Read sample The Sugar Secret

Prologue

The Knight was grateful when the door finally opened to permit him entrance, for normally he would have been better prepared to wait outside. The biting chill of the cold spring wind which arose on the way to his destination was unexpected. Such cold was unusual this far south in France, but not impossible for this time of year. The Knight knew this, but the problem was most of his cold weather clothes were already packed away in storage. What made the cold bearable was the knowledge that, soon enough, he wouldn’t be needing those clothes.

“Remy, come in,” said the old man who opened the door. “Come in, please. You look absolutely frozen.”

With the door closed, Remy found himself enveloped in the stuffy warmth of the house. Past the entrance hall he saw a door open to the main sitting room where a huge fire blazed. It was a welcome sight.

“Olivier, it is good to see you. You look well. It is even better to be here to enjoy the warmth of your home once again,” said Remy, making his gratitude obvious in the tone of his voice.

He removed his cloak and passed it to the old man, who put it in a nearby cloakroom. Both men embraced briefly before the old man turned and headed for the warmth of the fire, motioning for the younger man to follow. The old man smiled once both were seated in front of the hearth with glasses of warm brandy in hand.

“You look warmer already. Remy, I am so very pleased you made time for me. In case you are wondering, I am aware of where you are going and what your task is to be. That means I also know you will be incredibly busy preparing to leave soon.”

The Knight gave the old man a rueful smile before responding.

“Olivier, as you can probably see I am not surprised you know. I would be shocked if you didn’t. You were always very good at keeping your finger on the pulse of everything. Who do you think I learned that skill from, anyway? I’ve spent a lot of time watching how you operate. If one wants to be the best, then the way to do that is to pay attention to how people who already are the best demonstrate their skills.”

“You are kind to an old man, Remy. And yes, I have maintained many of my contacts. I may be older and slower now, but I still pay attention to matters of interest to both of us. I would likely be less involved if things were better, but we both know they are not. Well, you are busy, so I don’t plan to keep you long. I think when you hear me out you will agree we could have a matter before us involving—Hmm, what is that word? Ah, I remember, it is serendipity. Yes, a fortuitous, unexpected occurrence may be at hand. The fact you will be leading a covert effort to turn the tables in France’s favour in the Caribbean I think fits nicely with another task I am certain you will be happier to take on. So you understand, this task is on behalf of the Knights.”

Remy remained silent, but raised an eyebrow and sat forward to show his interest. While much of his service, over the last several years in his capacity as Colonel Remy Bernard of the French Army, had been in covert missions against the many enemies of France, he had not forgotten his other role as a senior member of the Knights of Malta. His host Olivier had, at one time, served in the same capacity in both the army and the Knights, in even more senior roles.

If made to confess, both men would have prioritized their involvement as Knights of the Order before their other roles in the army. In centuries past, the noble Hospitaller Knights of the Order of St John of Jerusalem had clear, virtuous purpose in serving to protect and care for vulnerable pilgrims to the Holy Land in the era of the Crusades. As they were gradually pushed out of the Holy Land, they relocated the Order to the island of Rhodes. When that island also fell to the Muslims, Malta became their new home. They successfully defended it against an invading Muslim Turkish fleet in 1565, but even that island was now denied to them. The change had created a flood of desperate soul searching among remaining members of the Order.

“Yes, I can see your interest, Remy. You know, as do I, that our Order is in trouble. We must refocus on a noble purpose once again if we want to continue to exist, but the reality that we are struggling to fund our organization isn’t helping matters. The fact our other master, Napoleon, chose to end our tenure on Malta did not help.”

The Knight sighed and nodded his agreement.

“We are battling against a double-edged sword, Olivier. It is very sad we have been forced to make hard decisions. We could hardly take up arms against our brothers in France, could we? But we both know where our true loyalty lies. So, you say there is something I can do to aid our cause?”

“I believe so,” said the old man, reaching over to open a drawer on the small table beside him.

He pulled out an envelope and passed it to the younger man. With a wave of his hand Olivier signalled his desire for Remy to read the contents. The envelope held a letter, which Remy began to read. A minute later he couldn’t stop himself showing disbelief at what he was reading, and he found himself looking over at the older man in surprise. The old man simply waved his hand once again.

“Yes, Remy, I know. I’m sure my face looked the same as yours when I first read that. Keep reading. I will fill in some background details when you are done.”

Two minutes later, Remy finished the letter and went back to the beginning to scan the contents once more. After pausing a few moments to fully digest the implications, he passed the envelope and its contents back to the old man.

“Olivier, did you say you have background on the letter? Where did you get this?”

“From right here,” said the old man, gesturing at the house around them. “Being old and no longer working full time, I finally have a little spare time to go through the many papers and mementos from the past left by my ancestors. That is the kind of pastime an old man like me indulges in. This is our ancestral home, you see. Been in our family for generations. As you can imagine, people accumulate things and sometimes never throw them out. So, you may have noticed this letter you just read was written by none other than Phillippe de Poincy, who is a relative on my mother’s side from a few generations back. And I expect the name seems familiar to you, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes, somewhat. The letter alludes to him being a Knight like us. But he wrote this letter in the Caribbean. I—Wait, I remember now. We had a presence there for a while, didn’t we?”

“Correct. Yes, the Order was in the Caribbean at one point and he was the man in charge. A Bailiff Grand Cross of the Order he was, no less. I know what you are thinking, of course. Did he really do what he claims in this letter? I believe he did. It was a time in the history of our Order I don’t think any of us are particularly proud of. Or at least, we perhaps shouldn’t be, to my mind.”

