Killigrew and the Sea Devil

by Jonathan Lunn

  They climbed in the carriage and drove down the Nevsky Prospect, pulling up outside Dussot’s Hotel. Voronin jumped out.

  ‘Evdokinchik, stay here with the carriage and guard the front door,’ he ordered. ‘I want to know who comes and who goes. Check their papers; and if they have no papers, arrest them. Chorny, you go round the back and do same at the back door. Both of you be on the lookout for M’sieur Bryce. Astapchyonok, you come with me.’

  As Chorny hurried off down the alley at the side of the hotel, Voronin and Astapchyonok approached the front door. It was locked, so the sergeant hammered on it until it was answered by a sleepy-eyed night porter. Voronin forestalled any grumbling about the lateness of the hour by flashing his warrant card.

  ‘Has anyone come in during the past half-hour?’ he demanded.

  ‘No one’s come in for the past three hours.’

  The two of them hustled the night porter back inside. ‘Give me the key to M’sieur Bryce’s room,’ ordered Voronin.

  The night porter glanced at the pigeonholes behind the reception desk. ‘M’sieur Bryce’s key isn’t here. He must be in his room.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. Give me the spare.’

  Voronin took the key and the two of them dashed up the stairs to Bryce’s room. Astapchyonok hammered on the door. ‘Open up, M’sieur Bryce. This is the police.’

  There was no reply. Voronin and Astapchyonok exchanged glances, and the sergeant hammered again, but all was still on the other side of the door. Voronin unlocked it and threw it open. There was no sign of Bryce. The bed was dishevelled.

  Astapchyonok laid a hand on the mattress. ‘Cold.’

  Voronin nodded. ‘We’ve got the drachevo now.’

  ‘Which drachevo would that be, Superintendent?’

  Voronin and Astapchyonok turned to see Bryce standing on the threshold, dressed only in a vest and drawers, barefoot, a glass of water in one hand.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Voronin.

  Bryce raised the glass. ‘I went to the kitchens to get a glass of water. Why? Surely that’s no crime? Even in this cockamamie country.’

  ‘Why not ring for the chambermaid to bring you a glass?’ demanded Astapchyonok.

  Bryce grimaced. ‘We don’t hold with having servants waiting on us hand and foot where I come from. I knew the way to the kitchens; didn’t see the point of getting someone else out of bed at this time of night to do it for me.’

  ‘Your clothes are damp,’ observed Voronin. ‘How did that happen?’ Bryce grinned ruefully. ‘Had an accident with the pump in the kitchens. Ain’t you people ever heard of faucets?’

  ‘And you’ve been in bed all night,’ said Voronin. It was a statement rather than a question, because he knew what the answer was going to be and he knew it would be a lie.

  ‘Sure. Look, what’s all this about, Superintendent? Has this got something to do with those two explosions I heard a while back?’

  There was a knock on the open door. Voronin glanced up to see Evdokinchik standing there. ‘I thought I told you to guard the front entrance?’ he told the gendarme angrily.

  Evdokinchik saluted smartly. ‘Yes, sir. But I was ordered to bring you this.’ He handed Voronin a note.

  The superintendent read it through twice before tucking it inside his glove. ‘Come on,’ he told Astapchyonok. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Does that mean I can get some peace now?’ demanded Bryce. Voronin rounded on him. ‘Don’t think about trying to leave the country, M’sieur Bryce. I’m not finished with you yet.’

  ‘You got an accusation to make against me, Superintendent, I suggest you have some proof. The United States’ State Department don’t take kindly to having its citizens’ rights trampled all over.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Voronin marched from the room and was followed downstairs by Astapchyonok and Evdokinchik.

  ‘Guilty as hell,’ opined the sergeant. ‘I still don’t know what he’s guilty of, but I’ll wager my last kopeck he’s guilty of it. And you’re just going to let him go, sir?’

  ‘For now. Orders from Kochubey Mansion: Bryce is “hands off”.’

  ‘What does he have to do for us to be allowed to arrest him? Assassinate the Tsar?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I mean to ask the man who ordered the “hands off” notice before this night is out.’

