Turkish Gambit

Chapter Nine IN WHICH FANDORIN RECEIVES A REPRIMAND FROM HIS CHIEF

But alas, malign fate is more powerful than courage. Shots rang out from the ambush, sending the valiant orderly crashing to the ground. Drenched in blood, he leapt to his feet and dashed at the Mohamedan infidels, sword in hand, but like black kites the cruel enemy flung themselves on him and slew him, then hacked at his lifeless body with their swords.

Such was the death of Sergei Bereshchagin, the brother of the illustrious artist.

Thus there perished in the bud a most promising talent, fated never to blossom.

So fell the third of the riders despatched by Sobolev to the Emperor . . .

Some time after seven in the evening Varya found herself back at the familiar fork in the road, but instead of the hoarse-voiced captain she found an equally hoarse lieutenant giving instructions. He was having even greater difficulty than his predecessor, because now he had to direct two opposed streams of traffic: the line of ammunition wagons still moving up to the front line and the wounded being evacuated from the battlefield.

After the first attack Varya had lost her nerve and she realised that another terrible spectacle like that would be too much for her. She had set out for the rear, even crying a little along the way - fortunately there was nobody she knew anywhere nearby; but she had not gone all the way back to the camp, because she felt ashamed.

Shrinking violet, prim young lady, weaker sex, she rebuked herself. You knew you were going to a war, not a garden party at Pavlovsk Park; and on top of everything she desperately did not want to give the titular counsellor the satisfaction of knowing that he had been proved right yet again.

So she turned back.

She rode her horse at a walk, her heart sinking lower and lower as the sounds of battle drew nearer. At the centre the rifle fire had almost died away and there was only the rumbling of cannon,- but from the Lovcha highway, where Sobolev's isolated detachment was fighting, there came constant volleys of shots and the incessant roar of a multitude of voices, only faintly audible at such a distance. General Michel was apparently not having an easy time of it.

Suddenly Varya was startled by the sight of McLaughlin emerging from the bushes on his horse, spattered with mud. His hat had slipped over to one side of his head, his face was red and the sweat was streaming down his forehead.

'What's happening? How's the battle going?' Varya asked, catching the Irishman's horse by the bridle.

'Well, I think,' he replied, wiping his cheeks with a handkerchief. 'Oof, I got stuck in some kind of undergrowth and just barely managed to get out again.'

'Well, you say? Have the redoubts been taken?'

'No, the Turks stood firm in the centre, but twenty minutes ago Count Zurov galloped past our observation point in a great hurry to get to headquarters. All he shouted was: "Victory! We are in Plevna! No time now gentlemen, an urgent dispatch!" Monsieur Kazanzaki set off after him. No doubt that highly ambitious gentleman wishes to be there beside the bearer of good news in case some of the glory rubs off on him.' McLaughlin shook his head disapprovingly. 'And then the gentlemen of the press went dashing off helter-skelter - every one of them has his own man among the telegraphers. Take my word for it, telegrams reporting the capture of Plevna are winging their way to their newspapers at this very moment.'

'Then what are you doing here?'

The correspondent replied with dignity: 'I never rush things, Mademoiselle Suvorova. You have to check all the details thoroughly first. Instead of a bald statement of fact I shall send an entire article, and it will be in time for the same morning edition as their skimpy telegrams.'

'So we can go back to the camp?' Varya asked in relief.

'Yes, I believe so. We'll find out more at the staff building than out here in this savannah. And it will be dark soon too.'

However, at the staff building they didn't really know anything, because no despatches about the capture of Plevna had been received from field headquarters - quite the contrary, in fact: all the major thrusts of the offensive had apparently been repulsed and the losses were absolutely astronomical, at least twenty thousand men. They said that the emperor had completely lost heart and responded to questions about Sobolev's success with a shrug: how could Sobolev take Plevna with his two brigades if sixty battalions in the centre and on the right flank had not even been able to take the first line of redoubts?

It didn't make any sense at all. McLaughlin was triumphant, delighted at his own circumspection, but Varya was furious with Zurov: that braggart and liar had only confused everybody with his arrant nonsense.

Night fell and the dispirited generals returned to staff headquarters. Varya saw Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich enter the little operations section building, surrounded by his adjutants. His equine face was twitching spasmodically between the thick sideburns.

Everyone was talking in whispers about the huge losses - the news was that a quarter of the army had been killed; but out loud they spoke about the heroism displayed by the officers and men. A great deal of heroism had been displayed, especially by the officers.

Shortly after twelve Varya was sought out by Fandorin. He looked dejected.