Remy let his head drop and he looked away for a moment, before lifting his head once more to respond.

“As we have been so many times before, you and I are of one mind. But Olivier, more questions remain.”

“I know, Remy. This letter is dated a few months before my ancestor passed away in 1660, so you want to know whether what he writes about has already been found. I made several discreet enquiries and can confirm the British have never made reference to it. This is not proof, of course, but I think it reasonable to expect they would have made the discovery public, had it happened. The other consideration is who this letter was sent to.”

“Yes, that was my next question. Who was this man Christophe the letter was sent to? Did he do anything about it?”

“He was a younger brother of our man in the Caribbean and no, he did not do anything, because Christophe too passed away, not long after Phillippe. I think Christophe’s passing was unexpected. I found this letter along with a few others stuffed in an old trunk. None of them had been opened. I don’t know what happened, but it seems clear to me whoever undertook to wind up Christophe’s affairs did a rather poor job of it. Several of the other letters were bills, which presumably went unpaid.”

Remy was silent for several moments, thinking through the ramifications of what he had heard.

“Olivier, the letter references that Christophe will know where to find it, but there are no details. How is it possible this Christophe would know?”

“I expect he would have known because Christophe actually went to the Caribbean to talk to his brother, as part of a small delegation from the Order. Bailiff de Poincy was—difficult to deal with. There were questions about exactly whose interest he was serving. My discreet enquiries revealed the Order subsequently learned his brother Christophe wasn’t much better. But I think Phillippe saw his end approaching and wanted to ensure Christophe would be the one to enjoy the fruits of the older brother’s dealings. It looks to me like he wanted Christophe back in the Caribbean. To be fair, I think Phillippe de Poincy also wanted to be remembered in a more positive light within the Order. Perhaps a financial legacy to us? The letter makes it clear Phillippe made a final decision about something, and alludes to Christophe knowing what to do.”

“I see. So this letter was to confirm what it appears Christophe already knew. The location wasn’t mentioned because both brothers were in on the secret. Also, he probably didn’t want to put it in writing in case the letter fell into the wrong hands.”

“Exactly. Remy, this man ruled four Caribbean islands for several years. All of my research points to him living rather lavishly, which was a point of annoyance to both the Order and the King of France. These were productive, rich islands and the sugar trade was just beginning to produce unimaginable wealth. So I think it is entirely possible this rich sugar secret of his, if you will, is still out there waiting to be found. Hopefully by you.”

“Let us hope. But there are more obvious problems, Olivier. For a start, what I remember about Phillippe de Poincy is he governed his domain from the island of St. Christopher, which is now occupied by the British and is known as St. Kitts in our time. St. Kitts is a big island. I don’t even know where I would start looking.”

“To my mind there are only two options. The first is Government House in Basseterre, where de Poincy ruled it all from and from where, even today, the British do the same. If not there, then his estate called La Fontaine in the hills outside Basseterre is the only other possibility I can see. We would need more information to point us in the right direction, if the item has not been hidden at either of these locations. But I think it makes sense he would want to keep it close at hand. The key part is he built what amounted to a castle called Chateau de la Montagne on La Fontaine Estate. I am told much of it was destroyed by an earthquake several decades ago, but the estate may still be occupied. So, what do you think? We both know the Order is struggling. If you find it, we can put what is there to good use to help re-establish ourselves.”

Remy was silent once again for several moments, then downed another large portion of his brandy. He finally nodded in response.

“I certainly agree we could use this. I also think I can make this search fit with my other plans nicely. It won’t be easy to access these locations, but I do have help. You know who I am talking about.”

Olivier’s eyes narrowed in response and he frowned.

“You have to take Pierre Dupont with you, then?”

“I don’t have much choice, Olivier. As a sergeant in the Order he maintains at least a semblance of loyalty to us. Well, to be fair his loyalty is genuine, but his morals are as questionable as ever and we both dislike him. The thing is, his skills and willingness to do things others would never do cannot be denied. I was already considering taking him when my masters in the army took away any choice and insisted I bring him along. If nothing else, the task you have given me is exactly the kind of thing he is perfect for.”

Olivier sighed. “You are right. Well, we do what we must. I long for the day when we are able to turn this around, and dedicate ourselves to truly noble tasks worthy of our heritage. Perhaps we wouldn’t need people like Dupont in the Order if we did that. And if you succeed, it may take us a long way to reaching that goal.”

Remy downed the remainder of his drink and both men rose from their chairs. In the entrance hall, Remy pulled on his cloak once more and he turned to the old man.

“Olivier, I confess I think this isn’t much to go on, but I will do my absolute best. We simply must succeed.”

“When do you sail for the Caribbean?”

“Hopefully before the end of the month, but it may well be sometime in April. I am at the mercy of our navy and the weather. And what the British Royal Navy is doing, of course. Damn them. Olivier, I will write.”

“God speed, Remy. Stay safe.”

The two men embraced and, once outside, Remy leaned into the still brisk, chill wind, walking fast to reach the warmth of his room at an inn near the harbour. As he went, his mind was lost in thought, considering the many challenges inherent in the two tasks now before him. But as he tried to focus on them another thought kept intruding and, with a sigh to himself, he gave up trying to push it away.

He had never been to the island of St. Kitts, but it seemed like destiny was drawing him there, whether he wanted to go or not. That he would now be forced to target his British foes on the island while also searching for the secret of Phillippe de Poincy was challenging enough. But he knew St. Kitts was where Gabrielle was living and the allure of finding some way to see her had been lurking in the back of his mind every day since being assigned his army mission.

