The Final Enemy. An Inspector Faro Mystery No.12.

by Alanna Knight

  Faro had already taken that missing train into his calculations. Seen in the light of the last twenty-four hours' events, the landslide excepted - if that piece of information could be trusted - had there ever been any intention of sending the royal train? He could see the President's hand clearly directing the whole operation, the ambush at the railway merely a device to rescue Anton, his own son, and destroy Amelie's child.

  Faro had little doubt that the plan had been worked out well in advance. Starting with the Grand Duchess Amelie's assassination while she was in Germany, the trap was then laid for George to be summoned home from Britain, and annihilated before he reached the frontier in an unfortunate accident.

  Faro himself, whom the President had never heard of, as well as any other appointed bodyguards of George, would be regarded as expendable.

  The plan was emerging clearly now.

  After a brief time of national mourning, President Gustav would marry his mistress, Anton's mother, and take over dictatorship of Luxoria, declaring their son as the next heir.

  Even an unskilled politician like Faro could recognise that this was not only a personal vendetta, but behind it was the fact that Kaiser Wilhehn II was a long term friend and supporter of the Grand Duchess and, what was even more important, he wished to bring Luxoria under the vast and ever-growing umbrella of Imperial Germany.

  When Faro had agreed under duress to Her Majesty's request that he see her god-daughter's son back to Luxoria, he had knowingly entered into a situation involving political intrigue. Remote from any he encountered during his duties as a detective with the Edinburgh City Police, this was a development beyond his wildest nightmares or experience.

  Realising the enormity of his personal involvement, he was tempted to blink rapidly, as he did in bad dreams, a technique he had perfected in childhood to wake himself up. Alas, for his hopes that he would open his eyes and breathe a sigh of relief, find that it had all gone away and he was back in his comfortable bed in Sheridan Place. That was the dream, but this was cold reality.

  Here he was, sitting by a railway track, a foreigner in a strange land, with him a twelve-year-old prince, the heir to a kingdom, whose safety was entirely in his hands and whose real identity he must never reveal, much as he longed to shout out the truth.

  He looked at the boy. They were both cold and hungry, prey to wolves and the President's secret army who would hunt them down once they knew that they had survived the explosion.

  That vital link with the world of sanity and safety, the telegraph office, still lay far down the railway track somewhere out in that desolate landscape, haphazardly dotted with sticks of dead-looking trees and boulders that a little imagination might turn into crouching brigands. They could have been sitting on Mars, Faro thought, but for the occasional very distant and frustrating emblem of civilisation, an express train thundering into Germany, towards Frankfurt and Heidelberg. And Imogen Crowe.

  While he wondered sadly if he had seen Imogen for the last time, he told George encouragingly not to worry.

  'I have been in worse situations than this,' he said cheerfully.

  'Have you really, sir?' asked George.

  And Faro was glad he was not called upon to name one. At that precise moment he would have found it difficult even to remember anything of greater peril. True, he had fought villains in plenty in his long career. But on his own territory, where he made the rules; where he knew the terrain and the language; where people understood him and his requests to official channels were dealt with promptly; where Chief Inspector Faro was respected, obeyed. But here in this alien land Chief Inspector Faro did not exist. Here he was merely Mr Faro, a retired policeman who nobody knew, escorting the heir of Luxoria to his home.

  George leaned against him, trying hard to be brave and not to shiver. Pretending not to notice, Faro produced the bread and cheese. They were in deadly peril, but as Faro sat with his arm around George's thin shoulders, he knew that, in the seemingly unlikely event of his survival, this moment was one of the memories he would take out and treasure every day for the rest of his life.

  George ate hungrily. If this was a dreadful ordeal for himself, Faro thought, how much worse for a lad who had been protected and cosseted all his short life and had always been quite clear about where his next meal was coming from? A lad who had never faced anything more threatening than a badly-thrown cricket ball in Scotland and had just survived a well-directed bomb.

  'I suppose I had better get used to things like that,' said George through a mouthful of bread, nodding back the way they had come, where the acrid fumes of gunpowder still lingered in the air.

