Vendetta: The Dorset Boy - Book 6

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Chapter 16: Vendetta

  The repairs to the Formidiable took a week just to get her seaworthy enough to get to Palermo. Sir Sidney guarded her like a mother goose and had his smaller ships running up and down the coast continuing the work Marty had started. Incidentally, running up a nice score in prize money. The two men dined together every night and a friendship blossomed.

  They couldn’t be more different. Smith came from a military family; his father was a Captain in the Guards. He was educated at Tonbridge and had been in the Navy since 1777. He was a contemporary of Nelson and had a distinguished career only blighted by his ability to piss off his superiors.

  Marty, on the other hand, was a son of the soil (or under it in his case) only had a junior school education, plus what he had learnt aboard ship and had come up through the ranks. He had earned his promotions by doing what no one else would.

  But there were more than enough common points for the two to get along.

  “So, once we get your ship back to Sicily the job will be done,” Smith observed over the port and cheese.

  “Not quite,” Marty corrected him, “le Bonne has been taken care of but there are a number of loose ends that need to be tied off.”

  “By loose ends, I suppose you mean his associates.”

  “Yes, and some characters on our side who need to be tested.”

  Smith’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Traitors?”

  “Some, and misguided souls who have been led astray,” Marty replied.

  “Will there be a public enquiry?” Smith asked.

  “No, this needs to be dealt with quietly,” Marty stated firmly.

  “Dash it! I can’t pretend to like that side of your ‘profession’. It all seems a bit dark and . .” he searched for the word.

  “Dishonourable?” Marty added for him.

  “Well, yes, but it’s a contradiction! You are one of the most honourable men I have met!” He thought for a moment.

  “Ruthless, but honourable.”

  Marty snorted a laugh. “I will get them to put that as my epitaph.”

  “You know you have more power than even an Admiral,”

  Sidney observed thoughtfully.

  “How do you figure that?” Marty asked curiously

  “Well as an Admiral I have the power of life and death over the men under my command, but you not only have that but hold the lives of many others in your hands.”

  Marty was a little surprised at the insight and waved it off.

  “We buried the last of the men that didn’t survive their wounds today,” he said changing the subject.

  “What was the butchers bill in the end?”

  “The Formidiable lost twenty-three men; one was a follower of mine, Franco, a Basque, who had been with me since India, two others were men I rescued from the slave pens in the Caribbean. We had another fifty-two wounded, forty-six of which can get back to light duties. The Alouette took damage to her rigging and had two marines killed when they were shot out of the tops plus a few walking wounded.”

  “Did you include yourself in that count?” Smith asked not entirely surprised at the compassion Marty had for his men.

  Marty gave an ironic laugh,

  “No, we should make that fifty-three.” He was lost in thought for a moment.

  “They are all volunteers you know and most of them have enough prize money to stay ashore and lead happy lives. I don’t know why they keep coming back.”

  Smith looked at him, I do, he thought.

  A slow sail back to Palermo and the Formidiable was put into dock for repairs. Marty left her in the hands of Ackermann and, along with the remaining shadows, went back to Malta on the Eagle.

  They went ashore quietly and met up with the surveillance team they had left behind.

  “Here is a list of all the people that visited Claudette since we have been watching her; their address’s and occupations.”

  Marty looked down it; there were a couple of government officials, an army colonel, a sergeant of marines and a Navy lieutenant. The rest were an odd mix of civilians.

  “We raid her place tonight; with a bit of luck, we will pick her up there. I want another team to pick up Chadwell. Then we round up every person on this list, including the tradespeople. I want every one of them secured in the cellars of Fort Elmo by dawn.”

  He looked around at the grinning faces of his men.

  “I want all of them held bound, hooded and apart from each other. Make them as uncomfortable as possible. It’s time to clean house.”

  He organised the team into three-man snatch parties and divided the individuals he wanted collected amongst them, then he went to the docks and got the Eagle’s marines and ten sailors. Wilson and Ryan invited themselves along, leaving the ship in the hands of Midshipman Archer.

  Lieutenant Griffin of the marines was briefed and took his men to the fort to organise things for the arrival of their guests. In case of opposition from the fort commander he was armed with a letter of authority from the Commissioner which Marty had acquired the last time he was in port.

  The night was long and the cells in the fort were gradually filled with surprised, confused and very frightened individuals. Marty stayed up all night. The team that had raided Claudette’s house returned and reported that it looked like she had left in a hurry, leaving a lot of papers and notes behind. She had either realised that Marty was on his way back or heard that le Bonne was dead and decided to run.

  Marty spent the night going through the papers they had found and making notes. He went to sleep at five AM and slept for two hours.

  The first candidate to be interrogated was an army colonel from the Second Brigade of Grenadier Guards. He was dragged into the interrogation room with his arms tied behind his back and a hood over his head. He was pushed into a kneeling position and a rope, strung through a pully on the ceiling, was hooked onto the binding that held his hands.

  “What is your name?” Marty asked in a quiet voice.