The question of whether he wanted her in his life once again seemed the most daunting challenge of all. Even worse was the knowledge she might feel the same way, but the tiny spark of hope flaring in his heart betrayed what he was coming to realize was the truth.

That spark meant he would travel to St. Kitts to find out, one way or another.

Chapter One

The cold, chill winds of France in spring were a distant memory as Remy stood on the deck of a small sloop in the third week of May. The ship was moored alongside a shabby, nondescript dock mainly used by fishing boats in the harbour of Fort-de-France, Martinique. He peered about, looking for flaws which might give away the true purpose and nature of the ship, but could see none. While not a sailor, Remy was very good at paying attention to details. He knew his opponents would be equally good, for he had been briefed on who his opponents would likely be. He had few specifics, but the fact they were British Royal Navy officers made it imperative this ship could pass even the closest inspection.

They had changed the ship’s name to The Wolfe. Remy was gambling it wouldn’t be too obvious an attempt to add authenticity to the guise they had created for the ship. Her newly-falsified paperwork stated her home port was Montreal in Lower Canada. Naming her after the victorious British general at the 1759 Battle of Quebec seemed reasonable enough to gain a little credibility. They had stripped the ship of her French cannons and replaced them with captured British versions.

Remy loosened the collar ties of his shirt to let in more of the light breeze, for the early morning sunshine was already making the temperature rise. The day would soon be warm enough to warrant escaping indoors from the coming heat of the afternoon. Remy turned to the man standing beside him on the deck of the ship, who he knew was in his mid-thirties like himself. Remy thought himself fit and strong for his age, but this man surpassed him.

“Well, Pierre, what do you think? She appears suitable for our purposes to me.”

“I agree, sir. I personally supervised the forging of the paperwork. I am certain it will pass muster.”

“Excellent. Are the captain and crew ready to leave? And are you happy with them?”

“They are ready, and I am reasonably confident they know their business, for I handpicked them. Most of them speak English, but they cannot hide their French accents any better than I can. I expect a degree of suspicion, but I am sure our story will cover us. There is only one way to find out for certain, of course.”

“Indeed. And you are clear on what you must do?”

Pierre was silent for a long moment before responding. Remy wasn’t certain, but he thought a look of bemusement was in the sergeant’s eyes as he spoke. Even worse was the thought his sergeant secretly thought him weak.

“Sir, we have been through this. Recall that I have met Gabrielle before. She will have changed, but I will know her when I see her. As for messages she might send if she is willing, I have already talked to several of the fishermen who work the waters between us and St. Kitts. They assure me messages can be passed without difficulty. It must be for the right price, of course. The British are just as aware as we are of what the fishermen are up to, but they can stop it no more than we can. There are simply too many of them and there is too much ocean to cover. So I will find her and see what happens. If nothing else, I will also be able to scout Basseterre for the kind of opportunities we discussed.”

Remy nodded. “Very well, I wish you success. You know what to say to Gabrielle. And in the meantime, I have much to do here. I must leave now, for I am touring those of the local defences I didn’t see yesterday. After that is my meeting with all of them an hour from now at Fort St. Louis. I think more than a few people will be unhappy about what they hear, but that is going to be their problem.”

The second Remy was back on the dock, the boarding plank was pulled up and the sailors began preparing the ship for sea. Remy took a long look at The Wolfe before he pulled himself away. Remy had much riding on Pierre’s success, both in terms of the overall mission and maybe for himself.

Remy decided to make his displeasure obvious as he stared at the silent faces around the governor’s meeting table in Fort St. Louis. Achieving that goal wasn’t hard, for he really was dismayed by what he had seen of the state of their defences in the area of Fort-de-France. Judging by the looks on the faces of the men staring back at him, they were expecting to receive bad news.

Six men were seated around the table with him. One was Louis Thomas Villaret de Joyeuse, the governor of Martinique, while opposite him was Pierre-Clement de Laussat, the prefect of Martinique. Remy was well aware the two men were at odds with each other. Of the remaining four men, two were the most senior army officers on the island, while the other two were the most high-ranking officers of the French Navy in the area. Remy was about to start the meeting when the governor seized the initiative and spoke.

“Thank you all for coming and providing Colonel Bernard here with tours of your respective domains. Colonel, we hope you have found satisfaction. But I am afraid we are all still somewhat perplexed at your presence here, and unsure what your purpose is. All we were told was to expect you and to give you whatever you want. You have been here almost two weeks now and you have yet to make your mission clear to us. As you requested, we have told everyone they are not to speculate about who you are or why you are here, let alone even talk about the fact you have arrived. Nonetheless, I am certain everyone will do their best to meet your needs, whatever they may be.”

Remy smiled. “Thank you, Governor. I too am certain of that. As for my presence here, I confess to a little surprise you are all perplexed. After all, you are the ones who have been sending repeated requests for aid to our masters in France. Well, I am the result of that.”

The governor frowned. “Colonel, with respect, I think we were all hoping for more resources. I don’t know your background, although I am certain you are bringing skills we can use. However, the one small frigate that brought you here will certainly not be enough to turn the tide back in our favour. Are you the first of more resources to follow?”

“I am afraid not, Governor. Matters at home are—difficult. The war in Portugal and Spain has everyone’s full attention and consumes the majority of the resources.”

This time Prefect Laussat interjected, and he was unable to keep the tone of shocked disbelief from his voice.

“Colonel, this is Martinique. Together with Guadeloupe we are the bastions of France in the Caribbean. How can we not be supported? The goals of the government won’t be achieved if we have nothing to work with.”

Remy responded with a stony look, remaining silent for a long moment. Having let the silence grow awkward, Remy decided the time had come and pulled an envelope from his pocket.

