Mongoose was already dispassionately studying the kitschy ornaments on the ceiling (rather tasteless stuff, really); he was genuinely concerned that the overwhelming fury he felt was about to spill out through his eyes. Sure, spying is a cruel business; sure, a third-degree interrogation is, well, an interrogation in the third degree; sure, the ‘girl’ should have understood the risks before she got into these games, that’s all fair and by the book… What was not by the book was how these two colleagues of his behaved – like they were not in His Majesty’s service, but rather… Actually, to hell with them all – so far, at least, straightening out the resident spies was not within Task Force Féanor’s ambit. The lieutenant addressed Marandil again in such a gently persuasive tone that any competent person would have immediately guessed how serious he was:
“My apologies, Captain, but my business brooks no delay, believe me. I’m sure that your subordinates can handle this job adequately without you.”
The big guy positively bent over with laughter, and then drawled, encouraged by his boss’s sneer: “Forget it, Lieutenant! You know how they say: three out of four problems solve themselves, and the fourth is unsolvable. Better come with us to the basement – the cutie’ll service you first, you being a guest and all. She’ll lick you or you can lick her…”
Marandil surreptitiously enjoyed this put-down of the visitor from the capital. Of course, he’ll have to assist, but first let the man understand that here, in Umbar, he’s nobody, and his name is nothing …
“How are you standing in front of a superior officer?” Mongoose inquired in a flat voice, looking Marandil’s henchman up and down, lingering on the tips of his boots a bit.
“What’s wrong with how I’m standing? I’m not falling over, right?”
“That’s an idea,” the lieutenant said thoughtfully and moved forward in a light dancelike move. He was a foot shorter and half as wide as his opponent, so the big man struck carefully to avoid accidentally killing him with his melon of a fist. He struck and froze in amazement: Mongoose did not even dodge the blow or move back – he simply disappeared into thin air. The man stood gaping until someone tapped his shoulder from behind – and he actually turned around, the fool…
Mongoose stepped over the prostrated body – fastidiously, as if it was a pile of manure –stopped in front of Marandil, who involuntarily retreated behind the table, panic clearly visible in his eyes, and said drily:
“Your subordinates can barely keep their feet. Are you starving them or something?”
“Hey, you’re cool, Lieutenant!” the other managed to say. “Don’t be offended; I just wanted to see you in action…”
“I figured as much. Have you seen enough?”
“Are you maybe one of those, what’s their name – nin’yokve?”
“That’s a different technique, albeit based on the same principle. Back to business.
Regarding fun in the basement – I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, perhaps even skip it. Tell your people to start without you. Oh, and let them remove this impudent youth.”
Mongoose turned down both wine and coffee and got straight to business.
“Yesterday your people tried apprehending Baron Tangorn at the Seahorse Tavern. What does this mean? Have you forgotten that Ithilien is a vassal of the Crown of Gondor?”
“We had no idea it was Tangorn! He gave Mordorian recognition signals, so my boys thought he was their courier.”
“Aha!” Mongoose closed his eyes for a second. “This changes things. So he is undoubtedly tied to Mordor. Well, he’s useless to them now, too.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get him before nightfall. It’s not just us looking, we’ve activated the Umbar police. They’ve already found one of his lairs, he’d left it literally half an hour before they showed up…”
“That’s why I’m here. You must immediately stop looking for Tangorn. Tell the police that this was an accident, a miscommunication between two friendly secret services… especially since this does resemble reality.”
“I don’t understand how you…”
“You don’t have to understand anything, Captain. Are you familiar with the letter G?”
Marandil took one look at the square of silk in the lieutenant’s hand and visibly blanched.
“The baron is my responsibility, and he must not concern you. Call your people off, but most importantly – I repeat – stop the police immediately! Should Tangorn fall into their hands rather than mine, it’ll be a catastrophe that will cost us both our heads.”
“But, Lieutenant, sir… He killed four of my people!”
