Blackest of Lies (19 page)

“I will but …” He pointed vaguely down the platform to the ticket barrier.

Fitzgerald flicked at a piece of coal cinder that had drifted down on to the lapel of his greatcoat.  “Yes, you are worried about the absence of Hubert.  That’s our second problem.  I am too, frankly, but if he does not put in an appearance within the next twenty minutes, we will have to leave without him.”  He put up a hand to forestall Farmer’s objections.  “There is no possibility of waiting any further than that.  We have to fit within the schedule allocated to us by GNER or we will miss point changes along our line of travel and probably be delayed by other rail traffic, into the bargain.” 

He paused, taking a brief look around.  “And of course we have our third difficulty.”

“Christ, there’s more?”

“Mr O’Beirne has lost his manservant, a Mr Rix.”

For a moment, Farmer stared at the other man, trying to work out why Rix’s absence could, in any way, be significant.  “Well, I’m sorry for O’Beirne but if we cannot wait for Hubert then I’m damned if I’ll wait for this Rix chappie!”

“I agree completely, but for some reason which I am still trying to fathom, O’Beirne entrusted his Foreign Office cipher to Rix.  Without it, he will not be able to send or receive coded signals.”

“Why, in God’s name, did he do that?”

“I feel sure it contravenes a large section of Foreign Ministry regulations but that is the situation we have on our hands.  In any case …”

Fitzgerald stopped in mid-flow and stared into the distance behind Farmer, who turned to follow the other’s eye-line, hoping it was Hubert.  A rather hard-looking man in overcoat and bowler hat was hurrying up the platform towards them lugging a heavy suitcase.

“
Got to be Rix
,” thought Farmer.

Another civilian appeared from inside the carriage and walked past them, confronting the newcomer halfway. Fitzgerald called out, “Mr O’Beirne, His Lordship would like an explanation.”  O’Beirne looked venomously at Rix, motioned him to carry on down the platform and join the other servants and then joined Fitzgerald and Farmer.

He peered up at Farmer through rather thick pince-nez.  “Deepest apologies, my Lord.  I have just heard the most extraordinary explanation for our delay.”  O’Beirne was clearly rattled and allowed his Irish accent to become more pronounced than he normally affected within diplomatic circles.  “It would seem that Rix was just on the point of leaving my town house, when he received a telephone call from a Colonel Datchett.” 

He peered at the other two men, hoping to find that they knew Datchett, and receiving a curt shake of the head from Fitzgerald he continued. “It seems he told Rix that the departure was to take place from Paddington and excused the sudden alteration as a tactic to ensure your Lordship’s safety.  Rix tells me has just come from there, having being told by the Paddington staff that we were still, in fact, to leave from King’s Cross.”

Farmer and Fitzgerald glanced at each other.  It had the feel of Kell all over it in a perverted sort of cloak-and-dagger sense.  Fitzgerald motioned towards the train. “Very well, Mr O’Beirne but we really cannot delay any further.  Would you and your servant please board and we can be off?”

O’Beirne gestured helplessly.  “Unfortunately, Rix sent all our luggage to Paddington.  It is on its way here but, with the traffic, could take up to an hour to arrive, he tells me.  I really am most dreadfully sorry.”

“Well, your luggage will have to follow later.”

“Normally, I would agree but, as I explained to you earlier, I am afraid that I entrusted my Foreign Office cipher to Rix. You see, he is also my shorthand clerk.  It is
with
the luggage.  Without it, I cannot perform my duties as required.”

Fitzgerald paused, fuming.  “This is unacceptable,” he said.  “There’s nothing for it.  We can delay not a moment longer.  I suggest you collect Rix from the carriage, arrange with the Station Master for a special train and follow us up to Thurso – at the Foreign Office’s expense, mind you.  Get your luggage and cipher and, with any luck, you’ll be able to catch up.”

O’Beirne made to object but a frosty look from Fitzgerald saw him scurry off to join Rix.  “And now, sir, we had better board and be on our way.”

