Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6

by Christopher C Tubbs

  The man struggled to focus his eyes on Marty then grimaced as a shaft of pain ran through his head.

  “Please, I need to know the details, it is too important not to complete,” Marty pleaded.

  “We must make the rendezvous at midnight on the tenth of August.”

  “Yes, we know that” he lied, “but the exact location?”

  “Marsalforn, Gozo, you must get the agent off before the British discover him! He will be watching for the signal.”

  Marty assumed he meant a recognition signal.

  “What is the signal?”

  “A red light over a white which is flashed three times.”

  “A red light over a white light that gets, flashed three times?”

  “No! No! The red light is flashed three times!”

  The strain finally overtook him, and he collapsed back onto his cot, his eyes closed.

  Well, well, well, Marty thought, a French agent on Gozo, and therefore in Malta.

  Chapter 13: The Gozo Deception

  Marty left the Alouette and the Hornfleur to continue the mission up the East coast of Spain and gave written orders to James that gave him the freedom to do what he thought was necessary. They would rendezvous again in around ten days’ time.

  They parted company on the fifth of August with the Formidiable heading East to make the three-day trip to Gozo. Marty had the second, third and fourth lieutenants) transferred to the Alouette. He kept the two most junior on board and tasked them to care for their captain and first lieutenant who were under guard in the brig. It was a little crowded with four men, but they were secure. The two junior officers had given their parole so were able to exercise on deck which eased things somewhat.

  The trip started out routinely, they neither saw any enemy ships nor experienced any bad weather. It was steaming hot though; with temperatures hitting in excess of eighty degrees Fahrenheit. To make matters worse the wind was on their stern so there was hardly any apparent breeze over the deck. All the crew took to wearing shoes to protect their feet from the hot tar seeping up from between the deck planks.

  Gradually the wind dropped to nothing, and they were becalmed. The temperature, which had felt high before, now soared as the sun beat down making the tar melt and drip from the rigging. Lacking anything else to do Marty let those that could swim go over the side and cool off.

  At the Master’s, suggestion they pulled the barge around and moored it to the bow, tied the gig off towards the stern slung ropes between them so those that couldn’t swim could take a dunk by pulling themselves through the water by the rope.

  It soon dissolved into chaos as the swimmers started jumping from the deck, with their legs tucked up and arms wrapped around their knees, to splash the non-swimmers like cannonballs dropping from on high. It almost ended in a brawl and Ackermann had to restore order by banning it. Even then one particularly eel-like swimmer scared the life out of a Bosun’s mate by swimming under him and grabbing one of his legs. The poor man thought he had been attacked by a denizen of the deep and screamed like a girl to the amusement of the rest of the crew. Retribution will follow, Marty thought.

  They lost a day and a half before a lookout spotted a wind devil scurrying across the sea towards them. It filled the sails for a few seconds and then died, but another followed and then another until a light breeze had developed and they were making steady way. If they were lucky, they would just make it.

  They approached Gozo late morning on the tenth. The weather had turned, and a summer storm had passed over the island leaving it shining and wet. They stayed well out to sea so as not to spook the agent if he was keeping a lookout.

  As it got dark, they closed in on the shore to about half a mile and Marty ordered the cutter brought around, a mast rigged, and the lamps mounted.

  At just about a quarter before twelve they started in and looked for a signal. They weren’t disappointed, a light was shown and flashed three times long and two short. Marty ordered the lamps un-shuttered and made the reply.

  As they got to the beach the clouds broke and the moon illuminated a figure moving quickly down towards them.

  “Allez vite!” Marty called as if he had spotted someone coming and beckoned the man forward. As he approached something struck Marty as strange in the way he moved. As soon as the bow touched the sand he jumped up and climbed in, gesticulating for them to get out to sea as soon as possible.

  Once the boat had turned and was past the surf line the agent worked his way down the cutter to be next to Marty.

  “Captain La Fontaine?” said a decidedly feminine voice.

  “Yes,” replied Marty making a show of concentrating on steering the cutter as he hid his surprise.

  “Thank you for being on time. The British were very close to capturing me.”

  “It is my pleasure, madame. Have they discovered you were spying on them?”

  “They suspected, there is a new intelligence officer on the island, and he is very tenacious, we will have to deal with him.”

  The ship came into view as a silhouette, the spy didn’t seem to realise it wasn’t a two decker and continued to chat.

  “I have the plans; we must get them to Naples so they can plan the retaking of Malta.”

  Have you really! Marty almost said aloud.

  “I had that stupid brigadier eating out of my hand, so it was worth it even if he made love like a pig.”

  Aah the old honey trap. Marty grinned to himself and swung the tiller to bring them up to the side.

  “Will you need assistance to board?” Marty asked politely.

  “I can manage, I am wearing trouser,” she replied.

  They hooked on and Marty shot up the side to warn off the reception committee he had arranged to be waiting at the top.

  When she made the deck there was only a minimal side party in evidence and Marty quickly invited her to his cabin, ushering her away before she could look around the deck.

