Susan Johnson (18 page)

“He has a lovely lady traveling with him, I hear,” Mingen noted, mitigating any illusion to prying by adding, “The groom told me she was very beautiful.”

“They both are,” the maid replied with a wistful sigh. “And the general’s smile is ever so wonderful. He particularly thanked me for bringing his lady a second serving of pudding late last night.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially while her eyes widened in piquant animation. “And he were only wearing his breeches, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah …” Mingen responded with appropriate understanding. “They’re lovers.”

“No doubt of that,” she said with a wink. “He bought her a fancy pink diamond ring big as a pigeon egg from old Calvin down the street and the lady didn’t rise from bed until they dressed to leave this morning.”

“He has a reputation for the ladies,” Mingen offered, his smile deceptively boyish.

“He coulda had any one of us here with no more than a glance our way,” the pretty young maid declared with feeling. “Annie wanted to ask him if he’d take a moment from his lady for a quick roll in the hay with her, but we held her back, seeing how he only had eyes for the countess.”

“She’s a countess?” Mingen inquired, infusing his voice with added respect, wondering whether Duras was actually referring to Teo by name.

“Well, he don’t call her countess. He calls her darling and love and other sweetings, but the troopers who guard his person called her countess. A Russian, they said,” she whispered, as if the word were dangerous.

And she was reasonably accurate, for the Chechens’ evil gazes suddenly focused on her, their limited vocabulary familiar with the word
Russian
. As if their depravity were a palpable energy, she glanced over at them and, turning pale, quickly excused herself on the pretext of work in the kitchen.

They were like dark werewolves, Mingen thought, regarding the two men seated across from him, their gazes pitiless, without humanity, their swarthy skin and dark clothing investing them with a sinister air. While not prone to nerves after years in his stealthy trade, he was sensibly cognizant of their deadly skills. He never turned his back on them.

“Russian countess,” one of them muttered, his powerful hands flexing on his beer stein.

“Here?” the other asked, the word muffled through a mouthful of stewed goat meat.

“They’re a day ahead of us,” Mingen said in an Asian dialect they understood.

But Duras’s well-oiled espionage machine was operating in the rear of the retreat as well, his spies on alert for word of the archduke’s movements.

A young agent noticed the Chechens that night in Mülheim and immediately sent word to Duras.

Cholet received the message the following morning and relayed it to Bonnay. “We’ll have to double the guard on the general,” Bonnay murmured, ever cautious. “I’ll give Andre the message when the countess isn’t near.”

But the Directory had received the latest news of Jourdan’s rout, reports on Duras’s retreat from Bregenz, accounts
of the most recent Austrian triumphs in Italy, and couriers from Paris arrived at headquarters that day with mountains of dispatches.

Heated discussion had taken place in Paris about replacing Duras while Jourdan was being recalled to Paris to justify his disastrous defeat. And after much wrangling and disagreement and political maneuvering—the influences of Barras, Talleyrand, and Milet-Mureau, the new war minister, significant—agreement was finally reached, the conclusion inevitable to all who understood military operations. Duras’s new appointment arrived in a letter signed by all five of the Directors. The remnants of Jourdan’s and Bernadotte’s armies had been merged with the Army of Switzerland and put under Duras’s command. This new larger command was renamed the Army of the Danube.

Bernadotte, with his ear to the political winds and ever hostile to Duras, had sent an insolent letter to Duras, saying that he intended to go home for some time to recover from chest trouble, but that, when cured, he would return “to perish gloriously with his comrades.”

And of course Claudine had included her predictable instructions in the Directory pouches. “I’ll leave these to you,” Duras had murmured to Bonnay, handing over the lavender letters. So on a day of such moment, with an avalanche of mail and the new combined army requiring immediate reorganization, one message from one agent was overlooked.

With his new appointment, Duras was now responsible for the defense of the whole of France’s eastern frontier, from Koblenz up the Rhine Valley to Basel; thence along the Swiss frontier to the Lake of Constance and then southward to the Splungen Pass, a distance of over four hundred miles. The collapse of the French Army of Italy on his right had exposed the whole of his south flank to attack, adding another hundred miles of front for him to hold.

