Lammas Night (42 page)

C
HAPTER
17

On the drive back to London, Denton and Michael briefed Graham fully on their staging of Wells's car crash. Satisfied that none of them could be traced to the event, Graham dropped Michael at the Admiralty to ensure that a search began, with instructions to follow up afterward on Wells's Scottish trunk call. A quarter hour later, well before dawn, he and Denton entered the office building near St. James' Park.

He was reluctant to begin an official investigation of Wells's coconspirators until he had more solid evidence than Wells's accusations—the code book would be a start. For now, Denton could begin pulling what they had readily available on the four, and he could get his own report off to Selwyn. Grimacing at what passed for tea among the night shift, he sent Denton for a fresh pot for both of them and settled down for the rest of the predawn hours to compose a carefully coded account of the meeting and its aftermath. He decided to put off contacting Dieter, though he did mention the possibility in Selwyn's report. He wanted time to think a little more about the implications of Wells's betrayal before involving a man who, if he had not actually gone over to the enemy, was at least consorting with him.

One of the key points was that Wells had been aware of the occult connections of the attendees at the third reception. Not one man in ten thousand could have linked the eleven names on the third list in that context, especially with the other two lists as blinds. But Wells had—or had help from someone like Dieter. In any case, Wells had been well briefed, whether by Dieter or some other master occultist, and had certainly conveyed his observations to his British controls in his call to Scotland.

As a result, Wells's Thulist superiors in Germany almost certainly knew that the Duke of Clarence had hosted a meeting of many of his country's most powerful and influential occult practitioners on the night of July eighteenth. Also, Wells had undoubtedly presumed a far greater involvement on William's part than had actually been the case—and Wells's death on the very night of the meeting would certainly tend to confirm the most extravagant of Thulist speculations about the King's youngest brother.

Graham knew he had been implicated before tonight as well. He wondered what had tipped Wells off about the Plymouth trip. A needle mark perhaps? The headache the next morning?

If Graham were suspect because of Plymouth, then so were almost all the rest of the Oakwood group by association. Richard and Geoffrey, son and nephew of Graham, flew the plane. The brigadier, related to Graham and both young pilots, was official host for the suspicious Laurelgrove meeting. If Wells had also connected William's unexpected overnight visit to Oakwood, only two days after returning from Plymouth, with his sudden announcement the next day of plans to hold the three receptions, then Alix and the rest of the Selwyn family could also be linked to the occult conspiracy Wells undoubtedly had seen brewing at the highest levels of British society.

That uncomfortable line of reasoning eventually brought Graham full circle to the four associates Wells had named, three of whom were capable of raising very embarrassing and dangerous questions. The fourth was a smaller fish but was protected by his association with the first three. Men of such rank and social station could no more be rounded up and tossed into solitary confinement to shut them up than Wells himself could have been. Unless Graham was willing to risk a link with Wells's death, his hands were essentially tied until he had more tangible proof of their treason.

Partial respite came shortly before noon when Michael rang to confirm that the number in Scotland belonged to the son of a titled lord. Young Lord Hanfort also happened to be on Wells's list of four. Graham had not yet received confirmation of the name from Wells's code book, but at least for this one, he decided not to wait. Within half an hour, he had concocted a plausible cover story about an anonymous informant and was briefing Ashcroft and one of his younger field agents. Ashcroft looked almost predatory as he and his partner left Graham's office.

By the time the brigadier rang, just on two o'clock, the Hanfort investigation was well under way, and Denton was making excellent headway on the three unofficial dossiers. As Graham picked up Ellis's call, Ashcroft was showing him records that suggested Hanfort's prior membership in several questionable organizations—and a background very similar to Wells, though Graham did not mention that to Ashcroft.

“Good afternoon, Wesley. How are you?” he said, signaling Ashcroft not to leave. “I can only spare you a few minutes.”

“Ah.” The single syllable conveyed immediate comprehension of the probable situation—that Graham was not alone and that appearances needed to be maintained. A witness would also help to establish Graham's innocence of prior knowledge of the news he was about to receive.

