The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (78 page)

     “They’re headed for Alexandria, Candice, via Chain Bridge. The whole army’s forming there. Some of the Georgetown defense force is already there and Wool’s Corps is coming down from the northwest. I understand the engineers are almost done with a new bridge at Edward’s Ferry.”

     “Then the fight can’t be long off.”  The seriousness of her tone made Tom look up from the cold chicken he was devouring; it was his first meal in two days. The frowning look on her face was also more concerned than he could ever remember, her green eyes glistening in a most unusual way.

     “Well, General Scott is transferring headquarters to Alexandria on Monday. He’ll be coming back most nights, but I don’t know how much of Georgetown I’ll be seeing from then on. But, yes, the battle isn’t far off. A few weeks, at most.”

       She stared at him intently as he resumed his assault on the buffet. Then:

      “Eat hearty, darling. You’re going to need your strength.” The emerald eyes now began to glow as the frown dissolved in a smirk that emphasized the double entendre.

      Still smirking, she rose and pranced over to the bed, before reclining onto it in a pose her beloved romance novels would inevitably have described as ‘lascivious.’

       Tom regarded her over a sip of wine.
We ought to send
her
to Richmond. She could wear out a division…if not the whole damn Reb army!

___________

Russian Une Maison Sans Danger

Maryland Countryside

October 20, 1833, 5:30 a.m.:

      Capt. Arthur Goodwin glanced at the slowly brightening sky. He had arranged his platoon of 20 Marines in a circle covering the inconspicuous old farmhouse from every angle. If, as General Scott had informed him, the ‘mastermind’ of the Jackson assassination plot was indeed inside, the bastard had two choices: surrender or die…

      He consulted his watch and looked over at the Dominion marshal who had apparently been out here yesterday.

     On the ride up---they had left the War Department before midnight---Marshal Stubas had briefed him. Stubas had been assigned to track the Russian Consul-General’s movements anytime he left the Consulate. Friday afternoon, Count Renkowiitz had ridden over to the French Consulate. A few minutes later, he and a dapper-looking middle-aged man Stubas’ partner had identified as M. Jean-Claude, the French C-G, had emerged on horseback and ridden out of the city. Stubas and his partner had trailed them to this farm, where the C-Gs had tied up their horses and gone in. Yesterday, mid-morning, they had emerged with a third man, a wiry, black-haired man with a long, drooping mustache. Meanwhile, several farm workers and a stout woman of middle age had been in-and-out. After a set of formal European-style bows, the two C-Gs had remounted and set off back to Georgetown. The black-haired man had stood on the farmhouse porch watching until they were some distance down the road before going back inside.

      What made Scott believe the ‘mastermind’---until then Captain Goodwin, like most everyone else in Georgetown, had thought the crazy bartender had acted alone---and the black-haired man were one and the same, the General had not said. Goodwin’s orders were simple: take the black-haired man, alive if possible. But take him…

      “Well,” Goodwin said, as much to himself as to Stubas, “there’s no time like the present. Shall we proceed…?” Stubas nodded as Goodwin barked the order. The ring of Marines tightened its circle around the old house, sharpshooters utilizing trees and rocks where possible. Where not, the Marines went to the ground, piling stones in front to afford some semblance of protection.

        “In the house. This is the USBA Marine Corps. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands raised high.” A rooster crowed in the barnyard.

       Nothing…

       Goodwin waited 60 seconds by his hand-held pocket watch. “I say again. This is the USBA Marine Corps. Surrender or we will commence firing.”

        Shutters opened on several second floor windows. Arms were outstretched and voices in an incoherent babble---at least to the Marines’ Anglicized-ears---shouted down.

       A white pillow or sheet fluttered from the cautiously opening front door. A stout woman emerged, followed by two men. Others came out seconds later.

       No one resembled the black-haired man Marshal Stubas had seen talking with the C-Gs less than 18 hours previously. Nor did a careful, thorough search of the barn and out-buildings discover any cowering men.

