Operation: Endgame (Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Book 6)

by Pip Ballantine

  "Of course," Wellington said, clearing his throat before adding, "Henrietta, darling."

  Eliza failed to stifle a laugh as Henrietta made for the Registration desk.

  "Henrietta, darling?" Aydin asked.

  Eliza motioned to the formidable professor. "Our recruit has altered our legend. It is rather... creative."

  Aydin nodded and smiled. "She is an original, that is most certain." He reached into his jacket and handed Eliza an envelope. "The case summaries you requested. Every strange occurrence in the city for the last month, and a layout of the ‘network’ underneath the hotel. If you need any additional information, I can arrange to have dossiers pulled for you."

  Henrietta walked back to the three of them. "Lodgings secured, directly across from my companions."

  "How fortuitous," Aydin chuckled. "I will return tomorrow morning to take you wherever you want to go. In your room," he said to Wellington and Eliza, "I took the liberty of providing a wardrobe that will make you less..." He cleared his throat, then added, "... outstanding."

  "Men’s clothes for me while on covert operations?" Eliza asked.

  "As per the Director's missive," he replied. He bowed to Henrietta. "A pleasure. Do have a care with these two. I will meet you later tonight at the agreed location."

  With that he left them standing alone in the luxurious lobby of the Palas. Henrietta appeared ready to burst.

  "I believe we should retire for a moment," Eliza offered. "Just a chance to freshen up."

  "Shall I join you in an hour or so?" Henrietta asked.

  "Two hours, then give our door a knock."

  The three of them took the lift to the fourth floor and retired to their respective rooms. The suite was large, simply furnished in white, but the décor remained the height of luxury. The window looked out over the courtyard, and Wellington fought the desire to indulge in a nap. Delightful as it would be to surrender to a moment’s respite in Eliza’s arms, the idea of Jekyll loose in the city terrified him to no end.

  Removing her hat in one swift movement, Eliza flopped on the bed and let out a long, slow sigh, before rolling over and propping herself up on her arms. "My hotel was much seedier on my last visit to Constantinople."

  Eliza seldom talked about her past missions, and Wellington was in desperate need of a diversion. "What were you doing here?"

  She shrugged. "I was an escort to the British Ambassador because of a threat from Methuselah's Order, but it turned out the intelligence was all wrong. They were actually in Bagdad." A wicked smile flickered across her lips

  "And something happened?" Wellington asked, dropping a kiss on that curved mouth.

  "Oh, remembering how upset Bruce was, stuffed into a dinner jacket while Brandon was having all the fun in Bagdad."

  He chuckled at that.

  Still, now was not the time to revel in it. "No time for fun," he said, and instead spread the case summaries in a semi-circle around Eliza.

  Dragging a chair closer to the bed, he propped his feet on the far edge of the bed and stared at the sheets.

  "Point taken," Eliza said, pulling pages closer to her.

  First off, the local reports, especially for summaries, offered far more detail than he would have expected. Wellington slid two summaries closer and began with the one on his right. His eyes wandered over to the report to his left, and the similarities between the cases leapt off their respective pages. The victims were all young people, men and women of the poorer parts of the city. The photographs captured all too well the victims’ last moments etched on their faces.

  "Are all of them are like this?" Eliza asked.

  "I asked Mr Tilki for specifics, and sadly, he was able to deliver."

  A gentle knock came at the door.

  "I believe," Eliza said, her words deep and throaty as she smiled wickedly, "that is the third in our party. And she’s early."

  "You encouraged her."

  "I like the way she thinks," Eliza purred.

  "Last night, you wanted to gouge her eyes out," he whispered.

  "That was before I met her," she whispered back. "You’re right. I absolutely adore her!"

  He glared at her, took in a deep breath, and answered the door with a smile. "Professor Falcon," he said, ushering her into the room.

  "Henrietta," Eliza cooed, propping her head against her hand.

  "Wellington, Eliza," Henrietta acknowledged each of them. "I know we agreed to taking some time, but to be honest, I was finding it somewhat difficult to clear my mind."

