C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Rebecca Unzer had finished washing Preston's wounds but had not begun to bandage them when Xi-Ping Chiang appeared at the back door. The Chinese neighbours, ever watchful, had hurried to inform the master of Diamond's return upon the instant of his arrival. Sifu had obviously been informed his student was wounded for the old Chinese healer had brought along a small medical kit. Obtaining Mrs. Unzer's consent, Sifu examined the damage then applied a balm to both wounds. Preston felt instant relief from the burning aggravation of the injury to his upper arm; the ribs continued a dull throbbing ache. Sifu applied his touch of hand magic and Preston's pain vanished. The imagined tenderness in his old leg wound disappeared as well.
Darkness had fully descended on this warm summer's evening when Dominique, who had been assisting Colonel Unzer with the horses, followed the colonel into the parlour where the medical team were bandaging the wounds. With a friendly nod, Unzer acknowledged Chiang, then said, “It's been a long day for the grays, Mother. Our horses are like us, they're gettin' old.”
Rebecca offered tea to Sifu and he accepted. Seated in the parlour, the group sipped their tea and conversed in low tones. Everyone, except for Sifu who never seemed to tire, felt the same as the Unzer's horses. Dominique, her chin resting on her cupped hand, elbow on the arm of the settee, was having trouble keeping her eyes open and Rebecca led her off to bed saying, “You can have Adam's room, he will sleep on the couch.”
Preston attempted an apology for the extra burden he had thrust upon the Unzers. He said to Colonel Unzer, “I have tried to avoid all this trouble and I didn't want you to become involved… again. But you, Rebecca and Master Chiang are the only people I could turn to here in Washington. Uncle Lyss just doesn't have time.” He shook his head. “Now I've even spread grief to my friends out in… my friends across the river.”
“Weeell,” Unzer said slowly, “I've only been away from active duty for a few years now, I'm not dead. If ever I cannot help you out, Adam, they may as well bury me.”
“But, Colonel Jim, trouble seems to find me. And when I'm in trouble, you and Rebecca are dragged into it. I don't want more problems on this household. We… you already went through a rough time over my grief. It isn't right.”
“I'm no stranger to conflict, Adam. Neither is Rebecca. I've seen a lot of battles in my time. I was there when your father almost died in Spain… I know what a great man he was and would have been. I know that same blood runs in you. I've fought for people I don't even know, I'd go to the grave fightin' for you, boy. It's that simple.”
Sifu nodded his silent agreement.
The pain did not return in the night but Preston Diamond could not sleep. He reviewed the day. So much had happened since his training session with Sifu that morning. Wherever the soldiers had deposited their bullet riddled bodies, five more men lay cold and stiff. Preston had sent three of them over. As Ulysses Grant had pointed out, Diamond had outright murdered one of them; sniper-shot the man from cover. What if the victim had been a passer-by, just some fellow out for a jaunt?
Though the room was warm, not cooled by the faint night breeze filtering through the screened window, Diamond shivered under the light quilt. Was he a cold-blooded killer? Did he lust for blood? Was it rubbing off on those he associated with? Robert Tessier had never been in a fight in his life; today, according to the account, he had shot dead two men.
Diamond's thoughts drifted farther back in time. So many men had died now; the fight in Kalmattii's Mercantile haunted him. Those men had done nothing to Preston Diamond. That was Sifu Chiang and his Chinese peoples' fight. But Preston had gone along and five more men had died. Two more had been killed by Sifu in the Presidential Hotel; granted, Sifu Chiang had accounted for them, but Preston would have participated if he had been quick enough. The silly fight on the grounds of the Capitol: Sawyer Thompson's man. Preston knew he had not killed that Apache, the thug had only received a broken leg; someone else had finished him off in the hospital, but he was no less dead.
Diamond turned from his back onto his right side; he would have liked to lay on the left but didn't want to disturb the wounds. Sometimes flipping over changes the train of thought, but tonight the ghosts followed from one side of Preston's brain to the other. He argued in his mind that Les Apaches had accounted for so many innocent deaths, possibly hundreds in their homeland, dozens here in DC. What about those dead men and women? Were they not to be avenged? How many more would find their way to the bottom of the Patowmack before Serge Ravenelle and his henchmen were through? Surely it was them who had killed Hugh Bagnold, then bribed and murdered his lawyers so that the man's assets were sold to Ravenelle's frontman, Sawyer Thompson, leaving Hugh's widow an impecunious existence.? Diamond eventually convinced himself he had done the right thing. He whispered to the ghosts, “Don't blame me because you are in Hell, it's where you have always been bound. I only opened the door… that door won't be closed until Serge Ravenelle joins you.”
