The Londum Omnibus Volume Two (The Londum Series Book 12) Page 17

  ‘She reminds me of me at that age and I want to give her the breaks in life that I never had.’

  ‘So, what would the living arrangements be? The courts would need to know you understand. Would she be living with you?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m quite cut out to be a father. It would be my intention to hire a governess for her and the two of them would live in a house that I would buy, preferably in the country. So you’ll need to set up an allowance to pay for all that.’

  ‘And the governess?’

  ‘That would be a salaried position paid for out of that allowance. I will supply the governess, I have someone suitable in mind. So I want you to make up the will as soon as you can and then you can start work on making Sarah my ward.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll get right on it,’ Mr. Roper assured him.

  Jim stubbed out his cigarette, finished his brandy and picked up his hat. ‘Well I must be going now. Thank you for your time. Let me know when the will is ready.’

  Mr. Roper wished him well and showed him out of the office.

  ***

  Sir Robert Emmersley, head of the British Secret Service, sat at his desk, lit a cigar and took a sip of his coffee. Sir Robert was affectionately known as ‘Emm’ throughout the intelligence community and even the prime minister had taken to calling him by that nick-name.

  Emm was deep in thought after returning from Downing Street, where he had had his weekly meeting at which he briefed the Cabinet on current intelligence affairs.

  So the P.M. was getting worried about Rooskian influence in Europe, was he? Truth be told, he had every right to be worried, Albion had enough problems with Rooskia’s Empire building in Central Asya, it didn’t want them muscling into Europe as well.

  What to do about it though? They needed to be discouraged in their ambitions but short of threatening war it was difficult to get a country the size of Imperial Rooskia to do as it was told and stay out of Central Europe. Besides, they wouldn’t listen to Albion alone, the warning to back off would have to come from someone or something mightier than both of them. Something like the Council of Nations. They had the clout to lean on Rooskia to stay away, as they could threaten to mobilise many countries and initiate sanctions against them, if necessary. But how to get them involved?

  Intelligence sources told him that Rooskia had been cosying up to the Ostro-Ungarian Empire. They were looking for a foothold in Europe but they needed a partner there. It was too long a supply chain from Rooskia’s industrial heartland to fight a war single-handedly in Europe, so they needed a partner who already had a large standing army and would jump at the opportunity to expand their influence. Osterreich and Ungary would join up with them in exchange for a larger territory and together with Rooskia would take on the only other major contender on the continent, Deutschland. Not that Emm would regret anything happening to Deutschland. Their territorial ambitions in themselves were a threat to Albion’s interests, but if they were defeated by the combined strength of Rooskia and the Ostro-Ungarians, then they would dominate Europe and Albion would be squeezed out of the equation. Deutschland could not be allowed to fall to Rooskia and co. The balance of power must be maintained.

  Deutschland and the Council of Nations must be made aware of what was going on. That would hopefully give Deutschland time to get onto a war footing and then evidence of the collusion between Rooskia and Osterreich must be brought before the Council. Hopefully by Deutschland, it would look better coming from them and allow Albion to remain quietly in the background, just an innocent onlooker.

  Emm knew how the Rooskian’s minds worked; they would require proof of commitment from their co-conspirators, a signed treaty perhaps. But they couldn’t be obvious about it; it would be a secret treaty after all. So they would have to disguise it as something else. He leafed through the intelligence reports from his European agents for the past week. Ah, there it was, in a few weeks time there would be an exhibition of Rooskian culture in Budapescht. It would be accompanied by the Rooskian Foreign Minister, Grenko. The Ostro-Ungarian Foreign Minister had been invited to attend. To keep it low-key they were holding it in Budapescht, the secondary capital of the Empire instead of the main capital of Wien. So that is when they would probably discreetly meet and sign the treaty.

  Albion needed to get its hands on that treaty and expose them to the Council of Nations. Of course it couldn’t be seen to be involved so he would have to use an outsider again. That meant his old friend, Thornton Wells.