  "Grab a case summary and dive in," Eliza said, motioning to the various documents strewn around her.

  Henrietta raised her eyebrows as she helped herself to two cases. "He’s certainly been making himself at home."

  "This is not just Constantinople. Paris, New York, Trondheim," Wellington replied, his expression growing more and more forlorn with each city he named. "Bodies and other experiments all abandoned for us to find later."

  "Ah yes, the augmentation trials you told me about." Henrietta let out a long, slow sigh as she browsed over one of her cases. "I remember my early days at university when I was searching for my scientific passion. In the Biology Wing, there were whispers of bettering the human body. Not just through conditioning, but actual augmentation; changing the design of the body on a cellular level. It was all very..."

  Eliza's brow furrowed. "Very... what, exactly?"

  Henrietta bit her bottom lip before offering, "Sacrilegious." She looked at both Eliza and Wellington. He gathered Eliza’s expression was as stunned as his own. "I dare say you were not expecting such an answer from a scientist. However, even though I have seen much of this world, I also nurture a strong belief in faith. I think it keeps one’s moral compass true. In the sciences, it is too easy to begin believing one’s self God."

  "Well, Doctor Jekyll took these quaint notions and applied science to the mind as well." Wellington pulled out from one of his suitcases Jekyll’s ledger. "From what we gather, at least in the beginning, Jekyll was trying to isolate human behaviours. In a sense, he was attempting to bring desires to heel. Violent. Affective. Analytical. Sexual. He wanted to give people full command over their mental faculties."

  "Sounds like discipline and self-control," she said, extending her hand to Wellington. He gave her the ledger, and she began looking through it.

  "As you can see, Jekyll wanted to go beyond that. He wanted to gain complete mastery of the human mind, to turn emotions on and off at will."

  Falcon placed a free hand on the pages open before her. "What of these notes here? It looks as if this partner of Jekyll’s was on a breakthrough." She leaned in an inch closer and read, "Arthur?"

  Eliza looked at Wellington. He gave her the tiniest of nods, and a slight smile.

  "Arthur Books," Wellington said. "My father."

  Henrietta looked up from the ledger. "Your father worked with Jekyll?"

  "You can now understand why we are so invested into this matter."

  "And may I ask what your father brought to this madman’s work?"

  “Physical conditioning. My childhood was unconventional."

  "May I, darling?" Eliza asked. Wellington shrugged as he crossed over to the window overlooking the courtyard. "Arthur Books and Henry Jekyll concocted a physical and mental conditioning designed to be something of a lifestyle. Strict diet for the wife, and eventually for her new-born child."

  "These gentlemen kept a very complete logbook," Falcon said, reviewing earlier notes from the ledger.

  "Also there was ‘training’ once the child was ready and able." Eliza looked over to Wellington—it was his story after all.

  "My mother would have none of it. Hard to know if she discovered my father’s ultimate goal, or if he refused to let his wife dictate what he could and could not subject his son to."

  "What was the purpose of all this?" Henrietta asked.

  "I was to be a template for a new age of existence, a next step in evolution. My first application
was to be something of a super soldier for Her Majesty’s Empire."

  Henrietta closed the ledger and handed it to Eliza. "And...?"

  Wellington tugged on his waistcoat. "I ended the experiment."

  The professor considered Wellington for a long moment before returning to the summaries in hand. "I take it after you did so, Jekyll remained in touch. Kept an eye on you, to see your progress free of supervision?"

  "Actually, I believe I was fourteen at the time," Wellington said, a sigh escaping him, "my father and Doctor Jekyll had quite a row. I am still uncertain of the details, but after that, ‘Uncle Henry’ no longer visited."

  "And you never heard from him again?"

  He shook his head. "Not until India, last year."

  Henrietta set aside the case summaries, and stepped back, crossing her arms as she looked at the string of murders. "So why come out of hiding in such a dramatic fashion?" She motioned to the files. "This is not a man who wants to keep a low profile. He wants to be found now."

