Sweet as the Devil (25 page)

W
HILE JAMIE, SOFIA, and the rest were traveling north at a brisk pace, Von Welden was sitting at his desk in the ministry building in Vienna with a cable in his hand and a scowl on his face. The cryptic cable message read,
Tom and Ned missed breakfast. Advise.

No Tom or Ned existed, of course, although the men using those names did, or had. They’d both failed to arrange their morning rendezvous in London.

Tapping his fingers on his desktop, Von Welden softly swore, knowing full well neither man had chosen to neglect the meeting. He turned toward the open door leading to his outer office. “Krauss!” he bellowed.

His secretary appeared at the run, his epaulettes glittering in the morning sunlight, regimental uniform de rigueur for the police ministry staff.

Von Welden waved his hand. “Shut the door.” Shoving the cable aside, he leaned back in his chair. “As you saw, we have a problem.” His ADC handled all his correspondence.

“Not entirely unexpected,” Ludwig Krauss drily said. “Blackwood’s resourceful.”

Von Welden grunted. “More’s the pity. You know I tried recruiting him right out of Theresienstadt Military Academy, he was so clearly more gifted than all the rest of the aristocratic sprigs and scholarship wunderkinder. But the bastard refused me. He wasn’t interested in working for a decaying institution, he said,” Von Welden bitterly noted. “I should have imprisoned him on the spot for treason.”

“His father might have taken exception to his imprisonment,” Krauss sardonically observed. “The Blackwood troops are talented professionals and, more importantly, ruthless.” Krauss was stout, bald, red faced, entirely loyal to the minister, and privy to Von Welden’s various machinations. He had leave to speak bluntly. He was also a meticulous manager, preferred his mistress to his wife, and was consequently more available when Von Welden required his services. The secret police wasn’t a bureaucracy that observed normal business hours. “It seems to me that the question is not whether Blackwood is competent—he is—but rather how many more men you need in England to accomplish your mission.”

Von Welden shut his eyes for a moment. Then, raising his lashes, he spoke, slowly and deliberately. “Since we’ve lost two in as many days, I’d say six more at least. Eight perhaps if you think we’d be better served. Arrange for the new recruits as quickly as possible. Then send Latour a cable informing him that additional teams will soon arrive.” An acid note entered the minister’s voice. “Fucking Blackwood.”

“You knew it wouldn’t be easy, sir,” his secretary observed in a commiserating tone. “Battenberg’s men are firstrate. A bloodthirsty lot, most say.”

“Plainly. I wonder they missed Latour.”

“Perhaps they didn’t dare murder a nobleman.”

“I doubt it.” Von Welden briefly stared into space. “I expect they’re playing some game with him. Perhaps,” the minister said in a musing tone, “we should treat Latour’s mission separately.”

“An excellent idea, sir. In the event he’s being watched.”

Von Welden suddenly sat up and placed his palms on his desktop. “Very well. Send out the crews. The best you can find. Cable Latour to continue as previously ordered. He’ll be advised later to any change in plans. That’s all.” Von Welden waved his hand in a dismissive gesture but then a thought struck him. “Wait.”

Krauss turned back.

“Have we any word of where Battenberg or this mysterious daughter of his might have gone?” They’d received news last night that the prince had disappeared from his London home, along with the unwelcome information that he may have an heir after all.

Krauss shook his head.

“They both have to be eliminated—understood? No excuses,” Von Welden growled. “Heads will roll if they’re not dispatched,” he warned.

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure everyone understands.”

“Yes, sir.” Although Krauss knew better than to relay such information to the assassins he was sending to England. Warning killers that failure meant death would be witless. Anyone whose loyalties were for sale to the highest bidder was by definition corruptible. If threatened, they’d either sell out to the opposition or disappear.

After the door closed on his ADC, Von Welden leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. The degree of professionalism required—particularly when sending men to a foreign land—was difficult to muster these days, even with adequate funds. In many respects Latour von Metis was eminently more suitable than common killers. As a nobleman he was well-known and accepted in fashionable circles; he’d have access to any gossip pertaining to Prince Ernst or his recently acknowledged daughter.

Which pertinent thought suddenly brought Von Welden upright in his chair. He shouted for Krauss.

When his secretary appeared in the doorway, Von Welden briskly commanded, “Send additional funds to Latour. He’s the best resource we have at the moment, and knowing him, he’s probably already gambled away what we’ve furnished him. I want to make certain he’s welcome in the best clubs where gossip abounds, and if he owes gambling debts, he won’t be able to show his face. I want him to have enough money to assure his acceptance in society.”

“How much, sir?”

“Five thousand English pounds.”

Krauss’s eyebrows rose into his nonexistent hairline.

“Just do it, Krauss,” Von Welden snapped. “If he finds Ernst and whatever her name is, it’ll be worth every shilling.”

 

 

L
ATER THAT MORNING, Count Johan Latour von Metis was pleasantly surprised by the cable he received in his suite at the Ritz:
Continue as before with your visit to Auntie May. Additional funds are available at Lloyds Bank. Love, Uncle George.

A very
welcome
surprise indeed. He’d lost heavily at White’s last night. He also preferred working alone. The two men sent over with him were contemptibly common, their accents were terrible, and he rather thought their shoes gave them away at first sight. Not that he was about to tell Von Welden how to conduct his business. But it was clear something had happened to his two colleagues. They were to have contacted him this morning by phone at eight to set up a meet. He suspected they were lying on the bottom of the Thames—a convenient graveyard for the world’s largest metropolis.

