‘But we don’t have the key.’
‘I don’t need it,’ she said, smiling. ‘I am a mathematician, remember? Permutations are my stock in trade. I have broken more grille ciphers than you can imagine. Give me an hour, and I will have this one decoded for you.’
Rising, she walked across to the writing desk and sat down once more, dipping her pen into an inkwell and making notes. Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of a clock. MacLea waited, watching her, studying the soft curve of her neck above the line of her gown, and the curls of her ebony hair, remembering.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, she rose again, the papers in her hand. ‘I have broken the code,’ she said, frowning. ‘But I don’t know what the message means.’
She came across the room and sat down beside him. ‘See for yourself,’ she said, handing him the first page. ‘The words are clear enough, but I do not understand what they are meant to convey.’
She had written the transposed letters into the cells of each grille and circled the words she had found. He looked at the words in the first four grilles. Queen pawn to fourth. Queen pawn to fifth. Queen knight to third. Queen bishop pawn to fifth.
‘These are moves from a game of chess,’ he said. ‘Third, fourth and fifth are squares on a chessboard.’
Josephine nodded. ‘Specifically, they are the opening moves of what is known as the Greco Gambit. It is considered a highly risky opening, as it is vulnerable to counterattack. Generally, players only use it if they want to do the opposite of what their opponent is expecting them to do. Ercole del Rio employed it successfully, as did Philidor.’
MacLea had once called her the most elegant woman west of Montreal; she was also one of the most intelligent. ‘So whoever wrote these ciphers is an expert at chess,’ he said slowly. ‘But what does it mean? Are the moves themselves some sort of code within a code? Do they describe parts of their plan? Targets to be attacked, perhaps? Do the fourth and fifth squares represent places on a map, like Niagara or Chippawa?’
‘Possibly,’ she said, but she was frowning as she spoke. ‘Why do you think that might be the case?’
‘Calder told us that Wilson was organising an uprising against British rule. He talked about a secret army of American sympathisers in the Niagara peninsula. I wonder if this might be a plan for a rebellion.’
She frowned again. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘As you know, I deal in information for a living. Perhaps such an insurrection is being planned, but if so, I have heard nothing of it. There is disaffection in some quarters, yes, grumbling about army requisitions and billeting troops in civilian homes, but that is all. Doubtless there are some folk who would prefer American rule, but they are keeping quiet. If any large underground organisation was planning an uprising, I would have heard about it.’ She paused. ‘Have you any other evidence beyond Calder’s word, John?’
‘No,’ MacLea said slowly.
‘Then I am afraid I don’t believe this story about a rebellion. It makes no sense to me.’
MacLea shook his head in exasperation. ‘Nothing about this damned affair makes any sense,’ he said. ‘Why would Calder invent such a story?’
‘I will tell you what my spy’s instincts are telling me,’ she said. ‘These papers are a plant. You were meant to find them, to decode the message and learn its meaning. He knew you would bring them to me,’ she added calmly. They both knew who he was; she seldom uttered Colonel Beauregard’s name. ‘They know we have been lovers, and that you are aware I am a mathematician and have some facility with codes.’
MacLea was alarmed. ‘How does he know about us?’
There was a long silence. ‘Because I told him,’ Josephine said finally. ‘It was the easiest way to make sure they didn’t suspect me. I said you were very willing to cooperate with me in return for me gifting my favours to you, and I have cited you as the source of a number of pieces of information that I have passed on to Washington; most of which were not true, by the way. But he doesn’t know that. He even wrote to congratulate me on my coup, using my seductive wiles to worm secrets out of you.’
Her face was perfectly still.
‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ she said. ‘I sacrificed our love and trust to the demands of my profession, and it revolted me to do so.’
‘You did what had to be done.’ MacLea smiled at her. ‘And it gives me pleasure to know that I helped you pull the wool over the eyes of a man who did you so much harm.’
‘I am afraid it gives me no pleasure at all. He continues to corrode my soul. Oh God, John, I wish I was out of this. I wish it was all over.’
