“The Orient Express.” Wellington looked up to the Director. “That madman is on the Orient Express.”
"You realise it is a trap." The Director leaned back in his chair and fixed them both with a stern gaze. "Jekyll wants you to rush after him. He wants you on the chase in the hopes that you will make a mistake, giving him a chance to remove you both from service. Permanently."
"We know Jekyll wants us dead, sir," she began, "What is the alternative? We can’t let innocent people continue to be his message to us. If we don’t take this bait, he’ll happily just keep killing."
Sound’s eyebrows drew together as he glowered at them. "I should send a team with you—"
Wellington held up his hand, and Eliza’s heart sank. "I am sorry sir, but we can’t do that either. Jekyll has shown almost superhuman abilities to detect a trap. The only way we can set one for him, is to walk into his."
Her rebellious nature was definitely rubbing off on him.
Blowing through his moustache, the director gave a reluctant nod.
Just as they turned to leave, Sound spoke. "Before you go haring off, a moment of your time. I harboured concerns we might end up at this point. Luckily, I was already instituting a new policy for agents in high risk assignments. Right now, that would be you." Pressing a button on his desk, he spoke to Miss Shillingworth outside. "Send her in."
The bright smile of Agent Ellie March was the first thing Eliza noticed, and she couldn’t help but smiling back. They’d last seen the young blonde agent, in India, and so it was nice to see her at Whiterock looking as happy as a child on Christmas morning. She'd obviously landed on her feet.
“Agent Books, Agent Braun,” Ellie said, putting a surgeon’s bag on Sound’s desk and opening it. “It’s wonderful to see you, and to bring you the latest from Professor Axelrod.”
Wellington straightened up, pulled at his lapels, and glanced at the corners of the room as if the professor would pop into existence. “He’s here?”
Ellie shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. He sends his apologies for not being present today.”
Sound cleared his throat. “The laboratory explosion last week?”
The young woman shrugged as if there was nothing exceptional about that. Anyone that worked with Axelrod eventually got used to the multiple brushes with death.
Though he was not in the room, his presence was felt when Ellie withdrew two large syringes from the bag. The grin on her face was almost familiar.
“I worked with the Professor on this.” She sounded so proud.
Now it was not just Wellington who was worried; panic threaten to take hold of Eliza too. She was fine with needles, but when they contained a concoction from Axelrod, she started to get nervous. As long as Axelrod stuck to making machines he was manageable, but with syringes and all that they implied anything could happen.
Then her concerns turned to Wellington. Immediately, her hand interlocked with his. She knew the lingering effects of Doctor Jekyll’s experiments had left him with a healthy hatred of the needle and the mad scientists that tended to go with it.
"Director," she said evenly, "what exactly are in those pokers that Agent March is waving around?"
Sound cleared his throat. "Well, as you can attest, our Ministry rings and the current ETS has proven unreliable—especially when agents leave them behind. A problem you are well aware of." She knew she was blushing, and Wellington too. "Also with the ETS compromised during our tangle with the Department of Imperial Inconveniences, we can no longer trust the system. We need something to track our agents with something that cannot be taken off, destroyed, or ‘hacked’ was the term Professor Axelrod used."
Wellington cleared his throat again. Eliza knew he needed a drink. "You mean you are going to inject us with an æthertracking solution."
"Professor Axelrod sent his assurances this is all perfectly harmless," Ellie said waving a syringe in each hand for emphasis.
Wellington looked as if he were about to faint. "You are asking me to trust one of Axelrod’s creations in those sodding great needles?"
Ellie put the syringes back in the bag. "The professor worried you might have these concerns. If you don’t care for needles, I also have it in another form."
Eliza was almost afraid to ask, but she did anyway. "And that would be?"
She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a long rubber glove and a capsule the size of a croquet ball. "A good old fashioned suppository!"
“I am beginning to see why Axelrod picked you, Agent March,” Wellington said in a very dry tone.
“The needle it is then,” Eliza said as she removed her jacket.
Wellington rolled up his sleeve and presented his arm. "For Queen, Country, and Empire, safety first."
"How long does it last?" she asked, clenching her right hand into a fist.
"A fortnight, maybe three weeks at most." Ellie tilted her head. "It depends on how much exercise you get. Works through the body a little faster when in an excited state."
Eliza forced a smile while considering visits to Whiterock’s gymnasium, perhaps later in the evening. "All right then."
After a few moments of prodding and pricking, both Eliza and Wellington were effectively "tagged" and offered small icepacks for their multiple injection sites.
"Well now," Sound said, "I won’t bother asking you to be careful, since I know that would be a waste of my breath, but I will implore you to send word through the usual channels if you confirm Jekyll’s presence. With the formula flowing through his veins, you may still need backup."
He flipped through a small organiser on his desk and produced a card. "Please, I am asking you as your friend, not merely as your superior. Now, make preparations while I see to arrangements. You leave in twelve hours."
The way he delivered this request surprised Eliza. Was their director quite himself? He didn’t look it, and now he didn’t sound it.
She actually dared to pat his hand as some kind of comfort. "We remember India, sir. We won’t make that same mistake again."
