Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Read online

  Meyer took a short while to answer. “It depends on what the Czar wants. And you are more apt to know that than I am.” This last was a deliberately pointed observation.

  “If only I did,” Reilly confessed. “But I have not been able to find out what Nicholas wants Ragoczy to accomplish, or why. Usually someone is willing to talk, but as far as I can determine, the only two men in Saint Petersburg who know what the Czar has ordered Ragoczy to do are Nicholas and Ragoczy themselves. Not that there hasn’t been speculation.” He directed his gaze to the dusty curtains across the window. “And that troubles me.”

  “It troubles me, as well,” said Meyer. “When I was at the Ministry, I was always hearing things I was not supposed to. Everyone does. Men talk, some of them to boast, others to complain.” He did not add that he had sold such gleanings to the highest bidder until he was caught; Reilly had been one of his most reliable customers. “The Czar appears to have kept this between Ragoczy and himself; it may be that Nicholas

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  delivered his orders personally, but I cannot determine when they might have had occasion to do it. It must have been done clandestinely, for no one can say for certain when the arrangements were made, assuming any were made at all. However it was done, it was not through the usual methods. Otherwise someone would have said something— a minister, a secretary, someone.” He made a travesty of a smile. “At least that knowledge is useful. Having it can save one from prison, for any trial brings to light such scandalous things.” He was speaking of his own experience and both men knew it.

  “What do you think the Czar is trying to do?” Reilly pursued, not allowing Meyer to wander too far afield.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think he was trying to make peace,” said Meyer caustically. “Ever since that disaster in The Hague, he has had bouts of conscience about peace. Not even the trouble five years ago was enough to change his mind. His ministers do not agree about peace, as you know better than I. How can Nicholas search for peace if his own government will not endorse it? What routes are open to him if the usual negotiative channels are closed?” The question was obviously rhetorical. “He might choose a private messenger, outside of his government and as free from the influence of other political leaders. Why not use someone like Ragoczy?”

  “But peace?” Reilly asked sarcastically. “Why employ a messenger at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to make a mutual support pact, one that would supersede their various treaties, many of which are mutually contradictory in any case.” He waited for Meyer’s answer with an air of exasperation.

  “You wanted to know what I think. I’ve told you,” said Meyer, drinking more of his tea. He regarded Reilly seriously. “It may be as you say, but I don’t think so. Whatever the mission the foreigner has undertaken is one the diplomats would shun. Think, Sidney. There would be no need to employ a foreigner with funds of his own to undertake the task if it led to power and influence. That would have to mean a return to the old order in Russia, as you are certainly aware, which many of the Ministers would endorse, no matter what they say in public. Men of high military position in Russia are itching for war, if what my ... associates tell me is correct.” He put his fingertips down on the photographs once again. “Peace, however, is a less popular cause.”

  “After everything that has happened in Russia, I would not think the Czar would be willing to run the risk of peace-making. Russia has been near anarchy more than once since this century began.” Reilly tried not

  to frown. “What good would it do for him to make a private peace treaty now?”

  “It would keep his son from having to fight,” Meyer reminded him. “That must always be on Nicholas’ mind. That crazy priest cannot work his sorcery on the boy forever. And the Czar will listen to him only so long as his son thrives.” He shook his head at the thought of Rasputin.

  “Yes, I take your point,” Reilly snapped. “Very well. I will not argue that point with you. And in the meantime, we know that von Wolgast is watching Ragoczy. That makes me eager to learn all I can about this development. I know you will be able to help me.” He reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope; he laid this on the photographs next to Meyers fingers. “Here. With your dismissal I understand you lost your pension. This should mitigate your expenses. And when you provide me more information, there will be more money for you.”

  “Just as there was before I was discovered,” said Meyer in a sour way. “A pity you were unavailable when I most needed your concern.” The envelope vanished into the recesses of his cardigan.

  Reilly took one more sip of tea, then got to his feet. “I was in Siberia, as you must know. And had I been here, what could I have said to protect you? My testimony would have done more harm than good. What would have been the use?” He let the question serve as his leave-taking, making his way to the front door of the squalid apartment where Meyers mother gave him back his pistol. “Thank you,” he said as he pocketed the weapon once again. “I will see you in three or four days.”

  “With more money. Twice as much,” she muttered as she opened the door slightly in order to permit Reilly to leave.

  Making his way down the creaking stairs, Reilly could not keep from flinching at the filth around him, and the persistent atmosphere of decay. He had been in worse places, but few had left him with as strong an impression of helplessness and despondency as this building to which Renfred Meyer had retreated in his disgrace. The cold wind that greeted him was welcome, chasing away the sensation of dankness that clung to him. Recalling that he would have to return to this place, Reilly was filled with distaste, and for that reason walked away from the building in a more direct course than he had used coming there.

