The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (14 page)

Her finger tapped on a small box that was connected near the bottom of the chair’s array. There were callout notes, showing what appeared to be power output computations and temperature limits. “This looks like a control point.”

“And according to the doctor’s notes, this is controlled wirelessly.”

“This isn’t a life support system,” she said, furrowing her brow. “This is a gigantic puppet.”

“Who doesn’t love a touch of
grand guignol
?”

“So Sussex is completely off his nut, as he thinks he’s this Maestro character,” Eliza said, her eyes going from page to page, “but the getup is being controlled by this doctor? Why?”

“Doctor Jekyll is not trying to cure him.” Wellington turned the page. “He’s manipulating him.”

“Mr. Books.” And both their heads snapped up from the book. Wellington was actually startled at hearing Alice’s voice. “I’m scared. I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.”

“We all have good cause to be, Alice,” Eliza said.

“No, miss, you will understand my mind”—Alice motioned to the book—“once you turn the page.”

Wellington returned his attention to the open book in Eliza’s lap as Eliza followed Alice’s suggestion, and the name across the top of the page threatened to steal his last breath:

Alexandrina Victoria, Queen of the British Empire

They stared at the name of their ruling monarch for a long time. Wellington didn’t need to consult the notes. If the Duke of Sussex and the Maestro were an indication of the doctor’s work, it was up to his extremely vivid imagination to envision what Jekyll had in store for the Queen.

“We need to get this to the director immediately,” Eliza said, finally closing the book and placing a single hand on it.

“Posthaste I would say.” Wellington went to the door, peered down either side of the corridor, and then turned back to Alice. “Return to the children, and follow the plan we discussed.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a light curtsey. Wellington checked outside the door once again, and gave a nod to Alice. With a quick look at her reflection in the window, she slipped out and headed back to second class.

Eliza’s eyes drifted to the window; though because darkness was falling quickly, the only view was an occasional light racing past. The moment’s passion seeming to have been left behind in Paris, the subtle rattle of the hypersteam lulled Eliza into a moment’s relaxation, perhaps the first time since their madcap flight from the Americas. The rocking started working its hypnotic effect on Wellington as well. As a soldier he knew very well the value of catching sleep whenever possible, but part of him didn’t want to close his eyes, even when Eliza drifted off.

He still wanted her desperately, moustache and all; but
these revelations were the final straw. It was enough to surrender to the fatigue.

He watched her in the soft light of their cabin, and felt torn between keeping a dutiful watch over his partner in the field, or following suit and getting some well-earned sleep as well.

His eyes shifted to the door. Their compartment was locked—for whatever worth that held.

His eyes jumped to the book still in Eliza’s loose grasp. The Duke of Sussex under the control of this Doctor Jekyll terrified him enough, but this madman had access to the Queen; and they had been performing experiments on Her Majesty. They had irrefutable proof.

They also had the Department of Imperial Inconveniences on their trail, but hopefully masquerading as their compatriots in tweed would be enough to buy them some time.

By God, he was tired. Just a few minutes’ sleep, perhaps.

Wellington reached inside his jacket and checked the Remington-Elliot. Compressors were all in the green. Three bullets, at the ready. He concealed it under the blanket at his side, pointing at the door. The rest of the cover he draped over his lap. Wellington let his eyes drift shut, knowing that his training—both military and his father’s—would snap him awake if that lock so much as rattled. He would protect this compartment and its valuable contents with his last breath.

He could only hope it would not come to that.

Wherein Our Daring Agents Travel Old Paths

W
hen Wellington and Eliza stepped down off the hypersteam at the Cologne station, their disguises were still intact. Much as she would have relished a hypersteam tryst, they had instead taken some absolutely necessary rest. They had the children, and Wellington was with Eliza, so somehow everything would be sorted out.

The children and Alice however disembarked further down the length of the platform. The Seven were looking around them with wide eyes; and while the gawking suited the younger children, it did little to perpetuate Christopher’s current guise as a young priest. Once again the former urchins of London streets were in a new country. The Cologne railway station was quite similar to many of the ones in London, but everyone bustling around them was speaking German. It was hardly surprising they were so shocked; they had only just recovered from French after all.

Alice only briefly met Eliza’s gaze, before hustling the children towards the street. They would take a carriage to the agreed-upon hotel, which by sheer coincidence would be just
across from where Eliza would meet her contact. Or so she hoped.

Eliza slipped her hand into the crook of Wellington’s arm. He didn’t flinch, and the two “gentlemen” made their way to the exit.

“Do you know Cologne?” Wellington asked Eliza, in a conversational tone.

Memories flashed, some of them entirely too improper to share with her new lover. “A little. I was for a time working in conjunction with the
Reichsamt für besondere Aufgaben
or Section P as they tend to get called.”