Preston rolled the other way again, the blanket slid to the floor. He let it lay and finally fell asleep.
Before training next morning, Sifu Chiang ministered to Preston's wounds. He had brought the salve and bandages to the garden. He massaged the tender areas and Diamond felt no pain. Already, the bullet marks were beginning to itch: a sign that healing had begun. Movement in Preston's left arm was sluggish so Sifu's teaching, for this lesson, concentrated on stance and kicks. After the exercise, Sifu detained his student.
Xi-Ping told Preston that trained fighters had arrived by boat from Shanghai, China. He explained that, though they kept a low profile, the Chinese had many organizations and business connections in America. They could not allow Serge Ravenelle and his thugs to expand into other cities, into their domains. If Washington were to succumb to French underground influence, more metropolises would fall prey to the same. The Chinese were not especially tuned to crime; their opium dens were common and not considered criminal, but some of the other businesses they held were not particularly legitimate —Kalmattii's Mercantile, for example— and these would eventually suffer pressure from Ravenelle's army of racketeers. Sifu said his people had reopened a den in Washington and they would fight to keep it under their control. A dozen Chinese soldiers, all extreme martial artists under the command of Xi-Ping Chiang, were ensconced in Washington's Asian network. Preston realized he had seen two of them in the back yard of Unzer's new neighbours.
Sifu concluded that the time had come for Monsieur Ravenelle to go home to France.
Returning to Unzer's house for breakfast, Preston met Rebecca in her garden as he came through the back entrance. She had a small bucket in her hand and her face held an odd expression he could not interpret as she studied him for a long moment. At length, she said, “Dominique, your girlfriend, is not feeling well this morning, Adam. Has she mentioned… anything to you?”
“No, Rebecca, she was sleeping in my room when I left for training. Has she a fever or something?”
Mrs. Unzer flashed a thin smile. “No, I don't think she's running a fever, Adam.”
“Maybe she's overtired or hungry. She didn't eat much last night.”
“Yes, I suspect her stomach is empty,” Rebecca said, then added, “I've almost got our breakfast ready. I just came out to the garden for some strawberries.”
Together they went inside. Colonel Unzer, seated at the table with a steaming cup of coffee held in his right hand, was asking a smiling Dominique about life in Paris. She did not appear unhealthy to Preston; she looked like an angel. The French girl had gleaned more than a basic understanding of English from Mrs. Skelton's teaching and, when given sufficient time to hear and respond, she did quite well, though her accent was strong and she cocked her head in silent query when uncertain of a word or pronunciation. Unzer helped her along. He had no comprehension of the French lingo but possessed a West Point graduate's grasp of his own language and only occasionally strayed into layman's vernacular.
Diamond and Dominique cleaned up after the meal. Rebecca apologized ahead of time that the house would be hot this morning for she had baking to tend to. She welcomed Dominique's offer of assistance and they were soon planning a French bread recipe. Unzer went out to check the horses though Preston had looked in on them before meeting Sifu earlier. No one seemed concerned that Les Apaches may be preparing to shell or bomb the house at any moment. Wounded and short on blood, Preston had not been especially diligent since his return last evening; instead, he had trusted his life to the vigilance of the Chinese neighbours. Now, he announced to no one in particular, that he was going out for a look about.
Preston had decided to return to his habit of snooping and eavesdropping. For two years, this occupation had been an entertaining pastime; now it had direction and focus. Instead of hiding, waiting for Serge and Les Apaches to ferret him out, burn the Unzer's cottage or abduct Dominique, Diamond would beard the lion in his lair and learn all he could about the movements of Ravenelle and his army. Preston surmised that the loyal French hoods could not be forced or coerced to squeal, but he could watch and listen to them. He may be able to determine or anticipate their next move before Ravenelle or L'Heureux were able to issue orders.
An additional advantage Preston hoped he would soon have was that the French contingent might be preoccupied with the Shanghai warriors. Les Apaches were fierce fighters but, if the Asians all fought like Sifu Chiang, at close quarters, twelve unarmed martial artists would soon over-power twice that number of armed thugs.