  A second carriage awaited them outside, parked behind the one that had brought them from the office. Voronin crossed to speak to the man who sat in the shadows behind the windows, a thin-faced fellow with a cane.

  ‘Superintendent Voronin?’

  Voronin nodded.

  The thin-faced man showed him his own credentials, which established him as Lieutenant Kizheh of the Third Section. ‘Admiral Zhirinovsky would like a word with you.’

  Voronin turned back to Astapchyonok. ‘Get Chorny and head back to the bureau,’ he told him, before climbing in the second carriage with Kizheh. There was no point telling Astapchyonok when he would be back, because where the Third Section was concerned you could never be sure of anything.

  Which meant Voronin could not be sure if he would ever be returning to the office.

  He was driven up the Nevsky Prospect and along Horse Guards’ Boulevard to Novaya Gollandia, where the guards on the bridge over the Admiralty Canal stopped them. Quite a lot of guards, Voronin noted: the navy, closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. Kizheh showed their NCO his credentials and the carriage was waved through without further questions.

  Once on the island, the carriage pulled up outside one of the administrative blocks and Kizheh led the way through a door and up a flight of stairs to one of the offices, leaning heavily on his cane. A stocky, bearded man in an admiral’s uniform sat behind the desk. ‘Admiral Zhirinovsky?’ asked Voronin.

  The admiral nodded and regarded him coolly. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Police Superintendent Voronin. I was told you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Indeed I do, Superintendent. I understand you are aware of the identity of the saboteurs who attacked this place earlier tonight?’

  ‘I think I may know who one of them was, yes: a man calling himself John Bryce, posing as an American journalist. But he bears a remarkable resemblance to Commander Christopher Killigrew of the British navy.’

  ‘I know this Bryce. He’s staying at Dussot’s. I suggest you go there at once and arrest him, Superintendent.’

  Voronin stared at the admiral in astonishment. ‘Arrest him! I was just about to arrest him when I received a note telling me Bryce was “hands off”, and ordering me to report to you.’

  ‘No one’s going to arrest Bryce,’ said a new voice.

  Voronin turned to see Nekrasoff enter. The colonel took out a silver cigarette case, extracted a cigarette, tapped it twice against the case and plugged it in the corner of his mouth. Kizheh struck a match to light it for him.

  ‘What do you mean, no one’s going to arrest Bryce?’ spluttered Zhirinovsky.

  ‘Because Superintendent Voronin is quite right, Admiral: Bryce is indeed Commander Killigrew, a British spy.’

  ‘Tonight he broke into this shipyard, blew up a warehouse full of Professor Nobel’s mines, stole an experimental steam pinnace and blew it up on the Moika Canal before making his escape,’ Zhirinovsky fumed. ‘May I ask what else he has to do before you order his arrest?’

  ‘Killigrew is not going to be arrested because he is working for me.’ Nekrasoff took a drag on his cigarette, puffed a long stream of blue-tinged smoke into the air, and smiled broadly. ‘He just doesn’t know it yet.’

  * * *

  ‘You’ve had a busy night,’ Wojtkiewicz remarked when Killigrew arrived at his house the following morning. ‘Explosions at Novaya Gollandia, gun battles in the streets… your handiwork, I take it?’

  ‘I had a little help,’ Killigrew admitted modestly as the two of them crossed the hall.

  ‘That’s the end of the Sea Devil, then?’

  ‘Unfortunately n
ot. It wasn’t there. They must have moved it.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘So it’s back to the drawing board?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Killigrew agreed as they ascended the stairs. ‘I’ll just have to keep looking, that’s all.’

  ‘Keep looking! Are you insane? Face facts, Killigrew: your mission is a failure. You’ve got to get out of the country as soon as possible. It’s only a matter of time before the Third Section hauls you off to the Kochubey Mansion for questioning.’

  ‘They came to my hotel last night. I think I managed to throw them off the scent.’

  ‘You went back to your hotel?’ Wojtkiewicz shook his head in disbelief. ‘You are totally insane; you know that, don’t you?’

  Killigrew managed a wan smile. ‘I’ve long had my suspicions…’

  Wojtkiewicz sighed and shook his head again.

