The Spy And The Minister

Chapter 2/2

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Karl Wilhelm Finck von Finckenstein's mansion was splendid, though its architecture had a slightly rustic touch in John Ingham's view. It was perfectly situated in the most prestigious district of the Prussian capital. Everyone who walked these streets was impeccably dressed and carried themselves with rare elegance. Even the servants seemed perfectly in place.

The spy stood out in this panorama with his colorful clothes. Here, most people wore subdued garments—brown, black, or white. But the old man showed no reaction when people started to observe him, especially since he was walking alongside one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

"This is the place," said the former diplomat simply, as he stepped down from his carriage, drawn by a single horse with a coat as black as ink.

A beautiful animal that surely suffered from not being able to gallop at full speed across vast meadows.

John, fully in his role, nodded slowly. All his gestures, even his breathing, exuded apprehension.

They entered the building, the interior of which was even more magnificent than the exterior, immaculate like a king's residence. Every element seemed perfectly in place. The decor was meticulously thought out. There were masterful paintings, though this was not a subject the agent from Newcastle was well-versed in. At best, he could say that the canvases were pretty.

Above his head hung a massive chandelier that must have weighed as much as a horse, adorned with gold leaf and crystal beads. A lifetime of work wouldn't be enough to afford one. This was truly a work of art.

Magnificent! Grand! Such grandeur! Such majesty! How many artisans must have worked on this chandelier, I wonder!

"Let's go to the library. We'll be undisturbed there."

"T-thank you, thank you a thousand times for granting me your precious time, my lord!"

The minister cast a brief glance in the direction of the old spy but remained silent. He greeted a few servants and requested tea in the library for two.

The room in question, hidden behind a heavy door in an oriental style, likely inspired by what was common in the Ottoman Empire, was as sublime as the entrance. The atmosphere here was hushed, inviting those fortunate enough to be welcomed to sit down and enjoy a snack while perusing one of the many books.

The classics were naturally present: poetry, theater, opera, travelogues, memoirs of great figures, and scientific treatises. There was a bit of everything, in six or seven different languages, some no longer spoken anywhere.

"Please, have a seat. Hanselm will bring us some tea."

"You are a generous host, thank you. I wasn't expecting such hospitality!" replied the old man, who seemed very moved.

"Now, tell me what this is about."

The minister seemed to be running out of patience. It sounded more like a command than a request.

"Yes, my lord. I will tell you everything, but understand that what I am about to share is very sensitive and must not be overheard by anyone else."

"Don't worry about that. Hanselm is trustworthy. He is as competent as he is discreet. I have absolute confidence in him."

John pretended to be embarrassed and squirmed in the deep armchair embroidered with gold and silver thread.

"My lord, far be it from me to doubt your man, but in my profession, one quickly learns that absolute trust does not exist. Every man has a price."

"Your profession…" murmured the minister, thoughtful, all his attention focused on the old man in front of him.

"My lord, before I begin, you must understand that once I start revealing what I know, there will be no turning back. You will be in danger, as I am now."

The portly minister felt his heart pound harder in his chest. Many key words had been spoken in a single sentence—words that usually piqued men's interest.

"Reveal… No turning back… Danger. How mysterious. Very well. Ah, here's Hans. Thank you, Hanselm, leave us now, please. And keep the other servants away."

"Very well, sir."

The man, tall and slender with the bearing of a soldier—perhaps he had been one—slipped away and gently closed the door behind him. Only the spy and the minister remained. They waited a few seconds, and when the master of the house deemed it long enough, he leaned forward slightly, a sign that he was all ears.

"My lord," began John Ingham, taking on a voice so grave and serious that it made the minister tremble in his seat, "I came to you because I believe I have found in you someone trustworthy. I didn't know who to turn to, I was completely lost. I didn't know whom to trust in Berlin."

The minister, slightly flattered, subtly nodded but did not interrupt his guest, growing more and more curious.

"My work requires great caution and discretion. My life is full of dangers and adventures, but this time I don't know who my enemies are… or the enemies of my master."

"Your master?" the minister couldn't help but repeat, his hands gradually becoming clammy. "P-please, continue. Whom do you serve?"

"The only master who is also a servant. The only one who truly wants the best for our kingdom. The one who, to make it greater and stronger, took up arms against an invader but is now held captive."

"His Majesty?!"

"Yes, I serve our good king, Frederick II, the Great. For him, I have undertaken numerous missions that have taken me far from my home, acting and listening in the shadows to assist him, and through him, the entire kingdom."

"You're a sp…"

"Be careful, my lord," the old man said more seriously still, his eyes piercing the minister like well-honed blades. "Do not utter that word lightly. In the wrong hands, it can lead to very serious consequences and ruin us both."

"Yes, of course, forgive me! I-I understand."

Internally, John smiled. He knew that from now on, this man was in his hands and would swallow every word he said, even the most outlandish ones. He just needed to support them by adding details and convincing evidence.

"As I was saying, I believe I've found an ally in you. What convinced me to approach you was your courageous stance. While others bowed to the foreign envoys and the few Prussian nobles pushing for a quick peace, even at great cost, you, my lord, took a completely different approach, which led to your expulsion from the negotiating table."

The minister trembled and felt a cold anger rise within him again. He recalled those contemptuous and despicable faces, their false smiles.

"His Majesty would never have accepted it, and you know that. You did nothing wrong, my lord, do not doubt that."

"I do not doubt it," von Finckenstein replied firmly. "I know what is best for Prussia. And what they are doing is a heinous crime against our king and our kingdom!"

"My lord, you are right, but this is nothing compared to what is truly happening. Outside the negotiation room, far from prying eyes, other discussions are taking place, and they are much more alarming."