'Come with me, Varvara Andreevna. The chief wants to see us.'

'Us?' she asked, surprised.

'Yes, the entire staff of the special section; and that includes both of us.'

They walked quickly to the mud-walled hut where Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki's department was located.

The officers and staff of the Special Section of the Western Division were all gathered in the familiar room, but their commanding officer was not among them. However, Lavrenty Arkadievich Mizinov was there, scowling menacingly behind the desk.

'Ah-ah, the titular counsellor and his lady secretary have decided to join us,' he said acidly. 'Wonderful - now we only have to wait for His Worship the lieutenant-colonel to arrive and we can begin. Where's Kazanzaki?' barked the general.

'Nobody has seen Ivan Kharitonovich this evening,' the most senior officer present replied timidly.

'Magnificent. Fine protectors of secrets you all are.' Mizinov jumped up and began walking round the room, stamping his feet loudly. 'This isn't an army, it's a circus, a cabaret show with escape artists! Whenever you want to see someone, they tell you he isn't here. He's disappeared! Without trace!'

'Your Excellency, you are sp-speaking in riddles. What is the m-matter?' Fandorin asked in a low voice.

‘I don't know, Erast Petrovich, I don't know!' exclaimed Mizinov. ‘I was hoping that you and Mister Kazanzaki would tell me that.' He stopped for a moment to get a grip on himself and then continued more calmly: 'Very well. We are not waiting for anyone else. I have just come from the emperor, where I witnessed a most interesting scene: Major-General of His Imperial Majesty's retinue Sobolev the Second shouting at His Imperial Majesty and His Imperial Highness, and the tsar and the commander-in-chief apologising to him.'

'Impossible!' one of the gendarmes gasped.

'Silence!' squealed the general. 'Be quiet and listen! Apparently, some time after three o'clock this afternoon Sobolev's detachment, having taken the Krishin redoubt by a frontal attack, broke through into the southern outskirts of Plevna at the rear of the main force of the Turkish army, but was forced to a halt by a lack of bayonets and artillery. Sobolev despatched several riders with a request to send reinforcements immediately, but they were intercepted by the Bashi-Bazouks. Finally, at six o'clock Adjutant Zurov, accompanied by fifty Cossacks, managed to break through to the central army group positions. The Cossacks went back to Sobolev because he needed every man he could get, and Zurov galloped on to headquarters alone. In Plevna they were expecting reinforcements to arrive at any minute, but they never came; and that is not surprising, because Zurov never reached headquarters and we never learned about the breakthrough on the left flank. That evening the Turks redeployed their forces to bring their full might to bear on Sobolev and shortly before midnight, having lost most of his men, he withdrew to his initial position. But we had Plevna in the bag! A question for all of you here: What could have happened to adjutant Zurov, in broad daylight, in the very centre of our positions? Who can answer me that?'

'Evidently Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki can’ said Varya, and everyone turned to look at her. She related excitedly what she had heard from McLaughlin.

After a prolonged pause the Chief of Gendarmes turned to Fandorin: 'Your conclusions, Erast Petrovich?'

'The battle has been lost; there is no p-point in wailing and beating our chests - emotions merely hinder the effort of investigation,' the titular counsellor replied coolly. 'What we need to do is this: divide up the t-territory between the correspondents' observation point and the field headquarters into squares. That's the first thing. At the first light of d-dawn search every last centimetre of each square. That's the second thing. If the b-bodies of Zurov or Kazanzaki are found, nothing must be touched and the ground around them must not be trampled - that's the third thing. And just to be certain, search for both of them among the seriously wounded in the infirmaries - that's the fourth thing. For the moment, Lavrenty Arkadievich, there is n-nothing more to be done.'

'What do you suggest I should report to His Majesty? Treason?'

Erast Petrovich sighed. 'More likely s-sabotage. But in any case we shall find out in the morning.'

They did not sleep that night. There was a lot of work to be done,- the members of the special section divided the area up into hatf-vyerst squares on a map and allocated people to the search teams, while Varya rode round all six hospitals and infirmaries and checked the officers who had been brought back unconscious. The sights she saw were so horrible that by dawn she had slipped into a peculiar, numb stupor; but she had not found either Zurov or Kazanzaki, although she had seen quite a number of her acquaintances among the wounded, including Perepyolkin. The captain had also attempted to break out and bring help, but for his pains he had received a blow from a crooked sabre across the collarbone - he had no luck where the Bashi-Bazouks were concerned. The poor man was lying on his bed pale-faced and miserable, and the expression in his sunken brown eyes was almost as mournful as on that unforgettable day when they had first met. Varya dashed across to him, but he turned away and said nothing. What had she done to make him dislike her?