       Neither the woman nor any of the others claimed to speak or understand English. Though someone had obviously heard and understood the order to surrender…

       Nicholas Ignatieff was a superb secret agent well versed in the nuisances of his craft. As soon as Count Renkowiitz told him of the disastrous series of interviews with Wellington, Van Buren and the civilian pair, he had realized it was time to move on. He waited until after dark, in case the two C-Gs had been followed. Then he rode several miles away and slept in a field under the stars. 

       The Count had slipped through the Americans’ hands before the Marines were even enroute.

___________

The White House

Richmond

October 20, 1833, 1 p.m.:

     President and Mrs. Calhoun walked leisurely back from 11 a.m. services at Monumental Church on Shockhoe Hill. The assistant pastor, Reverend Norwood, had delivered a satisfying sermon favorably comparing the Confederate troops still arriving at Camp Washington with the Archangel Michael’s fighting legions.

     Generals Taylor and Twiggs were waiting in the parlor with the latest reports from the front.

    “The column that the 1
^st
Virginia sighted moving toward Frederick will cross at a bridge they’re constructing at Edward’s Ferry, probably starting tomorrow, Mr. President. Our sources in Georgetown say another column is coming down further east and will cross at Chain Bridge in the next day or so. They’re both heading for this staging ground.”  General Taylor pointed to Alexandria. “Scott has set up a camp just west of the town, taking over land belonging to several plantations.”

      Calhoun studied the map. “That’s less than 10 miles from our forward line at Fairfax Court House. We won’t get much advance word when they march…”

      “On the contrary, Mr. President, we think we’ll know right down to the day. Mary Lee and her friends have been accurate thus far.” General Twiggs smiled confidently.

      “These young women…we rely on the reports of…
belles
?”

       The two generals smiled. “Well, Mr. President, Scott’s headquarters is apparently a converted guest cottage at Cranford Plantation, the Latoure family estate.

        “These…belles…have, ah, front row seats. We expect to know almost immediately when the Yankees have completed their movements to the camp. After that, it’s just a matter of time. Between our pickets, our other ‘friends’ in Georgetown and the Lee ladies, we’ll know the date before Winfield finishes designing his line of march.”

___________

The Residency

Governor-General’s Office

October 21, 1833, 9 a.m.:

    “So your raid missed him by a few hours, eh? Slipped through your hands…too bad. This Russki is as sharp as Satan, apparently. Sounds like he never sleeps in the same place twice.”

    Colonel Burr looked at Wellington. “Well, damn it. He’s got at least one less place to sleep, now
.
If
he’s aware we’ve hit this hideout.”

     The G-G had his elbows up on the desk, his tiny fingers forming a miniature tent. “This young fellow Harper. I recall him from my days at Interior. He’s been useful, you say.  I think he can safely be detached from his, err, ‘official’ duties and assigned to this manhunt full-time.”

     The Colonel chuckled. “The magnificent Jacqueline
and
the delectable young Countess. The boy’s official duties obviously are not overtaxing him…yes, I agree, Matty, let’s utilize him where he’ll do the most good…”

     The others smiled and the G-G turned to Wellington. “No sense having overlapping searches, Sir Arthur. I suggest we consolidate our efforts, as this is something of an emergency situation. I should think Captain Bratton to be charge, with young Harper and our Justice Department marshals under him. The Marines will also be available.”

      The Duke nodded affirmatively. “Agreed, Mr. Governor. We have to take this diabolical Russian off the board before he can create further chaos. Let’s bring Harry in now and give him his marching orders. Also, it might be advantageous if you summon this young Lothario so we can hear firsthand what if anything he picked up on his, ahem, Sunday picnic.”

     The Colonel coughed discreetly. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I will join the search …in an ‘unofficial’ capacity, of course...”

    The old man’s eyes narrowed and the familiar twinkle was gone, icicles now seeming to protrude from the sockets.  In the Duke’s mind’s eye flashed a scene on a cliffside ledge overlooking the water, a hot morning sun breaking through the lingering fog, two hushed groups of men standing apart under trees while two small figures in shirtsleeves and vests stood facing in a clearing, pistols in their right hands pointing upward, awaiting the command to fire…

     “…as I should very much like to meet this Russian myself.”

