Operation: Endgame (Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Book 6)

by Pip Ballantine

  Usher agents. Dammit.

  "Now what did I tell you about rather awkward social discrepancies, Lizzie?" Bruce chided her. "We’re supposed to be working together."

  "We’re not supposed to be working here at all, Agent Campbell," Wellington offered.

  "Rather!" Brandon said, pointing at Wellington. "We’re trying to make sure we keep the ‘secret’ in secret agents, eh wot?"

  "And with all the ballyhoo you two are kicking up over this Jekyll character,” Bruce said, looking at Wellington, “you’re putting us all in jeopardy."

  "Oh come off it, Campbell," Eliza said with a snort. "Our operations are bound to overlap as Jekyll’s business and Usher’s are two peas in a pod."

  "Heavens above..." Bettina said as she emerged from the tower of crates, "what hit me?"

  "Are you having a lark?" Bruce gasped, raising up his hand cannon. The fog slipping from its various pipes and hoses cascaded down in thick wisps, disappearing into the shadows.

  "Oh now that’s clever," Brandon said, his smile bright. "You’ve employed a ghost! Tell me, what do you pay her?"

  Wellington and Eliza exchanged a quick glance between one another before returning their attention to Bruce. "Miss Spinnett is... more of a consultant than an employee."

  "Is that how you are working around the Fat Man’s rule when it comes to working with ghosts?" Bruce asked, lowering his gun.

  "I prefer the term ‘agents of unique æthereal backgrounds’ if you don't mind," Bettina replied coolly.

  "Agent Spinnett is assisting with the Jekyll investigation, and that is on a need to know basis."

  Bruce’s eyebrows raised. "Oh, so now we are working on the ‘need to know’ protocol, are we? You’re playing this one fast and loose, even for you, Lizzie.”

  "You have no idea," the Eastman thug by Brandon grunted.

  Everyone turned to look at the wounded man struggling to sit up. Brandon grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and helped him upright.

  "Got something to share, then?" Bruce asked.

  "Right coat pocket. Don’t worry. Nothing tricky in there. Well, not too tricky."

  Bruce gave a quick nod to Brandon, who fished a small billfold out of the guard’s coat. He flipped it open and went ashen.

  "Right then," Brandon said, passing the billfold to Bruce. He glanced at the wounded Eastman, cleared his throat, and looked over to Wellington. "How's that cat of yours, by the way? Alice keeps him locked up in your apartment these days, yes?"

  "Ah, Archimedes?"

  Brandon nodded enthusiastically.

  "He is... he is quite well."

  "Great, wonderful," Brandon replied with a tight smile. "Such a fine intellect for a feline, and a grand taste in bourbon."

  "Oh, for the love of... " Bruce grumbled.

  Eliza looked to Brandon, then to Bruce. "What?"

  "Our friend here," Bruce said, motioning to the gang member with his billfold.

  "Friend?" Eliza asked, snatching the wallet from his hand.

  She flipped it open and looked at it with Wellington. The longer they stared at the credentials, the more they willed it to change under their gaze, the more she believed today was a terrible day to be a Ministry agent.

  Agent David Tarkington

  Office of the Supernatural & Metaphysical

  Chapter Three

  In Which a Harrowing Chase Comes to an End

  "Well, you have put me in a devil of a position."

  Doctor Basil Sound’s eyes narrowed on the two of them, and even after all these years of being on the receiving end of this glare, Eliza still felt as though she were disappointing her own father.

  The only difference now was that Eliza did not solely receive the look Doctor Sound has perfected with her.

  As he rose from his chair, his hands crossing behind his back and tapping against one another while agents-in-training passed by the window overlooking the Whiterock estate, Eliza glanced at Wellington. He was biting back an opinion of some description, she was sure of it. When she returned her eyes to Doctor Sound, she couldn’t help noticing additional grey at his temples, a few more lines etched into his face. It was a strange bit of irony—considering the man’s ability to monitor and manipulate time and space—he could not stop from growing older. In fact, it seemed to be happening faster.