  He walked to his office door and opening it, spoke to his secretary. ‘Miss Cash, would you send a message to Thornton Wells and ask him if he is available for dinner at my club tonight?’

  ‘Certainly sir, I’ll send a messenger straight away.’

  ***

  Emm poured another glass of port for Thornton Wells and handed him a cigar. They had both enjoyed a fine dinner in Emm’s club while Emm had laid out the ‘Rooskia problem’ for him. Thornton Wells was a freelance agent who had served Albion in an unofficial capacity for most of his adult life. He had never been a member of the Secret Service but he had laid his life on the line for it many times in the past. He was a patriot who believed in the supremacy of the British Empire and would give his life if necessary to defend it.

  A benefit of Thornton was that he was a ‘deniable asset’ who could not be traced directly back to Albion intelligence. In the past he had actually seen action ‘in the field’ on behalf of Albion but now that he was getting on in years (he was in his early sixties) he served in a more managerial capacity and acted as a go-between for the service and a network of independent agents.

  ‘So you see, we need to get our hands on that treaty,’ said Emm. ‘Can you think of anyone that we can use? It will involve breaking into a foreign embassy, probably cracking a safe and then stealing the treaty. It occurs to me that someone who does that sort of thing anyway for a living might be a better option than using one of our own agents.’

  ‘Whoever it is will need to be flexible, able to improvise, it may not be as simple as just cracking the safe,’ replied Thornton. ‘I think I know someone who might fit the bill. We’ve actually used him before, on that Pils-Holstein affair, with the werewolves.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember him. Is he available? Not been jailed yet? If you can get him he would be perfect for this.’

  ‘I’ll approach him and see what he says,’ promised Thornton. ‘What can I offer him?’

  ‘Whatever it takes. The P.M. is keen on making this happen, so give the man whatever he asks.’

  ***

  Jim was eating his breakfast, poached eggs on toast, with coffee, when he heard the flap on the letterbox rattle as the postman put something through it. He didn’t get much post, so intrigued; he took another mouthful of egg and went to collect whatever it was.

  It was an envelope, addressed to him (naturally) but with no return address. He wiped the butter knife clean on his napkin and used it to slice open the envelope. He looked inside and there was a one page note. He straightened out the paper and propping it up against the salt and pepper cellars, he read it as he finished his breakfast.

  Dear Mr. Darby,

  Would you be good enough to call on me at my bookshop, at a time most convenient to you?

  The address is:

  The Antique Bookshop

  Trenton Mews

  Yours sincerely,

  Thornton Wells.

  An invitation from Thornton Wells? Most intriguing. Jim knew him of course, he was the Father-in-law of his good friend Rufus Cobb, and he had met him socially a few times. Jim had even done some work for him once. He had hired Jim to steal something but it was all in the name of Albion. Along with Rufus Cobb, Jim had travelled to Pils-Holstein and helped depose the family of werewolves that were oppressing the country. (See Hair of the Dog.) For which the new Pils-Holstein rulers were eternally grateful and more than happy to sign up to a new treaty with Albion.

  Jim knew that Thornton was loosely affiliated w
ith the Albion Secret Service. How loosely he wasn’t quite sure, he didn’t actually seem to be working for them directly but there was no doubt that if he asked you to do something, find someone, recover something ... the original request had issued from deep in the corridors of power at Whitehall.

  And he wants to see me? Must need something stealing, thought Jim. Okay, I’ll drop by later and see what he wants.

  ***

  The Antique Bookshop in Trenton Mews. Jim stood further down the Mews, smoking a cigarette as he watched the bookshop. He’d been about to approach the shop when he saw another customer enter, so erring on the side of caution he thought he’d better wait for that person to leave. He had a feeling that the less people saw him being involved with Thornton, the better. Twenty minutes and two cigarettes later, the customer left the shop and seeing Jim, headed off in the other direction. I’m not the only one with secrets, thought Jim and approached the shop.

  The doorbell tinkled as he opened the door and Thornton looked up from where he was studying something on the counter. Seeing Jim he casually folded it up and hid it under the counter. He was a handsome man, and his hair and Van Dyke beard were completely silver. He was slim and tall and to Jim looked as tough as a whip.