“Very well, Oswald.  See that everyone is on the train and I’ll join you in a moment.”  He leaned closer to the other man.  “I want to give Chris as long as I can.”  Fitzgerald looked at him, nodded and turned away to chivvy the rest of the party on board.

Farmer stood on the platform, momentarily quite alone, staring back through the oily smoke at the barrier in the middle distance.  MacPherson, the interpreter, turned back from the train and approached Farmer.  “Is anything wrong, sir?”  Farmer swivelled round to face the young officer.

“It’s Lieutenant ... MacPherson, isn’t it – Cameronians, I believe?”

“That’s correct, sir.  I’m to serve as your Russian interpreter.  But I was wondering if there was anything amiss.”

Farmer looked sadly at him for a moment and then turned to gaze for the last time at the distant barrier.  “No,” said. “I was expecting someone but he hasn’t turned up.” 

With that, both men boarded the train and a few moments later, emerging yard-by-yard from a dense, fulminating cloud, it plunged into one of the tunnels immediately outside King’s Cross station to begin its long journey to the far north of Scotland.

**********

“Sit where you are, Hubert!” snapped Kell.

Chris had tried to rise from his chair in sheer disbelief.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kell looked over his desk at the younger man.  “You are understandably disturbed but take caution in your tone, Lieutenant.  I am fully aware that Colonel Farmer is a personal friend of yours and I’m making great allowances for that but there are limits.  That aside, let’s be clear about something.  The fate of the ‘
Hampshire
’, Hubert, is signed, sealed and delivered – to coin a cliché.  Unwittingly, Colonel Farmer is about to do the greatest thing he could ever do for his country –
die
for it.  This is going to be hard for you to accept because of your personal involvement – God knows, I don’t believe I will ever sleep happy again, myself – and you’ll probably feel somehow responsible for his fate, but I want you to think about this for a moment.  Take all the emotion away and put the rest in the balance.” 

He pushed his chair away from the desk and sat back.  “Yes, we can send ‘Kitchener’ off to Russia and I have no doubt he would even make a good enough job of it not to be unmasked.  But when he returns …”

“We promised him that ‘Kitchener’ would retire.  We
promised
him!”

Kell threw him a sympathetic shake of the head, rose from behind his desk and walked over to look out of the window onto the unsuspecting London street.  He exhaled long and quiet.  “Must you be so naïve?  Do you really think the British public would let the ‘Hero of Omdurman’
retire
when the greatest conflict the world has ever known is in full swing?  You know better than most the sort of casualty figures that come in each and every day, painting the same, hellish picture of our lads being massacred in countries that don’t even
belong
to us.  We have committees with people like Kipling tearing out their hair trying to devise ways to present the carnage in the best possible light.” 

He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and then soberly, but strangely more angry than Hubert had ever seen him, hissed “
There
is no best possible light!
  It’s the nearest thing to Armageddon we’ll see
this
side of the Pearly Gates.” 

He paused to collect himself, conscious of having shown Hubert too much of the inner man, and continued in a calmer manner, “Don’t misunderstand me – we will win the War, I have no doubt of that but, also without doubt, there are
years
of this still to come.  You, of all people, should need no reminding of what trench warfare is really like – it is
interminable
– and you’ve seen the repercussions it has here in England.”

Hubert leaned forward, ignoring Boissier and Pickup.  “I also don’t need to be reminded how to keep my word!  This is a
doctor
, for Christ’s sake!  He has saved countless lives, put his
own
life at risk for Kitchener and now you expect me just to stand around while you throw him to the wolves because you have no further use for him!  He’s not a piece to move around your damn chess board.  He’s a decent man who put his trust in us.”

Irritated, Kell wheezed asthmatically and rubbed his chest.  He sat down and leaned back into the seat, weary of it all.  “You still don’t see to the bottom of this, do you?  This
is
his ‘further use’.”  Kell rapped the top of his desk with a knuckle.  “This is his
ultimate
use!  Think about it – what happens, God forbid, if we have another Ypres?  Who will the public cry out for?  Who will they expect to ride back on a charger to teach the General Staff ‘How to Win a War in Five Easy Steps’?”  He paused, waiting for Hubert to answer.  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Lieutenant –
who will they expect to take up the reins
?”