The first rays of the sun found Varya on a bench beside the special section building. Fandorin had virtually forced her down on to it and ordered her to rest, and Varya had slumped, weary and numb, against the wall and sunk into a restless half-sleep. Her entire body ached and she felt a little sick - after all the nervous strain and a sleepless night it was hardly surprising.

The search teams had set out for their squares before first light. At a quarter past seven a messenger from section 14 arrived at a gallop and ran into the hut and Fandorin came dashing out, buttoning up his tunic on the run.

'Let's go, Varvara Andreevna; they've found Zurov,' he said tersely.

'Is he dead?' she sobbed.

Erast Petrovich did not answer.

The hussar was lying on his front with his head twisted to one side. Even from a distance Varya spotted the silver handle of the Caucasian dagger thrust deep into his left shoulder. When she dismounted, she saw his face in profile: the beautiful glint of the glassy eye staring in surprise, the dark powder burn ringing the gaping bullet wound in the temple.

Varya sobbed again without crying and turned away from the terrible sight.

'We haven't touched anything, Mister Fandorin, just as you ordered,' the gendarme in charge of the team reported. 'He had only one vyerst left to ride to the command post. This area's in a hollow - that's why no one saw anything; and as for the shot, there was so much shooting going on . . . The picture's quite clear: he was stabbed in the back with the dagger unexpectedly - taken by surprise. Then they finished him off with a bullet in the left temple - at point-blank range.'

'Mm-mm,' Erast Petrovich replied vaguely, leaning down over the body.

The officer lowered his voice: 'It's Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki's dagger. I recognised it immediately. He showed it to us, said it was a present from a Georgian prince . . .'

To that Erast Petrovich replied: 'Splendid.'

Varya felt sicker than ever now, and she squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the nausea.

'Are there any hoofprints?' asked Fandorin, squatting down on his haunches.

'Unfortunately not. As you can see, the bank of the stream here is nothing but gravel, and further up the whole area is trampled - the cavalry squadrons must have come this way yesterday.'

The titular counsellor straightened up and stood by the sprawling corpse for about a minute. His face was fixed and expressionless, the same grey colour as his temples. And he's hardly more than twenty, thought Varya with a shudder.

'Very well, Lieutenant. Transfer the body to the camp. Let's go, Varvara Andreevna.'

On the way she asked him: 'Surely Kazanzaki is not a Turkish agent? It's unbelievable! He is repulsive, of course, but even so . . .'

'Not to that extent?' asked Fandorin with a humourless chuckle.

Just before noon the lieutenant-colonel was also found - after Erast Petrovich had given orders for the small grove of trees and the bushes near the spot where poor Hippolyte had died to be searched again, this time more thoroughly.

From what Varya was told (she did not go herself), Kazanzaki was half-sitting, half-lying with his back slumped against a boulder. He had a revolver in his right hand and a hole in his forehead.

The meeting to discuss the results of the search was led by Mizinov himself.

'First of all I must say that I am extremely dissatisfied with the results of Titular Counsellor Fandorin's work,' the general began in a voice that boded no good. 'Erast Petrovich, a dangerous and sophisticated enemy has been operating right under your very nose, inflicting severe damage on our cause and putting the success of the entire campaign in jeopardy, and you have still not identified him. Certainly, this was no easy task, but then you are by no means what I would call a beginner. I can't expect any more from the rank-and-file members of the special section. They were recruited from various provincial offices, where for the most part they were previously involved in standard investigations; but for you, with your exceptional abilities, this is quite inexcusable.'

Varya pressed a hand to her throbbing temple and cast a sideways glance at Fandorin. He appeared entirely unperturbed, but his cheekbones had turned ever so slightly pink (probably nobody but Varya would have noticed that); his chief's words had obviously cut him to the quick.

'And so, gentlemen, what do we have? We have a fiasco entirely without precedent in world history. The head of the secret Special Section of the Western Division, the most important formation in the entire Army of the Danube, was a traitor.'

'Can we regard that as established fact, Your Excellency?' the most senior gendarme officer present asked timidly.

'Judge for yourself, Major. Of course, the fact that Kazanzaki was Greek by origin and there are many Turkish agents among the Greeks is not in itself proof; but remember the mysterious letter "J" that figured in Lukan's notes. Now we can see what that "J" meant -"gendarme".'

'But the word "gendarme" is written with a "G"‘ the major with the grey moustache persisted.

