Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (23 page)

Warfield, the only man aboard other than Rork who knew the entire convoluted state of affairs, looked at me. “Well, I'll be damned. Look at them. I thought they would be staying in the Keys to spy on our gunnery skills, sir.”

I looked aft, then east toward the coastal islands. “Yes, I was hoping for that too. The fact that they're on a northerly course this close to the Florida coast means there's only one destination for them.”

“Tampa.”

I nodded. Both warships had “bones in their teeth”—bow waves bursting high in the air from their ships' speeding into the seas. “Two or three hours 'til they're even with us, do you think?”

“Yes, sir. At the most. They're doing a good twelve knots or more.”

That unwelcome news opened up an entire new category of questions for me.

Had the German ship transferred Drake's suspected assassin to the Spanish ship while at Key West Harbor? Did Captain Blau really have German immigrants to document in Florida? Was the fact of the two foreigners steaming in company just a mere coincidence, or part of the plot? Did the Spanish cruiser have the assassin onboard, or was she just making a routine port call? Spanish cruisers periodically made port calls around the Gulf of Mexico, especially at Key West and Tampa, where there are large Cuban-Spanish communities. But I could not assume these ships didn't carry the assassin. I had to assume the worst.

“What do we do now, sir?” asked Warfield.

More quick calculations. The
Gneisenau
and
Reina Regente
were going to get to Tampa ahead of us at this rate and we still had no other way to warn Martí or his people of the killer's coming.

Unless I could somehow stop the German and Spanish warships.

To the officer of the deck, I ordered, “I want to know when those ships close to within half a mile. I'll be in my cabin.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” was the neutral reply, though I could see excited curiosity in his eyes. Within minutes the word would spread from deck to deck—their unpredictable captain had something up his sleeve and there was no telling what was coming next. Of course, the lower deck's evaluation of this news would be colored by their recent lack of liberty ashore and increase in work load. I was sure they would not view it positively, but simply as more evidence of my lunacy.

To Warfield, I said, “Come to my cabin, Commander. I have an idea I want to go over with you.”

When we were seated in the privacy of my cabin, I broached the plan that was hatching in my brain. It was, to say the least, unorthodox. Or perhaps lunacy.

“John, we need to stop or slow those ships, since one of them may well be carrying Martí's murderer. Here's an idea as to how.”

He listened intently, then asked, “I don't know, sir. This is damned dangerous for Lambert. He could die doing this.”

“Yes, it most certainly is dangerous, which is why he'll have to be a true volunteer. I think he will, once the entire situation is explained to him. And we'll keep him under close watch the whole time he's doing it, to minimize the danger.”

Warfield still wasn't convinced. “If the Spanish or Germans catch on, it might be construed as an insult to their flag and start some kind of international mess. The admiral won't like that, sir. Not to mention Washington.”

“No one will be hurt or killed, nothing will be damaged, and no country will be humiliated or dishonored—so no, it is not illegal or an insult according to international law. Just a routine training exercise. And while it is playing out, the wind and seas will lay down further and veer to the east, and our boilers will have time to slowly build steam to maximum safe pressure. That will ensure at least sixteen knots for
Bennington
when we start up again, which is more than the German and the equivalent
of the Spaniard, since her bottom is foul and engines are undermaintained. And it means we'll beat them there.”

When newly commissioned five years earlier,
Reina Regente
was rated at twenty knots, but my intelligence operations in '89 and '90 showed she was considerably slower now due to lack of proper maintenance.

“Yes, sir,” he said guardedly, “that's possible. Of course, it'll have to be kept very quiet, sir. Only Lambert, you, and me can know about this. If it ever got out . . .”

“I concur entirely, John. This will work, though, because once we've delayed them and then can start back on our way at six or seven o'clock tonight and are steaming at sixteen knots, we'll be in Tampa in eight hours, around three a.m., if the wind goes easterly enough for us to get our fore and aft sails up for a broad reach along the coast.”

Warfield let out a breath and grinned. “Well, sir, I must admit it's something those devils will never suspect, and will just have to go along with.”

“Very good. Let's get Mr. Lambert in here and brief him.”

Gulf Coast of Florida

Thursday

15 December 1892

Lieutenant Gideon Lambert's broad Iowan face lit up like one of Lewis Carroll's famous cats when he heard me present the plan, and his critical part, should he accept it. Feeling I should dampen his youthful excitement with some sober reflection, I ended with a sincere addendum, meant to give him an honorable way out.

“This is not only out of the norm for an officer, it is extremely rigorous for the man who fills the role. Gideon, I don't want you to say yes without thinking about it for half an hour. You have my word of honor no one outside us will ever know if you feel, for whatever reason, you're not the right man for it. I expect an
honest
answer.”

“I don't need half an hour, sir. I think it's a brilliant idea, and I am fully capable of accomplishing my role. I was an athlete at the academy—football and baseball.”

“Remember, if I do pick you, it means you can't tell anyone what you did. This is a clandestine assignment. Understand?”

“Aye, sir. Full and well.”

A knock at my door heralded the young bridge messenger, who managed to survey the cabin while staring straight ahead at the bulkhead—memorizing who was where, their facial expressions, and any other information which would be pertinent when he told his mates later on what was going on in the captain's cabin.