“Of course, they’ll call for Kitchener …”

“Then you see our predicament.  We cannot allow the Colonel, fine man that he is, to become the
de facto
leader of our war effort and nor do I believe that, in his worst nightmares, he would want to see himself in that position.”

“We could still have allowed him to ‘die’ at home as Kitchener and then quietly return to his medical work as Henry Farmer.”

“Certainly.  But of what use would that be to the country?  We would still have no ‘Kitchener’ to save the day for the public and we’d have the same public morale problem on our hands that we’ve been struggling to avoid.  From this very office, your own work has shown you that domestic morale is already at rock bottom.”  Kell rose and paced around the room in precise steps.  “For the first time since the Normans, war is being brought to the very doors of British homes by these damn Zeppelins.  They’ve killed hardly anyone but now the ‘Zep’ has become the bogey-man that keeps our trembling citizens awake at night.” 

He paused and looked at Hubert’s bleached face.  “And now … now we have this pathetic show by the Royal Navy at Jutland. 
Both
sides claiming victory!  It should have been a new Trafalgar – but no – and so our families continue to get their telegrams from the King and somehow find the stomach to carry on the fight.”  He paused for a moment and looked out of the window once more.  “The call will be for another ‘Kitchener’ – over and over – and when he fails to appear, what then? And should the truth get out that the IRB were at the bottom of it all, as it still might well do, there would be war in our own trenches – you said it yourself down at Broome.  God knows what would happen to the Government but one thing is for sure – the War would be lost.” 

Kell sat back down with a bump.  Picking up his pen, he intoned “I cannot let that happen.”

Hubert stood and shook off his minders.  Kell made a discreet sign that they should let him be.  “What have you and Thompson done?”

For a moment, Hubert thought that Kell would keep his own counsel but it was clear, even at this late stage in the game, that he hoped to win Hubert round.  “We need a disaster, Hubert”, he wheezed.

**********

Farmer looked out of the carriage window as Hitchin railway station flashed past.  “What do you think happened to Chris, Oswald?”

“As I said before, Henry, I have no idea.”

“Sorry ...
sorry
.”  Farmer held his hands up in mock-surrender.  “I know I’m being an old woman.  It’s just that he was the only constant in this bloody nightmare.  He was here before it all began and I was hoping he’d be in at the end.  His not being here just has the feeling of doom written all over it.”

Fitzgerald sat back into the corner of the seat opposite Farmer and smiled.  “I wouldn’t be the least surprised if were to find him waiting for us in Thurso!”

“I do hope …” The clattering of the train across the points made the carriage sway violently, spilling the contents of his red box on to the floor.  “Bloody hell!”  He bent over to retrieve them and looked up at Fitzgerald.  “How many more of these damn things do I have to go through?”

“Three.”

“For God’s sake!”

**********

Kell gazed distractedly out of the window at the unappealing Sunday afternoon view of the park and the Thames beyond.  A small puffer was butting its way downstream, leaving a short wake behind and a long memory in the sky.  He looked back at Hubert.  “Please, let’s talk this thing through.  I
know
that you will see the inevitability of it all if you just consider the matter without all the … passion.” 

He waited pointedly until Chris was back in the Chesterfield before continuing.  “The idea of the visit to the Russian Court was a God-send.  The Czar knows that the next revolution will finish him off so anything that can put some backbone into his General Staff and give him some breathing space has to be a good thing.  Cumming, over at ‘Six’, was uncharacteristically helpful – I suspect something in his own nest of vipers is coming adrift over there.  We were able to arrange for the story of the Field Marshal’s trip to Russia to be leaked to a high-ranking individual at the Czar’s Court we know to be hedging his bets with the Hun.  However busy they might have been in the run-up to Jutland, I had no doubt that Kiel would have made time to deal with someone like Kitchener and, of course, that miserable affair gave us the chance to arrange a departure point closer to open sea.  The Clyde is so very heavily protected.”