Operation_Endgame

by Pip Ballantine

  Filippo waited for the patron to leave, then he approached the counter.

  "May I help you?" asked the shopkeeper with a fetching smile.

  "Yes, I am looking for a collection of poetry. Something dark, something menacing."

  "Did you have a poet in mind? Shelley? Polidori? Anyone in particular?"

  "I’m trying to remember the line," and then, for an added effect to his spy craft, he sighed, offering the shop girl an awkward smile, "and forgive me if I butcher what I can remember, but the writer had a line that started with something about midnight. ‘While I pondered weak and bleary’...?"

  The shopkeeper gave a little titter. "No, no, no. It isn’t bleary, it's weary."

  "Oh," Filippo said, "so the verse goes: Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and...?"

  "Weary,” she said with a nod. The confirmation that everything was clear. “Weak and weary."

  "That’s it!" Filippo said, relaxation easing to his body for the first time in days. "Do you have any collections featuring this poet?"

  "Will you follow me?" she said walking out from behind her counter. "I think I have what you need in the back room."

  "That would be lovely."

  The shopkeeper flipped her sign hanging from the door from “Open” to “Closed” and with a warm smile beckoned for him to follow.

  Tension ebbed away as he left behind the mundane bookshop and stepped into another world—one he was familiar with. An æthermessanger sat in one corner of this back office, silent but waiting for word from the Chairman. At the desk where one would expect bills and invoices from publishers, he recognised at a glance many notes and dossiers concerning operations in Rome. It was most comforting to come in from the cold and return to the protection of the House.

  "Finally," he breathed.

  The shopkeeper smiled. "You kept us on edge since Assisi."

  Filippo frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Your communications with the House stopped abruptly—it was a cause for some concern."

  "Understandable." Filippo looked the girl up and down, then asked, "Doesn’t Giuseppe hold this post?"

  "Usually yes. I am his right hand if you will." She gave a slight tilt of her head. "My name is Angela."

  Filippo nodded. It was not uncommon to see women rising in the ranks now, part of the Chairman’s new approach to the House of Usher. He used the del Morte family as an example of how lethal, cunning, and efficient, women could be when in positions of power and authority.

  "And where is Giuseppe?"

  "Called away to oversee another operation."

  "Not Ragnarök?" Filippo asked.

  "No, the House will not sit on the laurels of a success, so we are planning for what’s next.” She arched an eyebrow. “Unless your silence is a cause for concern. You are still on target, yes?"

  " Of course I am, woman," he snapped. "Just because I went silent for a few days does not mean there’s a problem."

  Angela bowed her head, her expression faltering between annoyance and contrition. "I take it this is a simple check-in then, and you are advising us that all is well?"

  "Not entirely. I ran into a complication while in Assisi."

  "Complication?" Angela stiffened. "I do hope you have more details than simply a complication behind your sudden silence. Especially at this crucial phase...."

  Filippo bristled at her condescending tone. While this was all part of Holmes’ new vision for the House, he was still in charge of this region. His mood had not improved with being on the run, unable to notify anyone. "I am well aware of that." He took in a deep breath and tried to quash the growing animosity. "Please inform the Chairman that I am safe, but communications for a time will be limited."

  "And, Mr Rossi I presume you need an updated status report on operations here in Rome?"

  "Yes,” Filippo replied, "that would be lovely."

  She moved back towards the desk, and that was when Filippo drew the sword out of his cane.

  Angela spun at the first sound of steel rubbing against the scabbard. Filippo had no idea where the gun came from, but one was in her hand. Perhaps she’d had it tucked up her sleeve, but before she could bring her pistol round to bear, he flipped the cane scabbard up and struck the weapon hard, knocking both it and the shooter to one side. He managed to leap out of the concealed office and back into the bookshop before she squeezed off a shot.

