The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  “I hope you have a usable phone, Ambrosius. If not, we really are going to be on our own,” she said.

  Since she was ready, she decided to head down a few minutes early. Maybe she could even beat him, and be the one to utilize a disapproving look towards the other’s tardiness. This thought put an extra spring in her step as she grabbed her overcoat and exited her room.

  She practiced her looks of admonishment she planned on using on Ambrosius in the reflective surface of the shiny brass control panel on her way down in the elevator. She was looking forward to needling the stuffy agent much like she did Reggie. It was one of the perks of the job as far as she was concerned.

  It was all for naught when she spotted the British agent casually leaning against the check-in desk. He looked dapper as ever in a charcoal gray Armani suit, as rested and at ease as she wanted to be, and this only served to infuriate her even more.

  “Damn,” she said, loud enough to garner a few looks from other hotel visitors within earshot.

  “Why are you so sour looking this early, Agent Sommers?” Ambrosius asked as she approached.

  “Nothing,” she said, feeling a little like a child who had been scolded. “Let’s just get started.”

  “Would you like to get something to eat before we meet with the professor?”

  “Yeah, I could eat,” she said. “Besides I don’t think having my stomach growling like an angry jungle cat would be a good way to get in the professor’s good graces as he hopefully explains where our sword is at.”

  Ambrosius smirked. She followed him to the restaurant, unable to shake the feeling she was losing control of this case, and that somehow Ambrosius was now taking charge. There was definitely a new sense of purpose to the guy this morning, and if she was not careful, she might get left in its wake.

  They ate a decent breakfast in relative silence. At one point Ambroisus did inform her he’d had their car brought around, and it would be waiting for them when they finished eating. She was glad he had thought of that detail, but again she felt like she was a step behind and losing ground.

  From the very start of their partnership back when Ambrosius made his unexpected entrance at her apartment, she had sensed an underlying purpose to his being a part of this investigation. She had the feelings it was more than just finding the sword. He’d played it pretty cool up to this point, but now that they were possibly on the verge of discovering the fabled blade’s location with help from Professor Foshay, chinks were developing in Ambroisus’ otherwise steadfast armor of crisp professionalism. The calm indifference he seemed to wrap around himself like a security blanket, and wanted her to believe was the real him, was beginning to wear away, and signs of his true nature were starting to show through.

  She considered confronting him on it, but discarded the idea. If she pushed too hard, he would merely shut down and re-establish the distance he had been working so hard to maintain. Hopefully, given an ample amount of time, he would trust her enough to explain his ulterior motives, but until then she would let the issue drop. She would rather have him focused and enthused about working the case instead of cold and distant. She was going to need his experience and knowledge to see this investigation through.

  “Do you think Professor Foshay will have found anything to help us discover Excalibur’s whereabouts?” Ambrosius asked.

  The question was out of character for him, and it led credence to her belief that there was something more to this case than simply finding a historical artifact. Since she had just scooped her last bite of scrambled egg into her mouth, she had an excuse to pause and finish chewing before she could reply. This gave her time to come up with what she hoped would be a reassuring comment.

  “I can’t honestly say,” she said . “If anyone could however, it would be the professor. He seems to know his stuff, and was genuinely interested in helping us. If anything else, maybe he can at least point us in the right direction.”

  Ambrosius nodded in agreement, and in somewhat of a resignation to the fact there was no way to know until they actually met with Foshay. He then slipped back into the introspective silence she had witnessed for the majority of their morning meal.

  Her coffee had cooled considerably, but it still tasted like the sweet nectar of the gods. She lamented not having her favorite travel mug to take with her, but figured if absolutely necessary, she could stop off on the way and get a cup to go. There had to be a Starbuck’s around here somewhere.

  Ambrosius moved what was left of his eggs Florentine around the plate with his fork. He still appeared deep in thought, but with the caffeine starting to kick in, she was ready to get moving. She had no intention of sitting around waiting for Ambrosius to snap out of his personal little reverie.

  “Hey, earth to Ambrosius,” she said, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you done eating or what?”

