"It is rarely a life-enhancing experience to tell Michel that a person cannot do what he wants. He won't be happy with demonstrations only, I suspect." Deneau crossed his arms over his chest.
"Pamphlets," Locquifier said with sudden inspiration. "More pamphlets, apparently from many different sources, repeating a variety of rumors that Richelieu is planning to have those five persons assassinated. Just rumors will have a greatly unsettling impact. Anger the Swede. Occupy the time and attention of the spymaster Nasi. Why, rumors will do almost as much good as actually trying to do it."
"Are you certain that Michel will see things that way?"
"Not certain, no. But it's better than nothing. Ah, actually . . ." He hesitated. Should he explain this? Or not? Probably better to explain it.
"I was rather intending not to inform Michel that we are producing the pamphlets about the rumors ourselves. Rather hoping that we could just send selected pamphlets to him, as they appear. We can put on false places of publication, of course—everyone does. Distribute them through the same network that Weitz's contacts use. I was . . . rather hoping that Michel and Antoine are so far away that they will never find out that we aren't actually working very hard to carry out his instructions."
"Merde!" Ancelin exclaimed. "Guillaume, that's . . . damned brilliant."
The others agreed.
"So," Ancelin said. "Is there anything else we can do to give Michel the right impression?"
"Analysis of alternate possibilities," Ouvrard suggested. "That usually works well in causing a discussion to veer off course. Send Michel a listing of every 'soft underbelly' in the USE that we can think of."
"Why limit it to the USE?" Deneau asked.
"Because that's where we are?" was Ancelin's practical answer.
"We're creating smoke and mirrors anyway," Ouvrard pointed out. "So, we say: The USE is worried, so security is tight and the targets are hard. But—let's think. Princess Kristina is unreachable, but what about the Danish prince to whom she is now betrothed? Or the up-time lady-in-waiting to whom she is said to be so attached? That one's betrothed, the ridiculous Imperial Count of Narnia? If we can't reach Gustavus, then what about his queen in Stockholm? If not Stearns, then his ally Piazza? Ableidinger? If not the Abrabanel woman, then her father? If not Wettin, then one of his brothers? The possibilities are endless."
"Don't become too fond of your brainstorming, Robert. If we list too many options, he will realize that we are just creating excuses." Locquifier paused. "Choose three of these possibilities you have suggested and write up an analysis of each. As if we were seriously offering them for his consideration."
"It's a pity to abandon the rest."
"Then just give them a passing mention at the end, as if you were blowing them off as unrealistic and unlikely."
"In fact, Mathurin, nothing will placate Michel and Antoine but an assassination. Not in the long run, though this ploy will probably work for the time being." Locquifier looked up. "Hold yourself ready. As the time draws nearer, I will provide you with a target. Only one, since I am a reasonable man. Under cover of the demonstrations."
Brillard nodded.
Soubise picked up his wine and looked at the latest letter from his brother Henri again. Meditatively. Besançon. An interesting choice. He had rather anticipated that he would be off to Geneva for negotiations with the good Calvinist city fathers. But . . . Henri de Rohan and Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar were old friends, of course.
Richelieu would not be pleased at all. This move would also make it somewhat more difficult for Henri to present his continuing protestations that he was unquestionably a loyal subject of Louis XIII in a plausible manner. A lot more difficult, even, considering that the cardinal had not approved a change of venue. Important men could not just wander around the map of Europe without the permission of their monarchs. Not even if the council of the Most Serene Republic of Venice had finally decided not to renew a particular man's contract with its army, which meant that, as an exile, most of his estates confiscated by the French monarchy, Henri was once more looking for a job.
And would love to get back into the field. A general could only write so many books before the activity palled.
Not that Soubise wouldn't like to be commanding a few ships again, himself. Or many ships.
Garrison commander in Geneva would have been good, Soubise thought. Not that Henri had asked him. His older brother was well into his fifties, not as young as he used to be. A comfortable municipal post from which he could face down the dukes of Savoy would have been—not bad, in Soubise's humble opinion. Which it was now too late to express.