  Perhaps that was why, since the trouble at the queen’s coronation, her feelings when being held to account before him had changed. She still remembered arguing with him after the incident in Budapest in ‘93. Then there was Paris in ‘94. Twice. Prussia. Operation: Darkwater. The list knew no end. Then came the Antarctica Sanction that had led to her demotion. It had also led to a partnership—and then something more—with the man at her side. She was no longer sure if it was truly a disciplinary action or part of his intent to correct the anomaly in his timeline.

  "We were doing our jobs, sir," she said, her skin prickling.

  "Is that what you call what you were doing? I would call it breaking the rules and regulations of the Ministry."

  "It is rather our forte," Wellington said softly, and she shot him a sideways smile. It was quite adorable that he was attempting to take on half the blame. When they’d first met, he certainly would have done no such thing.

  Sound crossed back to his desk and rapped a knuckle against its polished surface as he bit back, "Then next time I should jolly well let you talk to Chief Hightower, and explain your unauthorised operation in his country."

  At the mention of Chief Luther Hightower, Eliza recalled the Director of OSM from their previous mission in America. A man of grand stature and someone she would prefer not to tangle with, despite the allure of his dark gaze and striking handsomeness. She considered herself thankful not being an agent of that organisation. Eliza could see herself getting in trouble on purpose, just to share space with the man. She pushed the dalliance aside, taking Wellington’s hand and facing her current disciplinary infraction. No explanation would satisfy the heads of both departments as to why she and Wellington had withheld status updates during their investigation into Jekyll’s whereabouts.

  "Operations, if you want to be more precise," Wellington returned. "I only see Agent Braun and myself for this reprimand, but I notice Agents Campbell and Hill absent. Are they not being held accountable?"

  "Their mission stands on the shoulders of Mechamen compared to yours, Agent Books. You would do well to remember that."

  "Ah, yes, of course," Wellington huffed. "Wouldn’t want to upset Lenore."

  Sound adjusted the spectacles on the tip of his nose. "Beg your pardon?"

  "That's the codename for Usher," Eliza said, "according to our OSM contact."

  "Yes, your OSM contact. Let’s talk about Miss Bettina Spinnett" the Director began. His face settling into a still mask, but his eyes gleamed with rage.

  Eliza cleared her throat and glanced over at Wellington. He was staring forward, his gaze focused on an object sitting on Sound's desk. "Well, sir, we were hot on the heels of Jekyll. We needed to use any and all resources at our disposal."

  "Even if those resources are forbidden by the policies and procedures of this organisation?"

  Wellington barked a dry, mirthless laugh, and shook his head. What had gotten into him?

  Eliza tried not to stare at him. "We were in the field, and a snap decision was required. We enlisted Agent Spinnett on account of her... unique set of skills."

  Wellington was always better with words than she was. In fact it was her ill-picked phrases in a similar situation to this that were responsible for her being initially demoted to the Ministry Archives.

  Sound huffed through his moustaches. "Need I remind you that enlisting a spectral entity for field operations is not what we do here? Such meddling goes against every law of God, nature, and science."

  "Says the man who owns a time machine," the voice from beside her stated coolly.

  Eliza could not be certain if Sound was staring at Wellington as incredulously as she w
as. Where did that come from?

  "It seems," Sound began, adjusting his glasses on his nose, "that your investigation has become something of an obsession. At least, for one of you. After what happened in India, I can certainly understand why. Jekyll and your family, Books, have a past, as we discovered together at the Water Palace. I believed it would have granted you an advantage.” He took a seat at his desk and flipped open a folder before him. “Instead, it is affecting your judgement in the field, and you are no closer to capturing Jekyll. We simply can’t have that."

  The old Eliza D. Braun would have jumped at that suggestion, but the current one could see where he was coming from. Worst still, it made perfect sense. Now that Jekyll’s pursuits into man’s darker natures had revealed Wellington’s own incredible abilities, the former archivist to conclude this chapter of his life. They had not been sloppy, Eliza remained convinced of that. This was more about the downward spiral that some cases follow, similar to Harry and the Rag and Bone Murders. This whole conversation was giving her perspective on just how out-of-control this matter had become.

