by Karl Fish
‘OK. We’ll join you now. This, by way, is my dearest of friends: Nathaniel Noone.’
Both of the women looked on at Nathaniel’s horrific scarring but smiled politely.
‘Before you do so, Gideon, may I have a word?’ Nelly enquired as she held the charred Priory crest in her palm and presented it to him. ‘It is most important.’
*****
Wink Waverley had ordered Smith and Jones to stand watch outside of the Burgundy room. In a gesture of faith, she had provided one of them with the pistol she had recently trained on Thompson and, in turn, Thompson had offered up the ankle gun recently trained on her.
‘You have the floor, Colonel,’ Wink ordered.
‘The Protocols,’ Malling began, then took a deep breath before pulling down a map of London that was suspended from the ceiling behind Wink’s desk. ‘The Protocols are a sequence of communications between multiple parties spread across the city.’
Malling took a large ink pen and drew out the key locations. ‘Big Ben, Tower Bridge, Greenwich Observatory,’ he began to reel off. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral –’
‘Yes, yes, we get the point, Malling. Cut to the chase,’ Wink hurried him.
‘The two principles of the Protocols are to protect and to attack. So, during any air-raid, once enemy craft have been spotted, the first protocol that discovers such an event duly informs the second protocol and third protocols, their neighbours.’ He drew two arrows pointing either way from any given point. ‘There is no set number but a principle of process. Each location is accountable for passing on the locations before informing HQ of completion,’ Malling continued, pointing to the flanking locations on the map. And demonstrating a domino effect as each message was passed on.
‘And how are messages relayed?’ Thompson asked
‘By secure wire, each of them within a garrison of anti-aircraft guns, and 1000 watt spotting lamps. You see, what happens is that, in turn, each correspondence continues to inform their next protocol until the circle is complete.’ Malling drew a final dotted circular line surrounding the city.
‘Why not have HQ inform them all?’
‘It’s an admirable question and, to be frank, it’s actually too time-consuming. We played out many scenarios to realise its inefficiencies and weaknesses. Messages in the current protocols can move quicker than the attacking enemy. Also, if HQ was compromised as a single point of contact, the city’s defences would fall. Should one of them, the Protocols that is, be compromised, in this system, the message will be received via the other route until the circle is complete and vice versa. You see once they have informed us each location then branches out and informs their local area network. It’s a complex spider’s web that spreads like wildfire. Should HQ fail to receive confirmation from any branch we intervene and engage with the next branches to ensure the network of air-raid sirens and anti-aircraft personnel are deployed.’
‘The codes between Protocols, are they set in stone?’ Thompson continued to investigate.
‘Another good question, young man. The answer is no. They change hourly and are symbiotic of one another each being a question and an answer though not actually related. Each Protocol is an answer to a question set out to its neighbours and only provided via ourselves. The answers are not actually the answers, just a word we have decided. So, for instance, if we said the Capital of England is …’ Malling encouraged.
‘London,’ Thompson replied.
‘Our answer may be jam. Completely incorrect, of course, but sent out to be expected that way.’
‘And who knows about them and sets them?’ Thompson asked again.
‘Your inquiry is commendable, but I cannot divulge that,’ Malling replied.
‘Correct,’ Wink confirmed. ‘Only half-a-dozen or so people, two of which are in this room, the others’ way beyond your clearance level,’ she concluded.
‘So, if these persons are such key components to the security of our nation, what happens when they are not there?’ it was Thompson’s final question for the day.
*****
‘Do you think she knows?’ Gideon asked Nelly.
‘If not, she is getting close,’ Nelly answered.
‘Who knows what?’ Elizabeth interrupted.
‘Agatha,’ Gideon answered. ‘She was trying to figure out a puzzle that had been set for her.’
‘The one about the seven sisters?’ Elizabeth asked, innocently.
Gideon was intrigued that had been brought to light but offered no reply.