  They reached the top of the stairs. ‘Where’s Lika?’ asked Killigrew.

  ‘In the ballroom. You know the way?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to speak to her in private, if I may.’

  ‘Unchaperoned, eh? Oh, to be young and in love! I’ll be in the library.’

  Killigrew made his way to the ballroom, where he found Anzhelika practising arabesques. She broke off as soon as she saw him and ran across to embrace him, but he caught her by the wrists and slammed her back against one of the walls. There was pain and confusion in her eyes as she looked up into his tight-lipped face.

  ‘Where’s Bauer?’ he demanded.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Wilhelm Bauer. A Bavarian engineer. You met him when you danced at Covent Garden four years ago. You gave him a daguerreotype of yourself. If you’d given him a calotype, well… I dare say calotypes of Anzhelika Orlova are ten a penny. But daguerreotypes? I’ll lay odds you remember each and every one you’ve ever given to someone. Bauer’s in Russia now; probably somewhere in this city. In fact, I suspect he’s been here weeks. Do you mean to tell me he hasn’t sought to renew your acquaintance? Or do you have so many lovers you find it difficult to keep track?’

  She struggled, wanting to slap him, but he held both of her wrists tight. So she kicked him in the crotch instead. He gasped in agony and released her, staggering across to collapse in one of the chairs, clutching at himself.

  ‘Yes, I knew Willy,’ she admitted. ‘Yes, we met in London four years ago. And yes, we were lovers – not that it is any business of yours. You knew I was not a virgin. Did you expect me to give you a full list of my past lovers? I do not remember you offering me the same courtesy when we became lovers; though I will wager your list is ten times as long as mine.’

  ‘It’s probably not as long as you think,’ he said hoarsely.

  She ignored him. ‘It is a strange double standard in our society, do you not think? A man can have as many lovers as he pleases and everyone thinks he is a big man; but if a woman does not save her maidenhood for the marriage bed, she is called a slut.’

  ‘I never called you a slut.’

  ‘Then what is your interest in Bauer?’

  ‘He’s invented a secret weapon. My job is to find it and destroy it, before the Russians use it to kill hundreds of my countrymen.’

  ‘Your countrymen?’ She finally noticed that he had stopped using an American accent. ‘You are an Englishman! An English spy!’

  He nodded. ‘What I told you before still stands: Wojtkiewicz and I can get you out of the country, and I know a ballerina of your calibre will have no difficulty in getting work at the Paris Opera.’

  ‘You were never interested in me, were you?’ Her tone was bitter. ‘It was Bauer all along. You have just been using me to find him. And I thought you loved me!’

  ‘I do love you. Christ! How could I not?’

  ‘You would say that. You will forget all about me when you have got what you want.’

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘If I’ve been remiss in telling you how I feel about you, it’s because I’m conscious of how many men have used those words in the past without meaning them. But I’ve also got a job to do, and I need your help. So I’ll ask you once again: where’s Bauer?’

  ‘You would have me betray my country?’

  ‘Do you know what this secret weapon Bauer’s invented is?’

  She shook her head tearfully.

  ‘It’s a boat that sails underwater, Lika. It can attach an explosive to the hull of a ship without anyone on board even knowing it. Men die in war, Lika. I’ve served in the Royal Navy long enough to know that. But at least until now they’ve been given a fighting chance. Bauer’s machine will give them no chance at all. I’ll admit my heart hasn’t been in this war. But I do know I can’t stand back and let the Russians use Bauer’s machine to kill men in that way. There are eleven hundred men on the British flagship, and if Bauer sinks it then most of them will die by drowning.

  ‘Do you know what it’s like to drown, Lika? I do; thanks to a session in a torture chamber courtesy of the Third Section of your Tsar’s Imperial Chancery. They say drowning is a pleasant way to die – that you just slip under the waves and then you’re gone – but you can take it from me, it isn’t like that at all. You feel your lungs fill with water. You gasp for air, but there’s no air to be had. There’s a tightness across your chest like an iron band that grows ever tighter, until you stop struggling and pray for death because you know it’s the only chance you’ve got to escape the agony…’

  Anzhelika hung her head. ‘Helsingfors. Willy has gone to Helsingfors.’

