It was lovely to know she could still make him blush. “So, what’s the plan then?” he asked.
“You go around the corner and take a seat at the Café Mechanisch. Order something, but make sure when I get there not to even look my way.”
“So I am your muscle then?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “How charming.” Then he raised her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, and strode off to do as asked.
Eliza let out a sigh and girded herself. How long had it been since she’d seen Marius? Admittedly, the last time had been rather spectacular. With a final flick of her hair, Eliza walked boldly out onto the street and round to the Café Mechanisch.
She spotted Wellington and saw that he’d taken her advice seriously. He already had a tea in front of him and was busy ordering some breakfast from the waiter. Not once did his eyes flick in her direction. Sitting out in front of the cafe, Marius von Hoff was smoking a cigarette and scanning the newspaper lying in front of him.
For most agents, being in the same place at the same time every day would have been beyond foolish. However this was Marius’ job. He had once been in charge of protecting the industrial heart of Cologne. The Ministry became involved when a small brood of Rübezahl had descended from the mountains and started sabotaging factories. Section P was in need of assistance and a young Eliza D. Braun—following her own experiences with taniwha in the South Island—had been loaned to Germany as a specialist. It was the beginning of a productive and promising partnership.
Then, four years ago, when Section P discovered the Rübezahl targeting a facility specializing in airship construction, the German empress had decided to reach out to her mother for help. What should have been a routine operation meant to deter the Rübezahl quickly spiraled out of control as Queen Vic, unbeknownst to Section P or the Ministry, sent in the Department. The cock-up that ensued ended with von Hoff’s demotion. While not completely disavowed or blacklisted, Marius’ duties now kept him on watch over the mess he had made. The fact this permanent assignment made him somewhat of a target was really only a bonus to his superiors.
They had not spoken since her quick flight from Germany, but over the years, she had managed to keep tabs on the fallen agent, always relieved to hear of his safe returns from diplomatic assignments and shuttling messages between Section P and informants.
So it was with some trepidation that Eliza took a seat opposite him, and plastered on a smile that she hoped gave the appearance of confidence, and not self-satisfaction. To be sure, there was no satisfaction in her sudden extraction back then, leaving him to carry the can for the whole mess.
Marius looked up, and not one ounce of surprise flickered on his face. He leaned his wiry frame back into the cafe chair, and stroked idly at his moustache, which had only become thicker and more magnificent since the last time she’d seen him. Admittedly, back then it had also been on fire. Just a little.
“Fräulein Eliza D. Braun,” Marius said, “I would say this is a surprise, but . . .” He shrugged and tried to show how indifferent he was by taking a sip of his coffee.
Unfortunately for him, Eliza knew how he operated, and his studied disdain didn’t fool her. “It is good to see you, Marius. It’s been, what, four ye—?”
He held up his hand to forestall her. “I know all about the Ministry’s status. Sightings of Department agents in German territories are already stirring up a bit of trouble. We have intercepted communiqués on hunting down disavowed and retired Ministry agents, one or two more aggressive wires from the Department demanding our intelligence on your safe houses. Overall, these Arschlochs are making my and my colleagues’ lives miserable.” His eyebrow arched as he looked at her. “Judging from your current fashion choice, you have already survived a debriefing and have been reassigned. It is as I have always believed: Government agencies come and go, but spies will always survive. Valued assets, regardless of what politicians and field directors may believe,” he spat bitterly.
Eliza sighed, glancing at her Department tweed. “If only it were that simple, old friend. If I had done as you believe, my debriefing would have been more of a defenestration.” She fluttered the lapel of her coat. “It was either this agent or me.”
Marius sat up fractionally in his chair. Now finding himself at the centre of information like a very-well-dressed spider, he revealed that true nature Eliza always knew him to be: a terrible gossip. Marius enjoyed scandals and secrets as much as her mum had when she got them down by the fence line, chatting with Mrs. Lainson who ran the butcher shop.
“That sounds uncomfortable,” Marius said in a measured tone. “We were not informed that the disbandment of the Ministry was quite so . . . final.” A flicker of the man she’d once known darted across his face. “I’m sorry about that, Eliza.”
It was impossible to tell if that was a sincere lament or not.
She waited for a moment, letting him sit in silence while she ordered a cup of coffee from a passing waiter. Once her drink arrived, she stirred in a touch of cream, the favour she was about to ask of Marius seeming to swell in her throat. Playing off his disgust with the Department, a tactic he would have recognised, felt cheap; but Wellington, Alice, and the Seven were relying on her.
Eliza could feel Wellington’s presence to her right, like a warmth. She might not have the resources of the Ministry at her disposal, but she was not without support.
First though, she had to clear the air. She locked eyes with Marius. “I’m sorry about what happened. I had to leave with the ambassador. I had to . . .”
“I understand, Eliza.” He stared at her a moment, his dark eyes completely unreadable. “When the Department blundered into the operation, I knew there were far too many cooks involved, and when the stew bubbled over . . .” He stroked his moustache again as if remembering the flames that had once touched it. “It was, how you say in New Zealand—a Hundefrühstück.” He gave a grin and took up his coffee for a sip. “A dog’s breakfast.