  “Colonel Thomas St John, who the hell are you? Why am I being treated this way?” His voice muffled by the hood he still wore. He tried to stand but Wilson kicked him in the back of the legs forcing him to stay knelt on the hard stone.

  “What was your relationship with Claudette Belloc?”

  “What business it is of yours?” he blustered.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Marty nodded to Wilson who was holding the rope. He pulled and lifted the colonel off the ground, so he was suspended with his arms straight out behind him. The colonel yelled as his weight stressed his shoulders painfully

  “She was my mistress!” he sobbed, and Wilson let him down to kneel on the stone again.

  “Did you tell her about the plan to expand Fort Elmo with a musket parapet?”

  “We talked about a lot of things. Please who are you? What have I done?”

  “You have committed treason by passing military information to a French spy.”

  “I’ve done what?” he squawked.

  “Did you tell her about the parapet?”

  “Yes, I might have, but it’s common knowledge!”

  “And the new magazine?”

  The Colonel slumped as he realized what he had done.

  Marty signalled to Wilson to return the man to his cell, he was to be kept in a kneeling position, hooded and not allowed to move. He would be interrogated again.

  Each of the prisoners were treated in a similar way, some, mainly the tradespeople were returned to their homes without more than a short questioning. Severe physical coercion was only used if necessary. Then he only had one more person to talk to.

  Chadwell was brought in but instead of being made to kneel he was sat in a chair and Marty removed his hood and untied his hands. He wrinkled his nose, the hood hadn’t smelt good, but the room smelt of piss and fear and was worse.

  “You know that your career is over,” Marty stated, “she played you lik
e a violin.”

  Chadwell rubbed his wrists and looked around the room. Then at Marty.

  “How many?”

  Marty looked at him in question.

  “How many men did you lose?”

  “Twenty-three dead, she lied about the force we would be up against, but we expected that.”

  “We heard you killed le Bonne, she said you would come after her next, something about a vendetta.”

  Marty didn’t answer, but instead looked directly at Chadwell.

  “Why?” He asked.

  “I love her, I can’t help it, I love her.” The man sobbed, breaking down.

  “That is no excuse for betraying your country,” Marty snapped.

  He pulled a short-barrelled pocket pistol from his pocket and put it on the table in front of him. He felt sorry for Chadwell; he had been a fool and she had used him mercilessly, but he was a weak link.

  “You have a choice,” was all he said as he stood and walked to the door.

  He left the room, the marine guard closing the door behind him, and went to go and get something to eat. He didn’t miss a step at the sound of a single shot.

  In the next two days the colonel was removed from his post and sent back to England. The parapet and magazine weren’t the only things he had told Claudette. He would face a quiet courts marshal and be kicked out of the Guards. His body would be found in a rented room in London a week later hanging from a beam.

  The sergeant of marines was sent back to his unit where he was reduced to a private, the Navy lieutenant was removed from his ship and sent home, never to step on the deck of a Navy ship ever again.

  Several men, who they positively identified as active agents, never left the fort, and two government officials were found dead after they were released, apparently due to accidents. One fell out of a window and the other was run over when he fell in front of a cart carrying barrels of beer.

  “Is my island secure now?” Admiral Ball asked when Marty reported to him. Like Smith, he didn’t entirely approve at how it had been achieved and the measures Marty had taken to close things off, but he also didn’t want it public that the spying had been on his watch.

  “As we can make it. I have sent a report to Ridgley and he will arrange for a new man to be sent out.”

  “Oh! that reminds me, I have some letters for you.” The Admiral reached into the top drawer of his desk. “Came in the government mail bag.”

  Marty looked at them and saw there were a half dozen from Caroline, two from Hood and one from Collingwood, which he opened.

  “I must conclude my business in Italy.” Marty said as he folded it.

  Ball was curious, but if this intense young man didn’t want to tell him what the letter was about then he wouldn’t ask.

  They shook hands as Marty left.

  “Please ask Mr. Shelby to attend me in my cabin at his earliest convenience,” he instructed the first mid he came across. Blaez was very pleased to see him as usual and jumped up, grabbing his hands in his jaws but never closing. Marty knelt and scratched his neck fur causing one of his back legs to make scratching motions and thump the deck. He noticed grey coming into his muzzle fur.

  “You wanted to see me?” Shelby asked from behind him.

  “Let’s go to my cabin,” Marty said as he led the way.

  “You need to go back to Gibraltar; Collingwood has taken a turn for the worse,” Marty told him and handed over the letter.

  “I expected as much. I am ready to leave immediately,” Shelby replied, looking grim.

  “Is it bad?” Marty asked

  Shelby sighed. “He is slowly dying and there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

  “Does he have long?”

  “If he gets rest then he could live another ten years. As it is, I don’t know.”

  “The Alouette will take you; they are provisioned and ready to go. Please give the Admiral my best regards.”

  Marty watched the Eagle leave port, James piling on as much sail as he could. A premonitory shiver ran down his spine.