  Inside the cabin Marty stripped off his coat, slumped into one of his armchairs and indicated she should do the same. She took off her hat, revealing a shock of long, silky, red hair, and slipped off her coat. She was a looker! With bright blue eyes in a classically beautiful face and even the man’s clothes she wore couldn’t hide her curves.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, you know who I am, but I cannot call you Madam for the entire voyage.” Marty grinned at her.

  She had been looking at the portrait of Caroline on the wall of his cabin and a small frown creased her brow.

  “You may call me Claudette,” She replied still looking at the painting.

  “Is that your wife?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is and my two children,” Marty answered with a proud smile.

  “That necklace must be worth a king’s ransom; did you give it to her?”

  Marty looked at the picture and the diamond necklace.

  “Yes, I had some good luck in the Caribbean and that was one of the rewards.”

  I bloody hope the French have a prize system like us he thought a little worried his deception had been rumbled.

  Claudette, however, gave him a calculating look and sat a little straighter to display her wares a little more and served him a dazzling smile.

  “Have you ever thought of taking a mistress?”

  “I might,” Marty grinned at her, “but first the plans? I would like to get them into a safe place before we discuss other possibilities.”

  “Tease,” she replied with a flutter of her eyelashes and started to unbutton her shirt. She treated Marty to a view of her ample assets before she fished a packet of papers out.

  Marty took them from her hand, brushing it with his fingers, making sure she saw him looking. He looked her in the eyes and smiled then went to his desk to examine them. He was surprised to see that there was a detailed plan of Malta with all the fortifications and defences marked with the number and calibre of the guns, regiments, strengths of the troops and ships in the harbour.

 
He folded the papers, put them into his desk and locked the drawer.

  “Let us celebrate with a glass of brandy and you can tell me all about how you seduced the brigadie,.” Marty smiled.

  Just then there was a knock at the door and Matai came in when Marty called enter.

  “Captain you are needed on deck,” he announced.

  Marty made a disappointed face and gave a gallic shrug as he took up his coat and followed him out of the door.

  Claudette went straight to Marty’s desk and tried the drawers which were all locked, she then went to the sideboard and started searching that. She was surprised when she heard a splash and the sound of a cable running out, then she realised the ship had stopped.

  She was alarmed and redoubled her efforts and found an unlocked drawer with a pistol in it, took it out and cocked it.

  “My, my you didn’t waste time did you.”

  She spun around and saw Marty leaning on the door frame. He had changed and now wore his regular uniform.

  Her mouth made an O of surprise and her eyes were wide as she recognised it. She raised the pistol and pointed it straight at Marty’s chest.

  “Who are you?” she asked in almost accent less English.

  Marty sketched a bow.

  “That would be telling,” he grinned at her, “you can call me Captain.” He stepped forward until the pistol was only six inches from his chest.

  “It’s not loaded?” she asked.

  “No, I never leave loaded weapons lying around in drawers.”

  She sighed, shrugged and let it spin around her finger. Marty reached up, took it and returned it to the drawer. The sun was coming up outside and began to shine through the transom windows. Claudette looked through the glass and gasped as she saw they were anchored in Valetta harbour.

  Sam came in and stood beside her. She looked him up and down appreciatively,

  “If you ever want another job . . . .”

  Sam said nothing.

  “Search her, she might have a hidden weapon.” Marty instructed as he put the finishing touches to his uniform.

  Sam grinned and proceeded to thoroughly search her from head to toe extracting an outraged squawk as he made sure he didn’t miss anything.

  “He’s very thorough!” Claudette commented when Sam stepped back.

  “I trained him myself,” Marty quipped in return, “come we are expected ashore.

  “That will be my death warrant,” she cried.

  “That all depends on you now doesn’t it,” Marty smiled.

  As they reached the dock a reception committee of soldiers and two civilians awaited them. Marty touched his hat in return to the salute from the sergeant in charge of the squad and held out his hand to the civilians.

  “Artimus Chadwell,” the first introduced himself, “your midshipman said you have a package for us.”

  “Absalom Jarrett, Commissioner’s Assistant,” said the second.

  That makes you the intelligence officer, Marty thought as he looked over Chadwell a second time.

  “Shall we proceed to the residence?” offered Jarrett. “It will be getting damn hot soon and it’s much cooler there.”

  They strolled down the dock to where a carriage waited. Sam climbed up on top while the other three men and Claudette stepped inside. Marty told Sam he could ride inside out of the sun, but he just replied that from on top he could cover both doors.

  “The soldiers aren’t really necessary she won’t get away from Sam.” Marty told them.

  “Oh, they aren’t to stop her running its to stop her compatriots from attempting a rescue,” Jarret replied.

  “How many of them are there?” Marty asked.

  “We know of four, but there may be more.” Chadwell informed him.

  “Put one up top with Sam and one on the back,” Marty suggested, “we can handle four or even a couple more.”

  Jarrett went to the sergeant and after a brief exchange one man went up on the back of the coach, the sergeant climbed up beside Sam after dismissing the rest of the men. Both were armed with muskets.