  Crouching low, he worked his way through the shelves. He could hear Angela still in the concealed office, along with the clicks of a safety being disengaged. From his quick glance, her pistol had been a standard derringer, something simple to conceal. What Angela wielded now sounded much heavier, and far more lethal.

  "Filippo," Angela called sweetly, "why the sudden change? Aren't we all part of the same House?"

  "If we were, you would’ve called me by my proper title, Mr Badger. True names are for confidants. I knew Giuseppe—but not you."

  "Very clever." Angela's voice grew closer. Filippo crawled in the opposite direction. "You know, I prefer eye contact when I speak with people. Why don’t you stick your head out so I can see you, and then we can talk properly?"

  His silent crawling now became a noisy scamper, but he still managed to keep the cane in one hand. As he scuttled between shelves, he wished The Raven had been a bit bigger. The space in front of the door was open, and he just knew she would be waiting for him to make a break for it. While he struggled with the handle, she would shoot him in the back.

  Filippo paused and listened. A board creaked. Working his way back to his feet was not quiet; his old bones popped defiantly, each crack threatening to surrender his hiding place. He rose slowly from his position, daring to peer through the breaks of the shelves towards the door. Turning to his left, he caught a glimpse of Angela and the impressive sidearm she now brandished.

  Filippo ducked as bullets struck the shelf of books where his head had just been. Bits of paper rained down on him as he ran in a crouch towards a different shelf. From behind, he heard a confident stride closing the distance. The Raven's door banged open, the bell above announcing the entrance of a patron who chose the wrong day to ignore the sign on the door.

  Two more shots rang out, followed quickly by the grunts of a body struck by bullets. Something hit the floor. Something heavy. At least one person, Angela or the stranger from the street, was down.

  "Badger," Sophia del Morte called out. "Dammit, Badger, where are you?"

  This time Filippo did stick his head out and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sophia del Morte standing in the middle of the bookshop. He took two steps and then froze. He had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but poor Angela struggling for air was a pitiful sight. Blood bubbled from her chest where a bullet had struck.

  Filippo glanced across at Sophia. "This was a safe house—a trusted place."

  Sophia have a slight shrug. "I wouldn’t expect you to know my sister. You never did business with her."

  "She is a relative?"

  Holstering her pistol, she motioned to the dying woman on the floor. "This is the sender. Her specialty is—was—infiltration. Somewhere in here is your true contact. Probably stuffed in a closet. Hold her wrists down."

  Filippo did as he had been told. He would no longer question a del Morte, even as she covered her sister's mouth and nose.

  "Lucinda was always one of the prettiest of the del Morte sisters," Sophia began, even as she pushed back the poor woman now struggling to breathe. "If I’d had my way, I would simply slit her throat or shoot her in the head. However, I know that my Nonna always prefers an open casket for her family."

  In his younger days, Filippo had been responsible for many deaths by many means. Poisons. Beatings. Once he’d dropped a gargoyle on a priest’s head. In many cases though, it was more about character assassination than an actual corporeal assignment. He had never assisted in a killing like this. Lucinda struggled and kicked against his restraint while Sophia's hand covered her nose an
d mouth. It was the whimpering that made him his stomach twist into a knot. Thankfully it slowed and stopped altogether.

  "You just killed your own sister," Filippo said sombrely.

  "Aren’t you the perceptive one?" Sophia sneered.

  "I do not understand..."

  The hand came at him like a whip and knocked Filippo to one side. A thousand needles burned on his cheek, and welts rose where she had struck him.

  "I told you not to leave your room without me," Sophia snapped.

  "I had business to attend to."

  "That nearly cost you your life." Sophia stomped over to Lucinda’s feet and grabbed her by the ankles. "Had I not been here, you would be dead. Is your business really worth your life?"

  Filippo searched for an answer, but instead he remained enthralled by the sight of Sophia del Morte dragging the bloodied mess that was once her sister away. She took her behind the counter and into the office. She handled her own flesh and blood so callously—void of all emotion.