“Gentlemen, I think it best if I simply read this out loud for you. It will clarify matters for everyone.”

The letter inside the envelope was only one page long and it took little time to read. Their shocked reaction was visible on all of their faces, and as the implications sank in they all clamoured for their objections to be heard. The governor slammed a fist on the table to gain everyone’s attention as he barked out his frustration.

“Good God, this is insane. Why, you—You’re just a damned spy. Have our masters lost their senses?”

Remy held up a hand to silence them. He waited for them all to comply, which they slowly did, before responding.

“Gentlemen, perhaps you should have a look at who wrote this letter.”

Remy passed the letter across the table to the governor, who quickly scanned the contents. As he reached the bottom of the page he groaned aloud and put a hand to his forehead. The army officer sitting beside him reached over to take the letter in turn, reacting more stoically than the governor, but it was obvious he too was taken aback. The letter worked its way around the table and by the time it had made its way back to Remy, everyone was wearing looks of shock and dismay. Remy folded the letter and put it back in the envelope before leaning forward on the table to speak.

“I trust you are all beginning to understand, but let me make it crystal clear. Our master Napoleon has much larger issues to concern himself with than what is happening out here. He is also not happy, not at all, with having received multiple letters from all of you looking for more resources. He has concerns that what you already have is not being used effectively. I am here to fix that and, as you see from his orders in the letter, you are all taking direction from me, effective immediately.”

“But this is ridiculous,” said Laussat. “See here, as prefect my role here is to ensure that priorities as defined by the government at home are carried out. I acknowledge I have had challenges and Governor de Joyeuse will have to explain himself regarding that. I just don’t understand why I should take orders from you. It is a duplication of effort.”

The governor scowled. “I agree something is ridiculous here, but it is not me. I have done my duty, Laussat, and will continue to do so. It is not my problem you don’t like the way I do it. The one thing I do agree with is this change is simply a duplication of effort.”

The oldest and more senior of the army officers seated at the table spoke up for the first time as the governor finished speaking.

“Well, I for one find it outrageous an army spy would be put in charge of our military assets and operations here. In fact, I outrank you. I think—”

This time it was Remy’s turn to scowl. Hammering a fist on the table caught everyone’s attention.

“What is it about the fact I am in charge here now that none of you seem to understand? You all read the letter, so I am only going to say this once. If you are not interested in serving any longer you can write a letter of resignation from your post here right now, go and pack your belongings, and go back to France to face the consequences. So make your decision.”

The silence which followed was deep and long. Several of the men worked their mouths as if they were going to speak, but none did. The governor was the first to finally speak.

“Colonel Bernard, I for one will follow your directions, as much as I find this frankly disheartening. Look, while I have had disagreements with every one of the men around this table, I do respect the fact they are trying to do what they believe is best for our beloved France. I will continue to do my best, even though I seem to be falling short of expectations. I think they will too.”

One by one the rest of the men nodded or voiced agreement with what the governor said.

“Very good, gentlemen,” said Remy. “We have work to do.”

“So, Colonel,” said the younger of the two navy officers. “Where do we go from here?”

“We are going to take the fight to the British, gentlemen. I think it likely the British will, sooner or later, give thought to invading us here, if they are not already actively planning it. We must make them realize that would be a bad idea. But before we do that, we are going to get our house in order here. I confess I am appalled at the state of our defences on the island.”

Several of the men around the table clamoured to voice their opinions, but Remy slammed a fist on the table once again.

“Don’t waste my time with your protests. You all know damn well I am right to be appalled. The state of disrepair of our artillery is horrible. I swear the wheels are rotten enough half of our field pieces would fall apart if we tried to move them, while our larger cannons in the forts aren’t much better. The cannons are showing signs of rust, for God’s sake! The cannons on board our small cluster of warships are thankfully in somewhat better shape. However, the ships are clearly not being maintained properly. If that fact is obvious even to someone with no background in the navy, what do you think it is doing to the morale of the sailors? The same applies to our soldiers here in Fort Saint Louis and the other fortifications I’ve toured. I’ve never seen such an undisciplined, slovenly bunch. These are problems that start at the top and you all know it.”

The prefect made to speak once again. “Colonel, I am certain these officers are doing the best they can. We in turn are doing our best to support them. I—”

“No, you and the governor are damn well not doing your best. I walked all over Fort-de-France. There are obviously big problems with food distribution. Your letters to our masters back home spoke of food shortages and lack of basic supplies. Our people in the army and the navy are on short rations. And what do I see when I walk about? I see hungry people milling about on the street corners. I have no doubt all manner of crime and theft are rampant. This is the Caribbean, for God’s sake. There are plenty of fish in the sea and all manner of trees bearing fruit. And what about the plantation owners? What are they doing to support you?”

The governor and the prefect looked at each other with barely concealed venom before the prefect finally spoke.

“Well, as the governor knows, we have been working toward an accommodation that will satisfy everyone. I—”

“Colonel,” said the governor, interrupting the prefect. “The owners are doing what they must. The problem is we need the revenue they create badly. If we hamper their efforts it will backfire on us.”

“Gentlemen. What will backfire on us is a British invasion of this island. If the owners are recalcitrant about helping out, we will just change their minds, won’t we? But the reality is I don’t give a damn what they think. If I have to, I will have a meeting with them, too, and I guarantee they won’t like what I am going to tell them. The owners have plenty of resources and they are going to share them. For now, it is your job to help them understand that things have changed. The army will make the change by force if need be.”

A silence descended once again as everyone digested what Remy had said. He looked around the table at each of the men, stopping and holding their gaze one by one before he spoke once more.