  “Huh? Oh…uh…yes. I am ready as soon as you are, Agent Sommers.”

  “Good, then let’s go,” she said standing up.

  Ambrosius followed her lead, but she could see the man was still distracted. It was starting to make her fell a little anxious herself.

  “Are you ok?’ she asked. “It’s like the lights are on, but nobody’s home with you this morning.”

  “I’m quite all right, Agent Sommers. This case has brought back a few…memories for me. If we are able to succeed in finding Excalibur, it could mean the end of a long journey,” he said.

  “Well, speaking of the journey, why don’t we get moving on it,” she said, trying to keep the mood light. She was reassured when he smiled back at her.

  True to Ambrosius’ word, their car was waiting for them right out in front of the hotel. She was still unaccustomed to this kind of preferential treatment, but could find herself getting used to it rather quickly.

  Of course, back in Los Angeles, she had never needed to worry about dashing across a parking lot through freezing temperatures and then having to wait for what felt like an eternity for the car to warm up before getting any kind of heat. Then again, being a part of the Agency in Washington meant she never had to worry about her gender getting in the way of fair and equal treatment. With everything she had seen and experienced in her short time with the Agency, they appeared to have no hidden political agenda. Their only concern and duty was the innocent people they protected.

  After adjusting her seat and strapping on her seat belt, she put the sedan in gear and pulled out of the Hilton’s lot.

  “Do you remember how to get there?” Ambrosius asked.

  “Yeah, the professor gave us directions last night before he left, remember.”

  “I do, but that was not my question. I wanted to make sure you knew where you were heading.”

  “Is this your way of telling me you wanted to drive?” she asked, defensively feeling the blood rush to her face.

  “Not at all, Agent Sommers. Besides, you Americans have the nasty habit of driving on the wrong side of the road,” he said smoothly. He paused, then added a last dig which she knew was meant to irk her. “It’s quite uncivilized of you.”

  “Why you stuck up British blue blood,” she said, acting as if she was truly hurt by the mock insult. “It’s no wonder we kicked your snobbish hides back across the ocean, or should I say the pond.”

  “Touché,” he said, accepting defeat.

  She could not help but smile at how deftly Ambrosius had been able to not only get her frustrated to the point of anger, but then defuse the situation with an offhand joke. It was nice to see him acting more like the agent she had arrived in Boston with instead of the gloomy and distracted guy who had sat across from her during breakfast.

  The traffic was congested as the morning commuters made their way to work, though it was nothing like what she had experienced back in Los Angeles, and it moved along at a good pace. The large stone edifice that could only be Boston University came into view after only ten minutes.

  She drove around the large campus until she came to 725 Comm
onwealth Avenue, the address for the College of Arts and Science. The whole school had an old European design which she was sure Ambrosius found to his liking, though he did not say anything. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of some of the older prestigious Ivy League Universities like Harvard or Yale. Somewhere in that impressive-looking structure was Professor Foshay’s office, and hopefully the information leading to the hidden location of Excalibur.

  There were several empty spaces in front of the building. They were clearly marked as faculty parking spots, but she pulled into one anyway. She was in a hurry and figured if anyone decided to make a stink, she could always flash her badge.

  Though the outside of the college had a medieval castle look to it, the interior had been updated and decorated to modern standards. A heavy silence fell over the place, like being in a large library.

  Professor Foshay’s office, Room 115, was down the hall, around the corner, and the first door on the left. The quiet began to grate on her nerves and close in on her, making her feel claustrophobic. Where before she’d been reminded of a library, she now had the ominous feeling of being in a morgue, or, even worse yet, a tomb.

  What is it about this case? No matter what, things always turn to the topic of death.

  She could only hope this was not some portent of what was to come.

  They found Foshay sitting at his desk, poring over several books which lay open before him, so focused on his materials he did not even notice them arrive. Sommers waited a few seconds more to see if he would look up, then knocked loudly on the door frame.