Mongoose shrugged. “He did the right thing. Fools that get into conversations with their targets ought to be killed on the spot. Now: you stop looking for Tangorn and simply wait.
It’s not unlikely that he’ll show up soon one way or another…”
“Show up? Is he nuts?”
“Oh no, not at all. However, he’s apparently in a bind, and as far as I understand him, he’s inclined to bet the farm in such situations. Should you learn anything about him, let me know right away: have a Dol Amroth pennant hoisted under the Gondorian flag on the embassy roof, and soon someone will pay you a visit. Thereafter you’ll forget ever hearing the name Tangorn. Understood?”
“Yes, sir! Listen, Lieutenant, we’ve learned that he used to have a broad here…”
“Seven Jasper Street?”
“Ye-e-es…” Marandil drawled in disappointment. “So you know already?”
“Certainly. It looks like he’d spent the night before last there. So?”
“So shouldn’t we shake something out of her?”
Mongoose grimaced tiredly. “What do you expect to shake out of her? What positions they’ve used and how many orgasms she’s had? What else can she tell? Tangorn is not enough of an idiot to talk business with his lover.”
“Still, maybe…”
“Captain, I repeat: forget everything that has anything to do with Tangorn – these are my problems now. Should you meet him in the street, just cross to the other side and then have the Dol Amroth pennant hoisted, all right? By the way, concerning your problems: I understand that you’re now harvesting the old Mordorian network. Forgive my question, but – what for?”
“What do you mean – what for?”
“Is it any kind of an obstacle to you? In any event, why have you started grabbing the agents, instead of putting a watch on them to figure out their connections?”
“We were in a hurry, just in case the DSD is double-dealing…”
“DSD?! Was it they who gave you the Mordorian network?”
“Well, yes. A goodwill gesture…”
“Captain! That’s a fairy tale for retarded children! Try thinking this over one more time –why would they make you such a princely gift? What do they want in exchange? Well, whatever, those are your problems, like I said; do what you think best. Goodbye!”
Mongoose headed for the door, but turned around half-way:
“Oh, and one more thing, Captain. In anticipation of your professional enthusiasm…” He hesitated, as if choosing the right words, then put scruples aside: “Anyway: if any of your men comes any closer than three arrow-flights to Jasper Street, I’ll feed you a salad of your own balls. Understand?”
Their eyes met for only a moment, but it was enough for Marandil to comprehend clearly: this one will follow through.
… Mongoose’s foresight came true the very next day. A certain Inspector Vaddari, one of Umbar police operatives, desired an urgent meeting with Marandil downtown. The inspector was not one of those policemen who worked for the Gondorian embassy directly, but was quite aware of all these games: he was an old and experienced detective who knew the seamy underside of life like no one else. He should have made commissar long ago both by seniority and by merit, but had not – and therefore took bribes with no qualms. It should be mentioned that corruption was a hallowed tradition of the Umbar police (both colleagues and honest citizens treated a policeman or a custo
ms officer who would not be bribed with cautious suspicion: “Better not turn your back on this guy”), but unlike some of his coworkers, Vaddari always delivered the services purchased and never blamed circumstances beyond his control.
“Mister Secretary, your people were looking for a certain Tangorn when suddenly the search was called off yesterday. Are you still interested in this man?”
Marandil leaned forward cautiously: “Well… I suppose I am.”
“I’m prepared to tell you exactly where he’s going to be tonight, if we agree on the price.”
“May I ask where the information comes from?”
“You may. He sent me a letter with a meeting proposal.”
“And why did you decide to sell out a potential client?”
“I haven’t even considered that. It’s just that he hasn’t listed secrecy as one of the conditions of the meeting, so I’m strictly following the letter of the agreement. If this Tangorn doesn’t foresee such a possibility, then I don’t want to deal with such a fool.”
“Hmm… So how much do you want?”
“Three dungans.”
