Turkish Gambit (22 page)

Which one of you, as feeble age advances,

Is doomed to meet our Lycee Day alone!

Ill-fated friend! To those new generations

A tedious guest, unwelcome and despised,

Calling to mind our former congregations,

With trembling hand shading his rheumy eyes . . .

The chancellor's hand really was trembling. He took a cambric handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose, which did not hinder him in the least from surveying first Varya and then Erast Petrovich in the most censorious manner; and, moreover, the legendary person's gaze lingered for a long moment on Fandorin.

Spellbound by the sight of the alumnus of the Tsarskoe Selo Lycee, Varya had entirely forgotten the most important individual present. Embarrassed, she turned towards the window, thought for a moment and then curtseyed - as they used to do at the grammar school when the headmistress entered the classroom.

Unlike Korchakov, His Majesty demonstrated distinctly more interest in her person than in Fandorin's. The famous Romanov eyes - piercing, mesmerising and distinctly slanted - gazed at her with fastidious severity. They see into your very soul, she thought - that's the expression-, and then she felt quite angry with herself for slipping into the slave mentality of ignorant prejudice. He was simply imitating the 'basilisk stare' that his father, may he lie uneasy in his grave, had been so proud of. And she began pointedly inspecting the man whose will governed the lives of eighty million subjects.

The first observation: why, he was really old! Swollen eyelids, sideburns, a moustache with curly ends and a pronounced sprinkling of grey, knotty, gouty fingers. But then, of course - next year he would be sixty. Almost as old as her grandmother.

The second observation: he didn't look as kind as the newspapers said he was. He seemed indifferent and weary. He'd seen everything in the world there was to see; nothing could surprise him, nothing could make him feel particularly happy.

The third observation, and the most interesting: despite his age and his imperial lineage, he was not indifferent to the female sex. Otherwise, why, Your Majesty, would you be running your eyes over my breasts and my waist like thatl It was obviously true what they said about him and Princess Dolgorukova, who was only half his age. Varya stopped being even slightly afraid of the Tsar-Liberator.

Their chief introduced them: 'Your Majesty, this is Titular Counsellor Fandorin, the one you have heard about. With him is his assistant, Miss Suvorova.'

The tsar did not say 'hello' or even nod. He concluded his inspection of Varya's figure without hurrying, then turned his head towards Erast Petrovich and said in a low voice modulated like an actor's: 'I remember, Azazel. And Sobolev was just telling me.'

He sat down at the desk and nodded to Mizinov. 'You begin. Mikhail Alexandrovich and I will listen.'

He might offer a lady a chair, even if he is an emperor, Varya thought disapprovingly, abandoning her final shred of belief in the monarchic principle.

'How much time do I have?' the general asked respectfully. 'I know, Your Majesty, how busy you are today. And the heroes of Plevna are waiting.'

'As much time as is needed. This is not merely a strategic matter, but a diplomatic one too,' the emperor rumbled and glanced at Korchakov with an affectionate smile. 'Mikhail Alexandrovich here has come from

Bucharest specially. Rattling his old bones in a carriage’

The prince stretched his mouth in a habitual manner to form a smile devoid of the slightest sign of merriment, and Varya remembered that the previous year the chancellor had suffered some kind of personal tragedy. Someone close to him had died - either his son or his grandson.

'Pray do not take this amiss, Lavrenty Arkadievich,' the chancellor said in a doleful voice, 'but I am having doubts. It all sounds rather too shady, even for Mr Disraeli. And the heroes can wait. Waiting for a decoration is quite the most pleasant of pastimes. So please let us hear what you have to say.'

Mizinov straightened up his shoulders smartly and turned - not to Fandorin, but to Varya: 'Miss Suvorova, please tell us in detail about both of your meetings with the correspondent of the Daily Post, Seamus McLaughlin - during the third storming of Plevna and on the eve of Osman-pasha's breakout.'

And so Varya told them.