'It is written that way in French, but in Roumanian it is written with a "J" - "jandarm",' his chief explained condescendingly. 'Kazanzaki was the puppet-master who pulled the Roumanian colonel's strings. And in addition: Who was it that went dashing after Zurov when he was on his way to deliver the message on which the outcome of the battle, perhaps even the whole war, depended? Kazanzaki. And in addition: Whose dagger was used to kill Zurov? Your superior's. And in addition . . . What else in addition? When he was unable to extract the knife from his victim's shoulder blade, the killer realised that there was no way he could avoid suspicion and he shot himself. By the way, there are two bullets missing from the chamber of his revolver.'

'But an enemy spy would not have killed himself; he would have tried to hide,' the major objected timidly.

'Where, by your leave? He could not get across the firing line, and in our rear lines as of today he would have been a wanted man. He could not hide with the Bulgarians and he could not reach the Turks. Better a bullet than the gallows - he was certainly right about that. Apart from which, Kazanzaki was not a spy, but a traitor. Novgorodtsev,' said the general, turning to his adjutant, 'where's the letter?'

Novgorodtsev extracted a snow-white sheet of paper folded in four from his file.

'Discovered in the pocket of the suicide,' explained Mizinov. 'Read it out, Novgorodtsev.'

The adjutant peered dubiously at Varya.

'Read it, read it,' the general urged him. 'This is not a college for daughters of the nobility, and Miss Suvorova is a member of the investigative group.'

Novgorodtsev cleared his throat and blushed bright red as he began to read:

'"My deer hart Vanchik-Kharitonchik ..." Gentleman,' the adjutant commented, 'the spelling is quite appalling, but I shall do my best to read it as it is written. Such terrible scrawl. Hm . . . "My deer hart. Life withowt yoo will be enuff to mayk me lay hands on miself, rather than carrie on living like this. You kissed me and keressed me and I did you, but that scowndrel fayt was watching us enviously and hideing his nife behind his back. Withowt you I am meer dust, the dirt on the grownd. I beg yoo come back soon. But if yoo fynd sumone else in that lowsy Kishinev, I will come and I sware on my muther I will rip your guts out. Yors for a thowsand years. Shalunishka."'

'A strange letter from a mistress,' commented the major.

'It's not from a woman; it's from a man,' said Mizinov with a crooked smile. 'That's the whole point. Before he went to the Kishinev office of gendarmes, Kazanzaki served in Tiflis. We sent an inquiry immediately and already have a reply. Read out the telegram, Novgorodtsev.'

Novgorodtsev clearly read the new document with greater pleasure than the love letter:

To His Excellency Adjutant-General L. A. Mizinov in reply to an inquiry of the 3rst of August, received at 52 minutes past one o'clock in the afternoon. Extremely urgent. Top secret.

'I beg to report that during his term of duty in the Tiflis Office of the Gendarmes from January r872 to September 1876 inclusive, Ivan Kazanzaki proved himself to be a capable and energetic worker and no sanctions or penalties were ever applied to him. On the contrary, for his services he was awarded the Order of St Stanislav, third class, and received two official expressions of thanks from His Imperial Highness the Viceregent of the Caucasus. However, according to information provided in summer r876 by agents in the field, he had perverted leanings and was supposedly even involved in an unnatural relationship with the well-known Tiflis pederast Prince Vissarion Shalikov, alias Shalun Beso. I would not normally have given any credence to such rumours, unsupported as they were by any proof; however, bearing in mind that despite his mature age Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki was unmarried and had never been observed to be involved with women, I decided to conduct a secret internal investigation. It was established that Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki was indeed acquainted with Shalun, although the existence of an intimate relationship was not confirmed. Nonetheless, I decided the best thing would be to request Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki's transfer to another office without any adverse consequences for his service record.

'Commander of the Tiflis Office of Gendarmes, Colonel Panchulidzev.'

'So there you have it’ Mizinov summed up bitterly. 'He fobbed off a dubious member of his department on someone else and concealed the reason from his superiors. And now the entire army is suffering the consequences. Because of Kazanzaki's treason we have been stuck at blasted Plevna for two months now and there's no telling how much more time we'll have to waste on it! The emperor's name-day celebrations have been ruined. Today His Majesty was even speaking of retreat - can you imagine that?' He swallowed convulsively. 'Three failed assaults, gentlemen! Three! Do you recall, Erast Petrovich, that it was Kazanzaki who delivered the first order to take Plevna to the coding room? I don't know how he managed to substitute

"Nikopol" for "Plevna", but that Judas clearly had a hand in it somehow!'