“What?! Are you freaking nuts, man? Like, totally disconnected from reality?”
“My part is to offer…”
“You should know that I really don’t give a crap about this whole business!”
“Who’re you kidding, buddy? I’m an operative, not a mark! First you turn the city upside down for a day and a half looking for this dude, and then – so sorry, there’s been a mix-up!
An idiot would know that there’s some other outfit looking for him now, and the police’s been shunted aside. So I’ll have to figure out myself who these other folks are, while time’s a-wasting!”
“All right – two!”
“I said three and I meant three; I ain’t a peanut seller. Quit haggling already, it’s not like you’re paying with your own money!”
“All right, whatever. Two now and the third when we take him on your info.”
“’Whatever’ is right – I tell you when and where, the rest is your problem. All three right now.”
“What if you’re cheating me?”
“Listen, we’re adults in business, no? I’m not some wino offering you a pirate treasure map for a bottle, am I?”
Having pocketed the coins, Vaddari laid out the set-up:
“Know Castamir Square?”
“The one with a lake in the middle and three canals opening into it?”
“The same. The lake is round, a hundred fifty yards across; the canals open into it a hundred twenty degrees apart – counting from the rostral columns, at twelve, four, and eight o’clock.
The embankment isn’t unbroken – there are stairways down to the waterline, two between each pair of canals, that makes six. Seven in the evening I must be at the stairs to the right of the eight o’clock canal, dressed in a scarlet cape and a hat with black plumage. A water taxi will arrive by one of the canals; the gondolier will let me board after seeing those signs and will then follow my directions. I’m supposed to cruise from stair to stair, not one after the other, but rather crossing the lake: seven o’clock, eleven, three, and so on. Get it?”
“Yes, quite.”
“There’s almost no traffic on the lake at that time of day; if any other gondolas show up, I’m supposed to park and wait until they leave. Tangorn will come down one of the stairs once he’s sure that there’s no danger, and board my gondola. He will be in disguise and I will know him when he takes out a purple handkerchief and waves it twice. That’s it. Good luck, Secretary, and good evening.”
Vaddari got up and headed out of the coffeehouse where they have met, thinking in passing that he’d bet his life on Tangorn making fools of these guys.
The captain returned to the embassy and filled out a field agent expense report first thing: 4 (four) dungans. He was tempted to put in five, but restrained himself: greed kills, while a birdie pecks a little here and there and is satisfied. So, should he raise the Dol Amroth pennant, and hand Tangorn to that cutthroat from the capital on a silver platter? Like hell, he suddenly decided. Such opportunities come up but once in a lifetime; I’ll capture him myself, and the winner is always right. He remembered Mongoose’s eyes and shivered: maybe he should play it safe? Then he calmed himself: no, this is a sure thing. I have the time and place of the meeting, I have thirty-two operatives and five hours to prepare – the sun-like demiurge Aritan supposedly managed to create the entire Arda in five hours, complete with fish in the water, birds in the air, beasts on the ground, dragons in the fire, and man with all his disgusting habits…
CHAPTER 43
Umbar, Great Castamir Square
June 5, 3019
“How many have you counted, Jacuzzi?”
“Thirty-two.”
“I can only see twelve…”
“I’d rather not point them out.”
“Heavens, no! You, after all, are the operative, while I’m just an analyst, so you rule here.”
Almandin relaxed against the back of a wicker chair, enjoying his wine. They were sitting under a striped awning of one of the many small open cafes on Castamir Square, almost directly under a rostral column liberally studded with the prows of captured Gondorian ships, lazily observing the milling of the idle evening crowd. “If there’s indeed thirty-two of them, then Marandil has brought out his entire staff, save the embassy guards. Do you see our performer, by any chance?”
Jacuzzi looked over the bustling embankment of the grubby round lake one more time.
