The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (39 page)

Thomas had finally confided in both Taylor and Jackson his suspicions about McDonald and Claire as far as the subject of trust was concerned. He explained that while he had his suspicions, McDonald could be who he said he was. Plus, Thomas would be a fool to leave the man onboard the
Yorktown
if he was indeed in the service of Queen Victoria.

Claire was looking at him and he relaxed. Her eyes watched him underneath the dark veil that covered her face. Her gown was as gorgeous as John Henry had ever seen, and her smell was like roses after a cool summer rain. Her eyes remained on him and didn’t turn away as they approached the new palace of the sultan. To Thomas it looked as if she were getting ready to decide on something—a course of action, maybe?

Colonel John Henry Thomas closed his eyes and when he opened them again saw that they were entering the gates of a large palace that gleamed in the late afternoon light.

Dolmabahçe Palace was surrounded by the most magnificent gardens any of them outside of McDonald had ever seen. Secretary Seward had briefed them as much as he could on the palace and its principal occupant. The structure sat upon eleven acres of reclaimed naval land and boasted two hundred and eighty-five rooms. As the garishly dressed guards allowed them through the gate, Taylor commented on the new Martini-Henry rifles that had been sold to the empire to replace the old breechloaders they’d had but eight months before. Yes, the European powers were having a field day selling arms to the sultan.

As their drivers approached the large and ornate portico of the palace, they saw a carriage ahead of them as several brightly uniformed men were escorted inside. John Henry pursed his lips when he recognized the two differing designs of uniforms.

“Our friends, the Germans and English, have also been invited.”

Claire closed her eyes and wondered if they would fail before they even started.

The two carriages pulled up and the Americans were led into a magnificent parlor. It was a parlor in the loosest sense of the word, since it was larger than what the Americans knew as the Hippodrome in New York City. The large arena was small compared to this structure, which was massive and filled with men and women.

Every ambassador to the empire was present, and the Americans soon learned that the sultan had bragged openly to the other powers what a magnificent gift the people of the United States had given his empire. A play on their hatred of the Americans, John Henry felt, probably to garner more gifts from his European neighbors. The five were stopped before entering. The American contingent was wondering what the protocol was when they heard an announcer.

“May I present to the Caliph of Islam, his Majestic Deliverer of the Ottoman Empire, Son of Mahmud II, Sultan Abdülaziz I, these delegates from the United States of America, Colonel John Henry Thomas.”

Thomas stepped forward and with one leg almost in front of the other, bowed to the heavy man sitting on the large throne surrounded by fifty guards.

“Colonel Jessop E. Taylor.”

Jessy repeated the bow and then stepped aside.

“Mr. Steven McDonald, of Harvard University, and Captain Steven Jackson, United States Navy.”

Jackson stepped forward, clicked his heels, and bowed. His two-cornered hat came off his head with a flourish before he straightened.

“And Madame Claire Richelieu, Harvard University, special assistant to the president of the United States.”

John Henry was surprised that Seward and Lincoln had wanted Claire announced like that. He didn’t know what her pretense was, but he kept silent.

The men and women in all their finery started to applaud the Americans as they were led to the ornate throne. They were soon standing before the sultan of the Ottoman Empire.

The man was heavy, so heavy that the pillows on which he sat squished out from his behind like too much cream filling stuffed into a morning roll. His beard was impeccably curled and oiled. His clothes were a rich mix of shiny material, obviously silk, and his jewelry was on display. The fingernails were polished and his facial makeup evident. The man’s eyes never left Claire’s cleavage and she was feeling as much on display as the heavy man’s jewelry. She shot a sideways glance at John Henry after her short but courteous bow to the sultan.

Thomas stepped up, took the hilt of his sword, and then with one foot in front of the other, bowed and flourished his tasseled helmet just as Jackson had with his two-corner hat. The navy didn’t have all the etiquette—the army also shone sometimes. When he straightened Jackson was at his side and in a very briefly rehearsed bit of theater, he handed John Henry a small and ornate wooden box. Thomas took a step forward and saw that his movement caused the six bodyguards to tense momentarily until the sultan smiled and held up a hand.