  By the time he reached his borrowed flat, he had already decided on how to broach the matter of von Wolgast, although it was against his initial choice and entailed more exposure than he wanted to risk. But in his position, he thought it might give him an advantage he would otherwise lack. Long experience had taught him that the most direct approach was often the most successful. He had every reason to call on

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  the Baron in person. Reilly knew that von Wolgast would be more than willing to meet with a man of his reputation—and Reilly had few illusions about his reputation. It was simply a matter of arranging an encounter and making the most of it. He entered the flat by the back garden stairs and took the time to inspect his various protections to assure himself that the place had not been violated in his absence. Nothing was disturbed, or it had been done so skillfully that he was unable to detect it, which was unlikely. He gave a short sigh and removed his coat, putting it neatly over the back of the sofa: its presence on a peg by the door might alert any watcher to his presence and his intention to remain in for a time. He took his satchel from under the large chair before the hearth and pulled his pad of notes onto his lap, content to review the scribbling there—scribbling which he intended to be incomprehensible to anyone but himself.

  More than an hour passed before he was ready to leave the flat again. It was dark outside, and the air was very cold. As he wrapped himself in his greatcoat, he strove to ready himself for the icy night and the long hours before he would be ready to return to this flat. He pulled his hat down over his ears and muffled his lower face in a long woollen scarf. Then he put his protections in place as he left for the evening.

  His first stop was the small restaurant four blocks away where he met with the man from “C”, a reputed Swiss of about thirty-two or -three with a vaguely professorial look about him who had a copy of the Astronomical Journal and an old issue of Intermediate Chess set out on the table where he waited, though neither was open. He was sitting in the far corner, nursing a glass of red wine, his greying beard making his face look rimed with frost.

  “Excuse me,” said Reilly as he approached the table, “but I was wondering if you might be interested in a game of chess.” His German was faultless.


  “I’m more interested in games of chance,” the fellow answered in the same tongue, following the recognition code carefully. “When there is something worth playing for.”

  “It is harder to find good partners for those,” said Reilly, drawing out the second chair. He took off his hat and sat down, holding out his hand, while saying in English, “How is everything in London?”

  The man shrugged, changing back to English as well, “I only know what ‘C’ tells me, and that is very little; it is on his orders that I am here with a packet for you,” he replied, tapping the chess journal. “But I gather all is not going as well as he would like.”

  “No,” said Reilly. “It never is, not that I can recall. Well, tell me what

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  you have for me. We might as well get this done.” With that he signaled for a glass of wine and a plate of bread and cheese.

  “I have a general report on the current state of diplomatic posts throughout Europe and in Russia. There is more, in response to your last communication.” He finished his wine and signaled the approaching waiter for another; the waiter turned around and went to get both mens food and drink at once. “I have the material for you, as you requested.” Again he put his hand on the journal.

  “For Gods sake, don’t bring attention to it. You don’t know we aren’t being watched, do you?” Reilly had kept his voice down but the reprimand stung, as he intended it should.

  “Sorry,” the man said, averting his eyes. “I haven’t done this before. I’m usually kept busy translating reports and breaking codes.”

  Concealing a sigh, and wondering what sort of men were coming into the service these days, he said, “Then do your best to stay alert. Alert, but not obviously alert, for that only exposes you to others, who are more experienced than you are. You will need to be careful.” Reilly glanced casually around the place as if no more than mildly curious. When he was satisfied he looked back at his contact. “All right. Now. About Ragoczy. What has ‘C’ learned about his stay in London?”

  “As should be apparent, not as much as he wanted to. An attempt will be made to learn what Ragoczy told Sunbury, but solicitors are always chancy in regard to clients and he may not be as forthcoming as we would like. There is some record of Ragoczy s movements. He has been to Windsor on one occasion that we know of, but his discussion with the King was not . . . noted”—by which he meant overheard— “by any of‘C’s men. It is supposed his nephew, the Czar, made the King willing to see him so . . . irregularly. Apparently Ragoczy has been to a private estate called Longacres in Buckinghamshire for a weekend party, and has since called on one of the family of that place in London. The girl’s an artist, or so they say.”

  “An assignation?” Reilly asked, his attention sharpened.

  The answer supplied disappointed him. “Apparently not. Ragoczy is a patron of many artists, and this is thought to be a similar ... venture.” The supposedly Swiss intellectual coughed once and changed to German as he saw the waiter coming with a tray. “It would seem that the Spanish have lost their edge in chess. The Russians, however, are—” Reilly handed the waiter more than enough for the food and wine. “We will want coffee, black, in twenty minutes. Until then, please do not disturb us.” He waved the waiter away and looked again at his contact, saying swiftly and softly in English, “I don’t want you to tell me

  V

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  your name, but tell me what I am to call you. Make sure it is not a translation of your name.”

  The man blinked, staring off in the direction of the kitchen doors. “What about Angebot? That’s my mothers maiden name.”

  “Then you’re not apt to forget it,” said Reilly. “All right, Angebot it is. What for a first name? What was her father called?”

  “Eduard,” said Angebot. “I will not forget that, either.” His tone was not quite snide but angry enough to catch Reilly’s attention.