Tucking the cable into his pocket, the count rose from his breakfast table and shouted for his valet. He’d bathe, dress, pick up his new funds, then stroll to White’s. He looked forward to an afternoon of gaming before the evening soirees commenced.

 

 

W
HILE COUNT VON Metis was contemplating his new prosperity, Oz and Fitz were having a late breakfast in an Indian restaurant tucked away on a narrow back street in the East End.

“Ernst and Antonella should be in Portsmouth by now, I’m happy to say,” Fitz noted with a smile. His staff knew many of Ernst’s staff; gossip traveled quickly below stairs. “The principessa seems to have a remarkable influence over Ernst.”

Oz grinned. “Who would have thought? The man’s been an arch libertine for most of his life.”

“Maybe he’s slowing down.”

“Maybe she came into his life at the perfect time.”

“Whatever the case, it was fortunate that she arrived in London with such fanfare. A private railcar from the coast, for instance.”

“And a very large, flamboyant entourage complete with luggage enough for a trip around the world.”

“She might as well have left a trail of breadcrumbs to Ernst’s door.”

“Indeed. It was almost too easy, Sam said. They picked up Von Welden’s two men the instant they arrived at Ernst’s town house.” Sam commanded Oz’s small private army. As owner of the largest bank in India and others globally, Oz had enemies who coveted his holdings; the last attempt on his life had almost been fatal.

“There’s no question they were working for Von Welden?”

“None,” Oz softly replied.

Fitz nodded. Sam was a competent interrogator; those who’d made the attempt on Oz’s life last year were dead.

“I’ve sent telegrams to our country homes in the event Blackwood chooses to stop overnight. I informed him that two of Von Welden’s killers are gone. I also warned him that Latour is involved.” Oz had sent Jamie a note before he left London, listing their properties and locations. “I expect Von Welden will send additional men.” Oz shrugged. “We’ll have to see how many.”

“It might be useful to send a telegram to Sofia’s mother at her farm. Considering the shocking news about having a new father, Sofia may stop to see Amelia and Ben.” As a major collector, Fitz was well acquainted with the London art world. Prior to his marriage he’d also been well acquainted with many of the models, and one of his lovers had invited him to accompany her up to the farm.

“Good idea. Hopefully Blackwood will receive one of our messages, although I didn’t get the impression he wished to stop anywhere overnight.”

“Don’t forget Sofie’s willfulness. She usually gets her way.”

“True.” Oz grinned. “He doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“So then,” Oz cheerfully asserted, “care to make odds on when the next batch of assassins arrives? Von Welden won’t mind spending the emperor’s money to feather his own nest. I say tomorrow night at the earliest.”

“I’ll lay you ten to one they’re here on the morning train.”

Oz grinned. “You’re on. That’s damned fast.”

“Someone’s watching Latour?”

“Round the clock. By the way, he lost a good deal at White’s last night. Franz Joseph’s going to have to ante up more cash.”

“I know the governor of the London Clearing House. The funds transfer will have to go through that institution. If you’re finished eating, we could swing by and talk to Freddy.” Fitz tossed his napkin on the table. “We’ll find out how much Latour is worth to Von Welden.”

An inveterate gambler, Oz smoothly inquired, “Would you care to bet on Latour’s worth to Von Welden?”

“Of course. Would you care to make a wager on whether Blackwood has eluded Sofie’s seductive snare?” Fitz countered, grinning.

“Christ no. Sofie’s impossible to turn down. An observation only. The art world was beyond my purview in my rakish days.”

Fitz laughed. “You might not have had a chance anyway. Sofie’s taste in men has always been capricious. And,” Fitz added with a small smile, “the art world was within my purview for many years.”

“According to gossip, Blackwood’s had no practice at all turning down women,” Oz drawled. “So acquit me on that particular wager. I’d be losing money.”

“Very well. Five hundred says Latour receives three thousand in new funds.”

Oz shook his head. “Too paltry. The man’s a rank amateur at cards. Von Welden has to know that. I’ll raise you five hundred and say ten thousand for Latour.”

With a quick handshake, the men confirmed their wagers and rose from the table. Oz shouted something in Hindi to the proprietor, who grinned and replied in a cheerful free-flowing burst of words.

With a wave, Oz walked toward the door, laughing.

A
T THE SAME time Oz and Fitz were seeing to it that the train stations were watched, Latour continued under surveillance, and Freddy at the London Clearing House had been paid a friendly visit, Sofia and Jamie arrived in Bolton and were currently ensconced in a private room at the best dressmaker in town.

“I don’t see why you need me here,” Jamie said. Not that he’d leave Sofia alone, since he didn’t entirely trust her, but he didn’t have to sit in this inner sanctum. The outside reception room would have served as well. Much better, in fact. He didn’t relish having to watch her undress and dress; it would strain his self-control. “I should think it would be less embarrassing for you if I waited outside.”

“Really?” She turned from examining one of the many framed fashion prints on the walls. “You mean you’ve never escorted a lady to a dressmaker before?” What she really meant was
Do you want to chat up the dressmaker in private?
Mrs. Lynne had been beyond fawning. Not that it should matter, but stupidly it did.