‘It will be. Patience, beautiful one. The day will come.’
She managed a wan smile.
‘Now,’ said MacLea. ‘Why was I meant to find the document?’
‘Because once it was decoded, you would believe Calder’s story to be true. You would assume that the chess moves are themselves codes for the real gambit, where and when the rebellion would be raised, and which posts and forts would be attacked. You would report this to the authorities, who would respond by taking vigorous steps to stamp out the rebellion before it began.’
‘Martial law would be declared,’ MacLea said. ‘More troops would be sent to the peninsula.’
She nodded. ‘People would be encouraged to inform on and denounce their neighbours. Rewards would be offered to those who provided information. Arrests, trials and executions would follow. And innocent people would doubtless be caught up in the net.’
‘They always are,’ said MacLea. ‘If you covet your neighbour’s lands, or his wife, what better way to acquire them than to denounce him as a traitor and see him shot?’
‘Many Canadians would grow bitter and resentful and might turn against their British masters,’ said Josephine. ‘Then there could be a real insurrection. But even the mere threat of rebellion would force Sheaffe to remove troops from other garrisons and posts to pacify the peninsula. Our defences elsewhere would be weakened. Either way, the American objective would be achieved.’
MacLea closed his eyes in sudden frustration. ‘My God. All the things I could not explain before; now they make sense.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I couldn’t understand why the Americans didn’t press home the attack at Frenchman’s Creek. Of course they didn’t; Boerstler had orders not to do so. They had no intention of seizing the bridge for long, and certainly no intention of marching to Watersmeet. The attack at Red House must also have been part of the bluff. This was no invasion attempt. Their sole purpose was to leave Calder behind to be captured, so he would tell his story and implicate Wilson. And I fell for it.’
‘These are very cunning people, John,’ she said gently. ‘There is no shame in being fooled by them.’
‘But the evidence was right in front of me. Alec was right. Calder wasn’t drunk; he was stone-cold sober. All he had done was tip rum down his tunic, and persuade one of his comrades to get drunk as a lord to make it look even more convincing.’
‘But you had to try to find Wilson,’ she said. ‘If there was even a chance of an insurrection brewing, you had to act. And I think Wilson was also following orders when he led you up the Chippawa valley. Tragically for him, he didn’t realise that he was just a pawn in a larger game. He was meant to be sacrificed, so that you would find the document on his body and assume it to be genuine. Believing in the plot, you would report it to the authorities. But it was not meant to look so obvious that he had been shot by his own side.’
‘And the man who killed him is also dead,’ said MacLea. ‘Though I imagine that was not part of the plot.’
‘Probably not, but it has served Polaris’s purpose admirably. The document has fallen into your hands, and there are no witnesses to tell what happened.’
Silence fell. The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. From the hall the clock chimed eleven. ‘Colonel Beauregard is a ruthless man,’ MacLea said. ‘We know he has sacrificed low-l
evel agents before in order to achieve his ends. Would he sacrifice Polaris?’
‘No,’ said Josephine. ‘Polaris is his strongest asset. He will be protected at all costs.’
‘Then Wilson was not Polaris,’ said MacLea.
‘No.’ Josephine shook her head. ‘Polaris is the man who organised this plot. Everything – the multiple deceptions, the ruthless efficiency with which Wilson was killed: it all points to him. What will you do now?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. My authority to investigate Polaris died with General Brock. Sheaffe has ordered me to remain at my post, and I doubt if even Colonel Bisshopp can persuade him to change his mind.’
‘Then we must appeal to the civil powers,’ she said. ‘The new attorney general of Upper Canada is John Beverley Robinson. I recommend you write to him and ask for assistance.’
MacLea hesitated. ‘Can we trust him?’
‘He was a friend of John Macdonell, so that much is in his favour. And he has a reputation as an honest man. Even so, I would mention only that you have information about an American spy ring and see how he responds. If you hear nothing back, then we must think again.’
He nodded.
