The Improbable Journeys of Billy Battles

Chapter 6

Chapter 6When I awoke around seven the next morning, the SS

China was already far out to sea. I got up, dressed, and

proceeded to the dining room. I was hungry, and the smell of the

familiar breakfast buffet was strong: bacon and eggs, fried

potatoes, thick slices of ham, smoked herring, freshly baked

bread.

As I walked into the dining room, I looked

quickly around for Katharina. She was not there. I felt relieved. I

didn’t want to talk about the manifest Potts had given me nor about

the man in second class who was apparently being paid to keep an

eye on her.

According to the copy of the manifest, his

name was Oskar Eichel, resident of San Francisco, California,

citizen of Germany. Under the heading “Beruf” (Occupation)

were the words “Rechtsanwalt” (Lawyer) and “Schadensermittler”

(Investigator).

He is no more a lawyer than I am a U.S.

marshal, I recall thinking. I had no doubt that he was an

investigator, possibly hired by the someone in San Francisco or the

two men who had followed Katharina and me that first day ashore.

What he hoped to accomplish aboard the SS China was not

clear. After all, Katharina was not going anywhere, and we had nine

more days at sea before reaching Yokohama.

I had just settled at an empty table after

collecting a plateful of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast when a

white-jacketed waiter carrying a coffee decanter dropped a folded

piece of paper on my table and then scurried off. I opened it and

read the following message:

“Dear Mr. Battles, I would like very much to

speak with you about a matter of mutual interest. Please, be at the

portside second-class gate at ten this a.m. I am sure you will find

the meeting worthwhile.” The note was signed, “Oskar Eichel.”

For the next several minutes, as I ate my

breakfast, I debated with myself about meeting Eichel. Well, at

least the big lout is literate, I thought. I wondered if I

should tell Katharina about my meeting with Eichel. I decided not

to until I learned what he wanted.

After breakfast, I took a turn around the

promenade deck and was walking to my cabin when I ran into

Potts.

“Did yew get da note from what mug in second

class?” he asked.

I nodded.

“He wants ter meet wiv yew at da gate ter da

second- class deck. He tried ter bribe me mate Ginger ter let ’im

onto da first-class deck. Nuthin’ doin’. So ’e gave Ginger da note

an’ Ginger give i’ ter a waiter.”

“Looks everybody on the ship has read it,” I

said, a tad annoyed.

“Yeah, it’s a small ship, innit?”

“Uh huh,” I muttered as I opened my cabin

door and went inside. I looked over my shoulder. Potts was still

standing on the deck where I had left him, looking deflated and a

bit irked. I purposely had not given him a tip.

“Next time, I would appreciate some

discretion… I don’t consider private communication meant for me

something for the entire ship to read.” Then I closed my door.

At nine forty-five, I got ready for my

meeting with Herr Eichel. I pinned my U.S. deputy marshal’s badge

on my shirt under my coat jacket and stuck my Colt .45 into my

waistband. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go heeled and looking

“official.”

I arrived at the second-class portside gate

a little before ten o’clock. Eichel was already there, on the other

side, looking through the bars. He seemed even bigger than when I

had seen him in the Wo Fat Restaurant and when Potts and I had seen

him standing on the second-class deck.

He was barrel-chested and slightly

swag-bellied and stood maybe an inch shorter than me. His face was

pinched and weather-beaten, definitely not the pallid countenance

of a man who toiled in sunless courtrooms. This man had spent

considerable time outside, probably in the military.

He wore a black derby hat. What hair I could

see was short-cropped. A military mustache with long handlebar ends

grew beneath a bulbous nose. Cold, deep-set blue eyes peered from

under bushy eyebrows. His hands were rough and callused, certainly

not those of a paper-pushing lawyer.

He reminded me of Nate Bledsoe. I shuddered

at the thought for a moment and then continued toward the gate.

“You Eichel?” I asked, looking at the man on

the other side of the gate.

He looked at me for a few moments without

saying anything, apparently taking my measure.

“I am,” he said, finally.

“Well, here I am… What’s this all about?” I

produced his note from my pocket.

“Ich glaube Sie wissen um was es geht, Herr

Battles,” Eichel answered.

“Please speak English… My German is a bit

rusty,” I said.

“As you wish… In any case, I think you know

what this is all about, Mr. Battles.” Eichel’s English was

excellent, with nary a trace of a German accent.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“It is about Baroness Schreiber, whom you

seem to know very well.”

“I don’t know her that well.” I let my

jacket open just enough so Eichel could see my badge and the Colt

.45 in my waistband.

“So you are a lawman… a United States

marshal, I was told. Of course, you and I both know you have no

jurisdiction here on the high seas.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Then why do you wear the badge and have a

revolver under your coat?”

“Habit, I guess.”

“Am I supposed to be intimidated?”

“I guess that’s up to you.”

“I am not.”

“Okay, now that we have that out of the way,

let’s get down to it. Why are you tracking the baroness?”

“What did she tell you? Did she say she

murdered her husband, Baron Heinrich Rupert von Schreiber of

Mecklenburg-Schwerin, a member of one of Germany’s oldest noble

families? Did she tell you that she is wanted in Germany for that

crime? Did she—”

Before he could finish, I interrupted him,

“I wasn’t aware that the baroness had been tried and convicted of

murder. Or does Germany forgo that formality and just pronounce

someone guilty and then send henchmen to carry out the

sentence?”

