Marbeck and the Double Dealer Read Free Page A

intelligence that matters in any case,’ he went on. ‘Everything else he spewed was chaff. Now, will you hear it from me or not?’
    â€˜If the intelligence is important, Master Secretary may want to question the man himself,’ Marbeck persisted. ‘And if he’s near death as you say, you’d best make an effort to keep him alive until then – or it might be said you hadn’t done your work properly.’
    At that Sangers’s cheeks puffed up like a bladder. He was fuming, but he sensed the other man’s authority. He wet his lips and glared.
    Suddenly, Marbeck understood. ‘The poor wretch is already dead, isn’t he?’
    The inquisitor said nothing.
    â€˜Very well.’ Marbeck sighed. ‘You’d best tell me what you learned from this unfortunate physician, before he expired. And, for your sake, I hope it was worth the trouble.’
    â€˜Then hear this!’ Sangers snapped. Turning aside, he spat heavily. ‘What I learned, from yon whoreson papist, is that Master Secretary has an intelligencer in his service who’s playing a double game: a cove called Morera,
who’s been feeding him false information. One who claims to spy for our Queen, yet takes his true orders from the Spanish. So go you, Sands – or whatever your name is – and tell your master that. And if I were in your place, I’d think twice before coming here again saying I’m not up to my work! Now, is that plain enough for you?’

TWO
    â€˜T he physician called himself Gomez,’ Sir Robert Cecil said. ‘But to his masters at the Escorial he was Salvador Diaz
.
His house has been searched, and it appears he was indeed in the pay of the Spanish. Though whatever else he might have told us, it’s now too late.’
    The spymaster stood beside a table spread with papers, in his private chamber at Burleigh House in the Strand. Marbeck stood nearby, towering a foot above him.
    â€˜Yet Sangers is thorough, if nothing else,’ Cecil went on. ‘And I’ll believe Gomez’s testimony, since he gave it in return for being allowed to make his peace with God – his last confession. Though he’s given us only a code name:
Morera.
In Spanish it means “Mulberry”.’
    â€˜So – one of our intelligencers is a double-dealer,’ Marbeck said, though without surprise; after all, the Crown too used such people when necessary.
    â€˜Let’s assume so,’ Master Secretary replied. ‘And whoever he is, we must flush him out – and quickly.’
    It was unlike Cecil to state the obvious, Marbeck thought. But he sensed the man was rattled. ‘In which case, sir,’ he ventured, ‘do you have—’
    â€˜Suspicions?’ Cecil broke in. ‘Suddenly, I find I have several. And, worse, I’m forced to the conclusion that every report – every scrap of intelligence that has crossed my desk of late – might be false. The outcome could be disastrous . . . A storm has broken about our heads.’
    â€˜What will you do?’ Marbeck enquired. ‘Examine those who have entered your service in recent times? Men who’ve shown signs of discontent, or—’
    â€˜Or merely of loyalty.’ The Secretary threw him a bleak look. ‘I don’t mean you, Marbeck,’ he added. ‘You may be a coxcomb at times, but my father trusted you – as do I.’
    He looked away, and in the silence Marbeck thought briefly of Lord Burleigh, the Queen’s beloved and most trusted minister. In the two years since his death she had aged ten, it was said. But Marbeck had no doubts about the abilities of his crippled son: a man who saw and heard everything. It was said he’d even had a spy in the house when his father lay dying, to eavesdrop on those who came to pay their respects.
    â€˜Tell me plainly –’ Master Secretary’s voice broke Marbeck’s thoughts –