“You can guess what happened then. Three more men, two in Paris, one in Nice. All dead. Five of ours.”
“How were their identities discovered?”
Edmund sighed and stroked his cheek pensively, looking for all the world like a farmer anxious over crops. But these were higher stakes.
“A list went missing from our ministry. Eight names on it. The three who weren’t killed were fortunate: two were back in England, one who just managed to get out of Paris with his life, though he left all of his possessions behind. He was fired upon as he got into the ferry.”
“The French mean business.”
“You can see that the peace is … a complex one,” said Edmund with a wry smile. He took another sip of his drink. “What’s fortunate is that none of them were tortured for information. There’s some evidence that Archer was to be kidnapped, but struggled enough that they simply killed him. The same may be true of one of our men in Paris, Franklin King.”
“Does this mean that someone in our government is working for the French?”
“I fear it does. We’re looking into it, you may rely on that.”
“Treason.”
“Yes. We haven’t found the man yet, but we will, and in the meantime all of our activities—our intelligence activities—have been suspended.” Edmund looked uneasy then. “Well. Except for one.”
“Egypt.”
The brothers sat in silence for a moment. Charles, for his part, was knocked backwards, though through some ancient childhood wish to seem strong to his older brother, he acted calm. But he had had no idea that such arcane and troubling matters fell within his brother’s bailiwick. Edmund had been a good member of the party, but devoted his time (as far as anyone knew at least) to broader public issues like voting or the colonies.
Worse still, he saw that it was taking a toll on Edmund, who looked tired and dogged with worry.
As if sensing Charles’s thoughts, Edmund said, “I didn’t ask for the responsibility, but I couldn’t decline it, could I?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You see the problem.”
“Well, tell me,” said Charles.
“We don’t know how much information the French have. Is it everything, every name? Are they sticking to this list of eight men to make it seem that they know less than they do? Or do they really know nothing beyond those eight names?”
“We need to find out what they have, then.”
Edmund rolled his eyes. “They need ice water in hell, too, but I doubt they get much of it.”
“Tell me about Egypt.”
“In our disarray we’ve accepted that we must sacrifice certain knowledge we had hoped to acquire about the French munitions, their navy, so forth and so on. Rucks was particularly well placed to study their navy, being in a port city, but so be it. Still, there’s one thing we must know.”
“Yes?”
“Whether the French mean to strike at us preemptively. To start another war.”
“They wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be in their interests, would it?” said Charles.
As Edmund pondered how to answer this question the fire shifted, a log breaking in half. Both men stood up and started to fiddle with it, one with the poker and the other with a sort of long iron claw that could pick up bits of wood.
“We’ve still the finest navy that has ever gone afloat,” Edmund said at last, “but the margin is shrinking, I can tell you frankly, and on land they may be just as strong as we are. The colonies have spread us a bit thin. If they have any ambitions of greater power … let’s say it’s not impossible.”
“I see.”
“Making matters worse, of course, is that we still don’t know quite where we are with this government. Napoleon the Third has been gone for three years now—and for that matter died in January—and this third republic is unpredictable. We can never be sure whose voice matters there. We had thought these
“How?”
“We have a man in place in the French Ministry of War, working directly under Cissey, their secretaire d’etat de la guerre. This fellow is very high up, very clever, but rather poor. Despite the death of the empire it’s mostly the aristocrats who work in their government as I understand.”
“How unfamiliar,” said Lenox.
Edmund laughed. “Well, quite so. Not all that different from here, I suppose. This chap is no aristocrat. He’s clever, though, and he’s a mercenary. For money he’ll tell us all we need to know about the new government’s intentions.”
“How much?”
Edmund quoted a figure that made Charles whistle. “It’s not ideal. A man you have to pay is much less reliable than a man who burns with patriotic fervor, but so be it.”
“How do you know he’s not acting under orders, Ed? Playing a double game?”
“We have other informants, men who would know if that were the case. But they’re not at so high a level as this gentleman.”
Charles sat down again and for a moment brooded over all this. “You’re in disarray, then,” he said at last, “and need someone the French couldn’t possibly have on any … any list of names?”
“Precisely. We need someone who can go to Egypt in a public guise.”
“Why Egypt?”
“We don’t dare send anyone to France, because of course they’ll be on guard at such a tense, decisive moment. But this French gentleman, the one who can pass us information, has business he may plausibly conduct in Suez.”
Charles saw all now. “And you thought you would send me to the canal as a member of Parliament—but in fact to meet this gentleman?”
Edmund nodded, and then, with a look of eagerness that made his younger brother nearly smile, said, “What do you think?”
“I’ll do it, of course.”
“Excellent. What a relief that is.”
This puzzled Charles. “Why?”
“Well—because we need someone we trust.”
“There are other men in Parliament who would do it, I imagine.”
“But we don’t want a man without any special loyalty to Gladstone and the current government to have this information—this power over the leadership of the party, you see. You’re my brother, and it’s our luck that on top of that you’re a clever and discreet member.”
“Thank you, then.”
A brief pause. “There one thing I’ve omitted, however.”
Lenox had felt it coming. “Oh?”
“We would ask that you go on the
“Vaguely.”
Edmund looked uncomfortable now. “It will be Teddy’s first ship, you see.”
Indignation filled Lenox.
Teddy was his—very beloved—nephew, Edmund’s second son, who had been groomed, like many of his mother’s clan, which had seemingly a hundred admirals lurking in its family tree, to enter the navy at a young age. He had recently turned fourteen, and was just now ready to become a midshipman.
“So there’s no special task,” said Charles. “You don’t need me. You simply want a babysitter.”
“No, no!” Edmund, to his credit, looked horribly unhappy. “I feared you would take it this way.”
“I don’t mind, of course. I’ll do it. But I wish you had been honest.”
“Charles, no! I view this as nothing more than a lucky coincidence. Your primary job will be to meet our
