Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [58]
“And if it’s war?” Mason found his voice was shaking. Even as Trotsky’s name came to his mind he could see the square face and piled-up mass of dark, curling hair, the vitality of the man. He was small, and yet the passion of him filled a room. Instinctively he had liked him more than the dry, inward-looking Lenin.
“You know the answer to that,” the Peacemaker answered, a tight, sad smile on his face. “The revolution will happen in Russia, Mason. It is as inevitable as the phases of the moon. We must have peace. Five million men are dead in Europe already. What is one more?”
Mason gulped air, his heart racing. He had seen countless dead men. He had waded through corpses. It should not matter, and yet it did. The thought repulsed him.
“Have you only the stomach for dreams, not reality?” the Peacemaker challenged.
“No.” Was it the truth? Mason had talked with Trotsky, eaten with him, even liked him. Trotsky had actually told him about his exile in Siberia and how he had escaped and come to England. “No,” he repeated. The man he remembered would be for peace. Was he still the same?
“Find him,” the Peacemaker repeated. “We can change what is to come, Mason. We can end this storm of slaughter! My God, someone has to!”
Mason was hardly aware of his hands and feet, as if he were detached from his body. He held history in his hands. He thought of the men in Verdun, of Judith by the side of the road in Ypres, and other men and women across the battlefields of Europe. “Yes, of course,” he said firmly. Suddenly there was no doubt. He would have killed an enemy soldier with regret, but without hesitation. If Leon Trotsky was in favor of war, then he must be prevented from returning to Russia, and Lenin must go in his place.
The Peacemaker was talking about arrangements. Mason barely heard his voice. His mind was stunned by the enormity of what he had agreed to do, but there was no escaping it. Please God, let Trotsky be for peace.
When Mason was gone, the Peacemaker poured himself a glass of Glenmorangie and was surprised to find his hand trembling. It was excitement, release of tension because finally he had succeeded in getting Mason back. To use him to contact Leon Trotsky was a stroke of genius. It would be the beginning of accomplishing a great goal.
He sipped the whisky and walked back to his chair, sitting down and crossing his legs. He relaxed at last. He had control again.
He had told Mason nothing of affairs at the Scientific Establishment in Cambridgeshire, not the murder of Theo Blaine, or the man the Peacemaker had so carefully placed in the heart of the work there. Mason did not need to know.
He also had not revealed anything about his concerns over the safety of the German naval code. There was nothing specific that he could name—no incident, nothing said that made him think the British had broken the code. It was just a sense of satisfaction in the manner of Admiral “Blinker” Hall, a man for whom the Peacemaker had the most profound respect. Hall should have been more worried, more anxious than he was.
The Peacemaker’s plan was already well in progress. It involved Matthew Reavley, and his attraction to Detta Hannassey. She possessed not only beauty but grace and intelligence and passion. She was unpredictable, daring, sometimes tender, a mixture of madness and sanity that was almost unique. Not surprisingly, Reavley was fascinated with her. That could be used very well indeed. At the very best, the Peacemaker would find out if British Naval Intelligence had broken the code. If they had, he would have to make sure Admiral Hall knew it was Reavley who had betrayed the fact, and that would give the Peacemaker a sharp, sweet pleasure. One day he would have to destroy Joseph Reavley, too, but that could wait. Never place pleasure before business.
It was a pity Patrick Hannassey was becoming a nuisance. He might have to be disposed of quite soon.
CHAPTER
* * *
SEVEN
It was a fine day, and Joseph decided to walk to the village and visit