I was far too happy to dress in a warm wool dress and petticoat, pulling on a fox fur coat and muff before stepping outside. In the middle of January, New York was freezing cold and I was grateful that the car was heated. Rigel, with his thick coat, hardly cared about the snow and in fact wanted to play until I shoved him into the car.
Lewis was bundled up as tightly as I was, and I was glad that he could enjoy the heat of the cab as well. I saw plenty of other fine cars out that day, their drivers so covered that I couldn't even see their eyes. But Lewis was nice and warm as he took us to the edge of the city and onto the East River Bridge. Rigel seemed a bit bothered by the way the sound of the tires changed, while I leaned over to the window to marvel at the massive bridge supports.
I hadn't had much reason to venture to Brooklyn over the years, but I had been there more than I had been over to New Jersey. I had once mentioned that to Mother and she has been horrified that I would even consider visiting that state, Father had grimaced and said it was better to send agents over there. I seemed there was something I didn't understand, perhaps I could bother Oscar about it at some point.
Now, there was a man who had been thrilled by Sophie's infidelity. Once I had told him what I was planning he had sworn himself not only to secrecy but to the service of subverting Zachary's marriage. Over whiskey and wedding cake we had hashed out a plan to ensure Sophie and Morris could see each other at least once a month, perhaps more if things could be finessed.
But first, I would have to find Sophie's lover.
I was glad he worked at the Navy Yard, for I really did need to visit the place. With the outbreak of European hostilities, the speed with which American navy ships were ordered to come in for refitting had increased, which meant that our orders from the Yard had increased. Mother's investment in rail had been much needed, although plenty of our coastal ships had been shuttling gun barrels and engine parts to where they were needed. I was immensely interested in the conversion from coal to oil that was being implemented, and planned to pester Morris about it if I needed a cover to speak to him.
Lewis pulled into the Yard, parking by the offices. The car was already drawing quite a few looks from workers and officers, and those only increased when I stepped out. A few whistles were added then, although Lewis did his best to glare at the offenders. He kept pace with me as I headed for the door, "Ma'am, should I wait with the car?"
"Nonsense," I shook my head, noting how an officer stepped forward to open the door for the both of us. "It's far too cold, I insist that you stay inside where it's warm."
"And if you head out to the yard?"
"Admiral Usher will escort me; you need to stay in here and thaw." I turned a smile on one of the officers inside. "I believe Admiral Usher is expecting me, Anastasia Murdoch?"
He blushed a bit, "Yes, ma'am, he is."
"Could you tell him I'm here?" I batted my eyes a bit, sending him off running. It was only a moment before he returned, trailed by a rather squat man with a square shaped head and a bristling mustache. I extended a hand, "Admiral Usher, it's pleasure to finally meet you."
He gently squeezed my fingers, "Mrs. Murdoch, I was quite pleased to receive your request. You would be surprised how many of our suppliers haven't come down to see the yard."
"I'm only sorry it took me so long." I smiled, looking out the windows. Snow had settled over the cranes and gantries of the yard, what was on the ground was swiftly turning black and brown as men shuffled through it to the various warehouses and workshops of the yard. I raised a brow, "Although it appears it might be cold for a tour."
"I highly doubt you're intimidated by a bit of cold." Admiral Usher moved to the door, "Shall we?"
Rigel, at my feet, started up immediately. I glanced down to him, "It appears that my decision has been made for me."
"I, ah," Usher watched as Rigel strained at his leash. "I was unaware he would be coming with us."
"I can assure you, he's very well behaved." I did keep a tighter hold of Rigel's leash as Usher led us out into the yard. He walked me through the workshops, where men were finishing a massive bronze propeller by sanding it. Ships in drydock were being painted and scraped clean. The men's hands were stained red by the anti-fouling paint. Some were being built, a gantry lowering massive engines into place.
We paused for a moment to watch this, Admiral Usher's staff having slowly accumulated behind us. I huddled my hands inside my muff, "It appears you truly are ramping up production."
"Incredibly so." Usher leaned back, his eyes focusing on how the engine was slowly dipping into the hull. "I'm sure you can imagine the headaches this is causing."
"I take it you are facilitating the contracts yourself?"
"Many of them, although I have delegated some to my staff."