“Look. I understand you are unhappy. The situation out here has gone downhill since the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. We have lost good men, like my predecessor Hubert Montendoix, who died that same year. I understand the British Royal Navy remains a huge problem. But I for one do not intend to let them simply walk all over us. We are still French, and proud to be so. We may not be able to mount big missions against them at the moment, but we still have resources and, I am certain, good people are still out here. If it has to be covert missions to sow mayhem and make them pay for everything they try to gain, then so be it. So, are you all with me?”

One by one, all of the men at the table nodded. Remy was encouraged to see the two younger military men from the army and the navy both looked visibly more eager than their older colleagues. The younger army officer glanced aside at his counterpart in the navy, before turning to speak.

“Colonel, I for one am pleased to hear what you are talking about. Give us a plan and your orders, and let us show you what we can accomplish.”

Pierre Dupont was pleased, for once again his skills as a professional liar had served him well.

Once the British customs officials in Basseterre realized everyone on The Wolfe had French accents, they were singled out for extra attention. Every inch of the ship was examined and the paperwork was scrutinized in detail. But Pierre’s story, that he was an advance scout for a wealthy French royalist businessman who had been living and doing business in Montreal since the French Revolution, held up. Pierre’s assertion that his master was looking to do business in the Caribbean again, and wanted to escape the legendary frigid and snowy winters of Montreal, was all too plausible. With the British holding sway on almost all of the islands now, the claim he thought it would be a much safer place to set up operations made sense.

That Pierre had vast experience lying helped, along with the meticulous attention to detail ensuring The Wolfe had nothing on board that would give away the game. They had even loaded some lumber and other goods, clearly marked as being from Montreal and captured earlier from a British merchant ship, in the cargo hold. Pierre’s smooth delivery of his story that he was only here for a short time to scout Basseterre as a possible new home for his master and to meet an old friend sealed the matter, along with a small contribution to line the pockets of the customs men.

One of the officials put him in touch with a nearby trader, who he happened to know would love to have Pierre’s cargo. A deal to sell their wares made while the customs men were there to watch the proceedings helped. The promise of future visits and potentially more contributions to their pockets made everyone happy.

Once free of their scrutiny and with his crew hard at work transferring the cargo, Pierre made good use of the time on his hands to stroll about the harbour, fixing the strength of the British defences in his mind. He also took careful note of every ship in the harbour. That evening he dined alone at a waterfront inn, carefully watching everyone come and go.

Pierre told everyone he talked to he was searching for an old friend and he finally met with success in his search for Gabrielle the next day. When Pierre described her age and appearance, along with the fact she was now a widow, one of the local shopkeepers knew who she was right away. Soon enough he found himself standing outside her small house on a side street not far from the centre of town.

His knock on the door brought a response. The woman who opened it was dark haired and of medium height. Pierre knew she would be in her early to mid-thirties now and no longer the much younger woman he had known years before. He was unsurprised to find she had matured into an even more beautiful and desirable woman than she had been then. Her classic, patrician features and slim body would still attract every man she met.

“Hello, Gabrielle. It has been a long time,” said Pierre.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she stiffened visibly for a moment. Without speaking, she looked past him to either side of the street to see who else was in the area before turning back to face him. Her lips opened and closed as if she was struggling over what to say, before she finally responded.

“Pierre. I am—All right, come in please.”

She closed the door firmly behind him, but not before peering about outside one last time. She motioned for him to follow her and led him to an inner courtyard of her home, which was open to the outside air. A pleasant garden, filled with all manner of flowers and various plants, occupied most of the space with a small table and two chairs in the middle. She motioned for him to sit and joined him at the table. She folded her arms and sat in silence, waiting for him to speak.

Pierre smiled. “Gabrielle, are you not glad to see me?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It depends. Why are you here? Forgive me, but I think this is not a social visit.”

This time, Pierre laughed. “I do like it when people are cynical. It means I am hearing the truth and not some bullshit niceties. You are right, this is not a social visit, but it would be good if it was. You know, after Remy foolishly took you for granted the two of us could have done better than one night together. Instead, you go off to Portugal and marry some stupid royalist businessman and eventually end up out here. He dies unexpectedly on you and, here you are, now named Gabrielle Maurice and stuck on this backwater British island in the Caribbean.”

Gabrielle shook her head. “I don’t see myself as a cynic. I prefer to think of it as being realistic. We all make mistakes, Pierre. My deceased husband may have been a mistake, but it wasn’t as big a mistake as spending one night with you while I was considering what to do after Remy and I parted. And being realistic, it is obvious to me you did not come here to tell me what you think. What do you want, Pierre?”

“Ah, it is not what I want, Gabrielle. It is what Remy wants.”

She simply raised an eyebrow in response, so Pierre gave her the message Remy had asked him to convey. She sat in silence when he had finished, which lengthened to over a minute before she finally spoke.

“I must think about this. Come back tomorrow at the same time and I will give you an answer.”

She opened the door the next day within moments of his knock and didn’t waste any time giving him his answer.

“Yes, Pierre. You can tell Remy I will help because at heart I am French, but I can honestly say I’d rather this wasn’t happening. I do know where the fishing boats dock and I should be able to find the man you described when I have something to tell him.”

“Excellent, Gabrielle,” said Pierre, unable to keep a mocking smile from his face. “Remy will be pleased. Honesty isn’t my forte, you know, but I am pretty sure he is hoping your cooperation will bear plenty of fruit.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You really are a cynical bastard, Pierre. We both know Remy wants more than what you told me. Whether he will get it is another matter, and he shouldn’t get his hopes up. You can tell him I said that. I also expect you haven’t told him about the two of us. He might not want to know that. But I will help and, as a show of support, here is the first bit of information for you. I confirm the property outside Basseterre is in fact occupied. I don’t have details, but I will get them to you when I know more.”

