As we agreed. Half now, half after the event, he said, passing over the envelope as his words fell away.
The deliveryman smiled as he eyed the thick stack of currency. I wonder if the Germans would pay this much to sink a ship and murder a general, he said. You wouldnt happen to be working for the Kaiser, now, would you?
The minister firmly shook his head. No, this is a theological matter. Had you been able to locate the document, this would not have been necessary.
I searched the manor three times. If it was there, I would have found it.
As you have told me.
You are certain that it was carried aboard?
Weve learned of a meeting on the generals schedule with the Father Superior of the Russian Orthodox Church in Petrograd. There can be little doubt as to the purpose. The document must be aboard. It will be destroyed along with him, and so the secret shall die.
The Vauxhalls tires touched wet cobblestone as they entered the outskirts of Portsmouth. The driver navigated toward the city center, passing block after block of tall brick row houses. Reaching a main crossroads, he turned into the rear driveway of a nineteenth-century stone church labeled St. Marys as the rain began to fall with intensity.
Id like you to drop me at the railway station, the deliveryman said, observing the large motorcar bisect a churchyard cemetery and pull to a stop behind the rectory.
I was asked to drop off a sermon, the minister replied. Wont take more than a moment. Why dont you join me?
The deliveryman suppressed a yawn as he looked out the rain-streaked window. No, I think Ill wait here and keep dry.
Very well. Well return shortly.
The minister and driver walked away, leaving the deliveryman to count his blood money. As he attempted to tally up the Bank of England notes, he had trouble reading the numbers and realized his vision was blurring. He felt a wave of fatigue sweep over him and quickly tucked the money away and lay down on the seat to rest. Though it seemed like hours, it was only a few minutes later when a mist of cold water struck his face and he pried open his heavy eyelids. The stern face of the minister looked down upon him amid a shower of rain. His brain told him that his body was moving, but there was no feeling in his legs. He focused his blurry eyes enough to see the driver was carrying his legs, while the minister dragged him by the arms. A mute sense of panic rang within his skull, and he willed himself to retrieve a Webley Bulldog pistol from his pocket. But his limbs refused to respond. The brandy, he thought with momentary clarity. It was the brandy.
A canopy of green leaves filled his vision as he was carried beneath a grove of towering oak trees. The ministers face still swayed above him, a sullen mask of indifference illuminated by two frigid eyes. Then the face fell away, or rather he did. He heard more than felt his body drop into a trench, splashing down hard into a muddy puddle. Flat on his back, he gazed up at the minister, who stood high over him with a faint aura of guilt.
Forgive us our sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, he heard the minister say solemnly. These we take to the grave.
The back side of a shovel appeared, followed by a clump of soggy dirt that fell and bounced off his chest. Another shovelful of dirt tumbled down, and then another.
His body was paralyzed and his voice frozen, but his mind still operated with reason. With crushing horror, he fully grasped that he was being buried alive. He fought again to move his limbs, but there was no response. As the dirt piled high within his grave, his screams of terror blared only within his mind, until his last breath was painfully snuffed out.
Voss slowly rotated the viewing piece three hundred and sixty degrees. He lingered over a few speckled lights that rose high in the distance. They were lantern lights from a scattering of farmhouses that dotted Cape Marwick, a frigid, windswept stretch of the Orkney Islands. Voss had nearly completed his circular survey when his eye caught a faint glimmer on the eastern horizon. Dialing the viewing lens to a crisper focus, he patiently tracked a steady movement of the light.
Possible target at zero-four-eight degrees, he announced, fighting to contain the excitement in his voice.
Several other sailors stationed in the submarines cramped control room perked to attention at his words.
Voss tracked the object for several more minutes, during which time a quarter moon broke briefly through a bank of thick storm clouds. For a fleeting moment, the moonlight cast a sheen on the object, exposing its dimensions against the island hills behind it. Voss felt his heart flutter and noticed his palms suddenly grow sweaty on the periscope handgrips. Blinking hard, he confirmed the visual image, then stood away from the eyepiece. Without saying a word, he sprinted from the control room, scrambling down the tiny aft passageway that ran the length of the sub. Reaching the captains cabin, he knocked loudly, then slid open a thin curtain.