“Well, I'll try to make this brief, then, but I thought you'd want to know that the Duke of Clarence's aide was killed in a car crash last night. The duke wasn't with him, but he's rather upset about it, as one might imagine.”

Graham let himself show surprised concern, shaking his head resignedly as he toyed with a pencil.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Wells, wasn't it? How did it happen?”

“Apparently, he missed a turn at some road works and went into a ditch,” the brigadier said. “The car burned. H.R.H. had been staying out at Laurelgrove with me for a few days and sent Wells to pick up something or other from the Admiralty. When he didn't show, they rang me. We found the wreckage early this morning—a terrible thing, poor chap. Anyway, I drove H.R.H. and his valet back to the Palace a few hours ago.”

“I see. How is he taking it?”

“Oh, well enough, now that the initial shock is past,” the brigadier replied. “I'm in his sitting room now, helping with the funeral arrangements. Wells always fancied a burial at sea, you know.”

Graham, relatively certain that Wells had fancied no such thing, had to bite at his lip to keep from smiling.

“No, I didn't know, but I'm not surprised. He was a naval officer, after all. When is the funeral?”

“Tomorrow morning at eleven at St. Paul's Cathedral, with sea burial out of Chatham in the afternoon. The boy's parents wanted to delay—the shock and all, you know—but His Royal Highness's schedule wouldn't permit if he's to attend. I don't suppose you could show up? You know how he hates these kinds of things.”

“Of course. Please tell him to expect me,” Graham replied, jotting the time and location on his desk calendar and making a mental note to inquire further about the parents later.

“Right. I'm certain he'll appreciate it. Incidentally, was there anyone you can think of who should be notified? Any of the boy's friends?”

Graham considered for a moment, pencil poised above the calendar. This could be a lead-in about the code book.

“Not off hand, Wesley. I didn't really know him that well. When I've occasionally had to arrange such things, I've always looked for an address book or diary and used that as the basis for notifications.”

“Oh, well, we've got that, then,” Ellis said easily. “It appears to be quite complete. We'll just work from that.”

Graham nodded, containing a grim smile. With the code book in hand and the names confirmed, he could now start on the other three men in earnest.

“That's what I would do,” he said. “Let me know if there's any way I can help, but you seem to have things under control, as always.”

“Yes, well, it's always so tragic when such a young man dies,” Ellis returned with a note of genuine sorrow in his voice. “I'll certainly tell His Royal Highness you offered. Listen, I do have several other calls to make this afternoon—sad, sad business, this—so I'd best ring off. If you're free this evening, why don't you join me for a bite of supper at my club, say, around eight? In fact, I thought I might invite H.R.H. to join us—take his mind off things.”

Graham nodded, seizing the opportunity to offer Michael's services.

“That sounds like a fine idea, Wesley. I believe I will. Incidentally, until he can select another aide, do you think he'd like the use of one of my men? I could send Michael over later this afternoon. He's still on light duty, anyway.”

“I'm sure he'd appreciate it,” Ellis replied. “We can make it four for dinner, then.”

After Ellis rang off, Graham sighed and scribbled Wells's name beside the time he had written on his calendar, circled it, and tossed down his pencil.

“Well, that's a nasty blow for His Royal Highness,” he said to Ashcroft. “His aide was killed in a car crash last night.”

“Clarence's?”

Graham nodded.

“Sorry to hear it,” Ashcroft said. “I'd gathered something of the sort. I take it the duke is all right?”

“Oh, yes. Just a little shaken. Fortunately, he wasn't in the car. When Michael checks in or calls, tell him I need to see him, please.”

“Of course.”

“Also, I'll be gone all day tomorrow. The funeral is at St. Paul's, with sea burial out of Chatham. Are you on for the weekend, or is Basilby?”

“I am. I'll cover for you.”

“Thank you. Now, where were we on young Lord Hanfort? Some club when he was up at university, wasn't it?”

