Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain

by Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn, 1942-

  “I did not think that had been settled,” said von Wolgast, aware he had missed too much.

  “It is all Ragoczys doing, of course. He made the arrangements with the estates owner—some kind of nobleman; I forget which—for the use of his villa. Ragoczy himself will stay elsewhere and will motor to the villa each day.” Persuic grinned in unabashed triumph. “Your spies are behind the times, Baron, or so it appears.”

  Von Wolgast frowned. “Possibly.”

  “I had this information not two days since. It has been done quickly, and with greater secrecy than one would expect. Your friends in the

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  Chancellors office may not yet have learned about it.” His pretense at soothing had precisely the opposite effect, as he intended it should.

  “My friends in government are not my only source of information,” von Wolgast snapped, and immediately chastised himself inwardly for giving so much away.

  “So I told my . . . associates. I informed them that you were not so naive as to rely entirely on your friends in high places.” He took the bottle and poured more wine into von Wolgast s glass.

  “No,” von Wolgast said. “I do not. And the others I employ are cautious; they do not approach me directly.” It was not quite the truth, but Persuic would believe it.

  “Yes. I have assured the others that you cast a wide net.” He ate another grape. “Your contacts in government cannot always be relied upon, can they? Kesselmann, for instance, is often watched by his superiors in Foreign Affairs; he must be prudent in how he reports to you. And it would not be wise to use von Nordlingen for a while—don’t you agree?” Persuic was amusing himself now, taking delight in von Wolgast s discomfort. “His inquiries about Ragoczy might alert the authorities and cause them to have questions they have not pursued thus far.”

  “I had not planned to speak to von Nordlingen,” said von Wolgast as if indifferent to the man. “But it would not be thought strange if he should inquire after Ragoczy, as a man inquires after another whom he has inadvertently injured.”

  “Inadvertently?” Persuic challenged. “That may well wash with the authorities in Ravaria, but you and I know better, don’t we, Baron? And if I know, surely others guess.” He propped his other leg atop the one on the table, his smile affable. “Not all Nadezna’s lovers tell her things of importance, do they? Not all men babble state secrets to their mistresses. And she, herself, may not be as reliable as you would like. There must be others you can employ. Your contacts are not so limited that you have to limit yourself to one or two of them.”

  “I have ways of discovering what I need to know,” he said, privately shocked that Persuic had learned so much about his clandestine dealings. Now he was more annoyed than ever at Reighert for not bringing him the information he needed before he ventured to this part of Berlin. He should have been better prepared. In retrospect, he realized he would have been wiser to see Reighert the night before, when he had called at Nadezna’s house, claiming he had an urgent message.

  “The Berliner Morgenblatt ?” Persuic suggested, so mildly that von Wolgast longed to slap him.

  “No.” That evening he would send word to von Rosenwiese, and to

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  Reighert. He had let himself become lax out of pique, and that was a foolish mistake. He made himself continue to eat, although the food had lost its savor.

  “You don’t want to reveal them?” Persuic said in false concern. “Why not? I will not take advantage. From what I have observed, your spies are not nearly efficient enough. They would be of no use to me.”

  Stung, von Wolgast responded, “So you think; you do not know the whole of it, much as you think you might,” and saw derision in Persuic s eyes. He mustered what dignity he could, and declared, “You may not have a very high opinion of those I employ for information, but you are impressed by those engineers who improve my guns. And guns, not rumors, are my business, Colonel.”

  “So they are,” said Persuic, his mocking tone gone. “And in that, you are without peer.”

  “Which would you rather?” von Wolgast persisted. “That I have superior guns or more spies?”

  Chastened, Persuic stared at the shining toes of his boots. “The guns,” he admitted.

  “I thought so,” said von Wolgast, pleased that he had scored his point with the arrogant Croatian.

  An awkward silence descended between them. Persuic was the first to break it; he swung his legs off the table and sat up straight in his chair. “I will want to inspect the guns you are making for us, to see they are coming along well enough. We do not want any delays. And we do not want quality sacrificed in the name of haste.”

  “My plant is not given to slacking,” said von Wolgast, so confidently that Persuic was forced to concede the matter.

  “Still, I must inspect our order as you progress on it,” Persuic stated bluntly.

  “I expect no less.” He would demand additional payments with every inspection, and realized that Persuic was prepared for that. He finished the wine in his glass, and set it down. “Is there anything else we must deal with just now?”

  Startled at this sudden conclusion to their meeting, Persuic was slow to get to his feet. “I don’t think there is,” he said, unwilling to relinquish his claim on von Wolgast quite yet. “I must prepare my statement for the factor of the Prague company.”

  “Yes. You must.” He held out his hand to Persuic, pleased that his abrupt leave-taking had shaken the Colonel. “Thank you for the luncheon. I would remain a while longer, but I am invited to the Chan-

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  cellor’s reception tonight and I must excuse myself now, in order to be ready.” Had Persuic been German he might have clicked his heels, but since he was a Croat in a Hungarian regiment, he disdained the courtesy. “I will expect the draft by noon tomorrow?”