  * * *

  Wojtkiewicz took Killigrew and Anzhelika in his carriage as far as Kabalovka, a small town just north of St Petersburg on the road to the Finnish border. Jedraszczyk was waiting for them with a couple of horses at one of the town’s many inns; not the main coaching inn on the high street, which the Third Section kept under observation, but a smaller place at the edge of town.

  Anzhelika was wearing clothes given to her by Wojtkiewicz; left behind at the mansion by one of the Pole’s former lovers, Killigrew guessed: mink hat, coat, and a matching fur muff suspended from her neck to hang across her bosom.

  He took Killigrew to one side while she swung herself into the saddle. ‘Are you sure about taking her? It would be better if I put her on one of my ships. I could smuggle her as far as Danzig; perhaps even deliver her to your fleet in the Gulf.’

  Killigrew shook his head. ‘Abandon a lady on her own in a strange city? Worse still, leave her on a ship crewed by licentious sailors? Perish the thought! Besides, she insisted on coming with me. She’s been an absolute brick about all this so far; and frankly, I’m going to need all the help I can get when I get to Helsingfors.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. Do you have any idea how you’re going to get her out of the country? Assuming that by some miracle you survive this lunatic mission of yours to find and destroy the Sea Devil.’

  ‘I thought perhaps I could bribe the skipper of a fishing boat to take us out to the British fleet.’

  ‘Risky. The Finns have no love for the Royal Navy since your comrades started cutting out their merchant ships and burning their fishing boats and maritime stores. Identify yourself to the skipper of a Finnish fishing boat, and he and his crew might just be tempted to hand you over to the Russians; if they don’t prefer to slit your throat for themselves.’

  ‘You have a better suggestion?’

  Wojtkiewicz nodded. ‘There’s a secret organisation in Finland called the Wolves of Suomi, much like the Carbonari in Italy. They’re dedicated to fighting for Finnish independence from Russia. Before the war they contented themselves with trying to stir up anti-Russian sentiment amongst their countrymen by distributing seditious leaflets and daubing nationalist slogans on the walls of public buildings. More recently they’ve been giving the Russian troops stationed in Finland merry hell: blowing up ammunition stores, robbing army payrolls, you name it. They’ve no love for the British either, but… well, they may just r
ealise that their enemy’s enemy is a potential friend. You could do worse than persuade your War Office to have modern arms shipped to them. I’ve done them a few favours in the past, so they owe me. Drop my name, and it should stand you in good stead with them.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ agreed Killigrew. ‘How do I contact them?’

  ‘With difficulty! Usually they prefer to contact you.’

  ‘And if they’re not looking for me?’

  ‘There’s a professor of geology at the University of Helsingfors who may be able to put you in touch with them. His name’s Rasmus Forselius: he was sent to Siberia when he was a student for advocating Finnish independence. That’s where I met him. He’s not an active member of the Wolves of Suomi – the Third Section keep a close watch on him still – but I think he knows who they are.’

  ‘If the Third Section suspects him of being involved with these Wolves of Suomi, I wonder they haven’t arrested him to torture some names out of him.’

  Wojtkiewicz grinned. ‘I’m sure they’d like to. But Finland isn’t Russia, Killigrew: it’s a constitutional duchy within the Russian Empire, and the Finns guard their separate rights jealously. Even the Third Section has to treat them with kid gloves. Now you’d best be on your way: it’s a four-day ride to Helsingfors, and with the Third Section out looking for you, you’ll have to avoid the main roads. There are plenty of hunting lodges in the forests of Finland – they’re free to use for anyone who finds them – so you can avoid the inns on your journey.’

  ‘I’ve put food in the saddle bags,’ put in Jedraszczyk. ‘Rye bread, cheese, smoked sausage, a few apples, and some coffee… it’s not much, but it should keep you going until Helsingfors.’

  Killigrew thanked him.

  ‘You’ve got a compass?’ asked Wojtkiewicz. ‘Those endless forests and lakes can get confusing.’

  ‘I can navigate using my—’ Patting the fob pocket in his waistcoat, Killigrew broke off. ‘Damn!’