  'There is a lot of it about in Germany just now, don't you think?' he added with that curious way of seeming to know what was going on in Faro's mind.

  Faro stood up, dusted down the crumbs and gathered their belongings. 'We had better not be too sorry for ourselves and get to that telegraph office before we start getting hungry again,' he said, watching George wrap a piece of bread and cheese in a rather grey-looking handkerchief.

  'No need to keep that - eat it if you can.'

  George looked at it longingly and shook his head. 'I would like to, sir, very much. I could eat a horse, as we say at Glenatholl. But I think I'll save it, just in case.'

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be needed. We'll be seeing that telegraph office any minute. It can't be far away now,' Faro said encouragingly.

  They had walked only a further hundred yards when they heard the sound. Not a train's distant vibration, but the sound of hooves - and close by.

  'The brigands,' whispered George.

  Worse than brigands, thought Faro, trained soldiers with orders to kill.

  Looking round for cover, he seized George and dived behind the very inadequate shelter of a dismal-looking shrub.

  They waited. The hoof beats drew nearer...

  'Listen!' said Faro.

  'There's only one of them,' whispered George.

  'And that I think I can take care of,’ said Faro grimly. With more confidence than he felt, he took out his revolver and prayed that he did not miss, knowing that he had only a couple of bullets left.

  The rider approached and Faro prepared to take aim.

  A voice screamed at them.

  'George! Mr Faro!'

  'Anton!'

  And George leapt out of his hiding-place as Anton jumped down from the horse.

  The two boys embraced.

  'Thank God you are safe,' said Anton and there was no need for translation of that into English.

  'I thought you were both dead.'

  Anton brushed his tear-filled eyes.

  Faro stared in amazement, for he had never thought the lad capable of such emotion, or indeed, of any emotion at all.

  'How did you escape?' asked George.

  Surprises weren't over for Faro, as Anton's next move was even more out of character. He dropped on one knee, seized George's hand and said, 'Highness, you are my liege lord as well as my half-brother. I am your faithful servant until death. That I do most solemnly swear. Before this man,' he nodded towards Faro, 'who is a witness to my oath of allegiance.'

  And George placed his hands upon Anton's head as one day, God willing, he would do in the Cathedral at Luxoria.

  Anton stood up. The solemn moment was past. He dusted down his already grubby knees and looking suddenly rather self-conscious, he tied his horse's reins to a tree stump and in a breathless voice said, 'Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?'

  George took out his handkerchief, and shook out the bread and cheese. 'I saved this for you - just in case.'

  'Thank you. I'm so hungry.'

  As Anton seized it and started munching gratefully, Faro, regarding this curious scene, felt as if it was suddenly out of context. Their little trio had been miraculously removed from sudden death by a railway track in an outlying district of Stuttgart but if he blinked suddenly, he felt he would find himself instead witnessing the aftermath of a cricket match in the gr
ounds of Glenatholl College. He groaned inwardly. What would he not have given for that to be true.

  As for what still lay ahead, he dared not even try to imagine.

  Chapter 20

  Watching Anton approvingly as he demolished the last crumbs, George said, 'We were so worried about you. We thought you were being held to ransom, didn't we, Mr Faro?'

  'How did you manage to escape?' Faro asked. 'And with such a splendid horse.'

  Anton sighed. 'I might as well tell you both the truth.'

  'What do you mean, the truth?' demanded George.

  'That I never was in any danger really. It just had to look that way, as if I was being taken hostage.' Biting his lip to hold back the tears he turned to Faro and said, 'You have no idea, sir.'

  ‘I rather think I have,' nodded Faro. 'George said that he thought the man who seized you whispered to you that you were not to be afraid.'

  'That is true,' said George. 'That was what the brigand leader said, wasn't it?'

  'That is what he said.' Anton shook his head. 'But they were not brigands.'

  'I realised that,' said Faro. 'They were soldiers, weren't they?'

  'Yes.' Anton stared at him in amazement. 'Members of my father - I mean, the President's private army. I recognised a few of them, a crack regiment.'

