The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

escorted Admiral Fisher back to the table. With the War Council united once again Asquith repeated Churchill’s question. 'In light of these points, what importance does the council attach to the Dardanelles operation?'

Kitchener spoke first. 'If my troops are not needed, then I believe it’s worth a try. We can always leave off if the bombardment doesn't prove effective.'

'Quite so,' the Prime Minister agreed. 'Mr Balfour, as the representative of the opposition, what say you?'

Balfour gathered his thoughts. He reminded Sir George of a vicar addressing his congregation. 'I believe re-opening the trade routes with Russia would release wheat and shipping now locked up in the Black Sea. Along with its other benefits, it is difficult to imagine a more helpful operation.'

Sir Edward Grey now deigned to involve himself with the mundane process of formulating policy. 'I concur wholeheartedly with what has already been stated. A successful naval attack on the Dardanelles could well result in chaos and revolution in Turkey and it returning to its former neutrality'.

‘I like the idea,’ Lloyd George continued the concord. 'I favour any intervention in the East that will build alliances with the states there.'

'I think, gentlemen, the consensus opinion is that an attack on the Dardanelles is the most obvious and promising proposal for us to follow,' Asquith concluded, and adjourned the meeting for lunch.

The War Council rumbled its acceptance. Admiral Fisher maintained a stubborn silence, deciding now to abide with the decision after his discussion with Lord Kitchener.

It was of little consequence. Sir George's initiative would supersede any decision they’d made. Sir George felt his solution was by far the more elegant, to simply pay Turkey to leave the war, rather than launch a costly expedition against them. He saw Grey gathering his papers and didn't waste a second in approaching him.

'Sir Edward, might I trouble you for a moment?'

'Oh Smyth, how are you finding the Admiralty? Winston’s not driving you too hard, is he?'

'I can't thank you enough for the opportunity,' Sir George said, avoiding the question. 'I wonder if I might be able to return the favour and do you a good turn.'

'How so?' Grey asked absently. 'Is this another one of your rather colourful schemes?'

'This one is more grounded in logic,' Sir George said, keeping his tone light.

'I see.' Grey turned to face him at last.

'I believe that it is possible to exploit the inherent instability in the Turkish Government, without having to resort to the crudities of gunboat diplomacy.'

'I see that would certainly be a major diplomatic victory,' Grey said, dryly.

'There is however a key individual in your service whom I need to carry out this initiative. Perhaps we could dine at my club and discuss the details?'

‘Oh, hell!’ Grey said. Sir George gasped as if he'd been slapped in the face and then spun around as he heard a world-weary voice calling. Balfour was heading towards them, evidently intent on another discussion on wheat exports.

‘Smyth, just send the name over to my office and they'll arrange the details.’

‘Certainly, Sir Edward,’ Sir George retreated before he could change his mind.

Chapter 6

Hysterical screaming unnerved Johnny Swift as he was marched down a long, whitewashed corridor. The echo of his footsteps, slapping on the stone floor, could barely be heard above the noise.

He passed the open door of a ward and could just make out the soft undertones of Mozart’s piano concerto number 21 in C major. The scratchy gramophone was a small glimmer of tranquillity that gradually soothed the man’s distress. Johnny stopped to listen to the music and control his shaking.

A doctor with a comb-over and sharp pointy beard stormed into the ward and started ranting. The music stopped abruptly and the man’s murmuring began to intensify, setting off the men around him. The music apparently didn’t fit with the doctor’s treatment regimen.

Johnny was shoved by one of the old sailors in his honour guard and continued up the corridor, following a shambling French orderly.

The sailors had driven Johnny straight here from Colonel Woking’s office and seemed to be under the impression that Johnny was in their charge. He was surprised that his uncle had arranged for him to be brought to the Hôtel des Invalides. Johnny assumed that it being a French military hospital, they would specialise in the perennial bouts of venereal disease that afflicted his uncle.

In spite of this inconvenience Johnny was glad to be in Paris again and looking forward to exchanging war stories with his uncle. Johnny actually had some to tell now. Then, suitably fortified with brandy, they’d go to a bawdy house. Johnny knew them well from his year of service at the embassy and there he could forget this place, and the men he’d left in the trenches.

The orderly knocked on a door and went in without waiting for a reply. Johnny pushed him aside and strode into the office. ‘I say, was all this really necessary, Uncle… ‘

Johnny stopped dead. Sir George Smyth was sitting behind a desk, with an amused look playing across his refined face. He walked round to the sailors and handed each one a crisp five-pound note.

‘Gentlemen, thank you so much for your assistance and please enjoy the rest of your leave.’ The sailors saluted and one of them handed Sir George an envelope before leaving.

‘I must say, Swift, you do have a knack for surviving. Come the apocalypse it will just be you and the Four Horsemen.’ Sir George signalled for Johnny to sit down. Johnny held his ground and faced his former superior.

‘What are you doing in Paris, Sir George? Shouldn’t you be in London flattering some undersecretary?’

Sir George smiled malevolently. ‘Do you remember the last time we spoke? You promised to look in on my wife, when you were next in Paris. It seems the circumstances are quite