Ashcroft returned to the file he had been reviewing with Graham, scooting his chair a little nearer.

“That's right. Ostensibly, it was a Teutonic study group, but we think they may have done some recruiting for the Nazi party as well. Interestingly enough, one of those other chaps you asked about was also once a member.”

“Was he, now?” Graham said. As Ashcroft showed him another sheet, he scanned its contents with interest and nodded.

“I think that gives us sufficient cause to make this official, then. Let's go ahead and open files on all three of them, shall we? If my informant's suspicions about Hanfort are correct, he may well be right about other things as well.”

That evening, Graham dined with the brigadier, William, and Michael and told them of the progress so far. They made an early night of it, for all of them were still exhausted from the night before. After the brigadier passed on the code book, they went briefly over the logistical arrangements for the next day. Graham was uneasy to learn that one of the pallbearers enlisted by Wells's father was adjutant to one of their Thulist suspects, a fairly prominent member of Parliament.

“I didn't know that when he gave me the list,” William muttered, shifting restlessly in his chair. “Can't we find some reason to replace him?”

But they could do nothing too overt, lest they create suspicion where none yet existed. Graham did find an excuse to pull Michael aside before they parted and warn him to be especially wary. After that, he spent several more hours rechecking security for the next morning, even assigning one of his own agents to shoot high-speed photographs of all the mourners from a side gallery. He hoped there would be no need for anything more, but he had the man armed just in case.

The funeral went off without a hitch. Dozens of friends and acquaintances of both Wells and the prince showed up to pay their final respects, including one of the four suspects—an aging baronet who worked in the Ministry of Finance. But the man did not accompany the smaller cortege that made its way to Chatham for the burial at sea. Nor did Wells's parents accompany their son's body for the final services.

Heavy weather was brewing as the pallbearers brought Wells's coffin aboard the minesweeper. The naval ensign draped over it was the only splash of color against the grey-painted decks and the even greyer sea and clouds. Thunder rumbled along the horizon all the way into the Channel, a stiff breeze prickling everything with spray as the ship ploughed through the swells, the temperature falling.

By the time the last words had been read by the ship's captain and the body was committed to the deep, the weather had worsened considerably. As the crew battened down for the run back to port, the pallbearers and the few other mourners went below to get warm, but William turned up the collar of his naval greatcoat and wandered far up on the bow with Graham. Michael lagged a little behind to see that they were not disturbed.

“Thank God that's over,” William murmured, gloved hands locked around the cable rail as he squinted into the wind. “I hope you don't think I'm being too paranoid, but I really didn't feel like being cooped up below with that pallbearer. Do you think he's involved?”

Graham hunched down farther in his overcoat and shrugged. “It's too soon to say. I'm having everyone checked out on all four men's staffs as well as vetting all their regular acquaintances. But we mustn't start seeing Thulists under every bush. The master's affiliations don't necessarily carry over to his servants, after all. Look at Wells.”

“I suppose you're right,” William said with a sour grin. “I've been doing a lot of worrying about where all of this leaves me, though, since we had that talk last Thursday night.”

He glanced over his shoulder, where Michael was lounging against the rail a few yards out of earshot, but there was no one closer. Most of the crew were not even in sight.

“Gray, you've said that part of your role seems to have been determined by your past lives—Drake and such. I was wondering whether I might persuade you to do some past-life regressions with
me
. I'd certainly like to find out a little more about where I'm headed.”

Graham braced himself against a particularly heavy swell and held onto his hat with a gloved hand, avoiding the blue eyes. He hoped William would not pursue this. It touched too closely on that chilling conversation with Alix about past lives and sacrifices and the possible role Conwy and some of the others had ascribed to the prince at the end of the Laurelgrove meeting. Though Graham was as determined as ever that
he
should be the Victim, if it came to a choice between the two of them, he was no longer entirely certain the choice lay within his power. That uncertainty produced a very great temptation not to tell William
anything
further—to cut him off entirely from future involvement by keeping him in ignorance.