  Wellington sat up taller in his chair. Hopefully, he was also seeing what she was. "Are you suspending us, Director?"

  Sound peered at them over the top of his glasses. "Campbell and Hill need to conclude this Ragnarök business before we can progress in your own apprehension of Jekyll. OSM is now on high alert, and according to Agent Spinnett, are well aware of his presence in America. We will keep our respective active agents on the lookout, but for the time-being, I believe you both deserve a rest." He touched one of his temples and smiled. "Some time to give the grey matter a bit of a respite."

  "Sir," Wellington insisted, "as we speak, he is taking his madness to deeper, darker depths..."

  "And we have more than just two skilled agents here at the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences." Sound stated, now turning his attention to the file before him. "So, take some time. Relax. Enjoy yourselves."

  Neither one of them moved.

  Sound never looked up from his papers as he added, "If you’re unsure, that is an order."

  Wellington leaned forward, but Eliza placed her hand on top of his. "Understood, sir."

  Doctor Sound knew them both well—perhaps better than anyone outside of each other—so his expression wasn’t entirely convinced, but what could he do?

  "Very well then, Doctor Sound," Wellington said, returning to his feet. "We will see you in seven days’ time."

  "This is a leave of absence, Books." Sound clicked his tongue and reached for a fountain pen. As he noted points in the report open before him, he continued his thought. "I will see you in, say, a month’s time. Perhaps longer." He then looked up and smiled. "The Empire is rather large. Surely there is one place you would care to visit?"

  Wellington glanced at Eliza. "I can think of one."

  "Anywhere but there," the director said with a low growl in his voice.

  "We will find something," she assured him, forcing a smile. "Thank you for your time. Come along, Agent Books."

  They had only taken a few steps before Sound spoke again. "I feel the need to remind you of one thing, Books and Braun." They turned to see Sound standing before a wall of cabinetry behind his desk. Pulling down one of its leaves, Sound revealed the strange clockwork device, the chrono-model that had once been in his office at Miggins Antiquities. "We’re nearing the blackout. Somewhere, sometime soon, the chrono-model will stop."

  Wellington took a step forward, his eyes locked on the fragile looking device. "So the events of the Diamond Jubilee didn’t fix the timeline?"

  The director adjusted one of its many tiny dials, shaking his head. "One might have hoped they would, but the disruptive event is still there. Nothing has changed." The concern in his voice was evident and Eliza didn’t like that one little bit. "This is why Usher’s Ragnarök takes priority over the hunt for Jekyll. I believe Ragnarök may very well be the dark event that brings an end to all things."

  "Perhaps it is not an event," Wellington suggested. "Perhaps it is a person."

  Eliza didn’t dare utter Jekyll’s name, but she thought it. Whatever was disrupting this precious timeline of Sound’s, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was that nefarious scientist.

  The director nodded. "I have considered that possibility, but Time does not work so... linearly—otherwise, the end of the Maestro’s scheme should have set things right." He motioned for them to take a closer look at the chrono-model. "See this arm? Something will occur that will cause this to drop. It locks the entire device, and then the Age of Darkness I escaped begins. The only way I can describe the manipulation of timelines is likening it to a game of chess played on a variety of dimensions. The timeline could be affected by one person, a megalomaniac. It could be an event, one of a grand scale like the Diamond Jubilee." He folded up the complicated device and tucked it back in the wall. "I believed the Maestro to be both, but I was mistaken. So being completely honest, I have no idea what will trigger the chrono-model."

  "Nothing like not knowing when an Apocalypse will befall the world to keep one on their toes.”

  "I want you to be aware of this event rushing towards us. Remain vigilant." He took his seat once more and let out a long sigh. "It seems our only hope is to fight it when it comes. Now go, enjoy your rest. We will be in touch."

  After a moment of tense, awkward silence that Sound ignored, Wellington nodded curtly. "Very good, sir." He opened the door to the office and motioned for Eliza to join him.