Thomas noted that the sultan wasn’t interested in the box as much as Claire’s cleavage. John Henry didn’t exactly know how he felt about that. Maybe it was just a foreigner ogling an American that made him a touch angered, but then again maybe the woman had affected him in a different way since their voyage began. Thomas shook off the thought and held the box out to the sultan, who finally noticed he was being offered something.

“On behalf of the president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, we ask our most gracious host to accept this small token of the American people’s desire for good relations between your great empire and the United States of America.” John Henry waited but the sultan made no move to take the gift. Finally one of the red velveteen–clad bodyguards stepped forward and relieved the American of the gift. He turned and opened the lid and only then did he show the contents to the sultan. The robust leader of the largest empire in the world smiled and then reached out and lifted a small golden locomotive from the polished wooden box. He laughed heartily and then nodded his round, turbaned head at Thomas.

“We would have expected your gift of a railroad line a far larger matter than what your beautiful box could contain.” He laughed again and then everyone joined in, foreign diplomats and military attachés included—only their laughter was more on the spiteful side.

John Henry turned and saw that even Claire had smiled. He felt lost and uncomfortable. Jackson saw this and, with his hat still tucked neatly under his arm, stepped forward and bowed his impeccable greeting once more.

“Great Sultan, as we speak and talk of good relations, the gift of the American people is even now entering your Bosphorus Strait and should be sailing the Black Sea within the next few hours. Everything from railroad ties cut from the magnificent forests of the state of Maine, to steel rails manufactured in Pennsylvania, and even to the locomotive and six cars manufactured in Illinois, the home of the president, is ready to serve the great sultan of the Ottoman Empire. The gift of this and the labor force to construct the most modern railroad for your most barren provinces, are all for your great empire on the anniversary of your birth.”

The sultan handed the golden locomotive to the bodyguard and then stepped down from his marble pedestal and embraced John Henry. His head was first turned right and then left and in the wake of both actions a wet kiss was planted on his cheeks. He raised his brow as the process was completed, with Captain Jackson taking the assault far better than his army counterpart. Then the sultan came to McDonald, who stiffly accepted the greeting. Claire was actually looking to John Henry for help, but there was nothing he could do as the sultan took Claire by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. Then he moved his hands toward her chest which made her react. Instead of screaming and running, as she surely wanted to do, she curtsied and bowed her head, effectively cutting off the sultan’s advance.

This time the applause was started by the Turks in the crowded room, and soon, out of necessity, the European contingent slowly joined in. To John Henry’s relief the sultan bowed and then returned to his overly large and very ornate throne. A small string band started playing and the mood shifted as the guests started milling about as they were served with all manner of delicacies.

“That was a brilliant tactical maneuver, Miss Claire,” Jackson said with true admiration. She smiled and curtsied again. She turned to face Thomas, who was intentionally looking in another direction.

“And what did you think of my miraculous escape, Colonel?”

Thomas turned and acted as if he had not heard what she said.

“I asked what you thought about—”

“Yes, your performance, I heard.” He smiled only halfheartedly and then looked at her veiled eyes. “I wish I would have thought of it, but I would have butted heads bowing instead of curtsying. I’m afraid you think far faster than I, Madame. I’m just an old soldier, not a woman of the world such as yourself.”

“Valid point, Colonel Thomas, I’m sure,” she said and then suddenly took McDonald by the arm and moved off toward the magnificent buffet table that stretched a hundred feet.

“What did I say?” John Henry asked as he watched Claire leave in her recently purchased turquoise dress.

“Perhaps it was not what you said, Colonel. Maybe it was how you said it.”

“You make as much sense as she does,” Thomas said as he watched Jackson smile and then head in the same direction as the other two.

“Still have that touch of class, huh, John Henry?” Jessy said as he strolled by in his new Union dress blues.

