by David Archer
“Of course,” Catherine said. “Ruddy bastards have been quite a thorn in our sides over here, lately.”
“Well, Whitcomb’s successor is apparently already in their pocket, which is why they wanted him out of the way. By cooperating with us, you’ll be able to build a case against him, as well. James Bradley is the name we were given for the successor, is that correct?”
“Indeed it is,” Catherine said. The look on her face told Noah that she was quite furious at the news that Bradley had been compromised. “I’ll have to go to MI6 with this. Don’t worry, I’ll get approval even if I have to go to Her Majesty. While she doesn’t actually run the country, she certainly has the influence to make sure that things go the way she wants them to. How soon do you need to make this happen?”
“Within the next three days would be excellent. You’ll need to leave Bradley in his position for a short time, until we can positively identify all the players in the PRA. The mission is to bring them to an end, but we have to get our girl in their good graces, first.”
“Then let’s order breakfast,” Catherine said. “Let me get on about business. I’ll find out about Mr. Whitcomb’s itinerary and send you a copy. Let me know when would be the best time to make a move, and I’ll see that our end is ready to cooperate.”
The waitress came then and handed the menus to them, and they all chose an American-style cheese omelette, with a fresh cup of coffee for Sarah and Noah, and a refill for Catherine. The waitress drifted away to put in their order and the three of them sat and chatted as they waited.
“So, when do you expect to visit the Manor again?” Catherine asked.
“I’m hoping to spend a couple of weeks there after this mission,” Noah said. “It’s definitely one of the most relaxing places we’ve ever been, and we definitely need a break now and then. Have you been out there lately?”
“Oh, no,” Catherine said. “I’ve no reason to visit out there unless you are in residence, in which case Her Majesty expects me to make sure I do so. I’ll confess, however, that I greatly enjoy the time I spend out there with you. As you say, it’s very relaxing.”
“Neil to Noah,” Noah heard suddenly. He had remembered to reactivate the comm unit when he awoke, and was suddenly very glad that he had. He picked up his coffee cup and held it in front of his mouth as he whispered a reply.
“Noah to Neil, go ahead.”
“We are all up and having breakfast. Sucks I can’t sit with Jenny right now, but we’ve got eyes on her. Any news?”
“I’ll tell you shortly. Noah out.” He set the cup down and looked at Catherine. “How have you been? Things going okay for you?”
Catherine nodded. “Quite well,” she said. “Any particular reason for asking?”
“Not really,” Noah said. “I’m afraid I’m not real good at making polite breakfast conversation.”
Catherine smiled. “You’re doing fine,” she said. “Of course, I’ve never forgotten that the very reason I’m here is because of you. If you hadn’t convinced that drug addict to call an ambulance, I probably would not be. Come to think of it, I’ve never thanked you for that, have I? Well, thank you, and I mean that with the utmost sincerity.”
They continued chatting through breakfast, and then Catherine went on her way. As Noah and Sarah were finishing up, she suddenly became quiet. Noah turned to her.
“Something on your mind?”
“I was just thinking,” she said after a moment. “The last time we had a mission similar to this one, we lost Moose. I can’t help worrying just a bit that this one is so close to that one.”
“There are definite similarities,” Noah said, “but there are differences, as well. This time, at least, the real Victoria isn’t out there waiting for the chance to strike at us.”
“As far as we know, anyway. All Allison said was that the Mossad claims they blew her up. She didn’t say that there was any proof she was dead.” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Okay, so what’s on our agenda for this morning? Anything special or unusual?”
“I think not,” Noah said. “We can probably go drive around the city for a while, just to keep ourselves busy. I don’t see any point in sitting around here while we wait to hear from Catherine.”
They left the restaurant and went back to their room for a few moments. Noah considered taking his guns, but decided against it. For the moment, at least, they could afford to act like simple visitors to London. They freshened up, then went back down the elevator and out to their car.
“So,” Sarah said as she slid behind the wheel. “Where would we like to go?”
“I’ve always enjoyed checking out the architecture,” Noah said. “We could just drive around and look at the buildings.”
“I guess that’s a start,” Sarah said. “You think we won’t actually be working today?”
“Probably not. I figure it will take at least a little time for Catherine to get something set up with MI6, so it’s probably safe to relax for a little while.”
“In that case,” she said, “you might as well be prepared for me to do a little shopping. There are some wonderful stores in London, and I don’t get the chance to go out shopping for good clothes all that often. Think you can indulge me?”
Noah looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded. “I don’t think it would be a terrible experience.”
Sarah laughed, then put the car in gear and drove into the city. Noah waited until they were some distance from the hotel, then took out his phone and dialed Neil.
“Hey, boss,” the skinny kid answered.
“I wanted to bring you up-to-date,” Noah said. “We spoke with Catherine Potts over breakfast this morning, and filled her in on what’s going on. She’s going to check in with MI6 and see how hard it’s going to be to set up the faked assassination. I also let her know that Whitcomb’s successor, Bradley, is corrupted. She’ll relay that information to her superiors on the side, and they’ll take over and run their own investigation once he is installed into the post that Whitcomb will be vacating.”
