1901

Gordon sat in an overstuffed chair and thought about the last time he had used this safe house. It had nothing to do with the needs of the empire, but with his own biological needs and those of the young wife of an older mining baron from Colorado. He could not help but smile as he recalled her naked body and the way the flames from the fireplace created erotic shadows across her abdomen. If only he could recall her name. Ah, well, he was certain she had one. It was the only time he’d used the farm for such a tryst, although it had hardly been the first for others, and he’d had to put a halt to it. Too much traffic would attract attention from the nosy locals.

Ian’s assistant, Charles Bollinger, a slight and bookish young man who looked like a law clerk, entered the room. “I believe our guests are arriving.”

Ian looked out the window. A small carriage carrying two men was stopped where the drive intersected the road. The men were in conversation with a field hand who was actually another of Ian’s men. There were two others, armed with rifles, in the barn. He presumed they were watching the byplay.

The field hand removed his hat, a signal that everything was all right, and waved the carriage on. “Charles, I think it’s just about time for you to disappear.”

“Of course, Ian.” Charles smiled and took himself upstairs, where he could listen with the aid of a stethoscope and take notes in shorthand. An earlier attempt to use a phonograph had been a dismal failure.

The carriage pulled up in front of the house and Ian opened the door, gracefully waving his guests in. When he saw their identity, it took a great deal of willpower to maintain his composure. He had asked for representatives from State and the army. He had not expected John Hay himself and Maj. Gen. Leonard Wood.

“Mr. Secretary, General, so good of you to come.”

Hay barked a laugh. “When His Majesty’s Imperial representatives say they have something important and confidential to discuss, I consider it well worth my time. Besides, Mr. Gordon, I am very curious.”

“As am I,” added General Wood. “Your reputation is that of spymaster extraordinaire for England, and we are both very intrigued.”

Gordon rubbed his hands together. “Sirs, I am but a humble functionary, a commercial attache, within the embassy of Great Britain.”

“Balls,” said Wood, in good humor. “If you are a commercial attache, then I am the grand vizier of Turkey.”

They entered the living room and took seats. Gordon offered brandy, which was cheerfully accepted despite the summer heat. As he poured, he thought about the two men. Hay he knew for a skilled and admired diplomat. Leonard Wood, on the other hand, was almost an enigma. A Yale graduate, he was both a competent surgeon and a general, having risen in rank as a result of military skills acquired on the frontier. More important, he was a close friend of Teddy Roosevelt’s, and it was Wood who had nominally commanded the Rough Riders in Cuba when formal command was denied Roosevelt. Like Roosevelt, Wood was in his early forties, and he was now considered an administrator rather than a field commander. His presence was almost as interesting as John Hay’s. Ian was not displeased.

As the senior American representative, Hay spoke first. “Your message stated that you had items of import and urgency to discuss with representatives of the United States government. Since the only event of note occurring at this moment is the unfortunate war, I will assume that is why we are here.”

Ian nodded. “It is.”

“Then let us get on with it. The ride, however pleasant, was rather long and we will doubtless not get back before late tonight. Regardless of the security provided by the men in the barn and the fellow you have upstairs, I would prefer to be home.” Hay smiled to soften the implied rebuke.

Ian quietly regretted having Charles Bollinger at a listening post. It now seemed faintly unsporting. However, it was too late, and Hay had a fair idea how these games were played and didn’t seem to be offended.

“Mr. Secretary, General Wood, I meet with you today in a dual capacity: first, an unofficial one as a representative of a newly developed commercial firm called Caligula, Limited, and second, as a messenger from His Majesty’s government.

“Caligula’s stock is privately held by a number of important Britons who feel strongly that there are opportunities to make a substantial profit while tweaking the nose of the damnable and insufferable little kaiser.”

Hay stroked his full beard. “May I interpret that to mean that Great Britain is displeased with Germany’s military adventures?”