“I never felt ill will towards you. We were an efficient, effective team. The Department was out of our control, and I remained silent to protect my partner.” He took a sip of his coffee, then set it on his saucer. “That silence was not easy. When you were wrongfully exiled from New Zealand after your work there, I wanted to reach out. Instead, my heart went out to you.”
Eliza had underestimated this man. Terribly. He had been a brilliant field agent to work alongside. Whatever she believed to be unresolved matters was nothing but ancient history.
She cleared her throat. “Well, now that’s out of the way, I think you know why I am here.”
“I believe I do, but why are we having this conversation”—he jerked his head towards where Wellington was earnestly scanning his newspaper—“without including your partner?”
“Observant as ever,” she commented.
“It was the smell of his tea,” he shot back. “I would have suspected he was a tourist had I not seen him wearing the same dreadful tweed as you.”
Eliza gestured to Wellington, and the archivist, after glancing around the street a little bit, came over and sat with them. Mercifully he did not introduce himself, or make a sound. For once he was taking her advice.
“To be fair we are all working with a little less these days,” she said. Marius and she stared at each other across the table for an extended moment.
“So you journey deeper into Europe, putting more distance between you and your organisation, whatever remains of it, and then double back undetected. Sehr gut.” His dark eyes eventually darted away from hers. “Why would you want to go back to the country that has nothing but a death sentence for you both?”
Eliza glanced over to Wellington, before leaning forwards and revealing in a hushed voice, “The Ministry enacted Phantom Protocol. We are still in operation as we have uncovered a plot to remove Queen Victoria from power and put a madman named the Maestro in her place
.”
Disclosing the Phantom Protocol order to a member of Section P not only put their operation in danger, but any surviving agents of the Ministry as well. They were supposed to be dark. Now Marius knew. Eliza could only speculate what was running through his mind presently. It was a high risk recruiting Marius, intentionally or not, into their circle; but what Eliza knew of the kaiser, he was Queen Victoria’s favourite grandson. He was also the most loyal. He would not want to see her disposed of for some commoner to take her place. If that were to happen, there would be a greater commitment of the Prussian Empire in retribution for Queen Victoria’s fall.
Wellington kept silent, his gaze flicking between the two of them.
“Phantom Protocol?” Marius frowned. “I suppose that means whatever resources I provide, this is off the books as the Department has already been in contact with Section P?”
“Of course.”
The German agent sat still for a moment. A carriage rattled past the cafe, children rolled a hoop down the street, and a woman began an argument with another on the corner. Normal everyday life carried on around them, but important decisions were being turned over in the brain of Agent Marius von Hoff. While Section P barely trusted him with anything more than low-level clearance orders and requests from diplomats, Eliza offered to him the fate of the British Empire.
He probably knew that.
“I do not have much to lose,” he said finally, and Eliza realised that she had been, all unknowingly, holding her breath. “If you are right and succeed, Section P is put in good standing with your agency, and perhaps a favour or two will come our way. A good word from your director may even restore my credibility. If we are caught either by the Department or my people”—he tilted his head—“I will be put out of my misery. So what to do with the two of you?”
“The ten of us.”
Marius nearly choked on his coffee. “Ten?”
“Wellington and myself.” Eliza gnawed on her bottom lip softly. “My maid, and seven children, ages seventeen to eight.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow breath. “Ten people. Yes. Of course. This is you, after all.” His eyes flicked open and fixed themselves on Eliza. “My contacts may be able to wheedle your way into the delegation . . .”
“Delegation?” Wellington could no longer keep himself quiet. “To what?”
Marius shifted in his seat and then continued. “With your queen’s Diamond Jubilee coming up next year, preparations are already under way. We have a large delegation heading to London by airship. Businessmen, diplomats, security advisors, quite a crowd are heading there with their families. Luckily—or not, depending on your perspective—I am in charge of shepherding these wayward lambs safely from Berlin to London on Monday morning.”
“They are still planning on celebrating the Jubilee?” Eliza asked, a frown forming in between her eyebrows.
“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked.
She knew how her queen did love grief. Sound’s lie to the world would no doubt have plunged Victoria into deeper mourning—if that was possible. “With news of the prince?”
An expression of utter bafflement crossed Marius’ face. “You mean of Prince Edward setting off on a world tour for his mother?”
“Yes,” Wellington blurted out suddenly. After an awkward pause, he added, “We were assuming the Queen would want the entire family in attendance, so having the Jubilee without Prince Edward there seems a bit surprising.”
Eliza shared a look with Wellington. They had heard Sound reassure Bertie that he would tell his royal mother that he was dead. She felt Wellington tap her knee, and she got his point. This was not something to be revealed to a foreign agent, even one who was a friend. If they ever saw the director again, he would have some explaining to do.
“So tell me about this delegation,” Eliza said, inclining her head to Marius. “It sounds like quite a handful, but easy for a few more people to slip in among them, yes?”