  ‘Ah, Darby, I see you got my note, good of you to come. Thank you.’ Thornton approached him and shook his hand. Then he locked the shop door and turned the sign around to ‘Closed’. ‘I was just about to close for a spot of lunch, would you care to join me?’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mr. Wells. I can come back later.’

  ‘No trouble at all Darby. Just some bread and cheese and a rather nice bottle of claret. Please join me, I insist.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, I accept.’

  Thornton ushered him past the counter, though a curtain into the back room of the shop. It was a simple room with a comfortable sofa, a table and chairs, a book case, a writing bureau and what looked like a drinks cabinet. Attached to the room was a small kitchen.

  ‘This isn’t where you live, is it?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Bless you, no. I’ve got a nice apartment several streets away but this suffices for lunch or if I have to stay late for any reason. The sofa is quite comfortable, spent a few nights on that.’ He went to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of wine. He looked at Jim, said ‘Hmmm,’ and got an extra bottle out. Putting them on the table he handed Jim a corkscrew. ‘Would you mind doing the honours Darby, while I assemble lunch?’

  ‘Only if you call me Jim.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Look, I know what you do for a living and you know what I do for a living. We both have a mutual friend in Cobb. We even spent most of Solstice Day together at Yuletide. Don’t you think we know each other well enough by now to use first names?’

  Thornton looked at him for a moment and then held out his hand. ‘Very well then, call me Thornton and I shall call you Jim. Now, open the wine Jim, I’m thirsty.’

  Jim shook the proffered hand and then got on with his appointed task as Thornton went into the kitchen and bustled around preparing the bread and cheese. Jim’s attention was caught by the pictures on the wall. They were of Thornton in various guises sharing the photo with some famous people that even Jim recognised.

  When Thornton brought the food to the table, Jim was prompted to ask him, ‘Isn’t that the Shah of Persia you’re standing next to?’ pointing to one of the pictures. ‘I saw him in the papers when he came to visit.’

  ‘Ronny you mean? Yes it is. Nice chap, loves to hunt.’

  ‘Ronny?’

  ‘That’s what he likes to be called.’

  ‘And that other one, isn’t that- ’

  ‘Okay Jim, I’ve been around a bit but we’re not here to discuss my past. Pour me a glass of that claret and then tuck into the food.’

  Jim did as he was bid but he looked at Thornton with a new found respect. They ate thickly buttered bread rolls onto which they put slices of various cheeses that complemented the claret perfectly.

  At last, appetites satiated, Thornton took the plates away while Jim topped up their glasses. When Thornton came back he had an ashtray and a box of cigars. He offered Jim one but he preferred one of his own cigarettes. They lit their respective smokes and sat back in their chairs, sipping their glasses of wine.

  ‘Excellent lunch Thornton, thank you. Now then, we both know why I’m here; you want me for a job. So why don’t you tell me all about it?’

  Thornton paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘What do you know about the ‘Great Game’?’ he asked Jim.

  ‘What, football?’

  ‘Hardly. A bunch of men kicking a pig’s bladder around a field?’

  ‘I think they’re a bit more sophisticated than that these days, but I take your point.’

  ‘No, what I’m referring to is the secret espionage war between Albion and Rooskia for the domination of Central Asya. It is fought in the mountain passes of Bharat, the hilltop towns of Pakeschtan and the dusty plains of Efghanistan. Of course the phrase wasn’t invented by him but it became immortalised by the author, Rudyard Kibling. Do you like Kibling?’

  ‘I don’t know ... I’ve never Kibbled,’ replied Jim, straight-faced.

  ‘Yes, the old jokes are still the best aren’t they?’ replied Thornton, sarcastically. ‘I meant, do you like Rudyard Kibling’s work? In particular Tim where he mentions the Great Game.’

  ‘No, I’ve never read that one but I like some of his other stuff. Particularly the one about the soldiers, Tommy Atkins.

  “Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?”