“Sounds good,” came the response. “I don’t know if anybody else is awake yet, but I’ll make sure they get the message. So, what do we do today?”
“Sarah and I are just going out to do a little sightseeing and maybe some shopping. It’s doubtful we’re going to be involved in anything mission related today, so it’s okay to let your hair down. Yes, Neil, that means you can all three go out together for a while. Newsom and his people saw you when we left the club with her, so I don’t guess we need to keep up any pretense that she’s alone.”
“Man, couldn’t you have thought of that last night? Oh, well, at least you thought of it this morning.”
“No problem,” Noah said. “I’ll call you if I get any news, or you guys can call me if you run across any.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Neil said. “Neil out.”
“Noah out.”
Noah looked at Sarah. “I told them they can take the day off, as well. So, what is it you want to go shopping for?”
Her eyebrows raised slightly. “Some new clothes,” she said. “Anything in particular you want to see?”
Noah nodded. “Yes. I think you need some formal wear, if we’re going to be spending any time at the Manor. As far as anyone knows, we’re wealthy; I think we should start to act like it when we’re around there.”
Sarah smiled and turned back to face the road. She pushed a button on the dash and told the car’s “Intelligent GPS” to give her the best route to the London Mall. A feminine voice with a crisp British lilt began speaking only seconds later, and Sarah had to hit the brakes to make the next required turn.
NINE
Albert Lingenfelter was, on most days, a relatively happy man. As an employee of MI6, he was lucky enough to enjoy the occasional burst of excitement in his life, but most of the time it was a fairly mundane existence that he endured.
And then there were mornings like this one.
The alarm went
off beside Albert’s bed and he flung out an arm to silence the horrible thing. His palm hit the reset and killed the noise, but he was already awake. He tried to lay there for a few more minutes, but he was fully aware that there was no hope of going back to sleep, so he tossed off the blanket and rolled over to let his feet land on the floor.
His wife, Margaret, looked up at him. “Do you honestly have to go so early?”
Albert gave a sigh. “I fear I must,” he said. “Lazy lot we’ve got working nowadays can’t seem to accomplish anything if I’m not there to ride herd on them.” He patted her lightly on the bottom, then got onto his feet and made his way into the loo. After more than fifteen years of marriage, he knew that she would be back to sleep by the time he managed to flush.
Margaret was a good wife and Albert considered himself to be quite a lucky fellow, but she had never made it a secret at all, even at the beginning of their marriage, that she was never, ever, ever going to be the kind of wife who got up and prepared a hearty breakfast for her husband every morning. Taken against all of the many other wonderful things about her, Albert felt he was still quite some distance ahead of the field. Almost every other husband he knew spent most of his time complaining about the little woman at home, but Albert was fortunate enough to think fondly of Margaret throughout the day.
He went directly to his office when he got to Vauxhall Cross, but his secretary told him he was to report immediately to Mr. Simmons. Simmons was his boss, the head man of the FEG, but Albert shared the opinion of everyone else in his department that Simmons was a bloody fool. Still, it was necessary to play nice with Simmons, if for no other reason than in consideration of his retirement pension. It would be substantial enough to allow Albert to consider dealing with Simmons as simply another part of his job, and he was already comfortable thinking of it that way.
Simmons had been around for quite some time, although he had nearly lost his job a year or two earlier, over some terrible plot that he almost overlooked. Rumor had it that Prince Charles had actually been targeted by an assassin at the time, but there was no official documentation on the case anywhere.
Albert knew. He had searched diligently for it, hoping to find something he could throw into Simmons’ face the next time the bloody idiot decided to interfere in one of his investigations.
He sighed and made his way down the hall to Simmons’ office, and tapped on the door frame. He was waved inside, and stepped through the door doing his best not to notice the horrible paintings that Simmons had decorated with. There was probably nothing wrong with having paintings of daffodils, but these looked like they had been done by a six-year-old who is colorblind. “I was told you wanted me to report to you, sir?”
Simmons looked up at him and Albert thought the man looked like he’d been awake all night. “You should probably have a seat,” he said. “I understand there’s going to be something big going on, this morning, but I’m not privy to the details just yet. We shall learn them together when Ms. Potts arrives.”
Albert suppressed a grin and took a seat in the chair that sat in front of Simmons’ desk. “Something big? And it has something to do with Catherine?” Albert considered Catherine Potts to be one of the nicest perks of his job. She was not only quite lovely to look at, but she always seemed to have a kind word and a ready smile.
Simmons nodded. “Yes, actually. All I’ve been told so far is that she’s gone to meet with some American agent, a fellow we’ve actually had to deal with in the past. The last time, it nearly cost me my position, so we shall bloody well get on top of it right away this morning. She called a bit ago to tell me that she would be meeting the Yank for breakfast, and she’ll tell us what’s going on when she gets back here.”
Albert’s eyes had grown wide as Simmons spoke, and he leaned forward to look closely at his boss. “Nearly cost you your position?” he asked. “Is this the chap who was involved in the Prince Charles incident? I’d begun to think that was only a bit of a myth.”