“The Ministry equivalent in Germany?” Wellington said, as they rounded a corner and hailed a cab. “I didn’t think that we had much interaction with them.”

“You’d be surprised what doesn’t end up down in the Archives.” She fixed him with a wicked grin. “Some things Director Sound likes to keep off the books . . . even if they are yours.” She could tell that the mere idea of his Archives being incomplete was a terrifying one, just by the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. “Section P is even more secretive than we are. While we were holding a joint investigation, they kept Harry and me at a distance. It’s not like I’ve been inside their headquarters or anything.”

A cab pulled up in short order, and once safely ensconced in it, she placed another kiss on him. It was undoubtedly an inappropriate gesture in the field, but she didn’t know when the opportunity would strike again.

For once, Wellington Thornhill Books did not complain about protocol. He kissed her back, cupping her face in his hands, until they were quite breathless. When he pulled back, he was smiling. “Perhaps I am getting a little too used to that moustache.”

Eliza smoothed it against her face, then twirled its tips in a playful manner. “I’ll make sure not to throw it away.”

As Cologne rattled past them, though, pulling them back once more into the fray, her mind turned away from sensual pursuits to the real problem at hand. The Department would risk international incidents if deciding to operate in Germany without permission from Section P. Their pursuit across the
Channel to France was a clear indication of exactly how driven the Department was at present.

However, Eliza knew for certain one of Section P would not be amused by the Department’s appearance within the Prussian Empire. He had been burned by them, and given the time of day, she knew exactly where he would be contemplating that very fact.

How was it best to brief Wellington on all the details first though? It was the manner of this agent’s downfall that still hung around her neck.

She stared out the window for a moment, before broaching the subject. “So, Wellington, I hope I can count on you to be professional . . .”

Eliza heard the archivist shift slightly in his seat, but she still didn’t look at him. “I would hope my professionalism is still intact despite our new”—he cleared his throat, before lowering his voice a fraction—“affections.”

“Good then, because I need you to let me handle this. Stay out of this conversation, absolutely silent.” She leaned up and rapped on the roof.
“Halten Sie bitte hier.”

The carriage lumbered to a stop well before their destination. Paying the fare and disembarking, Eliza pulled Wellington into a nearby alley. He watched curiously as she shed her overly masculine image, stripping her lip of the moustache and shaking free her dark red hair from its high bun. She even went so far as to take off her ascot, and unbutton her shirt just a little.

“How do I look?” Eliza asked him, replacing her bowler back on her head.

Wellington’s eyes gleamed, and she suddenly learned something more about the archivist: women in men’s suits were rather attractive to him. Her wearing of men’s trousers was one thing, but it was plain the tailored attire had quite an effect on him.

How delightful,
she thought, filing it away for later use.

He went to kiss her again, but Eliza slipped free of his grasp. She had unleashed a tiger for sure.

“Now, Welly,” she said, putting her fingers against his lips, “I didn’t pull you in here to take advantage.”

He looked a little crestfallen, but he jerked the edges of his
jacket straight. “I’m sorry, Eliza, not quite befitting of a gentleman, I know.”

She squeezed his hand. “Oh, I think we both know you’re not a gentleman all the way through.”

It was lovely to know she could still make him blush. “So, what’s the plan then?” he asked.

“You go around the corner and take a seat at the Café Mechanisch. Order something, but make sure when I get there not to even look my way.”

“So I am your muscle then?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “How charming.” Then he raised her hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, and strode off to do as asked.

Eliza let out a sigh and girded herself. How long had it been since she’d seen Marius? Admittedly, the last time had been rather spectacular. With a final flick of her hair, Eliza walked boldly out onto the street and round to the Café Mechanisch.

She spotted Wellington and saw that he’d taken her advice seriously. He already had a tea in front of him and was busy ordering some breakfast from the waiter. Not once did his eyes flick in her direction. Sitting out in front of the cafe, Marius von Hoff was smoking a cigarette and scanning the newspaper lying in front of him.

For most agents, being in the same place at the same time every day would have been beyond foolish. However this was Marius’ job. He had once been in charge of protecting the industrial heart of Cologne. The Ministry became involved when a small brood of
Rübezahl
had descended from the mountains and started sabotaging factories. Section P was in need of assistance and a young Eliza D. Braun—following her own experiences with
taniwha
in the South Island—had been loaned to Germany as a specialist. It was the beginning of a productive and promising partnership.

Then, four years ago, when Section P discovered the Rübezahl targeting a facility specializing in airship construction, the German empress had decided to reach out to her mother for help. What should have been a routine operation meant to deter the Rübezahl quickly spiraled out of control as Queen Vic, unbeknownst to Section P or the Ministry, sent in the Department. The cock-up that ensued ended with von Hoff’s demotion. While not completely disavowed or blacklisted,
Marius’ duties now kept him on watch over the mess he had made. The fact this permanent assignment made him somewhat of a target was really only a bonus to his superiors.