Even to herself, it was hard to tell if those were only words or if she really meant them. Eliza supposed she would truly find out when the time came.
Chapter Eight
Where Agents of the Ministry Set on the Hunt
Bruce Campbell excelled at many aspects of the Ministry’s operation. Sharpshooting, although he was known to go wide with some of his range targets. Disguise and infiltration although he was so broad-shouldered and carried such a distinctive chin and a jawline that no camouflage could conceal it. Research and investigation, although if he relied entirely on his own intellect, what would Lizzie and Books do with themselves?
Fisticuffs? Now there, Bruce was unparalleled, and he really enjoyed a good go-around with a fellow combatant.
Much better than dealing with people directly, and he knew himself enough to understand it was not his forte. No, it was better that someone else handle those delicate matters.
Early on in Bruce’s career, he was investigating a little old lady in Auckland convinced that a sea dragon was hibernating in her estuary. She was hysterical; blubbering without stop, her nose leaking like a sieve. Luckily, back then, he’d had Junior Agent Eliza Braun to take the lead. It was one of those rare times he’d was thrilled to have her about.
Right now—although he would never admit it out loud—he wished Eliza were with him in this stark, bleak interrogation cell, consoling this American gent sitting across from him, now out-blubbering that little old lady from Auckland. Still, he did have his partner to rely on. When their subject let out a muffled wail into his handkerchief, Bruce glanced over to Brandon and jerked his head. This wailing gentleman should fall under the Canadian’s particular set of skills.
Brandon looked at him in a panic and shrugged.
Bugger—there went that idea.
Bruce motioned with his head once more before clearing his throat, loud enough to be heard over the man's sobbing. "Mr Harker, both I and my pa
rtner here understand your worry. If it were my wife, I'd be as concerned as you."
"Concerned?" David Harker squeaked. "Concerned?! Sir, I don’t know how concerned husbands are in jolly old England when someone kidnaps their wives, but I am distraught!"
Bruce wanted to tell this cloth-eared git he was Australian, not some pommy bastard. Instead, he bit his bottom lip and took a deep breath. "Sir, I can only imagine how difficult this situation is for you, but as you have pointed out so keenly, my mate and I are not from these parts."
That was when Brandon put his arm around Mr Harker, or at least tried to. The way Brandon’s arm flailed and trembled around the American, David Harker’s tailored suit might have been made with lava fresh from Krakatoa itself. "Just start from the beginning, ol’ chum, so we know what we are getting into."
Brandon offered the American a kerchief which Harker drenched with tears in a moment. Still it plugged the dam a little. After a quick sniffle, he dabbed at his eyes and looked up at Bruce. "My beloved Virginia and I got married just over a year ago. She is my love, my life, my soul—"
"Yeah, mate," Bruce said with a nod and a sigh, "the water pageant you’re giving us here corroborates that."
"We were in New York for only a few days. I had some business to attend to. Virginia and I were keen on taking in some of the sights, so we were in Central Park, and that was when..." David struggled to catch his breath. "When..."
"So it was in Central Park, was it?"
"We were crossing Gapstow Bridge, and Virginia said to me, ‘I am feeling a bit peckish. Would you get me a snack from that lovely man over there?’ She pointed out a vendor who had candied pecans. So I went to fetch her a snack. You ever tried these candied pecans? They have a sweet crust roasted on the outside of them..."
"Oh, I know the snack," Brandon said cheerfully. "Quite tasty. And as pecans are fantastic for protein. Well, most nuts actually..."
Bruce dragged his hand down his face. "Brandon..."
He looked between Bruce and Harker bemused for a second, before nodding, and once more patting the distracted man’s back. "So you got the snack, you turn around, and..."
"And my beloved," Harker choked out, "had been taken."
Bruce rubbed his chin. "No sign whatsoever? You’re suddenly in Central Park, completely alone?"
"Only myself and the nut vendor. The park bench I left her on was vacant."
Bruce continued to jot down his thoughts in a notebook, a trick he picked up from Books that had been proving rather handy. He sat back in his chair, focusing on his notes concerning the unsteady Harker.
"I don’t know about you, mate, but I could use a cuppa." He looked around the interrogation room. "I wonder if they have any tea here?" Bruce stood. Brandon also moved to get up, and but Bruce pushed him back down by the shoulder. "Would you like anything, Mr Harker? Tea? Coffee? Beer?"
"I just... want my Virginia back," he blubbered in reply.
"Yeah, ‘course you do. I'll be a minute, Brandon."
Before his partner could ask, Bruce was outside in the hallway. He rounded a corner and entered an observation room. The man watching was even more impressive in the flesh, and Bruce had heard plenty of rumours about him. Luther Highfield, Chief of the Office of the Supernatural and Metaphysical, walked up to the one-way window and narrowed his dark eyes on David Harker. He was a broad African-American gent, as well dressed as any who visited Saville Row. In all respects he looked more the senior officer than Sound ever did.
"So, Agent Campbell, your thoughts?" Highfield's deep, gravelly voice echoed in the room.
"Honestly? The bloke is hen-pecked and then some." He paused. "You that saying over here?"