Varya thought with a start that now there seemed to be a new glimmer of hope for Petya; but the general chewed on his lips and continued: 'I shall of course have Colonel Panchulidzev committed for trial as a lesson to anyone else who covers things up and will insist on his being reduced to the ranks, but his telegram does at least allow us to reconstruct the chain of events. It is all quite simple. The Turkish agents who infest the Caucasus so thickly must have discovered Kazanzaki's secret vice and recruited the lieutenant-colonel by blackmailing him. It's a story as old as the world. "Vanchik-Kharitonchik"! Phoo, disgusting filth! Better if it had been done for money!'

Varya was just about to open her mouth to intercede for the devotees of single-sex love, who were, after all, not to blame that nature had made them different from everyone else, when Fandorin rose to his feet.

'May I take a look at the letter?' he said, then took the sheet of paper, turned it over in his hands, ran a finger along the crease and asked: 'And where is the envelope?'

'Erast Petrovich, you amaze me,' the general said, flinging up his arms. 'How could there be an envelope? Such missives are not sent by the post.'

'So it was simply lying in his inside pocket? Well, well' - and Fandorin sat back down.

Lavrenty Arkadievich shrugged. 'I'll tell you what you had better do, Erast Petrovich. I think it possible that apart from Colonel Lukan the traitor may also have recruited someone else. Your job is to discover whether there are any more dragon's teeth lying in or around headquarters. Major,' he said, addressing the senior officer present, who jumped to his feet and stood to attention, 'I appoint you acting head of the special section. Your job is the same. Provide the titular counsellor every possible assistance.' 'Yes sir!'

There was a knock at the door.

'With your permission, Your Excellency?' The door opened a little and a face wearing blue spectacles appeared in the gap.

Varya knew that he was Mizinov's secretary, a quiet little functionary with a name that was hard to remember, whom everybody disliked and was afraid of.

'What is it?' the chief of gendarmes asked guardedly.

'An emergency at the guardhouse. The commandant has come to report it. He says one of his prisoners has hanged himself.'

'Are you out of your mind, Przebisevski? I have an important meeting, and you interrupt me with drivel like this!'

Varya clutched at her heart in fright, and the secretary immediately spoke the very words she was afraid to hear: 'But it is the cryptographer Yablokov who has hanged himself, the very same ... He left a note which has a direct bearing . . . That was why I took it on myself . . . But if this is a bad moment, please forgive me, I will leave.' The functionary gave an offended sniff and made as if to retreat behind the door.

'Give me the letter!' the general roared. 'And send the commandant in!'

Everything went hazy in front of Varya's eyes. She struggled to get to her feet, but she could not: she was numbed by some bizarre paralysis. She saw Fandorin leaning over her and tried to say something to him, but she could only move her lips feebly without making a sound.

'Now it is quite clear that Kazanzaki altered the order!' Mizinov exclaimed after he had run his eyes over the note. 'Listen. "Again thousands of dead killed and all because of my blunder. Yes, my guilt is appalling and I will no longer deny it. I committed a fatal error - I left the encoded order to take Plevna on my desk while I absented myself on personal business. In my absence someone altered one word in the message and I delivered the message without even checking it! Ha-ha, I, Pyotr Yablokov, am the genuine saviour of Turkey, not Osman-pasha. Do not bother to examine my case, judges. I have pronounced judgement on myself!" Ah, how very elementary it all is. The boy went about his own business and Kazanzaki promptly altered the message. It would only take a moment!'

The general screwed up the note and tossed it on the floor at the feet of the commandant of the guardhouse, who was standing rigidly to attention.

'Er . . . Erast Pet . . . rovich, what has . . . happened?' Varya mumbled, scarcely able to force out the words. 'Petya!'

'Captain, how is Yablokov? Is he dead?' Fandorin asked, addressing the commandant.

'How could he be dead when he can't even tie a noose properly!' the commandant barked. 'They've taken Yablokov down and they're reviving him now!'

Varya pushed Fandorin away and dashed to the door. She collided with the doorpost, ran out on to the porch and was blinded by the bright sunlight. She had to stop. Fandorin appeared beside her again.

'Varvara Andreevna, calm down; everything is all right. We will go there together straight away, but first you must catch your breath, you look terrible.'

He took her gently by the elbow, but for some reason the entirely gentlemanlike touch of his hand provoked an overwhelming attack of nausea. She doubled over and vomited copiously all over Erast Petrovich's boots. Then she sat on the step, trying to understand why nobody was sliding down off the ground when it was sloping at such an angle.

Varya felt something pleasant and ice-cold touch her forehead and gave a low moan of pleasure.

'A fine business,' she heard Fandorin's hollow voice say. 'This is typhus.'