  After a moment he followed her. "If I was Lucinda," Sophia began, her voice steady, "then where would I put Giuseppe?" Spinning around she opened the cloakroom door and a body fell out with a thump. His throat was cut from ear to ear.

  "There he is," she said with a smile. "So what gave Lucinda away to you?"

  Filippo cleared his throat. "My name. She called me Mr Rossi and not by my proper moniker within the House. A field operative wouldn’t know such things."

  Sophia looked around the office her gaze falling on a large ottoman. When she opened it she found several folded blankets inside of it. "We can pop her in here."

  "And then we contact Usher?" Filippo asked.

  She tilted her head. "Perhaps, when we are ready to leave Rome."

  Now this madness had gone far enough. "This is your family! This is your sister, your flesh and blood, a bearer of your family name! How can you be so cold?"

  "You do not understand, Mr Badger," Sophia stated the tenor of her words carrying as much emotion as a stone. "The del Morte clan stopped being my family the moment they turned against me. There is to be no mercy."

  Filippo let that sink in; she was being honest. The truth was within the ranks of Usher, she might have a chance at safety. She’d have resources, and support from other Usher brothers and sisters.

  "How did the del Morte clan find out about The Raven?" Filippo asked. "Does that mean they know might know we are at the hotel?"

  "If they knew that, we would already be dead. Other del Mortes have worked for the House, so it’s not surprising they were aware of this place."

  After a few moments moving blankets, Sophia placed Lucinda in the ottoman and paused. She muttered a short prayer, then brushing off her hands, Sophia turned to him.

  "If Lucinda was here, then we should assume that all safe locations have been compromised. Can you conduct your business quickly from here?" She motioned to the silent aethermessenger sitting in the corner of the office.

  "I believe so," Filippo replied.

  "Very well then," Sophia said, pulling back a flap of leather from the brace around one of her wrists. Underneath was a small timer. "After thirteen minutes, we must go. It will be a challenge to get you back to the hotel, but I think we can make it. Beyond half an hour, I cannot guarantee that my family will not show up and cause a scene."

  With a frantic nod, Filippo scrambled for the aethermessenger. He flicked three switches behind its large glass screen and sat patiently as the device’s inner mechanisms spun to life. Within a few minutes, the screen would go black, and then he would be able to conduct business.

  He would see the successful conclusion to Ragnarök.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In Which Shadows are Chased

  It wasn’t the first time Eliza had experienced the drudgery of staking out a location, but this one had a special frisson to it.

  Wellington sat a few feet away, tucked into the growing shadows. His eyes, like hers, were covered by Starlight goggles. She observed him in similar situations before, but this time she knew he felt it too. Her body was tense and had been that way for a long time.

  The business in the bazaar below had tapered off. Silver and gold merchants, jewellers and craftsmen, had already locked up for the night. Streams of shoppers funnelled towards the main doors and bid good night to the remaining merchants before the market’s doors were locked. As the gaslights sprang to life along the main thoroughfares, the back alleys began to get darker by comparison. Now the only people left within the bazaar were shopkeepers and workers. They moved about in a much more relaxed manner, closing up their stores and chatting to each other over the day’s events.

  Watching them, Eliza could guess some had families to get home to, while others did not. They had normal lives, and now she started to think she might envy them for that a little.

  Wellington shifted in his place, leaning forward into the dark, and adjusting his Starlights. Eliza turned and fixed hers on the direction he was looking.

  The spark flared on the small device secured on her shoulder, and from the small light came a voice.

  "Overwatch, this is Shadow One." It was Aydin. He was somewhere in the streets, milling about with the shopkeepers. "All clear. Shadow Two, report."

  "Shadow Two here," Professor Falcon responded. "All clear."

  Once the spark disappeared, Eliza touched the top of her electrocomms and spoke into the spark she created. "Overwatch here. Well done, Shadow Two. I dare say, you’re a natural."