Marius’ own lips lifted slightly as they ventured back onto more stable ground. “As long as they remain inconspicuous. Do you think by any chance all ten of you could manage that?”
Eliza and Wellington nodded, but the German agent’s eyes took on a merry twinkle. He knew her too well, Eliza realised. So she leaned forwards and lightly placed her hand on his gloved one. “I promise you, Marius, I will do nothing to endanger your delegation. No explosions, no weapons at inappropriate moments, and no crass talk.”
Now a real smile broke out on his lips. “Sounds very unlike you, meine Freundin.” Marius pulled out a business card, and scribbled something on the back of it. “The airship is a government charter, and everyone is cleared before they set foot on it.” He slid the card to her. “Cologne station, Sunday night, along with all the other guests. Until you are given travel papers, pretend you don’t know me.”
She took the note as calmly as she could. On the back was written some kind of code, der alte Löwe. She took it and slipped it into her pocket. “Hardly any time to enjoy Cologne then? A shame.”
“Remember, if you are caught,” Marius said, leaning back in his chair, “the Section and I will deny all knowledge. And do not expect help from us once you are in England again. The kaiser would not look kindly on any help we give the enemies of his grandmother—even if they turn out to be helping her.”
“Understood,” she said, downing the last dregs of her very strong coffee. “If we can get the Ministry reinstated, it’ll be good to work together again.”
He gave her a slight tip of his bowler, and then looked at both of them. “I will also talk to my man about better disguises. We have got to rid you of that dreadful tweed.” He took up his newspaper once more as if they no longer existed.
As she and Wellington walked away from Café Mechanisch, she had to stop herself from giving a little skip. They were going back to England, and on their way to quite possibly giving the Department a bloody nose. Things—in her estimation at least—were looking up.
EIGHT
Wherein Mr. Books and Miss Braun Are Once More Interrupted
Trusting Eliza’s friend was not an easy thing for Wellington to do. Even though he was more than confident he had her affections and her attention, he could not quite chase away the green-eyed monster when she was around men with whom she might have shared intimacy. She’d never really given him any reason to doubt her—which only served to make him feel worse about his base and primitive masculine instincts. If there was anyone who he could trust in the world it was Eliza D. Braun.
A pleasant stay in a foreign country would have been welcome if it were not for the collection of children, an eagle-eyed Alice, and the constant threat of discovery by the Department. Instead of touring the sights of Cologne, their first and only night was spent working on plans for their escape.
At midnight, Wellington and Eliza slipped out of their hotel room to meet with Alice and the anxious children. He was left bemused how large families made it through winter, with children nearly bouncing off the walls like rubber balls. Games of quoits and hangman really didn’t cut the mustard for the extended stay. Two hours later, contingencies in place and timetables agreed upon, they returned to their room, locked the door, and kept watch in shifts.
The relief on arriving at the railway station Sunday night to catch the designated train for the Prussian delegation was indescribable. Eliza’s friend, Marius, was there, though working hard to contain and organise the rather large deputation of prominent families and their servants gathered about him.
“We are supposed to meet with his contact,” whispered Eliza. “He’s going to be far too busy to talk to us.”
“So,” he grumbled, “a nun, a priest, six children, and two people wearing similar tweed just need to blend in until a contact appears.” He forced a smile. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Stillgestanden
,” a voice spoke from behind them.
“There is that,” he said, not turning around just yet.
“Just act normal, but not innocent.” She smoothed out the front of her jacket. “If you try to appear wrongfully accused, that serves as a tell worse than over-anxious. Just act normal.”
“Such a subjective term, that is.”
“Ready?” she asked. A moment later, Eliza turned towards the voice. “Verzeihen sie mir?”
The police officer stepped well within striking distance of Wellington’s walking stick. He fought the urge to look to either side of them. Could they make the train if they struck him down? If it were the two of them, they could easily move and conceal themselves in seconds.
All ten of them? They would be captured within seconds.
The officer looked at Eliza first. Then to Wellington.
“Ist das jetzt in Mode?” the officer asked, motioning to the tweed pattern they shared.
Eliza smiled pleasantly and replied, “Passende Musterkombinationen sind der letzte Schrei in Paris.”
It was driving Wellington mad not knowing what they were saying to one another.
The police officer narrowed his eyes on Wellington, then on Eliza, and clicked his tongue. Wellington felt his grip on the walking stick tighten.
“Der alte Löwe braucht einen besseren Schneider,” the man said with a wry smile.
Wellington felt his shoulders drop. Thank God. A friend.
“Fräulein Eliza D. Braun?” he asked, his hard features now easing as he presented them with a thick envelope. “Agent Rutger Kaufmann. I would normally follow this with ‘Section P’ but my old friend Marius tells me we are having a bit of fun without the kaiser’s knowing.”
Wellington suddenly felt a sense of dread slip under his skin. The smile he was wearing was one he had seen before—on Eliza’s face.
“Agent Kaufmann,” Eliza said in a hushed tone. “This is my partner, Wellington Books. We thank you for your help.”
The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel Page 14