  The sound cut through the oppressive silence like a deer rifle in a meadow. The professor jumped, knocking books to the floor. She felt bad for startling the man, but when he looked up and met her stare with his intense eyes, all was forgotten. In fact, she forgot to speak, and it was Ambrosius who stepped up.

  “Professor Foshay, it’s Agent Sommers and Agent Ambrosius. May we come in?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Come in and please don’t mind the mess,” the professor said.

  The office was not overly large, and what space was available was crammed with books, some of which looked to be pretty old. Sommers was no expert by any means, but guessed that many of the ancient-looking tomes were collectables and probably valuable. There were no decorations other than a poster-sized portrait of a man dressed in Renaissance clothing. It hung on the back wall behind the desk, giving the appearance that the man was overlooking the office.

  “That’s Sir Thomas Malory,” Foshay said, evidently noticing and answering her unasked question. “He is considered by some, myself included, to be the father of Arthurian legend. It was his book, Le Morte d’Arthur, which brought the stories to the forefront of the literary world.”

  “Ah, I see,” was all she could think to say, interrupted by a snort of derision from Ambrosius.

  “You disagree, Agent Ambrosius?” the professor asked.

  “Let’s just say, I have a different perspective, Professor,” Ambrosius said.

  “If you say so.,” When neither she nor Ambrosius did not ask anything else, he offered, “Please, have a seat.”

  The chairs were surprisingly comfortable. Sommers thought she recognized the design as being ergonomic, and wondered how many students had sat in this same seat and faced the professor’s intimidating gaze. Under the right circumstances, the man’s eyes could be inviting, but she would bet her paycheck if the guy was angry and dressing down a student, those same eyes could put the fear of God in a person.

  “I’m sorry for the disorganized jumble you see. I kind of lost track of time, and forgot it was so close to our appointment. I am usually a little better prepared for any guests.,” the professor said with a sheepish grin.

  “No problem, Professor,” she said. “If you think this is bad, you should see my apartment.”

  “Yes, well maybe the next time I’m in the neighborhood,” he said.

  She was so taken aback her voice caught in her throat. It became one of the rare moments in her life when she did not have a snappy comeback. Instead, it was Ambrosius who recaptured the moment and put everything back in perspective.

  “Maybe you two can set up a social gathering at another time. We are here strictly on business. Were you able to come up with any information for us?”

  “Uh…yes…well…um…” He stammered and tried to regain his composure.

  She took a measure of comfort in his face turning a nice shade of crimson which undoubtedly matched her own. She could tell his comment had been completely out of character for him, and getting caught by who he thought was an FBI Agent was probably tantamount to getting caught feeling up your high school sweetheart by her father. If she was not so embarrassed herself, she would have laughed at the predicament they now found themselves in.

  “To answer your question, I would have to say yes and no,” Foshay said.

  “I think I might have been able to answer half of what you asked for last night, and I may be able to help with the second half even though I do not have a definitive answer.”

  “What do you mean?” Ambrosius asked.

  Sommers heard the concern creeping into his voice. She knew, because she was experiencing a similar sensation.

  “For starters,” the professor began, “I believe I know how Excalibur may have gotten here in the U.S. and specifically Boston, but I was unable to find any mention of a specific location.”

  Ambrosius slumped in his seat, defeated, and clearly disappointed. Sommers could sympathize. She too had expected to walk out of this meeting with the answer in her grasp. Still, Ambrosius seemed to be taking the news rather hard.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve got?” she said, keeping one eye on Professor Foshay, and the other on Ambrosius.

  “There are many references to Excalibur sprinkled throughout the history of the British monarchy. This is not surprising, as I am sure many of the English kings would have claimed to be in possession of the sword to help justify their own reigns. I am also sure there were many replicas forged, and then passed down from generation to generation. This is actually pretty common knowledge.”

  “How does any of that help us?” she asked.

  “I was getting to that,” the professor said in what she guessed was a tone he reserved for an impatient student.

  She could not help it, but this thought made her smile, which she knew the Professor would notice.

