Caribbee(79)

Then there was intelligence of naval movements. Much more difficult but not impossible. Knowledge of patrol lines, the known habits of individual captains – an astute and imaginative mind could make much of this. Then the word would go out for redeployment and the other half of the equation was fulfilled.

Finally, a central headquarters was required from which this controlling genius could operate his chessboard.

That had to be how it was.

Renzi’s first reaction was to tell Kydd – but he would then, very reasonably, demand proof. And there were so many unanswered questions. If the base was not at Curaçao, then where was it? As he’d reasoned before, there were very few places that met the conditions for a secret lair.

A network of spies spread throughout the islands was a cumbersome and expensive proposition – and, above all, why had the Navy not intercepted at least one of the fast advice-boats or whatever was used in the tight communications system with them? Equally, how was a naval fleet, even of smaller ships, able to stay so long at sea without returning to port?

He had to find an answer to each question before he broached the subject to anyone – but how?





Chapter 10




L’Aurore had her orders by the time he returned on board. They were to take passage for Antigua to the dockyard at English Harbour for a minor refit, then relieve one of the inshore frigates in blockade of Guadeloupe.

‘It’s been a long time, old friend,’ Kydd said softly.

Renzi gave a wry smile, bringing to mind adventures ashore and afloat there when they had been common seamen together. Kydd had been a healthy young man in a lusty environment and there were things that he would not necessarily wish to be reminded of. ‘Yes, indeed, dear fellow. Conceivably the master shipwright will never penetrate your disguise in your lofty elevation.’ He laid down his book and chuckled companionably.

In the event it was quite another who came aboard in Antigua with the survey party, a genial and competent officer who let slip that Caird and his daughter had returned to England years before. And there would be no nostalgic reunion   with the copper and lumber house where Kydd had first met a dark temptress, Sukey, or the little house he had lived in as Master of the King’s Negroes. Now that he was a post-captain, this was far out of sight in his past.

The survey was quick but thorough. ‘Naught but what can’t be put right in a brace o’ shakes,’ was the pronouncement. The ship would stay at moorings with her crew quartered ashore.

For her captain, there was no question of remaining in the coarse surroundings of the dockyard. It was expected he would take residence in the north, at St John’s, where the admiral’s shore headquarters was situated.

‘Shall we take carriage for the capital, Nicholas?’ Kydd said lightly, as Tysoe laid out his best clothes. ‘I do believe the society there will be quite up to expectations.’

Renzi hesitated. ‘Brother, if there’s anything I crave more than peace and quiet at this time I’m at a loss to think it. I have for companionship my books and my thoughts and, while your doughty mariners are on shore, my solitude.’

‘Of course, old chap, I do understand,’ Kydd came back.

With captain and officers heading north and the crew streaming ashore, there were only the standing warrant officers and three hands left aboard with Renzi. The frigate seemed to have grown larger, the echoing spaces and stillness broken only by the chuckle of water and the odd creak.

But this was an unmissable chance to take up his studies again. A considered comparison of the new German school of ethnics with the French encyclopedists would be a refreshing start, and in his cabin he pulled down the requisite tomes.

Within the hour he found it impossible: his head was so full of recent events that he knew he would get no rest until they had been settled to his satisfaction.

But how could he pursue the threads until all had been exhausted? As a mental exercise it would lead only to frustration, for a logical syllogism without sure data was nothing but a futility. However, to get data he would need to venture out into the field and acquire it. Was he prepared to do this when he had always declared he scorned and detested the practice of spying?

He laid down his pen, resolved. If the goal was sufficiently worthy, he would do whatever it took … Was he mad? He would set out not as an agent of a nation’s secret service but on his own account, a freelance amateur without direction, following his own instincts.

Yet it had powerful advantages: he could beg leave from L’Aurore and go anywhere he wished, do anything he wanted, for he owed nothing to any higher authority. He need tell no one so there would be none to criticise if he failed. And his fate if he was caught would be the same whether he had been an accredited spy or otherwise.