After she had closed the door in his face, he grinned at the abrupt termination of their meeting and shook his head. He had already scouted the other location in town he wanted information about, so now he had his answer from her, the need to stay any longer in port was gone.

As he made his way back to the ship, Pierre couldn’t help shaking his head. The message he was going to convey to his master would be no more or less than a factual report of his encounter with Gabrielle, leaving out the fact he had spent one night with her long ago. He didn’t care that she had no interest in him, for he had no intention of ever marrying any woman, but his master Remy was a different kind of man. Pierre had already rather cynically concluded, given her reaction, that his master could well end up becoming a much happier man than she let on, but he wasn’t about to tell Remy that.

Remy was at a desk in a separate office in Fort St. Louis, surrounded by sheaves of paperwork, when Pierre found him. Feeling drained and tired from hours of planning and numerous meetings, Remy shoved all aside to hear Pierre’s report. When Pierre finished, Remy simply nodded, trying to keep his face from revealing his thoughts.

“Very good, Pierre. It is helpful she will aid us, so we are making progress. I have plans well in hand for the other islands, but St. Kitts is going to be the focus for you. You and I will spend some time tomorrow building a specific plan for it, and then we are going to make it happen. In fact, you will have the lead on dealing with St. Kitts. I am pleased that everyone here seems to have found the enthusiasm they were lacking now that I have lit a fire under their backsides. I think we can succeed.”

“Sir, if I may? When are you going to tell me what it is about St. Kitts that warrants my specific attention? I can understand why you might want me to scout their Government House in Basseterre. Steal some secrets, disrupt their administrative operations, perhaps. But why do we have interest in some obscure property in the hills above Basseterre? Would it not be best to share our objective with at least me so I know what to do or to look for?”

Remy sighed. “You are right, Pierre.”

Getting up from his chair, the Knight went to the door and peered out into the hallway. After closing the door firmly, he sat down once again.

“We have two tasks, Pierre. One you know about, the other is on behalf of the Knights of Malta.”

Pierre remained silent, but leaned forward with interest as Remy explained what he had learned months before in France. When he had finished, Pierre stayed silent for a few long moments before speaking.

“So you really think Bailiff de Poincy hid a treasure hoard of some magnitude on this island? And that it is still there?”

Remy shrugged. “It may sound far-fetched, but the facts do support the possibility. We know these islands produced great wealth, and that he lived lavishly. We also know he had an arrangement with one of his minions on Tortuga. You have heard of the Buccaneers, the pirate Brethren of the Coast? They had even less of a veneer of authority for their activities than this man de Poincy. Some of the tainted riches they amassed likely made their way to St. Kitts, for there was plenty of wealth to go around for people with minimal scruples. And I saw the letter, Pierre. I think it really is still there somewhere and we must try to find it. The Order needs it, Pierre. Badly.”

“I see. Thank you for the clarification. And we are in a situation where we must do whatever it takes to find it?”

“Whatever it takes, Pierre. We do what we must.”

Pierre smiled. “Well, I am the man for that kind of job.”

The night Remy chose for the action was perfect. High, thin clouds with a quarter moon gave just enough light to make finding landmarks relatively easy with their night glasses, while still offering plenty of gloom to hide their warships. The night breeze was enough to sail the ship, but thankfully was not too rough to row a great distance to the shore. Remy had organized different raiding parties to attack Basseterre and Pierre joined one of them.

Using the element of surprise to its maximum, several small groups of sailors and soldiers were delegated to row ashore at spots deemed the best to tie up in without discovery. From there, each party had specific targets to make for and they all knew their purpose was not to capture or seize anything. Destruction, confusion and mayhem were what Remy wanted.

The two main targets were Fort Thomas—located at Bluff Point on the edge of town—and a British warship Pierre had observed in harbour undergoing minor repairs. The attack on Fort Thomas was to be a simple distraction. Other attacking parties were delegated to roam the waterfront with small grenades, using them at random to toss onto any ship they could get close enough to once the alarm had been sounded. However, the attack on the warship was another matter. The group given this task was the first to be sent on its way. The objective was to lash a small boat, filled with combustible pitch, tar and gunpowder, to the stern of the ship and set it alight before getting away. Pierre went in with the first of the raiding parties. As he was about to make his way down to the ship’s boat, the frigate captain pulled Pierre aside to speak to him.

“Sir, I presume you know you must be back as soon as possible from whatever it is you are doing. Once the alarm is raised we must all be back on board and on our way. Thankfully, nobody in that fort saw us sneak past, but they will be much more vigilant soon enough. If you are not back in time and we are in danger, I may have to leave you. You understand?”

Pierre stepped closer to the captain and scowled.

“You will do no such thing. We have a mission to accomplish and we will do what we must. You wait till I return.”

This time the captain showed his anger.

“I am the captain of this ship. I will—”

Pierre grabbed the man’s shirtfront in a bunch and pulled him nose to nose.

“I don’t give a shit who you are. I am in charge here and you are not. If you return to Martinique without me, my master will have you loaded down with chains and sent back to France to await your fate. It will be better for you if he does, for if you abandon me here and I make it back to Fort-de-France, I will just cut your balls off when I find you. Have I made myself clear?”

The captain licked his lips in silence before finally nodding.

“I am glad we understand each other. Make certain you get the timing of our parties right. I will need as much time as possible for my task.”

