At Some Disputed Barricade

rising politicians of similar mind have also been lost to us recently. Do you begin to understand me, Reavley?”

Matthew drew a deep breath, as if standing on the edge of an abyss and having looked down.

“Yes, sir. Someone is…planning ahead, maneuvering so that when the time comes they will have control over whoever is in power to agree to the terms of peace.” At last he was not alone in his knowledge, but Sandwell had glimpsed only a fraction of the Peacemaker’s design, just this last few months’ work. Should Matthew say any more? Not yet. Be careful. Listen, only listen. And there was still the frayed end he could not place that lingered at the edge of his mind.

“Precisely,” Sandwell agreed. “And doing it with very great skill. Which leads me to wonder why he is doing this now.”

Matthew was about to point out the obvious, that now there was the greatest hope of the end to the war. But that was not true. They had hoped for it as early as the autumn of 1914. He bit back the words. Then with a catch of his breath, he realized what Sandwell really meant! If someone had these hopes and designs now, where had he been during the last three years?

Sandwell read him perfectly. “Exactly,” he said in little more than a whisper. “What else? What has there been all through the years since the beginning that we have not seen?”

Matthew’s mind raced. Had he found an ally at last? Then suddenly he heard his father’s voice in his mind again, that last day on the telephone, warning him that the conspiracy went as high as the Royal Family. He knew now that that had been a reference to the treaty that the Peacemaker had wanted the king to sign.

“Reavley?” Sandwell’s voice interrupted the sense of loss as sharp as the day of John Reavley’s death. It jerked Matthew back to the present. “Yes, sir. The thought is…overwhelming. It is possible this is his first act… but…”

“His?” Sandwell questioned him. “Whose? Do you think it is one man?”

Matthew spoke slowly. Without having reached a decision consciously, he could not bring himself to trust Sandwell. He must weigh every word. He was acutely aware of Sandwell’s extraordinary intelligence. “No, certainly not acting alone,” he answered. “But it might be one man leading and others following. It seems to have a coherence about it. Forgive me, sir, if I am a little slow. The thought is enormous, and incredibly ugly.”

“But not new to you,” Sandwell pointed out.

Should he admit it? He saw the knowledge reflected in Sandwell’s eyes. He knew at least something of Matthew’s earlier convictions of conspiracy, but how much and from whom? Shearing? Someone else in the Intelligence Service?

“We’re always looking for conspiracies,” he said aloud, trying to make his voice sound rueful. “It’s still a surprise when you find them. I did suspect that Corracher might be innocent, and if he was, then Wheatcroft is implicated, even if just another victim with less honor than Corracher, willing to ruin another man in order to escape himself. It is the other thought, of what else might have been done, or yet planned by the man behind this, that stuns me.”

“As well it might.” Sandwell leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on Matthew’s face. “And it is that which we must address, Reavley. Saving Tom Corracher is a relatively small matter. Finding this…this arch-traitor is the main thing. As long as he remains hidden, with the power he has—and we have no idea how much it is—then we are desperately, perhaps even fatally vulnerable.”

“And have always been,” Matthew added.

Sandwell let out his breath in a slow sigh. “Tell me, Reavley, you have been in intelligence since the beginning of the war. You must have as good an idea as anyone how our enemies work. Where are we most vulnerable? If you were this…this man, where would you have struck already? And where would you strike next?”

Matthew saw the depth of the question and the power. If he did not answer, he would betray the fact that he did not trust Sandwell. And if he did answer, he would show that he did trust him, completely, perhaps more than an intelligence officer should trust anyone at all, especially anyone outside the service, even if he were of cabinet rank in the government. It was a position of ironic delicacy. Did Sandwell know that? He dared not assume that he didn’t. He was forced to tell the truth, or something extremely close to it.

“In the past,” he began carefully, “I would have struck with propaganda aimed at morale, especially within the forces. I would have aimed it particularly at recruitment points. Next I would have struck against the navy. Without sea power we’ll lose in weeks. Being an island is both our strength and our weakness.”

Sandwell nodded.

“And now?” he said very softly, almost as if he feared being overheard, even though there was no one else in the room.

“I would try to neutralize the effectiveness of some of our ministers who have strong diplomatic contacts abroad, particularly in countries that might be persuaded to turn against Germany and its allies, such as Hungary. Or to hasten the withdrawal of Russia.”

“Yes.” Sandwell’s eyes were the clearest, most brilliant blue. “That would be the natural thing.”

“And of course if possible weaken the Western Front.” Matthew heard his own voice loud in the utter silence. “Passchendaele is proving the most terrible battle we have ever fought. At this rate there will be a quarter of a million more dead before it’s over.”

Sandwell’s face was white; the misery bit so deep it drove the blood from his veins. “I know…”

“Morale is almost at breaking point,” Matthew added. “One really disastrous injustice, even a fatal mistake, and the men might even mutiny. Then the line might not hold.” Instantly he wondered if he had gone too far. Sandwell looked as if he was in emotional pain so intense it had become physical. He was short of breath and his muscles were locked as if in a spasm. His face was ashen.

Matthew waited. He could hear the clock ticking on the mantel over the ornate fireplace and the first heavy spots of rain that fell against the window.

“I was right to trust you.” Sandwell let out his breath in a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. “You understand perfectly. There has been an incident. An incompetent officer was shot by his own men. They know who it was, and they are up for court-martial.” His voice was quite light. “Unfortunately two of these are officers; both have served the full duration of the war with distinction. In fact, one is up for the V.C. If he is found guilty and faces the firing squad for what was essentially saving his own men’s lives by getting rid of a disastrous officer, then there is your incident of injustice. It could even be seen as a betrayal, if you believe sending brave men into battle led by an idiot to be a betrayal of their trust. And God knows, they deserve better than that!”

Matthew stared at him. Was it possible that at last he really did have an ally? One with power! He remembered Cullingford with a grief so sharp it brought a wave of nausea. “Be careful!” he said with sudden urgency, unable to help himself from the warning.

“Oh, I am, Reavley. Believe me, since I have become aware of this possibility, even probability, I have been extremely careful.” He frowned. “But what makes you say that? Have you felt yourself in danger, personally, I mean?”

Matthew hesitated for a fraction of a moment. Again, he could not afford to be caught in a lie. But could Sandwell possibly know the truth? No, but that was not the point. Matthew had given the warning. He had to justify it.

“Yes, twice,” he answered. “Once might have been an accident; the second time it was definitely an attempt to kill me.”

Sandwell blinked. “You are certain? Or am I foolish to ask?”

Matthew gave a half smile. “If this man would betray his country and cause the deaths of thousands, tens of thousands, why on earth not a single one, if that one was a danger to him?”

Sandwell blinked. “Cause the deaths of…I was thinking rather more of someone who wants peace, even if it is the peace of defeat, rather than a continuing of this…slaughter….” The word came out with a burst of passion which he controlled only with an intense effort of will. He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I suppose I have no evidence for that. I just have…” He took a deep breath. “I have intense fear as to who this man may be, how highly placed in order to have done what he has. I had not considered his motives. I admit, Reavley, I find the whole thing shattering.”

“You have some idea who it is?” Matthew asked, unable to stop his voice from trembling.

Sandwell looked away. “I would rather not say anything yet. It…it is so appalling. But I will give you all the information I have, as well, of course, as placing copies in my safe where they will be available to the prime