Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (13 page)

I looked in Blau's eyes and said with a smile, “Thank you, sir. I will be sure to pass along your precise words to the president. Please know the navy of the United States of America stands ready to assist you in any way we can while you are in
our hemisphere
of the world, of which we are very proud. Our presence is everywhere, so please be assured we will be there to help wherever you visit.”

With only a partial understanding of English, the two junior Germans didn't get my meaning at all. But FregattenKapitan Blau did. For just a fraction of a second, his expression clouded.

“It is my turn to thank you, Commander Wake, for your kind offer of assistance. But I do not see where it will be needed. Our mission is quite simple.”

He surveyed me and I gazed back at him, but no one spoke. The awkwardness was broken when the meal's opening course, some sort of vegetable soup, was brought out by the stewards. I gestured for everyone to begin.

Following the soup was a plate of buttered and salted grits with melted cheddar cheese. Blau wrinkled his nose, then said in his British-learned accent, “How very exotic. The grain I do not know, and I have not tasted such cheese since I was in Devon.”

His smile came out as a leer. “By the by, Commander Wake, I must say your name seemed so familiar to me when we first
met. I knew I had heard it before, but could not recall where or when. Then it struck me a moment ago. Were you in the Pacific a few years ago, in eighty-nine?”

Did he know what I'd done at Samoa? How close our countries had come to war?

“Why yes, I was. But, of course, it's really not unusual at all in our navy. Our officers serve in various squadrons all over the world. In any event, I was out there only for a short while the last time. Were you there then, Captain Blau?”

“Yes. I had the honor to serve in
Adler
, under Commodore Fritze. But I also was out there only for a short time. I departed for home just before she and her sisters were sunk at Samoa.”

That sounded like he did know what I'd done, or at least suspected
. An interesting piece of intelligence to file away. I was formulating a quick and innocuous comment when the duty messenger suddenly arrived.

“Sir, an American collier has arrived on the northeast horizon. She's steaming directly for us.”

Blau watched me intently as I said as casually as I could, “Thank you, messenger. Present my compliments to the officer of the watch. Commander Gardiner, would you please go up and look into that for me, then you can come back and enjoy your lunch.”

Gardiner popped up in a very un-casual manner and excitedly said, “Aye, aye, sir.” I could see that Blau duly noted the reaction.

This, however, was interrupted when a second messenger arrived from the quarterdeck and reported, “The collier which was at anchor,
Marie
, is preparing to get under way, sir.”

So Lambert had done it. A pleasing development.

To a frowning Blau, I pleasantly commented, “It appears your fuel supply is leaving, Captain. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. In my experience it is a common failing of merchant captains. Say, do you have enough steam up to get under way and catch her?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“No.”

“Oh, what a shame, indeed. Regrettably, the collier that is approaching us now has only enough coal for our ship, and due to my operational requirements I simply cannot reduce my intake to spare any for you.”

He sat there, staring at me. Finally, after he stewed for several seconds, I made a generous offer, “I tell you what, sir—in the interests of our countries' friendship, as soon as I return to Key West, I can notify your consulate in New Orleans by cable to have some coal sent down here for your ship, if you'd like. You should have it in three or four weeks, I would think.”

He didn't seem pleased, so I came up with an alternative. “Or, of course,
Gneisenau
could leave this coast and seek coal over in Cuba, either at Havana or at Santiago. If there's none there in Cuba, you might find some in Jamaica. We were just there, as a matter of fact, and I think they still had some available for friendly foreign navies. And say, the British queen is pretty close to your Kaiser Wilhelm, isn't she?”

“Yes. Queen Victoria is the Kaiser's grandmother.”

“Well, this is a truly distressing turn of events, isn't it? It's a good thing you were only engaged on a routine German emigrant registration assignment, and nothing important was interrupted. Right, Captain?”

“Yes,” came the even-toned answer.

“What ever will you do, Captain Blau?” I asked as innocuously as I could.

The German's reply was rather guttural, through gritted teeth. “It appears I have no real choice, does it, Commander Wake? I will have to leave the coast and find coal in Havana.”

Commander Warfield was smiling sympathetically for his European colleagues as I cheerfully concluded with, “Well, I wish you all good luck, Captain Blau. For now, though, let us enjoy the rest of this wonderful luncheon. It's so valuable to break bread with one's brothers of the sea, don't you think? It allows us to understand each other much better.”

Several minutes later Gardiner returned from the quarterdeck and reported, “Mr. Lambert reports all is well, sir.
Marie
is hull down on the horizon, bound northward, apparently toward New Orleans. Oh, and the arriving collier will be alongside in an hour and a half. The sea's laid down nicely and we won't have trouble coaling.”

“I see. Thank you, Commander.”

The timing worked out nicely, for it would be about an hour after Blau and his minions returned to
Gneisenau
.

“More tea, Captain Blau?” I inquired. “I fear it's not as good as the British version, but it's all we have.”

“No.”

And thus the remainder of our international tête-à-tête continued in awkward silence, for it seemed our German guests had lost their appetite for food or for conversation.

Xel-ha Anchorage, Mexico

Tuesday afternoon

13 December 1892

The stack of envelopes on my desk was at least ten inches high, half of which bore the scent of a lady, the other half the moldy smell of bureaucracy—all of it delivered via our guard boat when the newly arrived collier grew closer. As she came alongside to top off our bunkers, I begrudgingly began the examination of my correspondence with duty over pleasure.

