Agent Provocateur

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Tom pulled up a chair and sat.

  “I just talked with Armand.”

  Marty waited for what he knew was coming next.

  “You be going into Paris with Miss Linette and Mr. Campbell. That be one of the stupidest things I heard for a while,” he said with concern.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Marty said thoughtfully, “Me blowing myself up must compare.”

  Tom laughed and looked at Marty’s hair.

  “You do look a bit of a fool at that.” He smiled

  “But all the same. Paris? That be like walking into the lion’s den.”

  “Look,” Marty said in an attempt to reassure him it wasn’t a fool’s errand, “the French Government is about to try to go through a massive change. We need to disrupt that to make sure they stay fighting amongst themselves. If they get organized, we could be in real trouble.”

  “Can’t imagine them Frenchies ever being organized,” Tom grumbled but he knew when he was ‘flogging a dead horse, so he let it go.

  The next morning, a very small man with ink stained hands arrived and said he was from the ‘Ministry’. He had a wooden chest with him which opened out into a writing desk. From a drawer, he produced several sheets of paper and, from another, a pot of ink sealed with a cork. He asked for both Marty and James to be present.

  “This paper is exactly the same as used by the authorities in France to issue identity documents and permits,” he explained, “The ink is also exactly the same as used by their clerks, as is the quill. I can reproduce the handwriting of the actual clerks in different departments, and I am familiar with the layout and wording of all their documents.”

  He selected a sheet of paper that was a bit more ragged than the rest and asked, “What is your intended entry point into France and your route to Paris?”

  “I thought we might land at Hornfleur,” Marty started but the little man tutted and shook his head.

  “Might I suggest that with your wounds, you pose as a wounded naval officer returning after being exchanged. Arriving in Le Havre with your Coxswain. You will meet your wife there and leave for Paris by coach travelling via Rouen and Gisors. That would be the expected route and explain you suddenly popping up.”

  “OK and who will I be?” asked Marty thinking, Why do I get the feeling this has all been thought out for me?

  “We have captured a French lieutenant who matches you for looks close enough that you could pass for him. And the wounds will cover any differences. He is too badly wounded to be exchanged and will probably die in England. So, we will exchange you instead,” the little man replied.

  “And if we bump into any of his family?” Marty asked.

  “No chance of that,” he replied as he examined the nib of his pen. “They are from Montpellier, and the chances of them travelling to Paris are miniscule.”

  Marty thought about that for a while and said,

  “That sounds like it could work, but I will need to learn his background, what ships he served on, how he was captured.”

  The little man raised a finger and delved into the drawers again. After a moment of rummaging, he came up with a packet, which he handed to Marty.

  “All you need is in there. Almost forget to give it to you,” He laughed, sounding more like a braying donkey than a man.

  “And how will my ‘wife’ get over to France?” Marty enquired.

  “Oh, she is already there. Left yesterday and will arrive in Le Havre in three days’ time.”

  Just then, Campbell walked in, having being summoned from the dock, and looked at the little man quizzically.

  “Mr.?” Marty looked at the man enquiringly.

  “Oh, didn’t I introduce myself? Thelonious Friar at your service.”

  “Mr. Friar, let me introduce Midshipman James Campbell. My ‘cox’ for this mission.”

  “Ah, the fighter,” Friar quipped, “I will start with you. French identity documents contain a description of the subject.”

  Campbell looked at Marty with raised eyebrows and a ‘what the hell is going on?’ look on his face.

  “We haven’t briefed mister Campbell yet as he has just returned from a family visit,” Marty explained to Friar then to Campbell.

  “We have a mission in Paris, and you are coming with me James.” If anything, Campbell’s eyebrows went up even higher.

  “Oh, right, Paris? Wow!” He said in surprise.

  Marty laughed and opened the packet.

  Inside was a sketch of the French officer, whose name was Sebastian St Martin and had the rank of Enseigne de Vaisseau de Première Classe, formerly of the Frigate Immortalité that was captured by the British at Tory Island. They were right, he could be Marty’s brother.

  Marty looked through and found another set of papers for a Frederique Le Bonne, who was a Premiere Maitre (First Mate). He had died in custody and came from the same ship. He passed them to Campbell.

  “Dead man’s shoes,” Campbell joked.

  Friar looked at the two of them like he was their schoolmaster and cautioned,

  “You both need to be totally familiar with your characters as you may well be questioned by the authorities.”

  They both returned a look that said, ‘you don’t say!’ He then started to write out an identity document, frequently looking up to examine Campbell or Marty and noting some feature or other.

  Marty read through the file, passing relevant sheets to Campbell as he finished them.

  “What of the other officers on the Immortalité?” asked Marty.

  “Either killed or exchanged. We kept track of the ones we exchanged as we were curious if the French were honouring their Parole. They aren’t, of course, and all the officers are back on serving ships.”

  “So, there isn’t much chance that I will bump into any of them?”