They had not spoken since her quick flight from Germany, but over the years, she had managed to keep tabs on the fallen agent, always relieved to hear of his safe returns from diplomatic assignments and shuttling messages between Section P and informants.

So it was with some trepidation that Eliza took a seat opposite him, and plastered on a smile that she hoped gave the appearance of confidence, and not self-satisfaction. To be sure, there was no satisfaction in her sudden extraction back then, leaving him to carry the can for the whole mess.

Marius looked up, and not one ounce of surprise flickered on his face. He leaned his wiry frame back into the cafe chair, and stroked idly at his moustache, which had only become thicker and more magnificent since the last time she’d seen him. Admittedly, back then it had also been on fire. Just a little.

“Fräulein Eliza D. Braun,” Marius said, “I would say this is a surprise, but . . .” He shrugged and tried to show how indifferent he was by taking a sip of his coffee.

Unfortunately for him, Eliza knew how he operated, and his studied disdain didn’t fool her. “It is good to see you, Marius. It’s been, what, four ye—?”

He held up his hand to forestall her. “I know all about the Ministry’s status. Sightings of Department agents in German territories are already stirring up a bit of trouble. We have intercepted communiqués on hunting down disavowed and retired Ministry agents, one or two more aggressive wires from the Department demanding our intelligence on your safe houses. Overall, these
Arschlochs
are making my and my colleagues’ lives miserable.” His eyebrow arched as he looked at her. “Judging from your current fashion choice, you have already survived a debriefing and have been reassigned. It is as I have always believed: Government agencies come and go, but spies will always survive. Valued assets, regardless of what politicians and field directors may believe,” he spat bitterly.

Eliza sighed, glancing at her Department tweed. “If only it
were that simple, old friend. If I had done as you believe, my debriefing would have been more of a defenestration.” She fluttered the lapel of her coat. “It was either this agent or me.”

Marius sat up fractionally in his chair. Now finding himself at the centre of information like a very-well-dressed spider, he revealed that true nature Eliza always knew him to be: a terrible gossip. Marius enjoyed scandals and secrets as much as her mum had when she got them down by the fence line, chatting with Mrs. Lainson who ran the butcher shop.

“That sounds uncomfortable,” Marius said in a measured tone. “We were not informed that the disbandment of the Ministry was quite so . . . final.” A flicker of the man she’d once known darted across his face. “I’m sorry about that, Eliza.”

It was impossible to tell if that was a sincere lament or not.

She waited for a moment, letting him sit in silence while she ordered a cup of coffee from a passing waiter. Once her drink arrived, she stirred in a touch of cream, the favour she was about to ask of Marius seeming to swell in her throat. Playing off his disgust with the Department, a tactic he would have recognised, felt cheap; but Wellington, Alice, and the Seven were relying on her.

Eliza could feel Wellington’s presence to her right, like a warmth. She might not have the resources of the Ministry at her disposal, but she was not without support.

First though, she had to clear the air. She locked eyes with Marius. “I’m sorry about what happened. I had to leave with the ambassador. I had to . . .”

“I understand, Eliza.” He stared at her a moment, his dark eyes completely unreadable. “When the Department blundered into the operation, I knew there were far too many cooks involved, and when the stew bubbled over . . .” He stroked his moustache again as if remembering the flames that had once touched it. “It was, how you say in New Zealand—a
Hundefrühstück
.” He gave a grin and took up his coffee for a sip. “A dog’s breakfast.

“I never felt ill will towards you. We were an efficient, effective team. The Department was out of our control, and I remained silent to protect my partner.” He took a sip of his coffee, then set it on his saucer. “That silence was not easy. When you were wrongfully exiled from New Zealand after
your work there, I wanted to reach out. Instead, my heart went out to you.”

Eliza had underestimated this man. Terribly. He had been a brilliant field agent to work alongside. Whatever she believed to be unresolved matters was nothing but ancient history.

She cleared her throat. “Well, now that’s out of the way, I think you know why I am here.”

“I believe I do, but why are we having this conversation”—he jerked his head towards where Wellington was earnestly scanning his newspaper—“without including your partner?”

“Observant as ever,” she commented.

“It was the smell of his tea,” he shot back. “I would have suspected he was a tourist had I not seen him wearing the same dreadful tweed as you.”

Eliza gestured to Wellington, and the archivist, after glancing around the street a little bit, came over and sat with them. Mercifully he did not introduce himself, or make a sound. For once he was taking her advice.

“To be fair we are all working with a little less these days,” she said. Marius and she stared at each other across the table for an extended moment.

“So you journey deeper into Europe, putting more distance between you and your organisation, whatever remains of it, and then double back undetected.
Sehr gut.
” His dark eyes eventually darted away from hers. “Why would you want to go back to the country that has nothing but a death sentence for you both?”