  But it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll.” he quoted.

  ‘I’ve soldiered in Bharat and that one hits close to home. I know what that’s like, the public not wanting to know about you until the bullets start flying and then it’s ‘Hail the Heroes!’ Hypocrites.’

  ‘So you’ve seen action in Bharat?’ asked Thornton.

  ‘Yes I have, but to quote you, “I’ve been around a bit but we’re not here to discuss my past”. Why exactly did you invite me here today?’

  ‘Well, perhaps you can understand better than most then why we have to continue that fight. We cannot allow the Rooskians to take over that area.’

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to fight the good fight out there,’ said Jim. ‘I vowed I would never set foot in the place, ever again. Besides, it might be ... shall we say ... ‘professionally embarrassing’ for me if I were to get caught, I mean recognised, out there.’

  ‘No, that’s okay Jim; we have enough operatives out there, already. That is being dealt with, but what has come to our attention lately is Rooskia’s attempt to expand its sphere of influence into Europe.’

  ‘Now that is worrying. What do you know about it?’

  ‘Well, at the moment there are two main powers based in Europe, Deutschland and the Ostro-Ungarian Empire. We in Albion however, have a big say in what goes on over there through the Council of Nations. It is in Albion’s interest to ensure that no one power becomes the largest and most dominant on the continent ... unless of course, it’s us.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Jim, as a good Albion man.

  ‘So Deutschland and Osterreich square off to each other,’ continued Thornton, ‘and treaties and agreements mean that neither of them ever gets big enough to outmatch the other one by force of arms.’

  ‘But what about Gaul?’ asked Jim.

  Thornton looked at his glass and answered, ‘Nice wine and their cheese isn’t too bad either but that’s about all they’re good for these days. They’ve been a spent force ever since we broke the Emperor Neapolitan’s army at the Battle of Water-Closet, fifty years ago.’

  ‘Just the two major players then? So what’s changed?’

  ‘What if a third player came along and agreed to team up with one of the sides to take on the other?’

  ‘Rooskia?’
>
  ‘Rooskia,’ confirmed Thornton. ‘We have good intelligence that Rooskia are going to sign a secret treaty with the Ostro-Ungarians to band together and defeat Deutschland. Here, let me show you something.’ He went to the bookcase and brought back an Atlas. He flicked through until he found the right page and showed Jim a map of Europe and Rooskia.

  Jim looked closely as Thornton pointed to the map, ‘See the Ostro-Ungarian Empire in the middle? Then you have Polska above it, Deutschland to the left and Rooskia to the right. Once Osterreich and Rooskia have teamed up, I’m afraid little old Polska will get eaten up, allowing the Rooskians free access to march their troops through Polska to Deutschland’s doorstep. The Deutschen won’t stand a chance against both of them and then the balance of power will have swung to Osterreich, and Rooskia will have what its always wanted, a buffer between itself and what it perceives to be a hostile west.’

  ‘Well, this is all fascinating but where do I come into this?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Simple. We want you to steal that secret treaty. We know where and when the Foreign Ministers of both countries are meeting to sign it, and once they’ve done that, we want you to break in and steal it.’

  ‘Can’t your own people do it?’

  ‘Unfortunately the ones that are feeding us the information would blow their cover if they were to steal this treaty for us themselves. If there actually is a war, they’re far more valuable to us in situ, than to be sacrificed to obtain the treaty. We can’t afford to waste them.’

  ‘Whereas you can waste me, as I’m expendable and they’re not?’

  ‘The truth is Jim, we’re both expendable. You do understand the reason why I’m asking you to do this, don’t you?’ asked Thornton. ‘We need an outsider. If you are caught you’re just an adventurer, out to line his own pockets, that happened to stumble onto the treaty by mistake and was going to try and make some money by selling it on. And if the trail leads back to me ... well then, I’m just a silly old bookseller who thinks he can dabble in world politics. Nothing to do with the Secret Service. Albion’s part in this must remain confidential and if you are caught, we will deny all knowledge of you. You’ll be on your own with no backup. Understood?’