Mina followed the gentle bred woman closely behind as she entered Regent street. She walked along in the shadows of the late afternoon light stalking her prey like the lioness hunts the gazelle, except in this case this particular gazelle was the Honourable Lady Bianca, or not so honourable as the talk on the streets would have it. Mina had followed the trinket littered pathway of the lady in question, more times than she could count and yet this was so different. Instead of pilfering jewels, this time she was stealing information, and for the government no less. Who would have thought that little Mina would be contracted by the coppers to help out Her Majesty's secret service. There was absolutely no soothe-sayer in all of Britain and the Queens Indian Empire who could have foreseen that. And yet, here she was a safe five steps behind 'Bianca of the Dropping Jewels' waiting and watching for the opportune moment. Agent Dra'gaan had told her that she would know when to use her god given gifts. Mina preferred to consider them her hard earned street scrounging lessons which God did most certainly not bestow on her like a baby with a silver spoon in a basinet.
Dra'gaan had talked endlessly about techniques and methods of monitoring, peppering the lecture with anecdotes of Agents who had risked their lives for Queen and country which was apparently more noble than stealing for survival. She could still hear his lessons from that morning barking in her ear.
"You must learn to feel that people are near long before you see them and hear their approach before their footsteps would usually reach your ear."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Mina questioned with no small amount of sass.
Dra'gaan smiled mysteriously. "Close your eyes."
Mina frowned warily before replying, " Umm.... I don't trust you."
"Said the thief to the spy," Dra'gaan stated ironically.
Mina reluctantly closed her eyes as Dra'gaan circled her, his Peruvian accent coming through in whispers of inflection. "Listen, " he commanded, "and tell me what you hear."
Mina twisted her mouth and stopped fiddling with the unravelling strands of her uniform. "Ahh.... I hear carts and noise on the street I s'pose."
"And what do you smell?"
Mina opened one eye. "Are you kidding me Agent? We're in a back alley in Southwark - what I am smelling I don't want to describe!"
Dra'gaan gave her a stern glare - "Just do it."
She rolled her eyes before closing them and huffing, then took a deep breath, choked a little and then replied, " Dung...lots of dung, horses, hay, smoke."
Mina opened her eyes to find the space in front of her empty and then a light breathe settled on her neck and she turned sharply to find Dra'gaan.
"Hey, how did you get behind me so quietly....that was creepy."
"You weren't paying attention. Just because you are focusing on one sense that does not mean you should leave yourself unprotected in other ways." He spun her around by the shoulders again and whispered in her ear, "Try again, but this time relax into it. Let your senses stretch out and imagine the walls around you are gone and you can see and hear everything as clearly as if it was right here before you."
Mina thought that it was a little early for Dra'gaan to be drinking because anyone who pretended walls disappeared with any regularity must be either drunk as a skunk or mad, but she did as she was told. She let her eyelids fall as his voice guided her to an almost meditative state and then she answered with surprised confidence. "I hear the bells on the clock tower, it's coming from the west but over the river. I still hear the bustle on the street but there is also something tinkling every now and then- like money changing hands, and there's people talking but I can't make out what they are saying."
She heard the smile in Dra'gaan's voice as he replied, " Don't worry, soon you will. Now, the smells- try to focus on each one a little better. Tell me about the smoke."
Mina sniffed a little, this way and that. "It's not like normal smog, it smells like- yeast!" She almost shouted. "Yeah, it's a little like the bread we bake, but......not."
"Close- what you are smelling is the yeast in the Ale brewery from two blocks south. Very good though," he said signalling the end of this particular lesson but Mina was finally getting the hang of her new found skill and kept her eyes shut, squinted a little and pushed on.
"There's something else, really close that smells like spice and a little bit of musk." She twitched her nose a few more times and walked towards the scent. "It's actually not that bad - mmph." She smacked straight into her mentor's chest.
Drag'aan looked down at her with his patent brand of irritation and boredom. " What you are smelling is me." He pushed her away briskly and stalked off with coat tails flying. "Come now, next lesson- keep up Little Spy."