‘I think she’s very close,’ said Nelly.
‘If that is the case, Nelly, then could she have discovered it at school?’ Gideon asked.
‘How she would’ve known I don’t know. More than likely, Jane was trying to hide it.’
‘Who’s Jane?’ Elizabeth asked
‘Sister Harvey to you. Jane Harvey, my sister,’ Nelly replied.
Gideon was deep in thought. He couldn’t piece all the components together. He racked and racked his brain, playing out scenarios like a chess grandmaster. Upon the Steep, the WI were in full flow, hanging bunting from fire nest to fire nest oblivious to woes beyond their own remit. Gideon had had enough and stormed to the most vocal crowd.
‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ Noone called out as he skulked behind, conscious of hiding his scars beneath his fedora as much as he could.
‘What the hell is wrong with you all? Children are missing. It’s not a party.’
‘The party’s tonight,’ one of them said and smiled before going on about her business, completely ignoring any mention of the kids.
‘And besides, they’re only evacuees,’ said Henrietta Huntington-Smythe and laughed.
Noone took particular exception and strode forward. He removed his hat and stared nose to nose with her and through his remaining good eye until she burst into tears.
‘Monster, you’re a monster,’ she cried as she ran to seek out her mother. Nathaniel was extremely pleased with himself.
‘We’ll have no luck here,’ Gideon confirmed. ‘Elizabeth, Nelly, are you OK to continue the search? Nathaniel and I have preparations to make.’
*****
Chapter 48
The stranger on the train
Colonel Malling, Wink Waverley, and her subordinate Thompson ruminated the position they were in. By some quirk of coincidence, they had found themselves in an environment previously not considered throughout the Executive’s meticulous efforts to protect London.
They had planned for passwords and the encoding of information. They had men in place and trusted support to those men should they turn or be compromised. Yet somehow, the scenario of all their men and a hidden agenda of deceit widespread across their organisation had not been considered at all. There would have to be more than one leak or several moles to accomplish even half of what Thompson may be suggesting. A chink in the armour only someone close may have considered. Nevertheless, as incomprehensible as it seemed, the three of them considered their immediate options.
‘Ma’am, I still maintain this is a ruse. A damn clever one at that, granted. You may just have played right into their hands,’ Malling addressed his superior but directed his insults towards Thompson.
‘And seeing what I have seen, I disagree,’ Thompson argued.
‘The fact of the matter is that none of us understands any of this fully,’ Wink said, asserting her authority.
‘Ma’am, if I may be so bold? We have credible intelligence an air-raid is imminent. The MET advise cloudy weather with the strong possibility of rain for this evening. Perfect for a secret pass by the Luftwaffe,’ Malling passionately exclaimed. ‘If these men are not returned to their outposts soon, we will have no defence against the attacks at all. We could endanger tens of thousands of citizens.’
‘And what if they are somehow compromised?’ Thompson said, standing his ground.
‘Unfortunately, young man, It is a scenario that was never considered. Arrogance on our part maybe but I concur
with the Colonel,’ Wink responded.
Malling raised a victorious eyebrow and pumped out his chest in what he saw as points scored against the young upstart, as he saw him.
Wink was not as confident as her response suggested but could see no other way, for now.
‘Malling, you oversee that the men return to their positions. Under strict observation, you hear me? Two chaperones per man. If any of them look to be straying they are to be removed, all necessary force. Do you hear me?’
‘That’s dozens of men to find at such short notice. I’m –’ Malling grumbled.
‘If you are unable to fulfil my request you can always relinquish your command to Thompson,’ she interrupted forthrightly.
Malling grumbled despondently then left via a hidden door through the burgundy-padded panelling.
‘I hope for our sakes you are wrong, Thompson,’ Wink advised. ‘Let’s forget about that gun you had pointed at me, shall we, for now?’ she offered.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Thompson accepted, begrudgingly.