  Faro remembered the sleek horses and the red bandanas that had struck a false note as Anton continued: 'It was all set up to -' he paused and looked anxiously at George,

  ' - to save me. When I heard that they had planted a bomb under the rubbish at the railway hut as they rode in to get me -' he gulped and took a deep breath.

  'It was meant to kill you, George. And Mr Faro and the porter too, I was horrified. I knew I had to warn you before it was too late. They had no idea that I knew what they intended, they had even given me a horse.'

  Pausing, he looked at them and laughed proudly. ‘They didn't expect me to try to escape and thought that a boy would be delighted to have such an excellent horse, be proud to ride with them.'

  'Have you any idea where they were heading?' Faro asked. 'Where they were taking you?'

  Anton shook his head. 'I think they were there only to escort me to the royal train. It is on its way here now.'

  That, at least, sounded hopeful, thought Faro as George cheered.

  'I rode like the wind back to that horrible hut,' Anton continued. 'When I was still quite far off I heard the explosion, my horse was terrified and after trying unsuccessfully to unseat me, he tried to bolt. But I got him under control. I thought I must have lost the way then I saw - saw all that was left of where we had stayed, just those smoking ruins.'

  He looked at them both as if he still couldn't believe his eyes and then clenching his fists he buried his head in his hands for a moment. 'You can't imagine how I felt. It was dreadful, dreadful, the worst moment in my whole life.'

  Turning, he looked at Faro. ‘I am sorry, sir, you must think me an awful cry-baby but I really thought you were all dead. I had to steel myself to search for - for - well, you know - '

  He shuddered at the memory. 'Then I started shouting, kept on shouting your names over and over, in case, by a miracle, any of you were still alive among the ruins. It seemed like hours later when I realised that if you weren't under - all that - then you must have got out in time. And you'd be walking down the track towards the telegraph office.'

  He grinned. 'And I was right. Here you are. Safe!'

  Safe! Perhaps, but for how long, thought Faro, seeing the two boys beaming with delight.

  Personally he wouldn't put too much hope in the chances of safety until the moment that elusive Luxorian train put in an appearance and he saw the two boys delivered into safe hands and on their way home. Only then could he relax and think of the next stage of his own journey.

  'What about Dieter?' George was asking.

  Again Anton shook his head. 'I don't know. I don't know if he's even alive. They certainly haven't killed him or captured him because when I asked, they just shook their heads and said nothing. I thought, it might even be that he is in the plot to - to - ' He shrugged. 'He would never have told me, because he knew I would never agree to anything if he intended hurting George.' And turning to Faro, he said impulsively; 'Or you, sir. You have been so good to us on the journey. You've thought of everything. You're kind to George too.'

  He took a deep breath. 'The other night, when I was supposed to be sleeping,' he said shyly, 'I was listening to you telling George that story about an island where you once lived. I knew whatever happened you would never let any harm come to him. Or to me. Although I was sometimes afraid that you had guessed, sir.'

  'Guessed?' asked Faro.

  'Yes, sir. You know, about that business on the ferry crossing,' he said shamefacedly. ‘About me being attacked.’

  'I thought it very unlikely,' said Faro but did not add that it had opened up an interesting new line of thought. 'Now if you are ready, shall we start walking again?'

  Picking up his valise, George said in shocked tones, 'Are you telling us, Anton, that it was all lies? That there wasn’t someone trying to throw you overboard?'

  Anton sighed wearily. 'Dieter told me to do it. He said it was a practical joke, just to give Mr Faro something to think about.'

  'He certainly did that,' said Faro acidly as George gasped, 'A practical joke! I don't think that was very funny.'

  Anton shrugged. 'Dieter thought Mr Faro having been a detective might have worked one or two things out - '

  'Like George's kidnapping at Glenatholl?' asked Faro and when Anton nodded cautiously, 'There were some curious things about your story, Anton. Your version of witnessing the incident didn't quite tie up with George's account. You said you saw him talking to a man you described as gypsy-looking but George told me no one spoke to him.' He paused to let that sink in. 'You realise there was a very good reason for that.'