Mina didn't know how she felt about the identifier- 'Little Spy' but despite all the tedious hours of preparation she was actually glad to have learnt a fair amount already. She was ready to start putting it into action as she slid behind the chocolaterie that Bianca had entered. She knelt beside the closed pane window of 'Berwaerts Schokolade' and pulled out a thin flat piece of metal and long straight wire inserting both into the window's lock and listened for a familiar click and almost watched the pins in her mind move aside inside the mechanism, giving way to her tools. She exhaled slowly and savoured the same sensation that she got from a well lifted pastry right off the cart. The well oiled latch gave way with ease and she pried the window open keeping her ear close to the gap and waited for the lady to drop her secrets as easily as she did her jewels.
After a considerable amount of time discussing what to wear to Queen Victoria's garden party Lady Bianca finally took a sip of tea and leaned in a fraction to her companion and spoke only a breathe above a whisper."I believe it is done."
Mrs Harpley raised a shapely brow.
"The shipment was made from Calais in all possible haste. However no sooner had it arrived than that nasty little scene with that soldier occurred. Pity, really. I for one have never distasted the sight and smell of blood as some other women do but it was to be a matter of stealth, and as such was badly done indeed. I saw the papers from the courthouse on my husband's desk for assessment. "
"I heard that one of Bletchley servants saw the whole scene unfold. As a judge I can assume that your husband plans to question him. " Harpley revealed.
"It was actually the footman's cousin, and if he opens his impoverished mouth he can end up flat on the docks like that Lieutenant. It would take but a whisper of my lips to the right people to make his miserable life disappear."
"You know that our rogue Agent will be most displeased with this development." Her conspirator warned as she added a cube of fine sugar to her tea.
Bianca allowed only a momentarily crease to form on her forehead. "He may be as displeased as he consents to be. This development was not of my making- I am just reporting it. My situation is, as it has always been and I will not allow even a man as full in the crofters as he to stain my silken gloves with the idle shake of his gauntlet."
"Tread carefully, Lady Bianca. He is not a man you wish to anger. I need not tell you that the news from Calais is as unfavourable as the rough sea winds that it came on. The hired-gun must be contained with all possible haste. It is the key to the success of this mission. He can't be allowed to go around shooting everyone he deems a threat without consulting our Agent."
"Yes." Bianca nodded in agreement as she reached for another caramel macaroon from the well adorned central tier. "But where you partake in these affairs for money I rather prefer the thrill."
"Some of us can not afford to be selective about what work comes our way. As for your dislike of the Queen I can certainly see you still hold a girlish regret that Prince Albert chose her over you. You must learn to manage your disappointment," her friend scolded.
"Yes, perhaps I must," Bianca conceded with a delicate sip of tea, "-and she must die. That much is certain, and yet now we play the game as to how."
Mrs Harpley drew in a sharp intake of breath. "But, Bianca- surely you do not mean." She stammered. "No one has yet mentioned the assassination of Her Majesty and if it is what is being planned behind the current dissolution of the Queens secret service then we merely are to secure the information. There is no harm in that. Listening at doors and rifling occasionally through our husbands correspondence hardly constitutes treason. Surely you jest!"
Lady Bianca sat perfectly still draped demurely in a powder blue morning dress to match her topaz eyes and for the first time perhaps her friend caught a real glimpse at the shrewd woman beneath the pearls. Bianca merely stirred a silver teaspoon delicately in her porcelain cup rimmed in gold, so that not even the sound of the metal reflected on the china, and then she smiled coldly. "I make it a principle to never jest when I am conspiring in the murder of my Queen."
***
Jay strode in between the teeming crowds of Paris, beneath the Eiffel Tower. His interlude with the ruffian on the London docks over the body of a servant had delayed his arrival. It had taken precious minutes to signal his fellow agent to inspect the scene but finally he arrived in the French capital. Here, Spaniards mixed with Italians, Italians with Frenchman, and Frenchman with Greeks. Dialects and accents bounced back and forth through the metal arches. He decided it was either the best place to conceal a covert spy liaison... or the worst. The Champs de Mars stretched out before him in all its summer glory of leafy greens and blossoming fleurs-de-lis. He would bet any money that Mina would love it here, maybe not in Paris with its chaotic streets and commotion on the Seine, but in the quiet of the French countryside she could sit with her easel and paint the Swiss mountains looming over Mâcon and the rustic cottages on the outskirts of a vineyard.