‘Don’t thank me yet. We could all be buggered. I want you and the couple of men you have outside to continue your investigations. Find me proof; more evidence that leads us to where the answers lie.’
Thompson duly accepted her offer; all the while, hoping Belle was halfway to Ambledown.
*****
Belle Soames was just south of Croydon when the locomotive came to an abrupt halt. Recent bomb damage to the rails had delayed trains entering and leaving London, and she was now stuck in darkness in the middle of a tunnel.
Impatiently, she began to wait for a conductor or announcement saying they were on the move but after half an hour of anxiety, no one came. There was no immediate light in her carriage, just the distant suggestion at the tunnel end, and the empty carriage made her uncomfortable. The only object she had to help her was the peculiar torch with the violet beam. Conscious the battery would not last forever, she flashed it in short bursts and moved ten paces at a time as she navigated the carriages.
‘Hello?’ she called out. ‘Hello? Is anybody there?’ she called as she made her way through the darkness to the next carriage with the dimmest of light guiding her.
‘Hello,’ came a guard’s voice as he carried a dimly lit paraffin lamp by his side.
‘Thank goodness.’ Belle sighed with relief. ‘I thought I was all alone.’
‘Not many on here today. Lucky for them.’ The guard laughed.
‘Will we be moving anytime soon?’ she enquired.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Replied the guard, unhelpfully. ‘The line’s pretty damaged from all the bombing. That’s a curious thing though. Don’t see that every day,’ he said, gesturing towards Belle’s hand.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ Belle replied politely, scrambling for an explanation. ‘One of these new blackout torch thingies.’
‘Oh right. Is that why it made the tunnel light up with all the pretty colours?’ the guard asked.
‘I’m sorry, what do you mean?’ Belle replied inquisitively.
‘I saw it. When you flashed it, as you walked, little flickers of colour cascading outside of the window.’
‘Can you show me?’ Belle replied.
The guard squeezed past her and stood where she had stood.
‘Can you dim your light, just for a moment, please?’ Belle asked of him.
Rotating the brass fuel wheel, the light reduced to the tiniest of flickers and they were both surrounded in darkness. Belle flashed her torch beam at the window. Sure enough, tiny sparks of iridescent colour caught the perspiring condensation of the outside window. It was like watching a miniature firework display.
‘Beautiful that. Makes a change,’ the guard replied.
Belle moved closer to the window and shone the torch intently beyond the droplets of light and water that had accumulated on the pane. Beyond the window, upon the wall of the tunnel, a large curve illuminated in violet-blue and below it the tops of four letters. As far as she could make out the first letter of which suggested an ‘O’.
‘What’s that then?’ the guard continued to ask.
Belle switched her torch off. ‘May I?’ she gestured towards the paraffin lamp.
‘Be my guest,’ the guard replied.
Turning the lamp to full power, there came a strong reflection of the yellow flame from the window and just themselves staring back beyond it.
‘Blimey, that’s some trick. Where did it go?’ the guard asked in awe. ‘I prefer the pretty lights, not his ugly mug. I see that everywhere, every day.’
Belle was speechless. From beyond her reflection, she could see two large piercing eyes and the famous moustache. Something she saw hundreds, if not thousands of times throughout the streets of the capital. The tell-tale pointed finger directed itself towards her.
‘Britons, your country needs you!’ she read from the giant poster.
*****
Sabine Erket had just witnessed her driver executed in front of her eyes. As she paced anxiously around the altar on which he lay, the carvings and runes subtly carved into it made it much more than a sacrificial stone. It was also a sarcophagus, it had to be. Brian Louds and the secretive Dr Mialora would both execute and bury their intended victim at the same time she immediately thought.
‘Sabine, come with me. I need you to wake the Professor,’ Louds asked politely as if nothing had just transpired within the room. He ordered one of his orderlies to dispose of the body and at the same time, serving as a reminder of his malevolent intent, he then ordered the other to lift Gem’s lucid body and follow them from the chamber.