  “According to legend, Sir Bedivere threw Excalibur back into a lake where it was caught by the Lady of the Lake.” He launched into what she figured was his lecturing voice. “So I based my premise on: what if Bedivere didn’t throw the sword back, but instead kept it? Even in the legend, it says it took him three times before he could bring himself to give up Excalibur. What we do know is that following these events, Bedivere becomes a hermit and dies shortly after.”

  “Is it weird for a knight to suddenly become a hermit?” she asked. “Sounds like the work of a guilty conscience to me.”

  “Very strange behavior indeed,” the professor answered. “The only explanation I have is maybe he did keep the sword, and passed it on to the monarchy in hopes of healing the land. From there things get kind of sketchy and there is not much mention of Excalibur until it turns up in the hands of King Richard I, the Lionheart, around 1190. King Richard, it is also widely rumored, was a distant cousin to Sir Bedivere.”

  At this point in the conversation, Ambrosius was listening intently to every word the professor said. He appeared to be on pins and needles as Foshay divulged what he had learned.

  “Now, in 1190, Richard arrives in Sicily on his Crusade to the Holy Land. Supposedly he is carrying Excalibur with him as a good luck talisman. Of course historians believe the sword is merely a replica of some sort, but what if it wasn’t? Once in Sicily, Richard is met by the French Army, led by their king, Philip II. Together these two armies besiege the city of Messina; capturing it. The leader of that area during this time is a man named Tancred,
who is often referred to as Tancred of Sicily. The two armies stay in Messina until Tancred is forced to sign a peace treaty sometime in 1191. As a part of this treaty, Tancred’s daughter is promised to Richard’s nephew; now get this, a man called Arthur of Brittany. That’s just a little too coincidental for my liking. How about yours?” The Professor finished with an excited flourish.

  “Agreed,” she and Ambrosius said at the same time. She looked over at her partner who returned the look with an upraised eyebrow.

  “Yes, I know, I owe you a Coke, or some kind of nonsense to that effect,” Ambrosius said in the dry tone she had come to expect from him. This in turn made her laugh out loud.

  “Thanks, Ambrosius, I needed that,” she said once she stopped laughing. The look of disdain he aimed in her direction nearly started her on another fit of laughter, but she was able to catch herself. “I’m sorry, Professor, please continue.”

  “That’s quite all right Agent Sommers.” He stifled a laugh of his own behind the charade of a fake cough. “As I was saying, Arthur of Brittany married Tancred’s daughter and Tancred was named the legal King of Sicily. As a gift, Richard gives Tancred Excalibur, thinking that it is only a sword forged by one of his weapon makers and not realizing it is the real deal.”

  “This is all very interesting, but how did Excalibur get here in Boston?” she asked.

  “Patience, Agent Sommers, I’m getting to it. Now, shortly after this marriage, Philip suddenly pulls his army out of Messina and returns to France somewhat unexpectedly. As I figure it, he didn’t return empty handed.”

  “You mean…,” she began but did not finish.

  “I think Philip realized what Tancred was given, somehow gained possession of Excalibur, and took it back to France with him. There it stayed as part of the French monarchy’s treasury for centuries. Then, in 1764, none other than America’s own Benjamin Franklin is dispatched to England by the Colonies in an effort to oppose the Stamp Act. Once his duties in England are finished he begins a tour of Europe in what many believe is really a mission to drum up support for the war which is inevitably coming. This tour takes him to France in 1767 where he begins a love affair with the French people. He gains a near celebrity status, and befriends King Louis XV. Now, back in the Colonies, things are really heating up. Franklin goes back to England, where he stays until 1775 helping out the revolutionary cause as a politician. During this time he asks his biggest fans, the French, for help in fighting England. What does the French king do? My guess is, as a dig at his old nemesis, the British, Louis gives Franklin Excalibur. Franklin takes the sword back to the Colonies with him when he returns in early May of 1775, soon after the first fighting of the war takes place. That same year on November 10th thanks to a resolution from the Continental Congress, the United States Marine Corps is born, and the commanding officer carries with him what is rumored to be a magic sword. Guess what city he is from? That’s right, right here in Boston. Of course we all know what happens with the Revolutionary War.”