He’d left Teo at noon when the dispatches had arrived and wasn’t able to return to her until dinner. But even then he stayed only briefly to dine and, apologizing before dessert was served, excused himself to return to his temporary headquarters at Frauenfeld. “I’ll be back tonight,” he said, placing his napkin on the table. “There’s an incredible number of tasks to accomplish.” His dark brows drew together in a faint frown. “Will you be all right without me?”

She smiled. “No, but go. I’ll manage perfectly well.” Reaching across the small table, she touched his hand, the pink diamond on her finger twinkling in the candlelight. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you … now and always,” he said, impossible words for him only brief days ago. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“In six months from the sounds of it,” she teased.

“I couldn’t last that long without you. Perhaps six hours,” he said, smiling as he rose from his chair. “Don’t wait up, though.”

As Duras was bidding Teo adieu, Mingen and the Chechens were in the stables of the same inn, exchanging gold with the groom for the use of his quarters above the loft. They preferred the anonymity although even had they wished to be conspicuous, lodgings were difficult to secure with the entire army in Frauenfeld. Mingen’s first task would be to locate the countess and Duras; he knew they were staying at the same inn because everyone was astir catering to the general and his staff, but he needed to know the disposition of their apartments. So as soon as their saddlebags were carried up, Mingen left the Chechens in their hideaway and went out to reconnoiter. Additionally, he wished to discover whether his backup had arrived. With the news of Duras’s appointment all over the city, time became critical.

Rumor had it that Duras was leaving tomorrow for an inspection of his entire front.

However rudimentary their language skills, the two assassins had caught bits of the conversations around them since entering the city and understood they were very close to the general’s lodgings. So when Mingen left, one of them followed him. The other set off to find the French army headquarters.

It didn’t take Mingen long to discover his Prussian colleagues hadn’t yet arrived at their proposed meeting site—which left him on his own. Mildly daunted with the city awash with troops, Mingen debated his options on his return to the inn.

Stopping a buxom young maid in the hall, Mingen found that the general had just left.

“And his lady?” Mingen gently inquired, handing the young woman a coin for her trouble.

“In the room at the head of the stairs, sir,” she said with a bob of her head. “Eating fresh berries from Paris, she is. A courier brought them this afternoon with champagne for the general’s new honors.”

Glancing up the stairway, Mingen caught sight of two guards posted on either side of the door. Not sure whether they were to keep the countess in or others out, he took out another coin, a larger one this time. “Would you bring the countess a note from me if I were to give you this gold piece? I knew her once and I’d like to extend my greetings to her.”

“You could knock at her door,” the maid said, eyeing Mingen with a modicum of suspicion. He didn’t wear a French uniform, nor had he the appearance of a wealthy man. “How would you know a countess?”

“I worked for her father,” he said, “as a secretary. She would know me as one of her household.”

“In Paris?” she asked.

For an indecisive moment, Mingen debated his answer. Did the woman know Teo’s history or did she assume Duras’s lady was French? “Yes, in Paris,” he answered.

“I’d like to see Paris someday.”

Mingen’s pulse rate returned to normal. “If you deliver a note for me, I’d be happy to give you enough to take a trip to Paris.”

She put out her hand and Mingen smiled in satisfaction.

In the current state of war readiness, Mingen knew it was impossible to gain access to Duras directly. Under any circumstances it was difficult to secure a hearing with a general, protected as one always was by a phalanx of subordinates and staff.

Nor could he reveal himself publicly as King Frederick’s agent or Korsakov’s. Both would put him at risk. Some young aide with dreams of glory might shoot him first and ask questions later, or he could spend the remainder of the war in a French prison camp.

If, however, he could convince Teo of the danger to the general, she could most likely gain him an audience with Duras. And once the general learned of Korsakov’s plan, his staff should be able to deal with the two Chechens.