Eichel raised his hand. “Just a minute, Mr.

Battles. What exactly has Baroness Schreiber told you?”

I imparted a condensed version of the tragic

events Katharina had shared with me.

Eichel stopped me before I had finished. “I

see. So she didn’t tell you that she and her brother were involved

in espionage and that she is carrying top-secret documents that

belong to the German government that she stole from the man she

murdered?”

I wasn’t expecting that. I took a slight

step back from the gate that separated us, but I wasn’t about to

display any emotion at this revelation.

“And am I supposed to take your word for

this accusation of murder and espionage?”

“If I could gain access to her cabin, I

could prove it to you. She has the documents with her.”

“And for whom is she supposed to be a spy?

The United States?”

Eichel looked over his shoulder, then back

at me and then with narrowed eyes, he whispered, “Spain.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would she be spying

for Spain? She’s an American.”

“Where is her brother? Is he not in the

Philippines? And is not the Philippines a Spanish colony? And where

is she going? To the Philippines.”

I had heard enough. It was too much for me

to digest and it all seemed so preposterous. I shook my head and

turned to leave.

“Wait,” Eichel said sharply. “Take this.”

With that, he thrust a small envelope through the bars. I looked at

it but didn’t take it.

“Please,” Eichel said, pushing the envelope

at me again. I reached for it, but he withdrew it.

“After you have read what’s in it, let’s

talk again. Your man Potts can arrange another meeting.”

He pushed the envelope through the bars

again; I took it, turned, and walked quickly away.

“We’ll see,” I said.

I stuck the envelope in the inside pocket of

my coat, and then I headed for the small cafe that doubled as an

onboard saloon when meals were not being served.

The place had a small bar with a decent

collection of hard liquor. I ordered a glass of some nondescript

Scotch whiskey. It wasn’t the Glenglassaugh single malt that

Katharina had served, but after my conversation with Herr Eichel, I

was ready to drink wood turpentine.

I took a swig of the Scotch and, for some

reason, found myself smiling. There was nothing particularly

humorous, but now I somehow found myself more deeply involved in

Katharina’s life than I ever could have imagined or wanted. I

drained the glass and motioned for the bartender to fill it up

again.

“You got anything better than this?” I

asked.

He shook his head. “I do have this, though,”

he said, producing a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey. “It’s a

single malt.”

I motioned for him to fill up my glass.

Instead, he placed a clean glass in front of me and filled it with

Bushmills. “Don’t want to mix the good stuff with the not so good,

eh.”

“Where are you from?” I asked as the

bartender busied himself behind the bar. I was his only

customer.

“Chicago.”

Whenever I heard Chicago, I couldn’t help

thinking of Mallie and the fact that after a wonderful holiday

there that included the 1893 Columbian Exhibition, she had become

fatally ill. Now to top it all off, here I was involved, albeit

reluctantly, with a woman who not only was from Chicago but also

was turning out to be something akin to Lucretia Borgia.

“i***t,” I muttered to myself.

“Pardon?” The bartender looked at me

quizzically. The name stenciled on his jacket read O’Dornin.

“Oh, nothin.’ Just talking to myself.”

“Bushmills will do that,” he said.

I downed three more Irish whiskeys and then

headed a bit unsteadily to my cabin. It was almost noon, but I did

not intend to take lunch in the dining room. I didn’t want to run

into Katharina, and I resolved that if she knocked on my cabin

door, I would not open it. I needed to sort out the information

Eichel had conveyed and read what was in the envelope he had given

me.

I took off my coat, removed the Colt from my

waistband, and put it in the nightstand drawer. Then I reclined on

the bed. I needed to clear my head of the Irish whiskey I had

foolishly consumed before opening the envelope. I dozed off for a

half hour or so and was awakened by someone pounding on my door. It

was Potts. I got up and started for the door, and then I heard

Potts talking to someone. I stopped and stood perfectly still. He

was talking to Katharina.

“’E’s not in ’is cabin, madam… Have yew

tried da dinin’ room?”

“No, I haven’t. Thank you. I’ll try

there.”

I listened for a few moments and then sat

down at the writing desk. I had just begun to open the envelope

when I heard Pott’s outside my door whispering loudly to me.

“You all right, guvenor?”

I opened the door and pulled Potts in my

cabin before anybody could see him.

“I’m fine… Thanks for that excellent bit of

misdirection with the baroness.”

“Well, I seen yew walkin’ a bi’ unsteady

like from da saloon back ter yaaahr cabin, so I figured yew was not

exactly wantin’ any visitors.”

“You figured right, Potts… Thank you.”

“My pleasure, guvenor. How did da meetin’

wiv what German blighter go?”

I explained that the meeting went well and

that I would probably be asking him to arrange another one in a day

or two.

“Be ’appy ter do it… I ’ave a right good

mate down in second class.”

I gave Potts a dollar, and he discreetly

opened the door and looked to see if the coast was clear. A moment

later, he was out the door and onto the deck.

Then I opened the envelope.