‘In the meantime, see if you can persuade Colonel Bisshopp to let you investigate Wilson a little more fully,’ she continued. ‘Find out what connections he had. I will attempt to do the same. One of those connections just might lead us to Polaris.’
They both rose to their feet. He looked into her dark eyes and found pools where he wanted to drown. When she took his hands, she was trembling. ‘Must you go?’
‘I would give ten years of my life for another hour with you,’ he said. ‘But you were right. It is not safe.’ His lips brushed hers.
‘The night is so cold,’ she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes once more.
‘But there is warmth in my heart,’ he said, grinning at her.
She spluttered with sudden laughter, wiping her eyes. ‘Oh John. That is truly awful. Go carefully, my dear one. You know how much I love you.’
‘And you know I would move the world for you,’ he said softly, and kissed her again.
He spoke quickly to Marie as he took his coat and hat and gloves, opened the door of the house, and he was gone.
* * *
MacLea walked swiftly through the starlit streets of Niagara, keeping to the shadows. It would be a cold journey back to Chippawa. Already the mud in the streets was crisp with frost under his feet. Overhead, the stars that Josephine loved glowed like crystal in the black sky. Looking up, MacLea saw the lines of the constellations, Leo and the Plough and the Little Bear, and there in the tail of the latter was the North Star.
Polaris. He had sought this man for months, and he was as remote and unreachable as ever. Could they ever hope to bring him down?
He saw light ahead, spilling out of a tavern, and men standing in the street. He turned down a side street to avoid them, and bumped into someone coming in the other direction, a big man, heavily cloaked and muffled. ‘My apologies, sir,’ MacLea said, bowing and stepping to one side.
‘You insufferable oaf,’ the other man snapped. ‘You will pay— Wait! Stop where you are! By God! You’re MacLea!’
‘Oh hell,’ said MacLea under his breath. ‘Good evening, Colonel Lawrence. My apologies for disturbing you, sir.’
‘What you are doing here?’ demanded Lawrence. ‘Why are you not at your post? I demand an answer. At once, do you hear me? At once!’
There was a woman behind the colonel, a woman in a long dark cloak with a hood shielding her face. She was giggling, and she did not sound entirely sober. MacLea had met Lawrence’s wife on several occasions; this was not her.
‘I am here on behalf of Colonel Bisshopp,’ he said, improvising. ‘He asked me to carry a message for him.’
‘A message?’ demanded Lawrence. ‘To whom? General Sheaffe?’
‘It was not an official dispatch, sir,’ said MacLea. ‘He wished me to carry a private message to a certain… person in Niagara. If I say that a lady is involved, may we leave it at that?’
Lawrence glared at him, bulky and malevolent in the starlight. The woman behind him continued to giggle. ‘Rubbish. I shall inform General Sheaffe immediately that you have left your post without orders. This is the end, MacLea. I’ll have you bloody well shot for desertion.’
‘Ask Colonel Bisshopp yourself if you don’t believe me,’ said MacLea, controlling his temper. ‘Only remember to ask him nicely. He has a commission in the Foot Guards, remember, and some very powerful connections back in England. Perhaps even more powerful than yours.’
‘Don’t answer back!’ snapped Lawrence. ‘I won’t be spoken to like this by some damned bumpkin! Very well, I will overlook your dereliction this once. Now get back to your post and stay there. If I see you in Niagara again, I’ll have you whipped.’
‘A moment ago, it was shot,’ MacLea said. ‘Whipped is an improvement.’
‘Go to hell,’ snapped Lawrence, and he turned and stamped away down the street, steam snorting in clouds from his nostrils. The woman followed. MacLea thought briefly about the pistol in his pocket. No, he thought wearily, killing Colonel Lawrence really would get him shot.
* * *
The following morning, after a sleepless night, Josephine Lafitte rose early. She refused breakfast, drinking only a single cup of coffee, and wrote a short message, which she asked Marie to deliver to Fort George.