  "We’ve been so concerned with catching Jekyll," Eliza said, her eyes now going from summary to summary, "we never asked what he wants."

  "At the Water Palace he told me something," Wellington said, taking a seat, "something I did not to mention in the report. Jekyll wants to finish the experiment. He wants the two of us to carry on what he and my father set out to do all those years ago."

  After a pause, Henrietta nodded. "A most terrifying thought, to be sure."

  "We need to find him in his hunting ground and stop looking for his den."

  "Like in our first mission together?" he asked, recalling that very different time. "That factory where the Rag and Bone murderer was picking victims?"

  "Think of it, darling. Even for someone like Jekyll, finding victims carries with it some danger. He must have an area where he knows the streets, and the people that walk them. He has to be comfortable to strike."

  "Like a lion who roams his territory."

  Eliza nodded. "Monsters have them too."

  "An intriguing thought you have there," Henrietta said, "but this monster is cunning. He will want us to come to him, to his territory. You told me earlier on the train of his taunts. Undoubtedly he will have traps and tricks ready for our arrival."

  "This means I will have to exercise my most loathed virtue." Eliza grumbled. "Patience."

  Wellington went back to the valise where he kept their field essentials. Pulling out a folded up piece of paper, he pushed the case summaries aside and unfurled it to reveal a map of Constantinople. Now would have been an excellent time to have Aydin with them, but perhaps he would play into this developing strategy of theirs later when it came time to find a vantage point.

  "Now comes the part of serving Her Majesty in the Ministry that I do not care for. Thinking like a madman," Wellington said with a dry throat. "Constantinople is hardly small, but we must find the best hunting territory."

  Henrietta leaned in, pointing to a region of the ancient city. "What about Fatih?"

  "I know that area," Eliza said. "It’s damn near perfect for the likes of Jekyll."

  "Speaking as a newcomer to this corner of the world, why would this suit Jekyll?" Wellington said, moving a magnifying glass over Fatih. "The streets appear to feed into the area, but is it of high elevation? What specific advantages would it offer someone like Jekyll?"

  "It offers him an abundance of victims," Henrietta replied. "Fatih is the Grand Bazaar of Constantinople."

  "Locals, adventurous tourists, even those looking to hide." Eliza reached over to the jumbled stacks of Aydin's case summaries and sifted through them. "Two cases here, the deceased are unknowns. Fatih would be the place, or at least a good starting point in trying to find Jekyll."

  "So," Henrietta began, "what's the plan?"

  Wellington pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut as exhaustion crept over him. "We go there around dinner. We have to rest, arm ourselves mentally as well as physically. We pick a vantage point and hold it during the night see if we can’t find our lion."

  "We have no guarantee he will strike tonight."

  "You forget, Henrietta," Eliza said grimly. "We denied him an exquisite kill on the Express. Jekyll will be craving tonight."

  "A very good point."

  "We need to get elevated," Eliza said, returning her attention to the map.

  "It would be good if we had eyes lower to the ground as well," Henrietta offered.

  "So how do we keep in communications with one another?" Wellington asked.

  Henrietta smiled, looking between them. "It is most fortuitous that you happen to have an engineer within your ranks."

  "Go on," Wellington said.

  "As I was travelling with my associate, I had devised these portable recording devices using the same technology as with æthermissives to send finished recordings between each other. The devices themselves are no bigger than a woman’s evening handbag, but easily concealed. I could convert them to transmit across the æther to one another instead of sharing recordings."

  "Their weight?"

  "Perhaps a stone at most."

  Wellington nodded, pacing a few steps with the occasional whisper to himself. He pointed to Henrietta. "Make them lighter. And have the microphone be small. Something we could conceal in the cuff of a sleeve. And we will have a need for a third device."

  "I can manage that," Henrietta said.

  "I will contact Aydin," Eliza said, "and let him know our new plan. Then see if we can get in a few hours of rest."

  "After that we find a good spot to wait for a predator," Wellington added with a wry grin.

  Eliza walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "No, darling. What we are hunting is so much worse."