Turning away, Pierre made his way to the boat and stepped in over the side. Using muffled oars, they skimmed in silence across the water. When they finally reached the spot Pierre had chosen, he turned to the junior officer in charge of the boat.

“Do your job ashore when the time for the attack comes, but wait here until I return. I don’t care what is happening. I need time to do my job, too.”

Stalking off into the night, Pierre made his way towards the centre of Basseterre. He was well aware there would likely be a night watch patrol, especially in the area of the docks, so he steered clear of the waterfront. Moving from shadow to shadow among the back streets, he finally found himself at his destination. Government House on Church Street was just what the name implied, the administrative heart of St. Kitts.

He was not surprised to find only one guard on duty outside the main entrance, which was the same as he had observed on his last visit. He paused for a few moments to study the area, watching for other signs of life, but he knew he didn’t have much time. Fortunately, the hour was late, with no one else about, and the guard looked sleepy, leaning as he was against a pillar near the entrance. Pierre smiled to himself, for he was certain he could take the guard without the alarm being raised.

The garrotte was already wrapped around the guard’s throat before the man knew what was happening. Pierre pulled him backwards off his feet and, after twisting him about to face the ground, he knelt on his victim’s back to minimize his desperate thrashing without lessening the pressure on the garrotte. As the man’s writhing finally ceased, Pierre dragged him out of sight behind the pillar in case someone was, in fact, watching. The guard went limp as his life ended and Pierre smiled as he peered about once more. The garrotte was Pierre’s weapon of choice for this line of work, and he liked to think he was now an expert in its use.

Using the guard’s keys, Pierre carefully opened the door to Government House, unsure whether he would face another guard inside. No light was coming from the interior, but that did not mean the place was unoccupied, for a second guard could simply be sleeping. But no alarm was sounded and all was silent. Pierre dragged the dead man inside and, after taking a moment to use his flint to light a small torch, he began his search.

Less than a half hour later, the sounds of a disturbance could be heard coming from the direction of the harbour. Pierre frowned. With every passing second the uproar grew louder and he sighed, knowing the time had come to make his escape. A cannon bellowed out from somewhere in the harbour, and he could hear the sounds of shouting and weapons fire. Several small explosions rocked the night in succession. Despite the commotion, Pierre was careful as he stepped outside, for it was now far more likely people would be aroused and on the streets.

No one paid him any mind as he carefully retraced his steps. Chaos and confusion seemed to be everywhere and Pierre smiled to himself once again, for that was what he thrived on. That he was also serving a larger purpose in supporting the Knights was thrilling, even to someone as jaded as he was. Long ago, the Knights had given him opportunity to rise above his poor beginnings as an orphan. Despite what he knew his master Remy and others thought of him and his methods, Pierre knew in his heart that he was more dedicated to the Order than all the rest of them put together.

On reaching the boat, which was still tied up, he saw it already filled with men, some of whom were injured. The officer was scowling as Pierre jumped on board, pushing off and hissing orders to his crew to row as if the devil himself was chasing them. Pierre didn’t care what the man thought, for although he had not found anything of consequence, he knew it likely his master Remy would be pleased with the night’s work.

Remy went down to the dock in Basse-Terre, the capital of Guadeloupe, in the early dawn light when word came of the return of the raiders. The raids on St. Kitts were timed to occur in concert with those on Antigua and, to his amazement, the two groups made their way into port within an hour of each other. The party returning from Antigua was first to arrive and Remy hoped it a good sign that the report of their raid was of an overall success with no loss of life or damage. Remy was just finishing a quick debrief with them when the warship with Pierre aboard made its way into port.

As it came closer, Remy realized that the crew’s story would be rather different. Several shot holes could be seen in the sails, and obvious damage from at least three different direct hits to the ship itself. The shipwrights would be needed to effect repairs before this ship could be put to use once more. As they finally tied up at the dock, Remy was relieved to see Pierre standing on deck near the captain. Once the boarding plank was in place, Pierre was the first off and he made his way over to Remy.

“Report,” said Remy.

“I got into Government House and did a quick search as best I could. The captain won’t admit it, but I think these fools panicked and began the attacks early. They will tell you they were discovered and had no choice. The officer looked a little too shifty for me, when he told me the story. So the result is I need more time in Government House to be certain, but if there really is a hiding place in the building, it is not in an obvious location. I recommend that, once we have established our presence on St. Kitts, we pick a night where I can take my time without being rushed.”

“That makes sense. And what about the raid itself? We have casualties, I see.”

As Remy spoke, the fully shrouded bodies of four men were being carried off the ship and past where they stood. Behind them were more sailors with injuries being assisted off the ship.

Pierre shrugged. “The shore party with the grenades created the mayhem you were looking for, but they ran into a party of British marines who were late returning to their ship from a night of drinking. The ship that was under repairs will now need a lot more than that, because the British weren’t able to put the fire out. I doubt it will sail again. The casualties you see here were the result of that British fort and the party of marines. Unfortunately, the ship on fire gave enough light in the harbour for them to see us. But, overall, I think you can count this raid a success. That ship’s captain may not agree with me, but that’s my opinion and at least it is a start. When do we return to Martinique?”

“As soon as possible. I’ve done my inspection of the defences here and know what needs to be done. God help us, Guadeloupe needs as much attention as Martinique.”

Two days later, Remy was in his office for a meeting with Governor Joyeuse and Prefect Laussat. As the two men came in and sat down Remy pushed a decanter of brandy, along with some glasses, across the table to them, waving a hand to signal they should help themselves. Remy wasn’t optimistic the brandy would make them less fractious to deal with, but he was willing to try anything.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Now that the first round of action is behind us, I have a bit of time to learn how you have made out in discussions with the plantation owners.”