Diamond tucked the Colt into his waist band and concealed it under his shirt.
Those areas of the French Ministry Preston and Xi-Ping had visited previously appeared the same today as when they had absconded with the French ladies. The entrance and reception remained vacant. The room emitted the hollow echo of an unused and empty space. Though no dust lay on lintels, sills or the scant furnishings, it should have. Swiftly and quietly, Diamond completed a search of the single desk and a small two-drawer filing cabinet. The pseudo ambassador had not locked either of these and Preston translated the few files found in the drawers as best he could, but found nothing of interest. Diamond presumed any confidential material would be stored in the inner offices, the suites or, most likely, downtown in the Presidential Hotel. Using his set of lock picks, he opened doors nearly as quickly as someone with the proper key.
He spent an hour in the apartment where he and Sifu had found Gabriella and Dominique; Madame Ravenelle's suite. It was a spacious living accommodation with large kitchen area, fancy parlour and single bedroom. The apartment had been cleaned: unwashed dishes that had been left on the counter yesterday were not in sight; while Gabriella had collected her belongings, Preston noted the bed was unmade; now it was tidied; a fresh bowl of roses —red today, yesterday they were yellow— sat on the glass topped table where the folded note brought by the messenger had been left.
The note was gone and it didn't seem likely to Preston that a maid would throw out correspondence. Someone, probably Serge Ravenelle, had been here, too. Preston wondered about Gabriella writing the word Alexandria on the back of the page. Now it seemed even more obvious she intended to alert Serge Ravenelle of their destination. Why hadn't she simply refused to go along? If her concern for Robert Tessier had been real, passing the information on to Les Apaches was not conducive to the carpenter's wellbeing. Had the four Frenchmen waiting in ambush yesterday planned to wipe out Preston, Colonel Unzer, Tessier and the ladies? Maybe they only intended to kidnap Gabriella and Dominique to return them to Serge. Preston thought of the artillery Les Apaches were carrying when he found them near the trail. Those men were armed and ready. The ladies may have been returned to Ravenelle, but anyone travelling with them would now be dead in the forest covered with bluebottle flies or feeding the fishes in the Patowmack. Hindsight told Preston he should have pocketed that note yesterday.
Diamond felt a twinge in his rib wound as he knelt to open the lock of a passage door to an adjoining apartment. The suite, having scrolled wood work and plush carpets, was more elegant than Gabriella's rooms though more sparingly furnished. Serge Ravenelle's private quarters. It contained two offices and his bed chamber. A large oak door, Preston assumed to be the outer entrance, stood down a hall and to the right from the passageway to Madame Ravenelle's apartment. There were no dining nor kitchen facilities so Preston presumed Serge, when staying here, took his meals with his sister-in-law and niece. Whether the Ravenelles assumed all, some, or none of the cooking duties, Preston could not say. Likely they had a chef available and the ladies cooked if they felt the urge. Apparently Dominique knew something of the skill for, at this moment, she was helping Rebecca Unzer bake bread. Preston opened the doors to the offices and methodically riffled through every piece of information available. There were documents in both French and English. The French translation took longer and he sometimes only gleaned the gist. Emperor Napoleon's signature was on two of the French papers concerning France's invasion (and intended withdrawal) of Mexico. Serge had a thick folder of information about two small islands belonging to France and, from what Diamond could determine, the proposed sale of these territories to the United States. He found correspondence from Secretary Seward and a short missive from President Johnson. Nowhere did he locate any information pertaining to the French underground or Les Apaches. Ravenelle was a cautious man; he kept a loaded, three barrelled pepper-box stashed in a desk drawer in each of the two offices and a third pistol near to hand in the night table beside the bed. The Frenchman didn't have the knives, knuckle dusters and derringers Preston had found among the accoutrements of the Apaches rooming in the Presidential Hotel.
Both Gabriella's and Serge's suites were quiet apartments toward the end of the wing. Dominique's bedroom, Preston recalled, was one floor down, directly below Madame Ravenelle. He and Sifu had not gone in there yesterday; Dominique had collected her necessities and brought them up to her mother's suite. Now Diamond saw no reason to further intrude upon her privacy. Perhaps, later, he'd ask her if she required anything to be brought to the Unzer's house.