The slender stairwell allowed Sabine to remove her belt and buckle. Unlocking the Death-stalker clasp her final remaining cigarette served as a reminder that soon the case would be full and replenished to its former glory. But, for now, Mr Louds’ orders were clear and the hidden serum was swiftly procured.
*****
‘I need to get back to London as soon as possible,’ Belle ordered the guard.
‘I’m sorry, miss. This train is southbound.’
‘I need to get off, now!’ she demanded and lurched towards the handle of a slam-door.
‘Whoa! You’ll end up decapitating yourself or worse,’ the guard shouted, grabbing her wrist as right on cue, the flash of light and stream of smoke thundered north on a London bound train.
‘Worse?’ Belle laughed at the realisation of her stupidity.
‘Yeah, worse … then um … losing your head.’ The guard laughed at himself. ‘And you did almost lose it just then.’
‘I need to get back to London, urgently.’ Belle begged.
‘I gathered that.’ The guard said bemused. ‘Stay here. I’ll see what I can do.’
Belle was tempted to alight the moment he was gone, what were the odds of another train immediately after the previous one? A rush of light and smoke once more heading north soon provided the answer and she sat, exasperated waiting for the guard.
The carriage lurched as a high shrill of a whistle expelled a sound that reverberated and pierced throughout the tunnel. The wheels slowly began to turn as the locomotive’s motion moved in the opposite direction. The guard rushed past shouting as he did so.
‘East Croydon, ladies and gentlemen. The next stop is a return to East Croydon as we await further instructions.’
‘Thank you!’ Belle shouted as she sat down for the short journey that would take her to the outskirts of the city.
*****
Professor Meredith Malcolm, the meticulous entomologist and part-time taxidermist, looked nothing like his reputation would suggest. Contorted into the foetal position, his finger-joints crippled a tense white and strained like grasping talons. The bilious drool that now absorbed into his fine facial hair a product of the poison administered hours previously.
It took a lot to surprise Sabine Erket but the state in which the Professor had been left to rot was no reward considering the epiphany presented to his captors. He h
ad solved a riddle that many far more respected experts had not.
‘Wake him, Sabine,’ Louds ordered.
Removing the small green phial from the cigarette case buckle, she injected a pinhead of serum into his elbow vein. A minute or so later, a huge wheeze of breath exhaled from his chest cavity before violent vomiting began.
‘There, there, Professor,’ Louds sadistically comforted him. ‘You’ll be as right as rain in no time.’
The Professor’s eyes moved in and out of focus. Sabine Erket helped him to his feet. Where once the laboratory table had been covered with the papyrus and velum cartouche that presented the ancient riddle he had solved; now, in front of him, was the carcass of a recently drowned, furless, cat. Next to it an enamel kidney dish, presumably for its organs, was accompanied by a set of surgical scalpels and a large brown bottle of embalming fluid. Next to that, a set of bandages for the incumbent mummification.
‘I believe you know what to do,’ Louds expressed, as the Professor returned. ‘You may also prepare the girl here,’ Louds demanded of Sabine, patting down the same table.
Meredith Malcolm looked on in horror, assuming cat and girl had met with the same fate.
‘I will be no party to the butchering of a child,’ Professor Malcolm shouted, enraged.
’Oh, she isn’t even dead, Professor – yet. Just clean her up. Where would the fun be in a sacrifice if the subject was dead in the first place.’ He laughed. ‘You’ll stay here and supervise until it is finished,’ Louds curtly ordered Sabine.
She acknowledged his request with a polite nod.
*****
Thompson, Smith, and Jones had boarded their black saloon and had headed to Shaftesbury. Quite where to start was beyond Thompson but he required additional support and headed for the goods entrance to Fortnum’s.
The combination of the advert The Department had not authorised, alongside the subterfuge of Miss Jennifer James had meant they were saying a fond farewell to their headquarters which they had only just returned to.