  “I will arrange it,” said Persuic with less force than he wanted to show.

  “Very good.” He was about to turn, but added, “You will see to it that the order accompanies the draft, won’t you?”

  Persuic glowered. “Of course. You will have all you need to begin work.”

  Von Wolgast bowed slightly, then left without any further remarks. As he went down to the lobby, he thought over all he had learned, and decided that, all things considered, he had come out ahead of Persuic. The only information vexing him was what Persuic had told him about the meeting in Liege; that could mean trouble if it came to anything. He would have to speak to Reighert as soon as possible. Galling as it was, he thought he had best go around to the Chez Noir before returning to his house: it would be foolish to attend the reception without learning as much as he could about the meeting in advance.

  Dietbold was surprised to be ordered to drive to the Chez Noir; usually von Wolgast only went there after dark. He put the Italia into gear and eased into the traffic, turning south at the next corner. Occasionally he glanced back into the passenger compartment and wondered what had happened in the Empress Elizabeth Hotel that made this trip so necessary.

  Phoebus opened the door to von Wolgast s insistent knocking; he was dressed in a loose robe negligently tied over his naked body. “Oh. Its you, Baron,” he said with exaggerated ennui. “I suppose you want to see Reighert.”

  “If you would summon him?” von Wolgast said as he stepped into the entry and closed the door himself.

  “This way,” said Phoebus with a smirk. “If you like, Aurore could entertain you when you are done with Reighert.” He gestured languidly to the parlor, then sauntered away into the long corridor lined with closed doors.

  Von Wolgast was roaming the room like a caged leopard by the time Reighert joined him. “You wanted to see me, Manfred?” said Reighert, dropping into a chair and pulling a cigarette case from his jacket pocket. “Why don’t you sit down.”

  “What do you know about this Liege meeting?” von Wolgast demanded, ignoring the offer of a seat
.

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  Reighert lit his cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Why this sudden interest? You didn’t seem to think it was important, last night.”

  “You didn’t tell me enough to—” von Wolgast began.

  “No; Schmidt escorted me out before I could, as I recall. You said I was not to be admitted again for a week.” He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette onto the carpet. “That will cost you, Manfred.”

  “We will settle that later,” said von Wolgast. “Right now, I must know everything you have learned about the Liege meeting.”

  With a sigh of ill-use, Reighert began, “All right. There is a villa on an estate—”

  “Near Liege which has been chosen as the site for the meeting. Yes, I am aware of that. And that Ragoczy is not staying at the villa, but at another location. What else should I know?”

  “Um.” Reighert pretended to puzzle it over. “Well, Sir Mansfield Cumming will attend.”

  “The head of the British Secret Service?” He had not supposed that Ragoczy could command the attention of so important a figure.

  “Yes.” Reighert relished the astonishment in von Wolgast’s face. “Also Julian Sinclair-Howard, and the President of the Board of Trade. As I recall the man’s named Churchill.”

  “Why the Board of Trade?” von Wolgast demanded.

  “I would guess it has to do with the ways in which arms limitation could be implemented,” said Reighert, doing his best to sound bored.

  “All right: Cumming and Churchill and Sinclair-Howard. Anyone else?” The three British representatives were a strange cross section, thought von Wolgast.

  “One of King George’s personal staff, but I haven’t been able to find out who it is. And someone from Asquith’s office.” He achieved a yawn.

  “You do not seem to think that this is an important meeting,” said von Wolgast critically.

  Reighert gave von Wolgast a look filled with an emotion very like malice. “You were the one who did not want to hear about it, yesterday. Today, you have decided it is worth your attention. In my opinion, if this meeting succeeds, Ragoczy will be able to speak with the Kaiser directly, and whatever little cousinly agreement he is carrying will be signed, and none the wiser.” He stretched his legs out and took a long drag on his cigarette.

  “And you still think that his mission has to do with arms limitation.” Von Wolgast made the statement a challenge.

  “We have been over this before, Baron,” said Reighert, his voice soft

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  with fatigue. He went on as if reciting in class, his eyes set on the middle distance, the cigarette smoke curling around his head like a malign halo. “It is the only thing that makes any sense, in these times. The Czar could not get his own government to support one if he did not have the assurances of his cousins that Germany and England would do the same. My Russian contacts—such as they are-—tell me that the Czar and his military are in disagreement about arms. Nicholas has said he wants to maintain peace for the sake of all Russian children. What else would be his purpose in sending a man like Ragoczy to arrange matters for him?”

  “All right; all right,” said von Wolgast testily. “I know it is the reasonable explanation. But I had hopes that George would not concern himself with European, let alone Russian, affairs. This suggests he may change his mind.” Hearing himself speak his anxieties aloud, he realized how little he wanted any restrictions imposed upon him.

  “He may still do as you wish,” said Reighert. “There is no reason to assume that the conference will be anything more than a sparring match.” He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in a crystal ashtray. “What does Nadezna know about this?”

  “I haven’t been able to question her of late,” von Wolgast evaded.

  “But surely, given who she is, she must have been gamering tidbits for you. Most men cannot resist boasting to the women they intend to fuck.” He shrugged. “Surely she knows how to take advantage of this weakness.”