The report emerged in nervous rapid-fire fashion. “Captain, I have a message from the officer of the deck. Mr. Yeats reports the two foreign warships are now half a mile astern, three points over on the port quarter. He estimates them steaming at fourteen knots along the same course as us. Wind and sea conditions are laying down, veering northeasterly. He also says Mr. Angles told him all the boilers are holding well at one hundred and thirty-five pounds of pressure, sir.”

“Very good, Dumphries. Present my compliments to Ensign Yeats and there is no reply needed. You may go.”

I turned to Warfield and Lambert once the door closed. “Well? You both ready?”

“Let's do it, sir,” acknowledged Warfield.

“Aye, sir,” said Lambert. “Ready.”

Nearly everyone on the bridge, and down on the main deck, was staring at the cruisers astern when Warfield and I entered the bridge and the quartermaster announced the traditional warning, “Captain and Executive Officer are on the bridge.”

They all got back to being busy with their duties as I said to Warfield, “Wind's looking better. This would be a good time for the topmasts to be sent up, wouldn't it?”

“Aye, it would, sir. We can get some canvas up. Mr. Lambert is about to come on as officer of the deck, but I see he's out and about right now, so I'll have him attend to that.”

“Very well, we'll set lowers and topsails once it's done.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Warfield replied to me, then told Ensign
Yeats, “I see Mr. Lambert is down there on the main deck by the foremast. Have him get with the bosun of the watch and send up the topmasts directly, and then make all ready to set sail. He may relieve you when that is done.”

I could see but not hear the word being passed forward, and then watched as Lambert began gesticulating and pointing to the spars and shrouds that needed to be shifted in order to raise the topmasts up—they'd been brought down in the storm to reduce our windage—so our sailing rig was full sized again. The bosun mustered his men and within a minute or two they were hauling away on halyards and shrouds.

Meanwhile, the men of the oncoming watch were arriving at their stations on deck and in the bridge, and those of the off-going watch were briefing them on the situation for their specific areas of responsibility. Yeats announced to the men around him that he was remaining on watch until relieved by Lambert, who was supervising the work on the main deck.

By this point, Lambert was standing atop the bulwark by the port fore shrouds, his left hand gripping the lower ratlines while swaying effortlessly with the exaggerated motion of the ship through the seas. He was looking up as the topmast ascended and the men on the foretop began to secure the topmast butt in its step. His rhythmic swaying took him out over the water and inboard over the deck.

The foretop man yelled down that all was well aloft, and the deck men tensioned the upper forestays and shrouds. Once that was completed and our foremast was in no danger of falling, Warfield and I walked aft to the chart table and conversed nonchalantly about the peculiarities of tidal currents in Tampa Bay.

The ship's bell struck and Yeats oversaw the turnover of the men in his watch. The daily evolution of existence aboard a man-o-war continued in its prescribed routine manner, for the bell dictated time and life aboard.

It also provided the signal to Lambert.

“Man overboard!” came the shout from forward.

“Man overboard to port! Lieutenant Lambert is in the water amidship!” was the cry of Ensign Yeats on the port bridge wing.

“Get that life ring in the water!” roared a petty officer on the main deck.

“Where away is the man?” asked Yeats frantically. “I've lost him!”

This was answered by several men, along with subsequent refutations since what they thought was Lambert was just a whitecap. Someone then confirmed he was thirty yards off the port quarter.

“The Captain has the deck!” I announced in the middle of the commotion, striding to the center of the bridge. I immediately gave out a string of orders. “All engines ahead slow. Left standard rudder—come to course one-seven-zero. Drop buoys and rings. Man the ready boat. Fire the signal gun and hoist code ‘X' and code ‘Y' for those other ships to assist.”

I looked astern, but couldn't see Lambert myself. Warfield was scanning the sea with his binoculars. He quietly said to me, “Can't see him, sir. He must be well astern of us by now.”

Loudly, I ordered, “Commander Warfield, get down to the boats and have both ready to launch the second we sight him.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” he called over his shoulder as he dropped down the ladder.

“That's him!” called down the lookout aloft in the maintop. “Two hundred yards off the port beam.”

No one on the bridge could spot Lambert. The lookout repeated the range and bearing as
Bennington
turned to the port. Then he reported losing sight of him.

And now an explanation of the preceding narrative is due. Those who have maritime experience may wonder why, once I was certain the man overboard was clear of the propellers, I did not circle the ship to the windward, or to the right, and thereby form a lee for him. It is easier to see a man in the water when looking downwind than when looking upwind, into the white
caps and breaking seas.

The answer is that my plan was for Lambert—who had stuffed his pockets surreptitiously with kapok fiber in order to be more buoyant—to enter the water on the port side so I could turn the ship to port. This maneuver accomplished three things: it turned our propellers away from Lambert; it allowed us to turn into and block the path of the other warships, who were astern of us off the port quarter; and it put us between the sun and Lambert. The reason for the third point will become apparent shortly.

Boom!
The signal gun went off just as the signal flags soared up their halyard and streamed to the wind. The hoist of the international code flag “X” meant “man overboard.” The “Y” flag had two meanings: “I am putting boats in the water” and a command-request for the Germans and Spanish to do so as well.

The entire operation had taken only three minutes, but it effectively obstructed
Gneisenau
and
Reina Regente
. It also had the added benefit of degrading their machinery a bit, for both foreign ships had to put a huge strain on their gears and clutches by ringing up “full astern” on their bridge engine annunciators in order to stop in time. This was evidenced by the smoke pouring out of their funnels and propellers furiously thrashing the water around their sterns.