Simmons raised his eyes to meet Albert’s. “No, it’s not a myth. This bloody American is from their bloody death squads, that lot of theirs who handle making people vanish on a permanent basis.” He scowled in Albert’s direction. “Somehow, he was brought in to deal with the assassin known as Adrian, the one who was alleged to have been after Prince Charles. Of course, the real target was the Prime Minister, but the tabloids simply got it all wrong.”
Albert’s mind was racing. So the stories were true, at least to some extent. He wondered if it extended to the part about Simmons nearly botching up the whole case and getting Charles killed. “What do you think he’s here for this time? Have you any ideas at the moment?”
Simmons shook his head. “None, and if I did, I’d probably already be speaking with the Home Secretary. This is not the sort of case to take lightly, I can assure you that much.”
Albert leaned back in his chair and just looked at his boss. “Then I suppose,” he said. “that there’s really naught to do but wait for Catherine to get here and brief us on the situation.” He let his eyes meet Simmons’ own. “So, this American is one of their assassins? I know they have such an organization, and I am aware that Catherine is some sort of liaison with them. I can see why you think this can’t be a good thing, that the American is here once again.”
Simmons nodded. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “Unfortunately, despite the fact that Catherine Potts is officially on our rosters as one of my subordinate investigators, it’s been made abundantly clear to me on more than one occasion that, in any case dealing with the Yank death squads, she outranks me in every possible way. Of course, we’ve got to wait for her to fill us in, and we are not to even speculate about anything until she does.”
“I see,” Albert said. “We’ve got an American assassin here in the U.K., and we apparently had no advance warning of his impending arrival, nor any sort of tip on just what it is he might be doing over here. Have you any idea just what the PM is likely to say about this sort of thing?”
Simmons cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’ve become somewhat accustomed to being stuck in the middle of these bloody situations. To be honest, I’ve nearly resigned over this more than once.”
Albert stared at him. “You nearly resigned over it? Being a bit melodramatic, are we?”
Simmons let out a sigh. “I think not,” he said. “Believe me, if it weren’t for my pension, I would’ve done so without a moment’s hesitation. Ever since that awful day, my own superiors look at me with pity in their eyes. It’s enough to make a man wish he was dead, I can tell you.”
“Oh, really? And who would be working to make sure the people are safe, if everyone who botched it up now and then should just give up and go home? I’ve often wondered what kind of man you truly are, Simmons, but I never truly believed you were just a tit until now.”
Simmons came up out of his chair, both fists planted firmly on the desk as he glared at Albert. “That’s enough! You will show me some respect, Agent Lingenfelter, I’m still your superior, you know.”
Albert stared at Simmons as if he had lost his mind, and the way the man was talking made that possibility quite believable. “With all due respect, Mr. Simmons,” Albert said sarcastically, “I shall show you every bit of the respect you deserve. Perhaps you might be so good as to send Catherine to see me when she gets here? I’m sure she can brief me just fine without my having to wait here in your office.”
He got up and walked out of the office, making his way back down the hall toward his own. This would be another of many days when he wondered if he could take any more of Simmons’ whiny, self-deprecating pretenses, but under it all he knew that he would show up again the next day, and the next, just like he always had. He always fancied that he made his journey through life on a road paved with bricks of national security, which meant that Simmons was only a pothole.
He sat down behind his desk and started going through his emails and other morning communications. There was nothing regarding
Catherine Potts or her mysterious American agent, but that wasn’t terribly surprising. Albert was what the SIS referred to as a local field agent; other agents told him who to go out and round up, and he simply ran the errands. That was all right with him, because it limited the amount of ass that was likely to be chewed off when something went pear-shaped.
He finished up the morning comms and went to fetch himself some coffee. He had just gotten back to his desk with it when he heard his secretary answer the phone.
“Mr. Lingenfelter’s office,” she said. “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”
Albert looked up as the secretary poked her face into his office. “You’re wanted in the conference room,” she said. “A briefing, I understand.”
Albert nodded, then got up and walked down the hall once more. He took his coffee with him, despite the standing rule that coffee wasn’t allowed. When he got to the conference room, he saw that Merkel, Abner and a few others were already there, and they had ignored the anti-coffee Nazis, as well.
“Come on in, Albert,” Abner said. “I understand Ms. Potts is coming to deliver a briefing.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Albert said. “Anyone know any details yet?”
“Not me,” Merkel spoke up. “First I heard was when they told me to bring my arse down here.”
Albert started to speak, but the swish of a sweater and the hint of perfume cut him off.
“Sorry I’m late, boys,” Catherine Potts said. “Did you miss me?”
“Morning, Catherine,” Albert said, and the other men echoed him. “Always a pleasure to see you. Something big afoot, is it? You got Simmons afraid to come out of his office, I believe.”
Catherine opened a folder and passed a sheet of paper to each of them. “This information, gentlemen, is so far beyond top-secret that I should probably cut out your tongues before I even tell you what’s happening, but we haven’t time for such niceties. Instead, I’ll give you the gist of it as quickly as I can.”