___________

Bethesda Meeting House

Rockville Pike, North of Georgetown

October 22, 1833

2:15 p.m.:

     The wiry, clean-shaven bald man sat erectly on his horse in the shadow of the Presbyterian church. Even in the shade, the heat was intense and he took off his hat to wipe his brow, the head glistening.

     At their meeting Saturday, M. Jean-Claude had volunteered to relay messages to and from him, so as to mislead the British, who undoubtedly had the Russian Consulate under constant watch. The Frenchman’s help was especially appreciated now that Nicholas had confirmed that the Americans were also on his trail. He had watched the comedy at the farmhouse from a safe distance. The Marine contingent had awakened him as they rode by less than a quarter mile from his makeshift camp.  He had followed, guessing immediately where they were headed.

      Now he could see a single rider coming up the Pike. Surprisingly, it was Jean-Claude himself; Nicholas had expected to rendezvous with the Consulate’s security chief. He waited as the Frenchman paused and looked around, then eased his horse slowly onto the meeting house grounds. The C-G’s animal joined Nicholas’ mount in nibbling on the plush grass.

      “I appreciate the effort, Consul-General, even as I question the judgment; this is a risky business for the chief representative of a supposed neutral…”

       “Nonsense, my dear Count. I am a familiar figure, riding in and around Georgetown on an almost daily basis. Nothing could be more routine…and my country has its own interest in seeing the Lion tied up in knots here in North America…”

       “As you wish, Consul-General. However, you and Count Karl were almost certainly followed; the Americans launched a raid on the farmhouse before dawn Sunday.”

      “Sacre bleu!”

      “Fortunately, I had taken the precaution to camp in the open fields. They found no trace of me. However, tell Renkowiitz to find another une maison sans danger. That one’s usefulness is at an end. Now, what have you for me?”

        Jean-Claude was visibly shaken by Ignatieff’s news and glanced around nervously, to Nicholas’ disgust. “Come Monsieur, quickly: what news?”

       The C-G forced himself to concentrate on his verbal report. “They opened their Alexandria camp this morning. By tomorrow, their entire army will be across the Potomac. Word in the capitol is that Scott will march by week’s end; certainly by this time next week.” He wiped sweat from his eyes; Ignatieff grinned his wolf’s grin and wondered how much was due to the heat and how much to his reaction to the news of the American raid.

      “Is that all?”

     Jean-Claude was continuing to shift nervously in his saddle. “My dear Count. Before I entered the diplomatic service, I served in the Grand Armee. If I knew an enemy agent was lurking out here, I would send cavalry to sweep the area…”

      Ignatieff nodded and grinned again. “So would I. And so have they. I have been dodging their patrols all morning. I found a quiet inn to pass last night, but it appears I must again take to the fields this night.”

       The C-G was shocked: “What, why I saw nothing coming up here!”

      “Probably because they have swept the area and moved further north.” Ignatieff was dry. “So you had best depart. However, did that fool Renkowiitz find out when Scott leaves for Alexandria?”

       “I saw the General and a group of riders heading toward the Long Bridge early this morning…”

        “Merde alors!”

       “However, that does not mean he will stay in Virginia.”

      “What do you mean?”

        “I do not think he intends to remain on his horse until the last of the Carlisle regiments has arrived. He may well be back at the War Department as we speak, after officially welcoming the first troops to Alexandria.”

        Ignatieff nodded. “Tell Renkowiitz to find out for certain. There is a small French café, the Ille de France, on 14
^th
Street. Are you familiar with it? Good. Arrange with Renkowiitz to have a professional--someone cool and competent who can avoid being followed---meet me there in two nights: Wednesday evening, after 9 p.m.”

        Jean-Claude stared into the strange eyes. “You will risk coming into the city?”

         Nicholas snorted. “Why else would I have come back? What I must do is better done on this side of the Potomac.”

         Jean-Claude was halfway back to Georgetown when, suddenly, he knew what the Russian intended to try.

        
Sacre bleu
!