  “Not much, but I’m sure you will be able to deal with them if you do.”

  Campbell looked up from the sheets he was reading and asked,

  “So, what are we to do once we are in Paris?”

  “What we do best- cause trouble,” Marty grinned. “We need to stir up trouble between the factions and stop one of them getting the upper hand.”

  Friar dusted the document he had just finished and set it to one side. He took up another piece of paper and looked critically at Marty.

  “How did you set your head on fire?” He asked.

  “You mean you don’t know. Tssk,” Marty replied then asked, “Who are our contacts in Paris?”

  Friar gave him a steady look but let that one pass.

  “Your ‘wife’ will introduce you to all of them. I understand you have worked together before?”

  “Yes, in Amiens and Toulon.”

  “Mr. Wickham said you work well together.”

  Was that the trace of a smirk? Thought Marty.

  Marty went to a cabinet on the far side of the room and opened the doors. Inside on several shelves were a variety of pistols and knives. He selected two pairs of pistols. One was of fine quality with silver chasings, the other plainer and more workman like. He then picked up and discarded a number of knives until he found the ones he wanted. He laid all these out on the table then went back and selected powder flasks and bullet moulds from another drawer.

  He called Campbell over and pushed the two plainer pistols and a couple of knives towards him.

  “Make yourself familiar with them and get John Smith to fit you with concealing sheaths for the blades.” He returned to the cabinet a third time and returned with a pair of Garrottes and a shepherd’s sling.

  He turned around to say something to Friar when he saw the man was frozen in his seat with Blaez standing on his hind legs, his front paws on the writing chest glaring at him with his hackles up.

  “Down boy,” Marty commanded and whistled softly. Blaez looked over his shoulder at him, looked back at Friar, growled, and did as he was told.

  “Damn and Blast!” Said Friar, “Where did that beast come from?”

  Marty
deliberately misunderstood the question and said, “Holland.”

  Friar’s mouth opened and closed as he considered a retort but couldn’t think of one.

  “He will be coming with us,” Marty stated and when Friar looked to object, he said with a completely straight face, “It’s alright, he speaks perfect French.”

  There was a snort of supressed laughter from Campbell and a clack of teeth as he tossed Blaez a piece of ship’s biscuit, which he crunched noisily.

  Friar stayed with them for two days, during which he quizzed them on their characters until he was happy they had them down pat. He prompted Marty to show him the weapons he had selected and was surprised when he saw that they had all been made in France. He asked to see the bowie knife, and Marty obliged him, pointing out that it was made in America and that a Frenchman could obtain one from any of the American ships that broke the blockade.

  The time came to leave, and they were taken by carriage to Chatham, where a Merchantman was being loaded with French army and navy officers who were being exchanged. There weren’t many, and they were able to stay slightly apart. Marty had his head bandaged, and Campbell hovered around him as if he was caring for him. Blaez laid down at his feet and growled at anyone who got too close or looked as if they would approach. His presence was enough to keep any casual approaches at bay.

  The trip across to Le Havre didn’t take long. The weather was reasonable, and the wind cooperated. When they arrived, they moored rather than docked and the port authority ferried them ashore. Blaez thought that was great. He jumped from the deck down into the boat startling the oarsmen and then stood at the bow with his front paws on the gunnel as if he owned the boat.

  When they came up on the dock, Blaez jumped ashore before they had tied off and was yipping and wuffling as he greeted Linette. Running around her and jumping up for a neck scratch. Marty was ‘helped’ up the steps by Campbell, and they made a show of the brave sailor being greeted by his caring wife.

  Linette had organised a carriage to take them to Paris and as soon as they were in and on their way, Marty asked very quietly,

  “Can we trust the driver?”

  “No, he is not one of our people, he came with the coach,” she replied.

  Marty nodded and looking at Campbell, pointed up and then placed a finger on his lips. James nodded.

  To fill the time, they chatted about the latest news in Paris, Linette filling them in on the political situation, obliquely wrapping it up in general conversation. In the end, they fell to snoozing. Blaez curled up on Marty’s left with his head on his lap, and Linette on his right with her head on his shoulder.

  Chapter 7: Paris

  They arrived in Paris on the first of November as planned. It was late afternoon as they pulled up outside of the house that Linette had rented. James tipped the driver and carried their meagre possessions inside.

  As always, when in enemy territory, they spoke French at all times.

  “The house is just off the Rue Honoré,” Linette stated, “It is very near the route that a hero like Napoleon would take to make a grand entrance onto the city.” She led them into the main room downstairs. “This is what you would call the drawing room. There is a dining room next door and a kitchen at the back. There are three bedrooms upstairs.”

  “One each then,” grinned Marty.

  “Yes,” replied Linette with a smirk. “I have no intention of incurring the wrath of your girlfriend.”

  “Ouch,” chipped in James, “That was to the point.”

  “Naturally,” Linette responded, “We have to work together now and maybe in the future. His lover is quite capable of hiring an assassin if she thinks her man is being taken from her arms.”