Mingen hadn’t reckoned with the Chechens’ single-minded purpose. Adept at their trade, they’d already located both Duras and Teo. And while Mingen was in the hotel parlor penning his note to Teo, briefly explaining the danger to Duras, the Chechens were already climbing onto the second-floor porch behind the inn.

The two men balanced on the porch rail, carefully scrutinizing the dressing room revealed through the sliver of space where the edges of the drapes didn’t completely meet. The room was only dimly lit and empty; they nodded at each other and went to work.

With the help of a stiletto knifeblade, the window was silently eased open just enough to allow the men to slip inside. As quickly, the window was shut again. The smaller of the two men moved behind the partially opened door and gazed out into the bedroom through the narrow slit between the door and frame. A faint smile creased his swarthy cheek and he nodded once to his partner.

A second later they sprinted through the doorway, dashing toward the bed where Teo lay reading, their approach so swift and sudden, they were almost upon her before she saw them.

She opened her mouth to scream, the sight of the Chechens chilling her to the bone, but a dark hand clamped hard against her mouth. Although she struggled against their hold, kicking and scratching, they easily overpowered her and in a few seconds she was tightly trussed, gagged, and blindfolded.

Stunned by the suddenness of the assault, terrified, an overwhelming sense of doom inundating her senses, she felt herself being carried away. The Chechens’ function as assassins was well-known. Would they torture her before killing her? she wondered, the harrowing reflection inciting a paralyzing surge of panic. Then she felt a cool breeze on her cheek, heard a short muttered sound from below, and her pulse rate soared. She was before an open window.

She screamed as she felt herself being thrown, her cry of terror only a muffled murmur through the enveloping gag. In free fall, she instinctively braced herself for impact and then blessed oblivion engulfed her and she fainted, her limp body dropping into the arms of the Chechen below.

The smell of hay and horses invaded her nostrils when she gained consciousness, and lying utterly still, she waited for the tumult in her brain to subside somewhat. Don’t move, she cautioned herself; her captors could be watching. And then she thanked all the benevolent spirits for keeping
her alive, although she wondered in the next flashing moment whether she had any hope of long-term survival. Where was she, she wondered next, and how long had she been lying on the floor? She had no notion of time or place. No immediate sounds struck her senses. Was she alone?

She tentatively moved her feet, her tied ankles allowing only minimal movement. And waited for a reaction.

The silence went undisturbed.

She wondered if she was going to be left to die like this. It depended, she decided, forcing herself to a modicum of calm, on whether Korsakov needed her alive … or how much he needed her alive. Examining the most pressing reasons he might prefer her alive, she turned her attention to possible means of extricating herself from her perilous situation.

Standing at the bottom of the stairway, Mingen watched the maid approach the troopers guarding Teo’s door. He’d given her gold coins for the guards as well, hoping the men would be more amenable to delivering his message.

When his note passed into a guard’s hand, Mingen released the breath he’d been holding. The first hurdle had been cleared.

The maid winked at him as she descended the stairs, proud of her accomplishment, pleased with her new wealth.

After the guard disappeared through the doorway, Mingen waited, his nerves on edge. But the man reappeared short moments later, dashing out into the hall, obviously discomposed, and pulled his companion back into the apartment with him.

When they both came running out a few seconds later and plunged down the stairs, Mingen experienced an ominous sense of doom.

“Is she gone?” Mingen demanded, putting himself directly in their path. There wasn’t time for finesse or discussion;
every minute counted. “I know she is,” he bluntly said as one soldier began to brush him aside. “You need me because I can find her. Take me to Duras.”

Roughly grabbed, he was pushed ahead of them down the stairs and through the corridor to the entrance, a musket at his back.

A highly visible target, Duras was standing before a map mounted on the wall, his staff seated around a table before him.

Concealed behind the church pillars across the narrow street, the Chechens had already agreed on who would shoot whom. The taller man had Duras, while his colleague was to kill the two guards posted outside. Each rifle had two shots. Duras would be shot twice as insurance. The guards once each in the head.