  As they walked away in silence past her desk, Miss Shillingworth gave them a gentle smile while another man waiting to see the director rose to his feet. His girth was considerable, and he had a moustache a walrus would have been proud of. When he took his bowler off a vast expanse of forehead was revealed. For a plainly dressed man there was something stiff about his bearing.

  After he disappeared into Sound’s office, something clicked in her head. "Was that the Prince of Wales?"

  Wellington looked a bit befuddled, but then his own eyes darted in that very same direction. "I do believe it was."

  Together they turned and walked away. "I thought he was in hiding," Eliza whispered. "The queen did attempt to have him killed after all."

  Wellington shrugged, opening the door to the lift. "With Her Majesty free of Jekyll’s influence, the danger may have lifted." He glanced around them before adding in a hushed tone, "Also, in her rumoured physical condition, he may be needed for more pressing matters."

  The weighty matters of the succession however were not for the Ministry to meddle in; there had to be another reason for the Prince’s presence. It was a niggling question that would haunt them through their enforced holiday, she was sure.

  Once the lift finished its descent, they made their way to the Archives almost on instinct. They might have been told to take a break, but there was no way Wellington was going to pass up a chance to inspect his original project for the Ministry.

  "You don’t suppose the Queen will pop her clogs soon, do you?" Eliza asked.

  Wellington’s eyebrows shot up. "Rather a blunt question, Miss Braun, but one can only wonder what sort of withdrawal she suffered from Jekyll’s treatments." He squeezed her hand. "Let’s see the state of the Archives and then pack."

  Once the Archives of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences was housed in a giant warehouse under the Miggins Antiquities right next to the Thames, its massive analytical engine powered by the river itself. However, when the Maestro destroyed Miggins, the Archives had also fallen—at least, the physical space. Thanks to Sound’s time machine, most of the files were saved. Still, Whiterock’s basement was not as big as the original, and there had been some argument who would take on the massive responsibility and outstanding standards Wellington had established. The Ministry had over fifty years of case files and artefacts to house, and these rescued records managed to squeeze quite comfortably into his family’s former wine cellar and storage rooms.

  "I still can’t quite wrap m
y head around all this," Wellington confessed as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and looked around the new Archives. "I used to pretend to be exploring ancient Druid caves down here. Father would be quite cross with me if he ever caught me down here."

  "And your mum?"

  "She would play along. My colleague in the field, determined to assist in helping me find the lost relic of my expedition." He smiled warmly. "Or, a nice red to go with the evening dinner."

  Eliza let out a slight sigh and pulled her hair back into a working woman’s bun as she approached the dumb waiter that led to the director’s office. "Funny how this contraption would have sent wine and spirits up to the top of your home once upon a time. Now its requests and completed case files for cataloguing from Sound's office. Far nicer than that bloody chute."

  "Rather. Every time a case file landed in that basket I would flinch. Especially when it was from..."

  "Campbell," they both said in unison.

  Eliza clicked her tongue. "His handwriting is appalling."

  "Toddlers’ doodles are calligraphy in comparison," Wellington added. He then kissed her lightly on the mouth. How she loved it when he was spontaneous. "So, let’s see how my modest replacement to the analytical is performing."

  She watched Wellington trail over to the latest iteration of the Archives’ analytical engine: designed, engineered, and installed based on his specifications. "So, how did they do?"

  "It’s still working," he admitted. Was there a hint of begrudging respect in his voice? It was similar to one he’d built in London, just smaller. "Axelrod and Blackwell appear to have followed my instructions to the letter. I understand they had to install a new power source. Quite ingenious—geothermal power, similar to what we saw form the Phoenix Society." He spun around to face her. "Absolutely no telling them I used the word ‘ingenious’ in reference to their work."

  She snapped off a tiny salute. "You can trust me."

  His mirth receded the longer he looked at the new engine, a hint of melancholy etching itself on his face. She suspected what he was thinking; the Archives might have his touch on it, but it wasn’t his anymore. As an active field agent he was forced to give it up. With everything they’d been through in the last few years, he’d shed a lot of his former life. Eliza knew the sensation intimately—she’d experienced the same thing when she left New Zealand. The only way she kept her own loss in check was not to think about it, but now here he was face-to-face with it.