It turned out that the tsar and the chancellor were both good listeners. Korchakov only interrupted her twice. The first time he asked: 'Which Count Zurov is that? Not Alexander Platonovich's son?'

The second time he asked: 'McLaughlin knew Ganetsky well then, if he referred to him by his first name and patronymic?'

But His Majesty slapped his palm on the table in irritation when Varya explained that many of the journalists had acquired their own informants in Plevna: 'You still haven't explained to me, Mizinov, how Osman managed to bunch his entire army together for a breakout and your scouts failed to inform you in time!'

The chief of gendarmes started and prepared to make his excuses, but Alexander gestured to stop him. 'Later. Continue, Suvorova.'

'Continue' - how do you like that! Even in the first class at school they had been more polite to her. Varya paused demonstratively to make the point, then went on to finish her story nonetheless.

‘I think the picture is clear,' said the tsar, glancing at Korchakov. 'Let Shuvalov draw up a note.'

'But I am not convinced,' the chancellor replied. 'Let us hear what arguments our inestimable Lavrenty Arkadievich has to offer.'

Varya struggled in vain to understand where exactly the point of disagreement between the emperor and his senior diplomatic adviser lay.

Mizinov cleared up the matter for her. He took several sheets of paper out of his cuff, cleared his throat and began speaking like a swot who is top of the class:

'With your permission, I shall move from the specific to the general. Very well. First of all I must confess my own failings. All the time that our army was besieging Plevna, a cunning and merciless enemy was operating against us and my department failed to expose him in time. It was the intriguing of this cunning and clandestine enemy that resulted in our losing so much time and so many men and almost letting the fruits of many months of effort slip through our fingers on the thirtieth of November.'

At these words the emperor crossed himself. 'God has preserved Russia.'

'After the third assault we - or rather, I, for the conclusions drawn were mine - made a serious mistake in concluding that the main Turkish agent was Lieutenant-Colonel of the Gendarmes Kazanzaki, thereby granting the genuine culprit full freedom of action. It is now not open to doubt that from the very beginning we have been sabotaged by the British subject McLaughlin, who is quite certainly an absolutely top-class agent, and an exceptional actor who spent a long time training thoroughly for his mission.'

'How did this person ever come to be with our army in the field?' His Majesty asked, displeased. 'Were correspondents given visas entirely without verification?'

'Naturally, a check was carried out, and an extremely thorough one,' the chief of gendarmes said with a shrug. 'A list of publications was requested from the editorial offices of all the foreign journalists and crosschecked with our embassies. Every one of the journalists is a well-known professional of good repute who has no history of hostility to Russia. McLaughlin in particular. As I said: a most thorough gentleman. He was able to establish friendly relations with many Russian generals and officers during the Central Asian campaign. And his article last year about Turkish atrocities in Bulgaria earned McLaughlin the reputation of a friend of the Slavs and a genuine supporter of Russia. Whereas in fact all this time he must have been acting on secret instructions from his government, which is well known for its undisguised hostility to our eastern policy.

'Initially McLaughlin restricted his activities purely to spying. Of course, he was passing information about our army to Plevna, for which purpose he made full use of the freedom that was so precipitately afforded to foreign journalists. Yes, many of them did have contacts with the besieged town which were not controlled by us, and this did not arouse the suspicions of our counter-intelligence agents. We shall draw the appropriate conclusions for the future. Again I must accept the blame . . . For as long as he could, McLaughlin used others to do his dirty work. Your Majesty will of course recall the incident involving the Roumanian colonel Lukan, whose notebook included references to a certain mysterious "J". I precipitately decided that the person concerned was the gendarme Kazanzaki. Unfortunately I was mistaken. "J" stood for "journalist" - in other words, our British friend.

'However, during the third assault the fate of Plevna and the entire war hung by a thread and McLaughlin changed his tactics to direct sabotage. I am sure that he did not simply act on his own discretion, but had instructions on what to do from his superiors. I regret that I did not put the British diplomatic agent Colonel Wellesley under secret observation from the very beginning. I have previously reported this gentleman's anti-Russian manoeuvrings to Your Majesty. It is quite clear that Turkish interests are closer to his heart than ours.