  “Not nearly enough to suit my purposes,” said von Wolgast, his irritation resurging. “I no longer trust her as I once did. She may be holding out information in the hope that she might be able to pry more money out of me.”

  “You’re growing tired of her, as well,” said Reighert, so cynically that von Wolgast stared at him. “She is no longer as famous as she was when she was dancing, and her school, while it has had some artistic success, is constantly teetering on the edge of collapse. Without Ragoczy she would be on the street. Without you, she would not be able to live as she has been living. Is she that good between the sheets?”

  “She is better than you might think,” said von Wolgast, straightening up to show pride.

  “I hope so,” said Reighert, crossing himself. “My opinion of her abilities beyond plies is not favorable. She does not know what is serious and what is trivial.” He got to his feet. “Have you gained all you came for?”

  “Not quite,” said von Wolgast. “I must find out whom else in the Kaiser’s government might champion my efforts. I would rather not

  have to threaten too many bureaucrats. They might start talking. Can you do this?”

  “I think so,” said Reighert, his eyes narrowing with thought. “There is a man. His name is Meyer. He used to be in the government himself, but left in disgrace. He still knows more about those men, and not only in Germany. He is expensive and cranky, but his information is beyond question the best to be had.”

  Von Wolgast’s brow lowered. “Why have you not approached him before now, if he is as expert as you claim?”

  “Because any inquiry I make will also be information for sale, and Meyer is no fool,” said Reighert, continuing his explanation with a show of patience. “You are not the only man seeking what he sells. He has other .. . clients who would be interested in knowing what I wanted to know. In time, Meyer would be likely to connect you to me, and then you would be in an unenviable position.” His smile was flat, without meaning. “If you do not want the intelligence available—”

  “You will tell me what the man says before tomorrow night.” Von Wolgast resisted the urge to slap Reighert. The insolence of the man was infuriating. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “It will be expensive. Meyer will not say anything without money.” Reighert folded his arms, waiting for von Wolgast to pay him.

  Hating the prospect of spending anything beyond what he already had, von Wolgast capitulated. He pulled out a half-dozen banknotes and thrust them at Reighert. “There. That should be sufficient for half the secrets in all Europe. See that you spend them well, Reighert. I expect more than a few hints and whispers for so much.”

  Reighert did not bother to count the money; he slipped it into his trouser pocket, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. “Tomorrow evening. Shall I call at your house, or do you want to come here?” “Neither,” said von Wolgast sharply. “We will meet at the kiosk at the entrance to the Tiergarten. No later than five. See you meet me. If you do not, I will have nothing more to do with you.” It was an empty threat and both of them knew it.

  “I will be there.” He offered von Wolgast a sloppy salute. “You are going to the Chancellors reception tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” von Wolgast replied, his suspicions once again activated. “While you are there, you are going to twist the knife in that fellow? The one who was the Bishop’s lover?” He chuckled at von Wolgast’s expression of shock. “Well, I wanted to remind you that he’s skittish, and when he’s frightened, he might say something you would not like.” “Are you telling me to leave him alone?” von Wolgast demanded.

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  “Nothing of the sort,” Reighert replied at his most languid. “I merely suggest that you do not pressure him until he is ready to leave. That will keep him from speaking out of turn and it will give him something to . . . sleep on. If you accost him at the start of the recep
tion, he may decide during the evening to complain about his ill-use, and that could result in questions you would prefer not to answer.”

  Nodding twice, von Wolgast considered this recommendation, his thoughts racing. “I take your meaning,” he finally admitted.

  “I thought you would.” He ambled across the room and picked up an apple from the fruit dish. “Are we finished now? I have a few things I ought to do before Heloise opens her doors.”

  Much as he hated being dismissed, von Wolgast accepted this slight without complaint. “I trust you will have all the information I seek by the time we meet tomorrow.”

  “If Meyer has it, so will I,” said Reighert with sudden staunchness of purpose.

  “I depend upon it.” Von Wolgast s intent matched Reighert s.

  “Good afternoon, Baron,” Reighert said.

  By the time he reached his house, von Wolgast was sufficiently late to have little time to ruminate on what Reighert had told him. He summoned Schmidt as he came through the door and ordered him to find Malpass, his recently hired English valet. “Tell the devil I need to be in evening clothes in half an hour.”

  “Malpass is at your tailor s, Baron,” Schmidt reminded him. “You told him to get your two new suits. He ought to be back shortly.”

  “He had better be, if he wants to continue in my employ.” Von Wolgast had fired three valets in the last four years. He swung around to face his butler, needing to see someone jump at his orders. “I will need someone to help me dress. You will do until Malpass returns. I have to be ready shortly, and if my valet cannot assist me, then the task falls to you. If you argue,” he went on with mendacious civility, “you may also find yourself without employment and without my recommendation.”

  Schmidt schooled his features to a total lack of expression as he followed von Wolgast up the stairs; he reminded himself that he ought to be inured by now to what the Baron required of him, but he could not shake off the feeling of being slighted by this arbitrary command.