  The spark disappeared, but then reappeared when Henrietta spoke. "Very kind of you to say, but my heart rate is rather elevated at present."

  "Maintain radio silence," Aydin interjected. "Eyes open, if you please."

  Eliza would have retorted, but he was correct. This was an operation, and while Henrietta Falcon’s presence was unorthodox, it was not the time for social pleasantries. They were hunting a madman, and everyone—even the unexpected agent in their team—needed to focus.

  "You must commend Aydin's professionalism," Wellington spoke from behind her.

  "I’m trying to offer Henrietta encouragement."

  "Offer it when we are back in Hebden Bridge, safe and sound, with Jekyll as our prisoner."

  Eliza looked over her shoulder at Wellington. He looked quite unnatural in the moonlight, his eyes dimly lit by the screen glow of the Starlights. "Are you sure of that tactic, my love?"

  "He’s no good to us dead," he replied flatly.

  "Are you wanting him for Ministry matters, or personal ones?"

  Wellington took a moment before answering. "Bit of both."

  A little smile crossed her lips. "How I do love your honesty."

  Eliza eased the tiny lever on the left lens upward, increasing the aperture of her goggles, then twisted her frames to bring the two men in her field of vision into focus. The men were featureless figures in her Starlights closing the shutters of their shop. No one else appeared in that particular alleyway. The merchants were taking their time, pausing to chat and share conversation. From their postures and gestures, it must have been a good day of commerce. Well done, gents, she thought.

  Flakes that could almost have been mistaken for sunlit dust or a snowdrift slipping free of a mountaintop caught her eye. Some sort of debris was falling from above the two shopkeepers. Eliza followed the trail of dust upward into the rooftops, and there a shape was moving. A familiar shape.

  Her fingers nearly broke the top arm of the electrocomm as she pressed down to open a channel. "Shadow Team, I have contact. Repeat, I have contact."

  Eliza swallowed hard. There was no mistaking the lanky shape sporting a top hat. Even from this distance, it was obvious he was transforming, taking full advantage of the shadows. Jekyll in full control of his mutation was an unsettling thought. However, more so was the grey shape undulating and distorting within her specs. Jekyll’s mastery of the transformation was such that he could summon his darker nature while examining the young men below. The once ga
ngly man was now a leviathan, bulging with muscles, standing at least eight feet tall. Eliza looked to the two merchants closing shop, neither aware that a horror loomed above them.

  "Target confirmed," Wellington stated in his own comms.

  Henry Jekyll positioned himself like a jungle cat, preparing to pounce upon the young men. Eliza perched her Starlights on the top of her head, and raised her rifle, mounted with its own Starlight scope. Through the optics—its crosshairs surrounded by numbers flipping back and forth—she centred Jekyll, compensating for distance and possible wind currents. With a final, long exhale, Eliza squeezed the trigger, and the sniper rifle only nudged her. The limited recoil was another reason this particular rifle was a favourite of hers.

  Through the scope, Eliza watched Jekyll's massive thigh explode from the shell’s impact. Much as she wanted to kill him, they needed answers—though splattering his brains all over the tiles would have been gratifying.

  Jekyll fought to keep his balance, but his teetering and the crack of the sniper rifle had alerted his prey. They ran into the night, calling out for help. That lost kill would upset Jekyll greatly. Good.

  "I think we have his attention," Wellington said, "Now let’s take the blighter down."

  He was up and through the window before she could even attempt to stop him. The roofs were curved red tile, but there were firm ridge-lines made of brick that provided decent footing. She wasn’t about to let him tangle with Jekyll by himself. She secured the rifle across her back, snatched up her satchel, and ran after him.

  "This is Shadow One," Aydin's voice crackled from Eliza’s shoulder. "Target is using the rooftops. Moving southwest."

  "I’ve got him," Henrietta said, and then three successive pops came from the comms, quickly echoing in the real world.