  Anton frowned as Faro went on. 'You know perfectly well what I'm saying. If George's so-called kidnappers had spoken then he might have recognised voices which were very familiar to him. Particularly yours.'

  Anton shook his head. 'There never was a kidnapping attempt really.'

  George gave a shocked exclamation. 'You mean - you and Dieter arranged it all between you? What a beastly thing to do, Anton.'

  'I didn't much like it but Dieter said it just had to look that way so you'd be sent back to Luxoria. He had been told that the President believed you would be in danger if you remained in Scotland. He thought it was a brilliant idea, especially after Tomas's accident. When I protested, he told me there had been an attempt on your mother's life, here in Germany but that I must not tell you because you would be terrified.'

  'Was it true, about Mama?' George put in sharply.

  He sounded panic-stricken and Faro said, 'You have the message from her, from the train.'

  George sighed with relief. 'Of course. Of course.' His face darkened suddenly. 'What really happened to Tomas? Did Dieter push him out of the window?'

  Anton shrugged. 'I think perhaps he did, although he never admitted it.'

  'But why should be - or anyone - do such a thing to Tomas?' George demanded.

  'I imagine the reason was that he was afraid you were in some real danger that you knew nothing about,' said Faro and the man’s words returned to haunt him again. A matter of life or death.

  'Dieter planned the kidnapping,' Anton explained. 'He told me that it was the President's wish and that he would be very angry if I did not obey.' Anton stopped and looked at Faro questioningly.

  'Yes, Anton. Mr Faro knows - I've told him that we are half-brothers.' George said hastily, then shook his head bewildered, as Anton went on, 'I still cannot believe it. Our father wanting to murder one of his own sons. It is just too awful. How could any father do such a thing?'

  To Faro, however, the answer was grimly obvious. The secret was out. President Gustav had somehow found out the truth, and knew that George was not his child. It explained a great deal a
nd put both George and himself - if he and the President ever had the misfortune to meet - in deadly peril.

  George had returned to the Glenatholl incident. 'Something that puzzled me was that I seemed to recognise the footsteps of the other kidnapper. Now I realise why they were familiar. They were yours, Anton.'

  ‘I am truly sorry.' And Anton sounded very repentant. 'But I have now taken the oath of fealty before a witness,' he nodded towards Faro. 'And I have promised to serve you loyally and never lie to you again.'

  Anton's account had fitted some of the pieces together for Faro, but there were still unanswered gaps. Had it really been necessary to make George appear to be in deadly danger so that he could be withdrawn from Glenatholl and returned to Luxoria to be disposed of in his own country?

  Perhaps that was only the most logical reason if his mother the Grand Duchess was no longer alive. But according to the telegraph message received on the train, she was alive and well and waiting for George in Luxoria.

  'What about Helga?' Faro asked. 'Was she a part of Dieter's plot too?'

  Anton shook his head. 'I don't know anything about her. Honestly, sir, I wasn't even aware of her at college. We never associated with the servants, of course. I don't remember seeing her and she wasn't very friendly, was she? She didn't want to talk to us or play cards on the journey to Paris.'

  'She certainly did not look like a person with a fever, either,' remarked George the observant. 'She looked quite stout and healthy.'

  'Do you know, I thought that too,' said Anton. 'And as she was going to Germany, it did seem odd that she left us in Paris,' He frowned. 'Unless she knew something from Dieter. Something he had told her or wanted her to do for him.'

  'It could be that she was to send the wire to the Orient Express in Strasbourg,' said George, giving voice to that dire possibility occupying the forefront of Faro's mind. 'But Mr Faro was certain he saw her leaving the train there.'

  'I might have been mistaken,' said Faro who had no wish for George to continue on his own grim line of thought that the wire from his mother was a fake. 'I only saw Helga's back view. I didn't see her face and as Dieter pointed out, perhaps quite rightly, a lot of servants wear the same sort of clothes.'