an outstanding job there and we want to put this into a safe pair of hands.”

“I see.”

“That’s all, then.  You are to put to sea by 0900 hours and sail directly for Norway.  Let me be clear – under no circumstances are you to engage targets of opportunity.  The prime objective is to maintain a screen against northern movements during the battle that is to come.  Your secondary objective is to hold yourself in readiness for possible special operations.”

“Very well, sir,” he said, saluting.

“Good luck, Beitzen.”

**********

Farmer relaxed back into a deep garden-chair on the rear terrace at Broome.  The few days he had spent at the War Office had exhausted him and then Fitzgerald, of all people, had suggested a recuperative trip down to Broome.  Hubert and Farmer had arrived last night and had slept late.

Farmer threw down his newspaper and glanced over at Fitzgerald, who was leaning on a window sill, looking at the garden.  The rose beds were just below them and also a little way off, beyond the double sweep of the stairs leading down onto the back lawn.  “Thinking about
him
, Oswald?”

Fitzgerald turned round, a guilty smile on his face.  “It’s difficult not to.  It happened a week ago now and I’m still trying believe it.”

“I know, old boy.  The main thing is that we have to move on from here.”  He levered himself slowly up from his chair.    Now,” he said, all business, “what tortures do you have in store for me today?”