A brief personal note from Rear Admiral Walker shared the latest intelligence he had learned, which wasn't much, but did match what we had surmised. The admiral had received a report about a man who had gone out to the
Gneisenau
in the Key West pilot boat the same morning we'd left. He was one Carl Nicolay, and not much was known about him.

Registering at a cheap hotel on Petronia Street near the Bahamian Quarter on the afternoon of December fifth, Nicolay listed his occupation as businessman and his home as Hamburg,
Germany. The hotel clerk said Nicolay rarely spoke, and then in a low tone with a thick accent. The register showed he'd arrived aboard the steamer
Philadelphia
and was waiting until a ship came into port bound for Charleston. Nicolay ate his meals in his room and never frequented the bars. He passed the time quietly until suddenly leaving the morning
Gneisenau
got underway, paying his bill in cash without a word.

It appeared to Walker this Nicolay man was Drake's assassin, and I concurred. I further assumed his name was an alias and the Charleston story a false trail. Was he now targeting Dzul for the Germans? It certainly seemed so.

In addition to Walker's message there were the usual supply, paymaster, and ordnance missives from their respective departments and bureaus in Washington, all of which would need attention and replies. I was about to wade into them when the report came from the officer of the watch that
Gneisenau
was getting steam up.

Next, Lieutenant Lambert came in and reported on his efforts in reverse order. Captain Wilson fortunately was an astute man and understood the unspoken threat to his future livelihood, instantly agreeing to head the
Marie
for Key West without getting permission from Blau. He was as good as his word, for while Lambert was stepping down into his boat, the collier was already getting steam up.

The message to Dzul was sent through a local mulatto trader whom Lambert met ashore and decided he could trust. The man told Lambert he knew the Mayan leader and Dzul would probably meet with Lambert's captain the next day, out of curiosity if nothing else.

The boat surveillance of
Gneisenau
had yielded no sighting of a man being taken ashore, so presumably Nicolay was still on the German warship, and now his mission was interrupted. Lambert suggested he could have swum unseen in the dark from the German cruiser to a local bumboat, which I granted was a possibility, but a distant one.

And finally, Lambert had even managed to obtain some rudimentary information about the Mayan ruins, the better to maintain our façade. He would write the report directly after his briefing to me. All in all, I decided the young officer had done quite well.

I had Gardiner see me afterward and told him what I'd learned. His opinion toward the mission had not changed, but I was pleased to see his outward attitude had modified. He respectfully suggested we not do anything rash until we could prove what he called “mal intent” on the part of the Germans toward the Mayans.

After the executive officer exited my cabin to supervise the coaling—which we were not in absolute dire need of, but which had to be started while Blau's cruiser was still in sight—I turned to those scented letters still piled on my desk. It was my custom from the war, years earlier, to read the oldest of my wife's letters first, then the most recent. This way, I could quickly know any bad news on the home front. I followed that practice now, with Maria's letters. There were two from her in the pile, one from five weeks earlier and the other from a week prior.

Her lovely endearments, combined with her perfume emanating from the pages, filled the opening page of the earliest letter and made me ache with desire. I could hear her speaking those words, sense her close to me, feel her touch.

Washington City, October 28
^th
, 1892

Darling Peter
,

I am so lonely without your presence. Your love for me is real, of that I am sure, but I long for the solid weight of your physical nearness, the reassuring sound of your voice, the gentle touch of your rough fingers, the delectable taste of your lips on mine. How intensely unfair it is for a grown woman to yearn so much and be so denied
.

Nonetheless, I know our love will endure, and be all the stronger for these trials. And when we once again embrace, every wound will
be healed, and every tear forgotten, in the ecstasy of that moment. I dream and I plan for it, and that vision gets me through this dreary existence in the cold atmosphere of Washington and its diplomatic circus
.

This place is not only without true human warmth for me, it is politically perilous for anyone daring to love across social boundaries. This very morning, I caught my maidservant gossiping with the carriage driver about me—actually about
us
. Your naval superiors' well-known distrust of my compatriots is more than equaled by the loathing for
norteamericanos
by many in my embassy. I have no doubt the driver passed along, with his own lewd embellishments, the fact that the ambassador's cousin is having a liaison d'amour with a naval officer of the despised
yanqui
barbarians. I fear not for me, my love. I am, after all, the widowed lady of a Spanish hero, and am untouchable in the legal and social sense. No, I fear for your reputation and ability to progress professionally, for this growing rumor will inevitably make it to your leadership's ears
.

I am so disillusioned by the mounting hatreds and hypocrisy between our countries, fed by the rabid press in both capitals. The acrimony against the independence movement in Cuba is heating up again because of all this, and the most fantastic schemes are discussed over after-dinner cognac and cigars in the most nonchalant manner. Like trained parrots, the junior men echo their enthusiastic approval, no matter how stupid or cruel the idea
.

Maria had long been in favor of Cuba being granted full independence and afterward maintaining a normal international, and close commercial and cultural, relationship with the mother country. She thought, and I agreed, the bond would strengthen if both Cuba and Spain were respected equals, free of recriminations. Her opinion was the minority among the Spanish elite, however, and I was well aware of her growing despair at how the Cuban situation was unfolding, so I wasn't surprised by the tenor of her note, but I was surprised by the acceleration of Spanish fears and plans. Then I read the next paragraphs.