  Chapter Sixteen

  In Which the Enemy of My Enemy Is My Best Friend

  His eyes darted to the timepiece in his hand, and then to the clock by the bar. His lunch appointment was late.

  Filippo Rossi, known by the House of Usher as Mr Badger, rapped his fingers against the smooth surface of the table, trying to relax. While Argus Tinsdale was many things, he was always punctual. He also demanded it of his colleagues and even his superiors. Tardiness was, according to Tinsdale, the height of unprofessionalism. Only his spectacular results afforded him the chance to talk so arrogantly to members higher up the House’s hierarchy.

  Tinsdale had incredible inside knowledge of not only the Ministry, but of many world government operations. It was unclear how he obtained his information, but Filippo suspected the younger man was playing all sides of the Great Game. He could be posing as a double agent, but it had never been proved. He’d never put a foot wrong, until today, when he was late.

  Filippo took a sip of his wine, a fine vintage from a vintner loyal to the House. This year had been exceptional. He’d intended the bottle of wine to be something of a peace offering to Tinsdale. Since the man’s arrival in Italy, their encounters were best described as prickly. At Holmes insistence he'd was brought, which meant he was drafted into the Ragnarök operation.

  Damn it, man, Filippo thought, topping off his glass. There are plenty drafted into this grand plan of yours. Do not tempt fate with too many mouths.

  He’d never dream of expressing that thought to Holmes. The Chairman—as Holmes preferred to be addressed—believed in accountability. It would be accountability that returned the House to power. As much as Filippo hated to admit it, the results were now being seen. It was not all bad as Filippo’s success in Italy had him in Holmes’ good books. The House was reclaiming its previous influence, due in part to Ragnarök.

  However, only a few in the House were fully aware of what exactly Ragnarök was.

  His angry reverie was interrupted by a hand turning the wine glass reserved for Tinsdale right-side up. Filippo watched stunned as the stranger poured himself a glass, only halfway, and returned the bottle to his side of the table. Taking a seat opposite of Filippo, the newcomer removed his hat and smiled.

  "G
’day, mate."

  The stranger had the trappings of a gentleman, but his boisterous salutation and smug countenance contradicted his fashion sense. This was definitely not Argus Tinsdale.

  "Sigñor," Filippo began, clearing his throat before switching languages, "I must—how do the English say it—crave a pardon?"

  "The Poms may say something like that, but you’ve got a problem: I'm not from Pommyland.” When the great ox smiled, it made his chin seem even larger. "That’s just the first of many problems you’re going to have tonight, mate."

  Looking around the café, Filippo struggled to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. "Sir, I must ask that you leave before I have you removed from the premises."

  "Yeah, that's another one of your problems. Those blokes supposed to keeping an eye on ya..." The man took a generous sip of the wine and waggled his eyebrows at its taste. Apparently, that was a sign of approval from wherever he came from. "Those boys are enjoying a wee lie-down. A little nap so we can have some undisturbed conversation."

  Filippo’s eyes flicked to his walking stick. He could upend the table and then draw the sword from its concealment.

  "Now, maybe you’re thinking of some crafty way of doing me in, but then you will never know what I’m on about… Mr Badger."

  That got his attention. He took another look at the stranger. He was not with the House, and yet he had his code name with the Board? That could only mean… "Tinsdale?"

  The man clicked his tongue as he lifted his glass in a toast. "Poor sod. Afraid he’s not making this little rendezvous, as he’s feeling under the weather." He went to take a drink, paused, and then added, "Six feet under the weather, if you get my drift."

  Filippo’s throat tightened. This was precisely what he had warned Holmes about. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing then?"

  "Campbell’s the name. Bruce Campbell. Proud citizen of Australia and agent of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences."

  "Mr Campbell, I am but a humble cog in the great machine."

  "How about we cut through the song and dance, mate, because... Italy? It’s hot. Bit too sultry if you ask me. Not as awful as Cloncurry, but then again... not many places are." Bruce set his wine aside. "So before I bid a farewell to your quaint little country, you’re going to tell me everything you know about Ragnarök."