A baffled Thomas watched as Jessy nodded at a fair-looking British woman with a rather large rear guard and then smile again and move once more to the next lady he saw. John Henry mumbled and then smiled and bowed his head as the sultan started making his way toward him with his bodyguard and the English ambassador in tow.

“This is not a good time.” He looked around and saw the others had no intention of rejoining him, so he smiled his best disarming grin and then greeted the sultan once more.

*   *   *

Claire turned from McDonald as he removed delicacies from a tray and filled two plates. She saw John Henry talking with the sultan and then a strange thing happened. They both looked up at the same time and they locked eyes. At least she thought they did, and it gave her the queerest feeling in the pit of her stomach. She quickly turned away when McDonald joined her.

She failed to see not only that she had John Henry’s attention, but also the contingent from the French Embassy. And they both failed to notice that the German and Spanish representatives were also paying close attention to the Americans.

The most powerful nations of the world wondered how they could blow this ruse of the backward Americans out of the water without causing damage to their own nations’ relationships with the empire.

They all had a plan.

*   *   *

The stringed instruments lent an air of unreal quality to the proceedings due to the fact that almost every set of eyes was on the Americans. It was Claire who noticed that Steven McDonald had wandered over to the side of the banquet table where the military attaché of Great Britain was eating and was in quiet discussion with his counterpart from the German Embassy. She saw the British colonel nod his head and then excuse himself from his company and make his way down the line of rotund eaters. She saw the simple way he stopped and greeted McDonald as if they had never met before. McDonald, unlike Renaud, was an unskilled spy. Why Colonel Thomas had caught the Frenchman first and not this bumbling fool was well beyond her comprehension. McDonald was a soldier and was good for little else. The two men smiled and nodded, uttering the quiet musings of two men who had just met. Claire’s attention went to John Henry, who was speaking to the sultan, his interpreter, and none other than the British and French ambassadors to the Ottoman Empire.

“Careful, Colonel,” she said under her breath.

“The only thing he should be careful of is eating this food,” Jessy said, stepping up next to her as he stared at the offering the sultan’s cooks had plopped on his plate. That item was a red-shelled bug. His look was one of horror.

“You’ve never seen lobster before?” Claire asked as she smiled for the first time in days at the naiveté of Taylor.

“If lobster means the biggest damn bug I’ve ever seen, no, I have not.” Jessy was still staring at the steaming shell and the massive claws of the lobster. “Kind of reminds me of the bedbugs in the hotel rooms just south of Wichita. They were about this big.”

Claire actually laughed as her daintily gloved hand slowly removed the china plate from his hand. She set it down on the buffet line and handed the colonel a replacement plate with roasted chicken on it.

“I think I’ll steer my little ship away from the lobster also,” she said after hearing Jessy’s description of bedbugs in the west.

“Well, before you do, maybe you’d better ask if this is roasted chicken … or … something else,” Taylor said as he leaned over his plate and sniffed.

*   *   *

“The sultan was informed by Mr. Wigand here that you not only had a Frenchman thrown from your vessel, but that you also incurred murder onboard. The sultan asks if American sea crossings are always so eventful,” the Turkish interpreter said as the four men strolled along the magnificent full-length wall portraits of Ottoman sultans long dead.

“I must say, Your Highness, that the French ambassador is very well informed, but wrongly so, I’m afraid.” John Henry nodded his head once at the fat ambassador from Paris and then looked at Britain’s representative as though he were looking at the real danger.

“The ambassador has also informed our naval arm that you have only brought one of your four vessels into the empire’s home harbor. The sultan would like to know the reason for this.” The interpreter looked uneasy as John Henry realized that the French ambassador was indeed intriguing the sultan about his real mission to the empire.

“That aspect of the ambassador’s briefing to members of your court is true.” Again he nodded toward the Frenchman, who did not return the gesture this time. He just walked beside the sultan silently as the British ambassador listened closely. “Since the shorter route for the railroad supplied is from north to south, the heavy equipment will be off-loaded in your coastal port of Trabzon. The men and equipment will be transported from there to the termination point where my engineers will join them.”