  “Listen to me,” he told the other man, “this is not an entertainment. Missteps can cost more than a single life. You may not think it is necessary to take these precautions: I assure you it is. There are any number of dead men who would agree, if they were able to speak.” Why, he asked himself as he thought back to the morning’s conversation with Lukas, did espionage attract such creatures? He knew of men who had counted on rogues and dilettantes and paid dearly for their trust. He did not want to number among them.

  Angebot turned sulky. “I will keep that in mind, Captain Reilly.” “For both our sakes, see that you do.” He reached for his glass of wine, tasted it and set it down. “I am going to need the exact time of Ragoczy’s arrival here in Berlin. I know it is in two or three days, but I want specific information.” He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop, then slid the two slips of paper from the chess journal without anyone, including Angebot, noticing what he had done. “And I will need a ticket for the ballet tomorrow night.”

  “What is the program?” asked Angebot.

  “I have no idea. I don’t care. I will not be paying attention to it, whatever it is. But I want a very good seat, not far from Baron von Wolgast’s, if you please. And if you can learn when the Baron will be attending, I would appreciate it.” He saw the doubt in Angebot’s eyes. “Do it.” “But the reason? Good seats are costly. I will have to explain the expense ...” He watched Reilly slice off a wedge of cheese as if he feared the small knife might pare into him next.

  “You have nothing to explain. I must make the acquaintance of Baron von Wolgast; this is the easiest way to do it, and, although you mayn’t believe it, the least costly. If I am seen at the ballet on two or three occasions, it will almost constitute an introduction, and that will save lavish entertaining, which is not only more expensive, but takes longer and is more hazardous.” He bit into the cheese, studying Angebot, his expression hard to read.

  “Ballet tickets, then, and information on Ragoczy’s time of arrival. He is traveling by ship, so I will have what you need by tomorrow.” He was

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  doing his best to make up for his earlier failure. “I will also bring you any of the information that might come in for you in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Good,” said Reilly around the cheese.

  “Is there anything else?” Angebot asked, taking a long gulp of wine. “If not, I will leave.”

  “Nothing I can think of at the moment,” said Reilly. “I will tell you more tomorrow.” He drank again, and returned to German. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Herr Angebot. I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.”

  “And I yours, Herr—” He broke off, afraid to use Reilly’s name.

  “You have forgotten already? Herr Morgenstem,” he said as Angebot rose hastily from the table, taking the astronomy magazine, but leaving the chess journal.

  “Morgenstern; yes. How thoughtless of me.” His contact pulled on his hat and buttoned his coat against the evening chill. As he started to leave, he was visibly dismayed to hear Reilly call after him.

  “Herr Angebot, you have left your chess journal behind.” He held up the publication, and waited while Angebot retraced his steps to retrieve it. To think, he observed inwardly, that his life was in the hands of this cricket player.

  “There is something in it—” Angebot whispered hurriedly.

  “Not anymore,” Reilly assured him, then added, more loudly, “I look forward to seeing you again. My regards to your father.”

  Confused, Angebot lowered his head. “Danke. I will tell him you asked after him.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Reilly, and watched Angebot s disorderly retreat with ill-disguised distress. He swung back to the table and set about finishing his supper, knowing he had a long night ahead of him.

  A few minutes later the waiter returned with two cups of coffee. “Your friend has left?”

  “Regrettably, he could not linger; another engagement, it would seem. I will take both cups,” he
said, and again handed the waiter a generous amount of money. “If you would bring me some mustard?”

  “Of course,” said the waiter, setting off to comply at once, anticipating more tips when the man calling himself Morgenstem returned.

  Reilly cut more slices of cheese and then halved the chunk of dark rye bread he had been served, preparing to improvize a sandwich. A small crock of butter stood next to the cheese, and he used this on the bread, waiting for the mustard before putting the cheese into place. All the while his thoughts were preoccupied with the house on Glanzend

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  Strasse and the foreign gentleman who was about to occupy it. He had learned much, but it was not enough. There were many more things he would need to know if he were to complete the assignment “C” had given him. With time so short, he would have to press forward with his task, less prepared than he would have liked to be, and with fewer assistants in place to support him. Anyone looking at Reilly would have been struck at how much at ease he appeared to be as he sipped alternately at his wine and coffee. His mind raced behind his laconic demeanor, all attention given over to Franchot Ragoczy, Count Saint-Germain.

  Text of an informal letter from Czar Nikolai to Franchot Ragoczy, written in Russian and delivered by messenger in Berlin.

  March 20, 1910

  My dear Ragoczy;

  1 must admit to a degree of disappointment in what you reported in your last communication to me. 1 had hoped you would be able to explain to my Uncle Edward how great our shared risks are, and how much both he and I stand to lose as men and as rulers if the spread of arms continues unchecked. I believe you have made an effort, but demonstrably it is not sufficient to the task you have been given, and this makes me most apprehensive in regard to your success. I hope you will not become disheartened by your mission and abandon it. That, 1 am forced to remind you, would be the height of folly, and would undoubtedly bring about consequences you would not want.