He shook the thought from his head with half a smile and surveyed the scene. It seemed that his contact feared him far more than an ally should, but post Napoleonic War it was difficult to know who to trust and he could hardly blame a French emissary for thinking that an English Spy still held resentment over the attempted subjugation of his people.
There was a movement to his right, a flash of a brown overcoat in slightly too warm weather. Jay caught it again between floating wisps of French lace and satin as debutants and mistresses flounced passed. Leaning against the impressive steel base of the tower was a middle aged man fiddling with the small stub of a pencil, turning it over and over in hands that were far too callused to belong to a writer.
There seemed to be no accompaniment of soldiers or spies and so Jay slipped into the crowd, keeping pace with the flow of those that stopped to gawk at the monstrosity above them. He emerged at the left shoulder of the man waiting too casually against the pillar and inclined his head just a fraction in acknowledgement. His informant moved likewise and slid the pencil back into a deep coat pocket, keeping his hand in its depths.
"Zay," he greeted the Duke with a thick Parisian accent.
Jay leaned against the metal to gaze at the crowd."I can't say that I know your name, although I doubt that makes too much of a difference since I don't actually believe you will give me your real title."
"True," came the simple reply. "But we are both men of honour and it is my country's honour that I have come to ensure remains unstained. The French government has had enough of English intrigues. We are not responsible for this apparent coo. The war is long over, Napoleon is dead and the Treaty of Paris remains intact."
"Some would say that the Treaty has been breached." Jay quietly offered.
The informant swore emphatically as only the French can. "You know that is a falsehood. We have no idea who this man is that has been sent from our belly in to your shores but he is not one of ours and we do not know what his agenda is. Clearly someone is trying to make it appear as if your enemy is France, and it most assuredly is not."
Jay did not look impressed. "Then it is a wonder that you took the time to meet with me, in order to tell me nothing."
"I would not be here if I were not ordered by my General. And, instead of poking holes in French walls you should pay closer attention to your own. Simple deduction would tell you to look within your own men."
A scowl hardened Jay's face. "There is nothing simple about what you are suggesting. Her Majesty's men are all of exemplary character and vetted by extreme measures before they take their posts. And if what you suggest it true, it can be by no ordinary soldier. Such knowledge as has been displayed by the attacks on agents who are deep undercover shows an understanding of our most inner workings."
"All the more reason to look to your own ranks. We have seen some inconsistencies in your bookkeeping and it suggests that there has been no small amount of planning behind your current predicament."
Jay did not allow the small smile of success to grace his lips. He had known that a rogue agent was likely for some time, but the fact that the French had also suspected it meant that the proof of some misdealing must have passed into their hands, and he needed it.
"The fact that you possess this information could suggest your government was complicit in its wrong doing."
"As allied forces in the current civil war in Spain you know that we have access to some of your data, that is all. We are prepared to share our findings with you if needs be," the informant grated as his French impatience wore thin.
Jay nodded solemnly. "That is all that we could ask for. Have it ready for pick-up tomorrow at the usual place in Montmartre." He pushed off against the pylon and adjusted his cravat with a sigh. "And there was no need for that pistol in your pocket, after all - we are both men of honour."
Not so far away, beyond the Champs de Mars, at a cafe in Trocadéro overlooking the Eiffel Tower sat an Englishman watching the scene below with interest. He inhaled a long drag of his cheroot, a pleasure he only indulged in Paris, and pondered his next move. This recent development was most alarming. Beneath the structure of steel and iron a meeting was taking place in plain sight. It was not hard to discern the Agents from the civilians, with a trained eye. Each movement was carefully judged and precisely executed teetering on the balance of lethal and casual. The man leaning against the pillars in feigned nonchalance irked the Englishman.
He idly ran his fingers over the hard scar tissue at the base of his neck. Mostly hidden by the line of hair just above it; it was not noticeable- but he had a habit of toying with the lightening shaped scar.
He looked back at the Tower and an overcast sky crept west towards him. It would rain in a moment or two.
"C'est tres bon. Merci- Au revoir." He threw down a few francs, thanking the waiter and allowed the rain to fall over him in increasing waves of pressure, washing away his presence. He had seen all he needed to. Paris exposed the secrets of the Home Office like no other city.
A smile flittered across his face before the streets of the Trocadéro engulfed him.
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