"Including mine?"
"Oh, no ma'am. I will tend to your contracts personally."
I snorted, "I would not be insulted, Admiral Usher. In fact, I was coming to discuss that situation with you today."
"Perhaps inside." Admiral Usher held out his arm. "It's much warmer in my office." I was certainly glad to get back inside, although I had to leave Rigel down with Lewis, he had accumulated quite a bit of snow on his legs and I did not want to have that melt and stain the wood of Admiral Usher's office.
A pot of coffee was waiting for the both of us, and Admiral Usher waited until I'd poured a cup for myself before reaching for the silver pot. "You were speaking of the oversight of your contract?"
"Yes," I stirred a healthy helping of cream and sugar into my cup. "Given how many responsibilities have been added to your shoulders, I thought it might be beneficial to our working relationship to have a lower ranked officer act as a liaison to my company."
Admiral Usher leaned back, considering the idea. "You would not be offended?"
"Of course not," I chuckled, "In fact, I've heard good things about one of your quartermasters here. Lieutenant Greenwood, I believe."
"Oh, yes," He smiled slightly, "He quite a capable man."
"I could speak to him about this, with your permission of course." I sipped at my coffee. "It would help ease your burden."
"I'll have him brought."
"Oh, I would rather speak to him alone." I stood, keeping ahold of my cup. "I wouldn't want him to think he was being forced into it due to your presence. If you could just direct me to his office?"
Another officer was quickly summoned to walk me through the warren of hallways until we ended up at a rather nondescript door. He opened it for me, announcing me to Lieutenant Greenwood, and I had my first look at Sophie's man. He wasn't quite handsome, but wasn't plain. Brown hair, hazel eyes, and a wide and honest face.
All and all, I found I liked the look of him.
He was clearly on tenterhooks when the door was closed, anxiously sipping at his own coffee, and I simply decided to smash through any decorum. "The way Sophie described you I was expecting Casanova, but I think you're much better suited for her."
Morris leaned over suddenly, coffee spluttering out as he coughed and spat behind his desk. He was still shaky as he wiped his mouth and looked to me, "You're, you're here to blackmail me, aren't you?"
I rolled my eyes, "Oh, quit being so dramatic." At that he seemed to calm, pulling a handkerchief out to mop up the coffee. "I'm here as Sophie's friend, as well as checking up on one of my company's clients."
"Company?"
"I'm know Sophie told you she had a friend who would help the both of you." I grinned, "That would be me. And as it just so happens, I find myself in need of a personal liaison to the Navy Yard in order to ensure order are fulfilled promptly. I'm quite sure you've seen the contracts for Dalian Shipping."
He blinked, leaning on his desk. "You want me, as your liaison?"
"I do." I leaned in, watching him closely. "It would require you working closely with me, which may include visits to my house to discuss business. Coincidentally, Mrs. Reichster has also been known to call on me, visits for tea and such."
His eyes lit up at that. "You'd let us meet in your house?"
"You didn't see her before she met you, I'd do anything to keep her from returning to that." I shifted, "I was not always the kindest to Sophie, so I would like to make up for that."
"When can I see her?"
"It will take a little time to line things up so that her husband stays in the dark. A friend of mine is visiting her today to discuss this with her. I'll send a wire requesting you to come to my house at a certain date and time, she'll be there." I raised a brow, "Now, you will need to actually oversee my contract as well, and you're more than welcome to come visit my offices."
He stood, holding out a hand. "Of course, thank you Mrs. Murdoch."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Greenwood," I shook his hand, "For helping her and my business."
Lieutenant Benedict Francis Campbell did his best not to sniff derisively at his surroundings. A hard chair across from a desk strewn with papers, the stink of tobacco smoke impregnating every surface of the room. Nathaniel Bligh was a hard-faced man and hardly the type to offer any comforts to a guest. Instead, the old captain steepled his fingers and pursed his lips, "I see my letter reached your superiors."
"It did." Campbell raised a brow, refusing to address the man by his rank. "I'm here to intercept the package and determine if the contents are a risk to the Empire."
"I'm quite certain they are." Bligh stood, moving to look out a porthole. "The man is a menace, and I want him off my ship."
Campbell leaned back in his chair, wishing it was padded or tufted. "How so?"