  They started out and Marty chatted merrily with the other passengers while keeping an eye on what was going on outside. They had travelled about a mile and were coming out of town through a more run-down district when he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his Manton pistols.

  “Gentlemen, if you are carrying weapons, I suggest you ready them,” he grinned as he cocked the pistols against his forearms.

  “If you try and run,” he told Claudette, “I will shoot you in the arse,” he smiled and winked at her. She knew he meant every word.

  Things happened very fast after that; there was a shout, then a shot from above followed by a scream. Marty dove out of the door, rolled up onto his knees, pistols levelled and snapped off two shots. He cocked his second barrels against his forearms and spared a look and a grin for Claudette. There were more shots from the roof of the coach.

  He brought his right gun up, aimed carefully and squeezed off a shot. There was a scream. He waited for a full fifteen seconds then stood, his empty gun disappearing inside his jacket.

  In the space of a minute, three men died, and another was wounded. The soldier suffered a near miss when a bullet hit the action of his musket, knocking it out of his hands. A shard of the shattered ball left a wound in his forehead which bled profusely but was shallow and not life threatening.

  Marty brushed himself off and walked forward swapping his remaining pistol to his right hand and pulling his fighting knife from its sheath behind his back with his left. He looked to the roof of the coach, saw that Sam and the sergeant were reloading. He waited until they were ready then walked forward until he saw a pair of boots protruding from behind a wall. Cautiously he advanced until he could see the body, the face of the man had been ruined by a seventy-five-calibre ball hitting him in the bridge of the nose. Definitely dead, his mother wouldn’t recognise him.

  He looked up at Sam who pointed with his Sharp’s pistol at the corner of a building. Marty again moved carefully and silently until he found the second corpse. This one had taken two bullets through the chest and was lying face down showing the wreck of his back where the balls had exited after flattening out on their way through.

  He crossed the road to where he could hear moaning. Through a garden gate in a wall, behind which was a third corpse and a man sitting, holding what remained of his left arm.

  He put away his gun, pulled a large handkerchief out of his pocket and applied a tourniquet to the man’s bicep above where the ball had shattered his arm just above the elbow.

  Chadwell’s head appeared over the wall,

  “A survivor?” he asked. “Francis said you were deadly, but I had no idea—"

  “He was lucky. I wasn’t the one who shot him,” Marty replied grimly.

  They got the man into the coach. Claudette gave a gasp as she recognised him and pulled him onto the seat beside her, cradling him in her arms as the coach rocked and moved on.

  “What is his name?” Marty asked her.

  “Jerome. Jerome Gasquet,” she said through tears.

  “He will live, I will have him moved to my ship and our surgeon will treat his wound, but I am afraid his arm is lost.”

  They reached the mansion. Marty dispatched the coach with the soldiers and the wounded Frenchman to the docks with a note to Shelby. The rest entered, went straight to the drawing room and settled into chairs with relief. It was at least ten degrees cooler than outside. A servant brought cold lemonade which Marty drank with relish. Sam sipped his, and sat in a high-backed chair by the door, obviously guarding against unwanted visitors and the chance that Claudette might bolt. Marty gave him his pistols to reload.

  Claudette was in a state of shock; her skin was pale, and her hands shook. She had witnessed the professional violence meted out by Marty and his men to her would be rescuers and that had frightened her. There was far more to this young captain than met the eye and she was terribly afraid of w
hat he might do next.

  Marty on the other hand was the most relaxed of the three men and sat drinking his lemonade looking around the room taking in the fine art on display.

  Claudette watched as a servant came in and offered to clean his coat. He took it off revealing the weapons harness he had under it. She had never seen anything like it before. It looked to be based on a set of infantry cross belts; the shoulder straps crossed behind his back and attached to his belt but instead of crossing at the front, as the army’s did, came straight over his shoulders to attach to his belt just in front of his hips.

  Straps ran under his arms from midway up the front vertical straps to the crossing point at the back. His pistols were clipped to these horizontal straps, so they hung down his sides with the buts facing forward slightly forward of his armpits. He had had it made by a master saddle maker, after trying different configurations, the stitching was exquisite and left not a bump to give away the harness’s presence.

  His fighting knife was in a sheath on his waist belt that was angled across the small of his back, so the hilt was easy to reach with his left hand. His hanger hung over his left hip for a right-hand draw. The position of the knife meant he had to sit erect but that was his natural stance, he wasn’t a sloucher, so it didn’t matter.

  His shirt and jacket cuffs were cut looser than was fashionable to allow access to the stilettoes sheathed on his forearms and, to finish the ensemble, throwing knife hilts protruded from his boot tops which were calf length and laced. What she couldn’t see was the laces could be used as a garrotte and lock picks were hidden in the uppers of one boot and the blade of a cutthroat in the other.

  Jarrett eyed Marty with a newfound respect. Chadwell had warned him that the young captain of the Formidiable was no ordinary Navy man and was attached to the Intelligence Service, but to see him in action was quite something.

  Chadwell was excited, he had only been on the island for six months and had ruthlessly tracked down the many French spies that they had left behind when they left. The elimination of this cell was a major coup.