The reply came an hour later. She put on her coat and gloves, wrapping a scarf around her neck and placing a broad-brimmed hat on her head, and walked to the old Provincial Marine yard on the waterfront. Lieutenant Hammond was waiting for her behind the barracks, out of sight of both river and road. He stood hunched against the cold in his overcoat, his eyes sharp, his face more ferret-like than ever.
‘What do you have for me?’
‘This,’ said Josephine, handing over the letter she had encoded while waiting that morning. ‘If there are any other sympathisers in your circle, advise them to keep their heads down. George Wilson has been attempting to stir up a rebellion. Now he is dead, and the British are looking for his accomplices. They will send more troops down to Niagara soon and start combing the peninsula. Anyone who even looks like a renegade will be arrested. We need to be careful, Lieutenant.’
‘I am always careful,’ said Hammond. ‘That is why I am still alive. I will pass on your warning. This is the last time we shall see each other for a while.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re sending you to York.’ Hammond reached into his pocket and passed over a letter. She recognised the blue wax seal of the US Army Ordnance Survey. ‘Your instructions are in there.’
‘How do I get messages to you?’
‘You don’t. You will have a new contact in York. The letter instructs you on how and when messages will be collected and delivered.’
‘And why are they sending me to York?’
‘They have not informed me,’ Hammond said. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thank you,’ she said abruptly. ‘See that my message gets to Washington as soon as possible.’ She was shivering as she turned and walked away, and not with cold.
Chapter Five
On the morning of the first of December, MacLea reported once again to Colonel Bisshopp’s office in Chippawa. ‘You look like you haven’t been to bed,’ the colonel observed.
‘I haven’t, sir. I thought it best to travel at night, to avoid prying eyes.’
‘Sit down. Orderly, two cups of coffee, if you please, and then make yourself scarce.’
MacLea sat down and took the proffered cup. ‘Well?’ the colonel said. ‘Any progress?’
‘I have been making enquiries,’ MacLea said. ‘And I can find no real evidence of an uprising. Calder sold us this story and told us Wilson was Polaris, but he was lying on both counts.’
‘You are certain of this?’
MacLea nodded. ‘Wilson was a man of straw, a target set
up for us to follow. It was all a bluff, sir. No insurrection is being planned in Niagara.’
‘But the Americans want us to believe there is.’
‘Yes, so we will send troops here and weaken our defences elsewhere,’ said MacLea. ‘They no doubt hope that there will be a witch-hunt. That would stir up resentment against the government.’
‘Which is the last thing we need,’ said Bisshopp. He pondered for a moment. ‘But we need to keep an eye on things, just to be sure… So, Wilson was not Polaris.’
‘No, sir,’ said MacLea. ‘Polaris is still alive and active.’
Bisshopp pursed his lips. ‘And you still don’t want this reported to General Sheaffe?’
‘Before you do, sir, I would like your permission to investigate Wilson more fully myself.’
The colonel shook his head. ‘I can’t allow it, I’m afraid. The general’s orders were quite clear. You are to remain at your post on the frontier. I bent the rules by letting you go after Wilson. I can’t do so again.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Josephine was right: they would have to appeal to the civilian authorities. ‘On another matter, I had a run-in with Colonel Lawrence last night. I’m afraid I invoked your name.’
‘Lawrence? What has that fat idiot done now?’
MacLea told him about the meeting in the street. Bisshopp nodded and reached for his pen and inkwell. ‘Of course. I shall write to him at once, confirming you were acting on my orders and telling him to keep his nose out of my business in the future.’ He smiled. ‘That was quick thinking, MacLea. A lady friend in Niagara, eh? If only I were as fortunate as some.’
* * *
Later that morning, MacLea wrote a cautious letter to the attorney general in York, Mr Robinson, and then returned to his billet at the Hershey farmhouse and waited. The weather grew colder, and at night the ground froze hard as iron. The clouds and wind returned, bringing with them showers of freezing rain and sleet. All was quiet on the river; both armies had gone into winter quarters, and only a few isolated outposts like their own remained, keeping watch.
The Hunt for the North Star Page 7