"I see his handiwork in everything. My junior officers refuse to offer their opinions on navigation without consulting him, they trade shifts and things have grown far too fraternal between all of them. He needs to be removed, discharged, arrested, anything to get him away and stop him compromising the integrity of my ship."
"How ghastly."
He watched Bligh's hands tense, "He sunk the Titanic, you know."
Campbell's lips tightened. "We are aware, Mr. Murdoch's records were pulled for examination when your letter was received." To be quite honest, Campbell didn't give a damn about the man's previous service aside from the fact that he may have had opportunity to fraternize with American agents or German agents that may have enticed him financially.
"The man must be gone." Bligh rounded on Campbell, "I trust that this is within your abilities."
"Perhaps," Campbell did not flinch. "Depending on the contents of said package. Your letter said he takes it with him every time you come in for coal, as soon as his leave starts?"
"Within the first hour usually, and he always comes back with another."
"Have you attempted to examine the contents of the one he brings back?"
"He keeps them locked in his trunk, and unfortunately the junior officer's quarters are always crowded so we have not had time to try and break the lock."
"Hmm." Campbell closed his eyes, considering what this Murdoch could be passing along. Patrol routes, the condition of ships, minefield locations, wireless messages, the possibilities were endless. It was a damn good thing this man wasn't up at Scapa Flow or on an actually important ship. "I am sure that I can recover the package and examine its contents. Of course, you will have to wait for our report before something can be done about him."
Bligh bristled, but snorted and looked away. "Of course."
"You've done a service to the Empire, Captain Bligh." Campbell stood, straightening his uniform. "Now, his leave begins in a few minutes, if you would be good enough to point him out to me, I shall begin my work."
One benefit to conducting an operation in a naval town was the fact that he was unremarkable in his uniform. Another officer amongst hundreds was nothing, as opposed to towns where he would have to disguise himself. Now he could simply walk up to the rail with Captain Bligh, who pointed to an officer in a greatcoat headed for the gangplank. "Him."
Campbell nodded, "I'm off, then." Campbell pulled his hat down, joining the flood of men headed off the ship for a day of liberty. Snow crunched underfoot, and Campbell trailed Murdoch by about ten feet, keeping an eye on the greatcoat. He wound up far closer to him than he would have liked when most of the crew shuffled aboard a bus and Campbell grabbed a seat near his target.
The man was a plain faced Scot, brown hair peeking out from under his cap and blue eyes darting. His uniform, underneath his greatcoat, was ill-fitting and marked him as the lowest officer. Campbell took notice of his gloves though, a rather new pair of fine black leather with the barest hint of a rabbit lining peeking out. His shoes as well, perfectly fit and polished. The packet he clutched to his side was thick, creamy paper as well, and Campbell couldn't help but raise a brow at that. A new pair of gloves and shoes, spare money to spend on fine paper, and yet he wore a uniform that could be charitable called disheveled. What kind of man would let his uniform be in that state if he had the money to fix it?
The bus made several stops before Murdoch stood, and Campbell with him. Again, he hung back as the man walked on, stopping occasionally to look in a store window or do something innocuous while keeping an eye on the man. Eventually he ducked into a pub, and after waiting two expertly times minutes courtesy of his freshly wound gold watch, Campbell followed him.
It was dark, and he spotted Murdoch at a table with another man, beers in front of the both of them. The package was on the table as well, a similar one on the other side. The two appeared to be catching up, and Campbell cursed under his breath. The pub was crowded, making him unable to get close enough to eavesdrop and lip reading was not among his repertoire of skills.
It was obviously a handoff, and he wondered what exactly was contained in the package clearly intended for Murdoch. Further instructions? His payment? Explosives to take out a ship? The possibilities contained behind the plain paper were endless. Campbell nursed a beer as he watched them, debating his next move. His target was the package, specifically the one Murdoch sent. He'd have to follow the courier and hope that Bligh would find the opportunity to ransack Murdoch's belongings onboard.
The two men seemed quite friendly, even ordering a meal. Of course, rationing had hit, so Murdoch would have eaten better onboard but he hardly seemed to care, tearing into the measly Scotch eggs with relish. Campbell stuck to another beer, throwing some coins onto the bar for his tab when he saw them get up. Murdoch left the courier with a handshake, starting back into town. Campbell trailed the courier instead, the man heading straight for the train station. Campbell's eyes were glued to the leather bag that hung across his chest, the packet inside and bumping against his hip with every step.