"What?! What is happening? What are they plotting?!"

This is much easier than expected. Our ambassador was right, he is the best candidate.

"Before heading off to face the French and the Imperial forces, His Majesty wisely sent me to France. It was there that I learned of secret negotiations. Agreements are being discussed. Our representatives are not acting in the interest of His Majesty or our kingdom. They want to protect themselves! No, it's worse than that—they want to seize power!"

"This is… No, it's impossible! They wouldn't allow themselves to be corrupted to such an extent!"

John saw how troubled his interlocutor was, which was the goal, but he also saw the glimmer of doubt in his eyes.

"Do you think so? As I told you, every man has his price. Offer enough, and ideals collapse like a house of cards."

"Surely you have proof, don't you?"

Of course, I've brought 'proof.' If mere words were enough to deceive such a man, I would be very disappointed.

Without a word, John reached into his coat with a long, thin hand spotted with brown age marks. He drew out a carefully folded document. The man's gaze seemed irresistibly drawn to the piece of paper. Slowly, the spy handed it to the minister.

With a trembling, sweaty hand, he took it and began to read. The more he read, the more the color drained from his face. He couldn't believe his eyes. Yet the proof was right before him and even signed. John didn't take his eyes off him, analyzing every movement, every change of expression. Fear, doubt, anger, disappointment.

"Where… Where did you get this document?" he finally murmured.

"I infiltrated the Palace of Versailles," the old man replied with a sigh, "and approached the hairdresser of the Dauphin of France's wife, the heir to the throne. She accidentally came across this document and kept it. She also overheard a conversation she shouldn't have heard. My lord, there are currently negotiations to assassinate our king and Prince Henry, all to avoid paying a ransom. But according to the hairdresser, there is also talk of a plot to usurp the throne. Prince Ferdinand might be involved in the conspiracy. However, this is just a rumor. It could also be the work of his supporters behind his Highness's back."

"God help us."

The man, pale as a corpse, collapsed into his armchair. It was as if he had been struck on the head with a heavy hammer.

"Now you understand, my lord, why I insisted on the secrecy of our conversation and my hesitations."

Minister von Finckenstein didn't even have the strength to respond.

"But, my lord, all is not lost yet. The negotiations are still ongoing, and His Majesty is still alive. For now, at least."

"We must do something. To remain inactive is to accept all these abominations!"

"That's true!" confirmed the spy, very pleased with the way the conversation was going.

"But time is running out! An agreement might be reached quickly!"

"Really?" asked the agent, honestly surprised. "How far along are they?"

"Thank God, there is more than one state to satisfy, but progress is swift! Those who desire peace want a treaty signed before the end of winter."

John Ingham felt a sense of unease growing within him. He hadn't expected things to move so quickly. He thought he had until summer, perhaps even a year, to act.

So soon?! Will I have enough time?

"Why this deadline?"

"To avoid further disasters in the spring. The Austrians, the Russians, the French, the Swedes—they have all stopped advancing to take their winter quarters. But in the spring, when the weather improves, the war will resume with even greater intensity, and we will not be ready, no matter what we do. East Prussia will be invaded like the rest of it. In a month, Berlin will be destroyed or partially destroyed by Austrian or French cannons. Everyone is very afraid, and they are right to be. Ah, we should spend the little time we have left reforming our armies and training new troops. We have the means."

"Yes, I know. It is too soon to sign a peace treaty, especially with such an enemy."

"I will contact my friends in the army, as well as my brother. He, too, has good friends. We will prevent these traitors from selling our kingdom and the skin of our beloved king, and then we will repel our enemies!"

Very good! That's the spirit! I'm counting on you!

The spy raised a beautiful porcelain cup from China to his lips, the infused water having had time to cool. It was still very good, even excellent, and its gentle aroma mingled with the one already present in the room.

Though he showed no emotion, John Ingham was actually delighted. He had deployed all his skills in this conversation. He had spoken in the minister's language with such naturalness that he hadn't detected even the slightest accent. He had invented a story to justify his false information, captivated him by speaking of adventures and dangers, and had fabricated a very realistic forged document.

It was the fruit of a lifetime spent working for his true master, the Duke of Newcastle. Fortunately, he wasn't required to run around everywhere. With age, he had learned to blend into the crowd and disappear. Now that he was old, he had a distinct advantage over the young ones who were caught within a few months. Some were discovered before they even reached their destination and began their work.

But I am growing old. I have been doing this for so long. Perhaps it is time for me to stop. I might end up making a mistake… and then I won't be able to react in time.

A sad smile formed on his wrinkled face. He had seen so much and met so many people. Almost everyone he had ever had under his command was dead, most of them hanged, often without exception.

Like him, it was money that had driven them to this path, more rarely out of love for the country. Yet, he had met a few who were genuinely patriotic. Most often, they were officers, honorable men. The others were poor souls with serious flaws. Through greed, boasting, stupidity, or simply bad luck, they all ended up being caught eventually.

I think it's time to leave this life behind and enjoy the time I have left. Now that I think about it, I've spent almost no time with my son. I haven't even seen him grow up. And to think he's a father himself now. Well, hehe, thanks to me, they are safe. They have a good life and live in a beautiful house. This life of deceit… full of lies, was not in vain.

Slowly, he finished his cup and left the opulent residence, accompanied by the manipulated minister, though unaware of it.

No regrets.

As soon as he left the house, the old man blended into the crowd. Although he was being watched by the shaken minister, he quickly lost sight of him despite his conspicuous attire. He considered it a spy skill and felt once again impressed by this elderly man he had greatly underestimated.

"I need to talk to my brother quickly; there's no time to lose!"

With that, he returned to his home and locked himself in his study.