'Now let us reconstruct the events of the thirtieth of August. General Sobolev, acting on his own initiative, broke through the Turkish defences and reached the southern outskirts of Plevna. This is understandable, since Osman had been warned by his agent of our general plan of attack and drawn all his forces into the centre. Sobolev's attack caught him by surprise. However, our command was not informed of this success in time, and Sobolev had insufficient strength to continue his advance. McLaughlin and the other journalists and foreign observers - who included, I note in passing, Colonel Wellesley - happened by chance to be at the crucial point of our front, between the centre and the left flank. At six o'clock Count Zurov, Sobolev's adjutant, broke through the Turkish covering forces. As he rode past the journalists, whom he knew well, he shouted out the news of Sobolev's success. What happened after that? All the correspondents dashed to the rear in order to telegraph home the news that the Russian army was winning as soon as possible. All of them - except for McLaughlin. Suvorova met him about half an hour later - alone, spattered with mud and, strangely enough, riding out of the undergrowth. There is no doubt that the journalist had both the time and the opportunity to overtake the messenger and kill him, together with Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki, who to his own misfortune had set out in pursuit of Zurov. Both of them knew McLaughlin very well and could not possibly have anticipated any treachery from him. It was not difficult to stage the lieutenant-colonel's suicide - he dragged the body into the bushes, fired twice into the air from the gendarme's revolver, and it was done,- and that was the bait which we swallowed.'

Mizinov lowered his eyes contritely, but then continued without waiting for His Majesty to rebuke him: 'As for the recent attempted breakout, in this case McLaughlin was acting by agreement with the Turkish command. He could well be described as Osman's trump card. Their calculations were simple and accurate. Ganetsky is a distinguished general but -I beg your pardon for my bluntness - no towering intellect. As we know, he accepted the information conveyed to him by the journalist at face value without doubting it for a second. We have the resolve of Lieutenant-General Sobolev to thank . . .'

'It is Erast Petrovich whom you have to thank!' Varya exclaimed, unable to restrain the mortal offence she felt for Fandorin. He just stood there and said nothing, not even able to stand up for himself. Why had he been brought here - as a piece of furniture? 'It was Fandorin who galloped to Sobolev and persuaded him to attack!'

The emperor stared at her in amazement for this brazen violation of etiquette, and old Korchakov shook his head reproachfully. Even Fandorin looked embarrassed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It seemed that everyone was displeased with her.

'Continue, Mizinov,' the emperor said with a nod.

'By your leave, Your Majesty,' said the wrinkled chancellor, raising a finger. 'If McLaughlin had undertaken such a substantial act of sabotage, why would he need to inform this young woman of his intentions?' The finger inclined in Varya's direction.

'Why, that is obvious,' said Mizinov, wiping the sweat from his brow. 'He calculated that Suvorova would spread this astounding news round the camp straight away and it would immediately reach the headquarters staff. Wild jubilation and confusion. They would think the cannonade in the distance was a salute. Perhaps even in their joy they would not believe the first report of an attack from Ganetsky and would wait to check it. A small detail of improvisation by a cunning intriguer.'

'Possibly,' the prince conceded.

'But where has this McLaughlin got to?' asked the tsar. 'That is who we need to interrogate, and arrange a face-to-face meeting with Wellesley. Oh, we wouldn't want the colonel to slip away!'

Korchakov sighed pensively: 'Yes, a compromisation like this, as they call it in the Zamoskvorechie district, would allow us to neutralise British diplomacy completely.'

'Unfortunately McLaughlin has not been found, either among the prisoners or among the wounded,' said Mizinov, sighing in a different key. 'He managed to get away. But I have no idea how. He's a cunning serpent. Nor is Osman-pasha's infamous adviser Ali-bei among the prisoners - the bearded gentleman who ruined our first assault for us, and whom we assume to be the alter ego of Anwar-effendi. I have already presented Your Majesty with a report concerning the latter.'