As the two men looked at each other, Remy was trying to read their faces for any signs of what they were thinking. Of interest, the prefect wore an unmistakable look of smugness, while the governor appeared the more nervous of the two. The prefect began to speak a second before the governor, who in turn glared over at the prefect because of the interruption.

“Colonel Bernard,” said the prefect, pouring himself a brandy as he spoke. “First, let me offer you congratulations. From what I hear it sounds like your raids have been successful across the board.”

Remy raised his glass in acknowledgement. “Overall, yes. I am pleased with what was accomplished. Very few men lost, but plenty of mayhem and confusion left behind them on the British islands. Our raids on Dominica and St. Lucia went even better than those on Antigua and St. Kitts. The fact we have many secret supporters on those two islands makes our work far easier. But Antigua and St. Kitts are still the real challenge. I am already giving thought to the second wave of attacks, for we must keep the pressure on them. It will help to keep them away from our own shores. So, Governor, how are matters with the owners?”

The governor cleared his throat and shot the prefect a brief look of frustration before speaking.

“Yes, let me first echo the prefect in congratulating you on your success. I wish I could report the same in our dealings with the Grand Blancs owners. They have agreed to review their inventories of supplies and donate what they can immediately, but every one of them I spoke to had the same complaint. They too are feeling the shortages, you see. The other problem is that while sugar prices have temporarily risen a little, overall prices are, in reality, flat. They are also struggling to get their wares to market because of the damned British. The rising prices may not last long. They are asking for six months to adjust their operations, to rededicate efforts to local food production.”

Remy’s eyes bulged as the governor finished. From the corner of his eye, Remy saw the prefect was struggling to keep a straight face. Remy sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands to buy himself time to think, before leaning forward once again.

“I see. So, Prefect Laussat, what progress have you made with organizing the local fishermen, the small businessmen and people with small plots of land? Have they agreed to step up production and distribution of food?”

The prefect’s smug look disappeared and was replaced by the nervous demeanour the governor was still displaying.

“Ah, well, it seems the key to success with these groups is to ensure they are paid, Colonel. None of them has confidence that will happen. I have not pushed them hard, as we do not have the resources to promise them the kind of reward they are looking for. I was rather hoping the governor would have more success with the plantation owners, because they can bring much more to the effort in short order than everyone else combined.”

Remy sighed. “Well, I appreciate your candour, gentlemen, but this is not good enough. We are at war and I am not going to tolerate excuses. Everyone must make sacrifices—and I do mean everyone. You will both organize meetings here in the fort with the key people you have been dealing with. I will personally explain to them what is necessary. While you are doing that, I will explain to the army that they may be needed to police the effort. It seems to me neither of you have pushed these people hard, as you say, but that is going to change. We need to buy ourselves time to force the British back and we are not in a position to wait six months or more.”

Remy was pleased, for Gabrielle had continued to do as she promised she would. She had sent word soon after Pierre’s return via their fisherman contact, giving details about the current owners of the estate, which was still called La Fontaine. Only three people had anything to do with it, an older couple and their son, who were farming a small piece of the estate. Apparently more of their time was spent in town than on the property. Most of the originally cultivated land was now slowly being overtaken by the natural local vegetation.

While her report gave him secret hope she would be receptive to seeing him again, Remy knew it would still be some time before he could be certain of that. In the meantime, he was once again waiting to hear the outcome of his second raid on St. Kitts. This was a much smaller affair than before, and St. Kitts was the only island involved. While sowing mayhem and confusion among military targets was still the overt focus, the real purpose was the task Pierre had been given.

Remy watched the docks where the fishermen operated in Fort-de-France for three days in a row before Pierre and the others finally returned. For this mission they were disguised as fishermen and, of necessity, they were forced to wait in hiding in disguise until they deemed it safe to return. And this time it appeared the raid was a complete success, for all of the men returned without injury.

“Report,” said Remy, as Pierre made his way over to stand at his side. The stench of dead fish surrounding him made Remy wrinkle his nose.

“Mission accomplished, sir. I was successful in finding La Fontaine. Much of the original building is a ruin. The estate is quite big, but I was able to make a little map for you. The family still farming it were using an outbuilding as their base of operations. They won’t be a problem in future. Once I returned to the port later that day, the sailors and I created yet more mayhem when night fell. This time we focused our efforts on a small navy sloop. I can safely report our grenades had enough gunpowder in them to start a huge blaze. The ship blew up once the fire hit the magazine. We had to hide in the fishing boats for two days, because the British were seriously unhappy about what had happened. I give our navy officer credit, he showed some effort. Far more than that other fool.”

“Excellent. But let’s go back to the estate for a moment. You said the people living there won’t be a problem. What does that mean? I wasn’t expecting they would be a problem, because Gabrielle said they spend most of their time in town.”

Pierre shrugged. “Well, that may have been the case, but they certainly won’t be there in future. All three of them were present when I showed up. This was bad for them, because they could all identify me, which is why they are all dead now.”

“Dead? God Almighty, you killed them all?” said Remy, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Of course,” said Pierre, in a matter-of-fact tone.

Remy put a hand to his forehead. ‘I—Good God, man. The British are going to be on their guard. They will investigate why that happened.”

“I made it look like a robbery gone bad. Look, they could identify me. We don’t want that, do we? And besides, you did say we have to do what we must. Right?”

“I—Yes, God help me, I did say that, didn’t I? Yes, we do what we must.”