  The Formidable was going into dock the next day for the Navy yard to refit her. She needed new masts and a lot of new planking in her hull. Marty packed a small bag and moved over to the Eagle. Sam and Blaez went with him along with Antton and Matai.

  It was nice being a passenger; it gave his time to read his mail. He read the one from Hood first, it was mostly about developments in the Government and news that Wickham was going to retire. No one had been nominated to take over from him yet, but he would let him know once he knew.

  “You will be next, old friend,” he said to himself.

  Next, he sorted Caroline’s letters into date order and started with the earliest. They talked about the children and their latest adventures, how young James had managed to find his way into the kitchens and distribute a half a sack of flour all over the place before he was discovered. Beth had decided she wanted to be a warrior prince ‘like mummy’ and was nagging Tom to teach her to use a sword. The last one informed him she would be sailing to Gibraltar; the baby was due in October and she wanted him to be near when it was born.

  He looked at Blaez,

  “We had better finish this up quickly then, hadn’t we?”

  Blaez butted his hand for a rub in agreement.

  Marty, Ryan, Antton and Matai went ashore in the bay of Naples in the middle of the night in the fishing boat Fletcher had acquired. They were dressed nondescriptly and moved quietly as they made their way to the town. By morning they were positioned near the entrance to Messier’s rooms. No one showed up so Marty decided to take a look inside.

  He strolled confidently up to the door and knocked. No answer. He tried the door; it was unlocked, and he slipped inside.

  The rooms were empty, just bare furniture and dust. The floor creaked and he spun around going for his knife but relaxed as he saw it was Ryan.

  “Our chickens have flown,” he said unnecessarily.

  Ryan nodded as he scanned the room.

  “I know I got talking to the old lady in the shop next door; they left two days ago.” He paused.

  “And?” Marty said, impatiently.

  “Oh, they went to his villa on the outskirts of Pompei,” Ryan continued looking at his fingernails. “You know, I’ve broken a nail!”

  Marty decided he was being teased and gave him a look that said talk or regret it. Ryan coughed and continued,

  “She overheard them arguing. The girl wanted them to leave for Paris immediately and he told her that he needed to set things in order at the villa and not to worry as no one knew where it was.”

  “And do they?” Marty asked.

  “What?” Ryan replied.

  “Know where the villa is?” Marty almost shouted.

  Ryan grinned. “Absolutely!”

  “Why me?” Marty asked as he stomped out of the door.

  That evening at dusk they arrived outside of a walled plot with a large ornamental garden. Fancy iron gates closed the entrance and a guard stood on the inside. The top of the wall had broken glass embedded in it. They didn’t welcome visitors.

  Matai was wearing a leather cape that he took off and with an expert flick of the wrist sent up so it landed athwart the top of the wall. Then Antton made a cup with his hands for Matai to step into and be boosted up. At the top he took a quick look around then silently dropped down the into the garden.

  The rest of them moved quietly back to the gate and found it open with Matai bowing them through. Each of them bowed in return as they stepped through thanking him grandly in whispers. The guard’s feet stuck out from under a bush, they didn’t move.

  They split into two pairs; Ryan and Matai circled around to the back of the villa, Marty and Antton went directly to the front.

  Marty waited until he had counted sixty and then tried the door. It was locked, of course, so he took out his picks and went to work. It was an expensive lock and took him all of thirty seconds to pick. The door opened silently, when will pe
ople learn that squeaky hinges are the best form of alarm? Marty thought, thankful that no one did.

  The four of them met at the bottom of the very ornate double staircase that led up to the bedrooms on the first floor after checking the ground floor for occupants. They had found a couple of sleeping guards who would wake no more but apart from that it had been easy so far.

  Marty and Antton took the left staircase and Ryan and Matai the right. All four of them took great pains to test each step before they moved on to it, but Ryan didn’t see the trip wire halfway up and was totally unaware he had broken the fine thread.

  That is, until the door of one of the bedrooms burst open and Messier came through it with a pistol in each hand. He saw Ryan and Matai, aimed and fired the left in one motion. Ryan let out a yelp as the ball hit him and Messier raised the second to take aim at Matai with his right. That is when Marty’s knife, thrown with great force, entered his body under his right armpit. Messier gasped and looked across at Marty in surprise.

  He tried to raise the unfired pistol to bring it to bear, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate. Marty wondered how he was staying on his feet; the wound must have pierced his right lung and the wide blade must have caused severe bleeding internally.

  Marty stepped up to Messier, took the knife hilt in his right hand, placed his left hand on his shoulder and pulled the blade out with a wet sucking sound. There was a gush of blood, which he stepped to the side to avoid. The stricken man fell to the floor. Marty knelt by him and said,

  “Vendetta on you complete.”

  Messier tried to say something, but blood gurgled out of his mouth as his lungs filled, and he died, drowning on his own blood.

  Marty stepped away and went to see how Ryan was. Matai waved him away as he was already working on the wound which was in Ryan’s abdomen.

  Marty and Antton moved up to stand either side of the door that Messier had come out of. It had swung shut behind him. Marty took the knob, stayed under cover behind the wall and rattled it.