Highfield examined the Australian before nodding. "If that is his only offence, we can let him go. His story checks out, and we don’t think he’s a suspect."
"Already? Is that how you all at OSM run investigations? One interrogation and you think—"
Chief Highfield strode closer to Bruce. "It may surprise you that the Office is involving you in this case, but I assure you that you are here as our guests. Do not test the limits of that hospitality."
Now with Chief Hightower standing only a foot or so away, Bruce felt small. Extremely so. His usual attack plan with the Fat Man would not work with this one.
Bruce found his throat was a little dry. "Of course not, Chief Hightower. So, why did you bring us into all this?"
Hightower rubbed his jaw and shot him an unsettling smile. "I have three reasons this kidnapping is more appropriate for the Ministry. Reason one, this case falls under your jurisdiction as Mrs Harker was, before her marriage, Virginia North. A British subject. Since we are already investigating four other kidnappings, it wouldn’t hurt to have you in on this one. Means I can reassign my own agents."
"Reason two?" Bruce asked.
"In our preliminary questioning of Mr Harker, it seems that they were about to embark on a trip to Italy. We received confirmation this morning that her ticket was, in fact, used at Liberty Harbour Aeroport. The woman holding said ticket matched Virginia Harker’s description."
"Really? This morning? Sounds like you are on top of this."
"These kidnappings are similar to each other. Worryingly so."
Bruce’s brow furrowed. "Same time of day? Or same location?"
"Same time of day, same location, and even the same nut vendor."
He leaned forward. "You’re saying these were arranged kidnappings?"
"Even down to the wife asking their husbands to pick up the cinnamon-baked pecans. They have all said the same exact thing: ‘I am feeling a bit peckish. Would you get me a snack from that lovely man over there?’."
Hightower glanced up at him. "See the thing of it is, we’ve had agent searching through Central Park and we’ve never found any pecan merchant. Not even one."
"If this is true, then that means this wasn’t a kidnapping."
"Exactly, Agent Campbell."
Bruce shook his head. "So, what are we looking at here? Wives looking to start a new life sans husbands, or some sort of scheme wherein if the wife doesn’t comply, harm may befall the family?"
"That’s for you to dig up," Hightower said, "I look forward to working with you, as opposed to cleaning up after you've been on a mission here."
Bruce held his hands up in surrender. "My investigation was on a need-to-know basis, Chief, and your counterpart—my superior—wanted to keep it that way."
"Yes, he did, didn’t he? I will have a word or two with him about that." Chief Highfield inclined his head to one side. "Would you care to reveal why you are here in the United States, as a professional courtesy?"
"I can only say it is an investigation." Through the mirrored glass he saw Brandon rocking David Harker. His partner’s gaze jumped all around the room. He looked to the massive mirror and mouthed "Help!" as Harker trembled in his awkward embrace. "I think I need to go in there and rescue my partner."
Highfield nodded. "That was the answer I expected. Sound has his people trained well and does love his secrets."
"He does indeed." Bruce tucked his notebook back into his coat pocket. "So you will also understand, our training that dictates we do not undertake any new assignments without orders from our superiors."
Highfield reached into his coat pocket and produced what looked like the printout of an æthergram. "You mean, like this? Received it before you and Hill arrived."
Bruce snatched the order out of Highfield’s grasp. He whispered a few choice words under his breath. Was the Fat Man serious? "Very well, Chief Highfield. We’ll be glad to help you out."
Against Highfield’s ebony skin, his smile flashed bright. "Then good hunting, Agent Campbell."
With a derisive snort, Bruce returned from the observation room to the interrogation room. Brandon looked relieved as his partner gave Harker a final pat on the shoulder before breaking the embrace and taking a seat opposite of him. Bruce waited for Harker to catch his breath before taking a seat
.
"Mr Harker, I can tell you’re rather rattled by all this, but the Ministry will not let it stand."
"We won’t?" Brandon asked, giving him a sideways glance.
"No," Bruce insisted, holding up the folded orders and passing them along to Brandon, "we won’t. Her Majesty’s finest are on the case. In working with OSM, we have uncovered a lead." He gave Harker’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don’t you worry, mate. We will not rest until we find your lovely Virginia."
"No, we won’t," Harker said, dabbing at his eyes. He took another shuddering breath, then straightened his jacket, "When are we under way?"
Brandon’s head jerked up from the orders he had been reading. "I’m sorry, Mr Harker?"
"When are we under way?" Harker said, an edge now present in his voice. "I spoke with my banker before I arrived. I have the necessary funds in place to bankroll this venture of ours. I will not tolerate simply waiting in the wings while my beloved Virginia is someone’s nefarious hands."
"Now just a moment," Bruce managed through clenched teeth, squeezing the man’s shoulder a hint tighter. "We’re trained to handle this sort of situation. We can’t guarantee your safety..."
"Agent Campbell," Harker said, shaking off Bruce’s hold and rising to his feet, "I will have you know that I graduated with top marks from Virginia Military Institute. I can hold my own in the trickiest of situations, and will not accept any answer in the negative. This is my life, my love, my Virginia, and I intend to see that I am the first face she sees when we find her."
Operation: Endgame (Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Book 6) Page 8