Gentlemen and naval officers, street vendors and gaudy street women, itinerant musicians and fortune-tellers, mendicants and knights of Fortune… He immediately recognized all the Gondorian spies among the throng (although most of them, to their credit, were pretty well disguised), but to his great disappointment he could not identify the baron. Unless, of course… no, that’s crazy.
“It looks like he had recognized these guys, too, gave up and tiptoed away.”
“That’s what a professional would do,” nodded Almandin, “but the baron will do something else entirely… want to bet?”
“Wait a moment!” the Vice-Director of Operations glanced at his chief in surprise. “Do you consider Tangorn to be a dilettante, then?”
“Not a dilettante, my dear Jacuzzi, but an amateur. Do you understand the difference?”
“To be honest – no, not quite.”
“A professional is not the person who’s mastered all the techniques of his craft – the baron has no problems in this regard – but the one who always delivers on his orders, regardless of the circumstances. It so happens that the baron had never worked for hire; he is bound by neither oath nor umberto and is used to the unbelievable luxury of doing only things he himself approves of. If an order contradicts his notions of honor or runs against his conscience, he will simply ignore it, and to hell with the consequences – both for himself and his goals. You can see that such a man belongs in a Vendotenian monastery, rather than in any intelligence service.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Jacuzzi nodded thoughtfully. “The baron lives in a world of moral scruples and stereotypes that are unthinkable to you and me… By the way, I was refreshing my memory of his dossier the other day and came across an interesting tidbit of friendly banter over a few drinks. Someone asked him whether he could hit a woman if he had to. He had spent some time seriously thinking about it, and then admitted that perhaps he’d be able to kill a woman, but never to hit one, under any circumstances. His dossier is anyway a rather curious read – it’s more of a literary review than a dossier; about half of it is poems and translations. I even thought that no one outside of our Department has a more complete collection of Tangorn’s takatos…”
“Too bad that they won’t be published until a hundred twenty years from now under the declassification law… Aha! A gondola! So, would you like to bet that he’s going to pull some crazy stunt and fool all of these guys?”
“I think that
it would be more appropriate for us to pray for his Fortune, or rather Marandil’s blunder…”
A small three-seater gondola touched shore at one of the stairways descending to the water to take on a gentleman in a scarlet cape and a hat with black plumage, and started to cross the lake leisurely. Suddenly a sleepy expression appeared on Jacuzzi’s face; he unhurriedly took out a gold-plated sandalwood pencil, wrote a few words on a napkin, turned it over and handed the pencil to Almandin, saying: “All right, it’s a bet.” The other man also wrote something on another napkin, and both returned to silently watching the developments.
The gondola described a not-quite-complete triangle and came back to the stair next to the one where it started. That spot was perennially occupied by a band of lepers, wrapped in head-to-toe striped robes, who solicited alms there. The so-called cold leprosy is both fatal and incurable, but unlike the ‘hot leprosy’ it is not particularly contagious (the only way to catch it is by squashing one of the many small boils covering the leper’s face and hands, or by doing something like sharing his cup), so its sufferers were never expelled from human settlements. The Hakimians of Khand even considered them especially desired by God.
Every day those mournful figures in their striped robes silently appealed to the citizens’ mercy, as if inviting them to compare the lepers’ plight to whatever they considered troublesome in their own lives. They were motionless to the point of appearing to be some architectural element like the gondola tie-up posts, so when one of these cloth-draped statues suddenly got up and headed towards the stair, limping slightly, it was clear that something was afoot.
The leper stepped on the top stair and took a purple handkerchief out of his sleeve.
Immediately a bunch of idle men surrounding a street performer who was juggling three daggers about twenty yards away split up – two headed left and right, cutting off the robed man’s escape routes, while the other two and the juggler himself, snatching the flying blades out of the air, went straight for the prey. It became clear that the man had miscalculated – he started his descent while the gondola was too far away, about fifteen yards from the shore.
The Last Ringbearer (2011) Page 26