  “Oh, she’s not that bad,” Marty quipped, “She would probably just hire someone to rough you up.”

  James rolled his eyes and wondered what the hell he had gotten into.

  They settled in quickly, and Marty carried out a perimeter check for access points that needed to be secured, and for escape routes. He rigged alarms with bottles and chords on the rear door and the cellar hatch that would alert them to forced entries. He also took measures to prevent someone opening the ground floor windows with a slim jim. The cellar had an old tall boy cabinet that he turned into an armoury as he planned on increasing their stock of weapons locally.

  Their first task was to make contact with the local agent who would brief them on the current political situation. First thing in the morning of the second of November, they went to Notre-Dame Cathedral where they had a rendezvous setup. The agent would be standing by the Point Zero des Routes de France at nine A.M.

  They decided that Marty and James would arrive early and set up as an observation team to make sure that the agent wasn’t being followed or that there weren’t any unwanted observers around. Then, when they gave the all clear, Linette would make contact and take the agent to a café where they could sit and talk. The boys would shadow them and run interference if there was a problem to enable them to split up and get away.

  At eight thirty, Marty wandered into the Parvis with Blaez at his side and positioned himself so he could see both the Parvis and the Rue del la Cité. James sat in a café on the corner of the Rue d’Arcole where he could observe the other approaches.

  Linette waited in another café for the all clear. She wore a simple dress that was fashionable but not expensive. She also wore a cloak with a hood that hid her face. It was cold and snowing gently so no one would think it odd that she kept the hood up during the initial contact.

  Both Marty and James spotted the contact walking into the square towards the point zero triangular stone marker. He was carrying a blue book under his left arm as identification. They carefully scanned both in front and behind him as well as to all sides, looking for anyone suspicious that could be observing the square or following the agent. They also checked any windows that overlooked the Parvis and the roof lines.

  Having completed his scan, Marty looked over to James, who picked up a newspaper and started to read, the sign for the all clear. Marty took off his hat and wiped the rim, signalling Linette that it was alright to move.

  She left the café and walked over to point zero and greeted the agent like he was a relative with a kiss on either cheek. What no one else could hear was the exchange of recognition phrase and response that was whispered between kisses. She kept her hood up as an extra precaution.

  They walked arm in arm back to the café and sat inside by the window. Marty and James moved to positions outside where they could keep watch. They had selected the café carefully as it couldn’t be approached covertly. and it had a back door that could be used as an escape route if needed.

  The meeting lasted around half an hour then they stood, embraced again, and left in opposite directions. Back at the house, Marty and James arrived back after Linette. They had monitored her back trail for anyone following. They were frozen and headed to the fire to warm up.

  Linette sat in a comfortable chair reading the blue book.

  “Anything interesting?” Marty asked.

  “Yes. There are two main factions; The Jacobins and The Royalists. The Directorate of five holds power after a Coup in June when they overthrew the Jacobins. The Directorate is run by Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès an ex priest who wrote the 3rd Estate. They are afraid the Jacobins will make a comeback. There are rumors that they want to get Napoleon on the Directorate to strengthen their position. Bonaparte’s brother Lucien is the President of the Council of Five Hundred and will play a big role in that.”

  “So, what can we do to stir things up and destabilize them then?” Asked Marty.

  “The obvious thing is to create more tension between the factions,” Linette suggested, “If we do that, they may tip over into open conflict and rip each other apart.”

  “So, we need to plant evidence that hints that the Jacobins are about to do something like a counter coup then,” suggested James.

  “Something like that may
do it,” Marty agreed.

  The next day, Marty, or rather Sebastian St. Martin, had a visit from a Ministry of Marine courier ordering him to present himself at the Ministry the next day for a debriefing. He immediately began to review their back story in his mind and make sure he had the answers to all the questions he could think of. He would have to improvise any others.

  Linette went out and met the local contact to discuss their idea for fermenting distrust between the factions. James went with her to make sure the meeting wasn’t observed.

  When they returned flushed from the cold, she had news. Rumours were already spreading that the Jacobins were preparing a coup. The contact was of the opinion it would take very little to push the Directorate into taking punitive measures. That, they calculated, would force the Jacobin faction into retaliation and they could see the whole thing escalate into open conflict. Perfect.

  Marty reported to the ministry as required in the morning. He wore a loose bandage around his head to protect it from the cold and because it emphasised his status as a wounded warrior. He wasn’t surprised to find the reception he got was very similar to that at the admiralty. The waiting room was manned by a clerk, who had an elevated opinion of himself and his status and treated the sailors with disdain.

  He looked down his nose at Marty, who passed him his orders after he introduced himself. The clerk wrote a note, which he gave to a message boy, who went off to deliver it to whoever he was supposed to meet.

  He waited for well over an hour, during which he read the newspapers that were left on the central table. He was lucky that a ‘fellow officer’ took pity on his wounded colleague and gave up his chair for him.