Preston presumed that the oak door, down the hallway, would be the one in the reception area adjacent to the entrance to Gabriella's rooms. He had taken half a step toward the door when he heard the scrape of a key in a lock. In a bound, he was back at the passage door, pulled it open and stepped into Madame Ravenelle's suite. He closed the door soundlessly but the latch did not catch and the panel swung inward a fraction of an inch. Diamond could not see into the other room but he could hear voices. Two men, probably Serge Ravenelle and his big commander, Henri L'Heureux, were talking in rapid French. Though the tone indicated that it was not a celebratory occasion, the clink of a decanter and slosh of liquid could be heard as someone poured liquor in glasses. Twice Preston made out angry reference to five men being killed. As he eavesdropped, Diamond ascertained that American soldiers, approaching the city via the Citadel Crossing/Alexandria trail, had brought in five dead men shot to pieces. Preston, Colonel Unzer and Dominique had not travelled with the detail who brought in the dead Apaches; they had been escorted by General Grant and the other half of the company. Diamond strained to hear, but there was no mention of he or Dominique being back in Washington.
Serge seemed confused as to where his women had disappeared to. “She left the note on the table in her apartment,” Preston heard him say. “Alexandria is what she wrote. I don't know why they did not follow my orders on the other side of that page. If Gabriella wanted to run away, why did she leave directions where to find her? Besides, whether she likes it or not, she is in this, too. She is only a Ravenelle by marriage to my brother but Gabriella was no damned angel in Paris. What in hell has changed here?”
Preston heard L'Heureux's deep voice, “The runner who delivered that message… he came back to me saying that Madame and Mademoiselle were being taken away. He also said that they were going to Alexandria.”
Diamond now knew for certain how the French foursome had been able to get ahead and set up an ambush. They would have been much more prepared and mobile than Preston and Colonel Unzer with their sluggish entourage. The fifth rider, who had followed later, was a stroke of genius on behalf of whoever organized the assault. When Colonel Unzer had turned toward Conception at the forks, instinct and tactical sense had cautioned Preston to ride on toward the Alexandria ferry crossing where he discovered the waiting assassins. Had he not noticed that Gabriella had written their destination on the note, he would not have been suspicious; consequently, the corpses, brought in by the soldiers, would not have been foreigners.
But why did she reveal Preston and Sifu Chiang's intentions? Perhaps Gabriella Ravenelle was, as Serge intimated, no less cold blooded than her late husband and brother-in-law.
Serge said, “Have one of the Apaches —one with the least trace of an accent— or one of the American recruits, find those soldiers and get some information about what the hell went on out there. Tell him to get them drunk or whatever it takes. God! Five more of our men shot down! That damn kid, Forsythe? Is that what you said his name was?”
“Yes, sir. Adam Forsythe is the name of the kid who beat up Guy Stringer.”
“Okay, Commandant, you know, or at least suspect something else. What is it?”
Preston held his breath and pressed his ear to the crack. He heard a long sigh before L'Heureux began to speak.
“I think that that hammer man, Tessier, and the kid are the two who were seen with your sister-in-law and your niece last spring. I think that they have been meeting secretly all summer.”
“Why in hell didn't you tell me this sooner? And don't give me that damn shrug, Henri.”
“I don't know anything for certain, Monsieur Ravenelle. I have only had my suspicions. The men went again this morning to see Robert Tessier, to make him talk, but he has either died or left town. Four strangers, who probably just happened along, prevented my men from convincing Tessier to talk the night before. I believe, sir, that he went with Madame Ravenelle and her daughter.”
“Did the kid go, too?”
Diamond heard no answer and assumed L'Heureux had given a shrug. A sudden, loud “clunk” of a glass being slammed down onto a table or counter caused Preston to jerk back and bump his head against the door jamb. He heard Serge bellow, “Someone has been in this room! They have been looking for something!”
Preston frantically sought an escape; any second now, the minister and his commandant may come into this suite. Diamond guessed that the fastest route would be the balcony, but when he slipped through the French doors, a fresh breeze swept up the lace curtains and, behind him, the passageway door, still slightly ajar, shuddered a solid “thunk” as it closed and latched. There was no time left for speculation; Ravenelle and L'Heureux would be in Gabriella's room as fast as they could unlock the latch.
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