A few counters were open at the station, and he mumbled his way around ordering the same ticket to Southampton as the courier purchased. Now the question was how to keep an eye on the man as the train hurtled back down south, towards civilization. Away from cold and snowy Scotland, from the people that were little better than colonials, from the horrid food, and back down to the blessed land of England.
The courier didn't head for a compartment though, instead staying on a bench and pulling a book from his bag. Campbell couldn't help but goggle at that. With the man focused on his book, how could he watch to ensure no one was watching him?
Whoever was running his operation was clearly incompetent.
Trains were changed in London, and Campbell wished they had at least a little time for him to have a wire sent to the Admiralty with his progress. But the trains moved quickly, and the one to Southampton was stuffed full of men heading off to the front. Campbell did his best to appear as if he was also heading that way, speaking to a pair of lads from the same town who were glad to go and fight the Hun.
He shook them quick enough when the train pulled into Southampton, trailing the courier. The man eschewed a cab, which Campbell appreciated. His legs had almost fallen asleep on the train and the walk was welcome. Even if it was a bit far to the docks and the man kept up a quick pace. But still, the docks were his best chance to jostle the man and make off with the bag.
He would discard it quick enough where the man could find it, he wasn't a thief, but he'd take the packet with him.
But that required him to get close to the courier, and the number of stevedores and longshoremen around the docks made that impossible. Instead, he was the man getting jostled and pushed around as he tried to follow him. The man was making for a dock that was veritably swamped with ships, all of them clearly registered in New York according to the massive letters on their sterns.
There were precious few officers on the dock, and he shifted a bit to the side and hoped that no one would notice that his uniform bore a few differences from theirs. But then one of the officers, a young man with wild red hair that his cap didn't quite cover all the way, raised a hand and shouted. The courier immediately sped to him, and Campbell was forced to watch from twenty feet away as the packet was handed over, the officer clapped the man on the shoulder, and then boarded a ship.
He was still staring as the gangplank was drawn in, the lines cast, and the ship was tugged out to sea.
Smooth, too damn smooth. He'd assumed incompetence earlier, but it had been confidence. The man had read a book because probably five other people in the carriage had been watching for him. Things were running like a well-oiled machine for whatever interest had turned Murdoch, and Campbell didn't like it one bit. Some of the men around him were staring, and he trudged off after mumbling he'd been told the wrong dock.
Instead he found a room at an inn, paid for two nights, and sent a wire to the Admiralty with what had happened and his intentions. He may not have been able to intercept the package, but he could try and determine into whose hands it was headed.
The next morning he purchased a jacket, hat, and coat from a secondhand store, and returned to the dock. He glanced up, noting the large sign proclaiming the offices to belong to Dalian Shipping, and opened the door. A secretary, a pretty little brown-haired thing, glanced up from where she had been stacking some papers. "Can I help you, sir?"
Campbell doffed his hat, dropping the posh Oxford accent he'd refined over the years and doing his best to sound like the men outside. "I was hoping to speak with Mr. Dalian."
The girl cocked her head. "There is no Mr. Dalian."
"Really?" He furrowed his brow, "My friend told me I could speak to him about a job."
She shrugged, lifting the papers into her hands. "Then I'm afraid your friend's having you on, hasn't been a Mr. Dalian for years."
"Then who runs things?"
"Here? Mr. Welton." She shook her head, "But he's awfully busy at the moment and I doubt he'd be able to see you on short notice."
Campbell stepped forward, holding out his hands. "Here, I can at least carry those for you." She gratefully settled the heavy stack in his hands, leading him back through the warren of clerks. "Is there anyone I could write to? I need a job, badly."
"Well, Mr. Welton might be able to help at another time." She gestured to a desk, and he set the stack down. "Of course, if you wanted to head for the high ups, Mrs. Murdoch might be able to tell him to consider you."
He did his best not to start. "Mrs. Murdoch?"
"Yes, she owns the line. Well, with her mother. They inherited it a few years ago." The secretary sat, lifting off the top paper. "She's in New York though, so it might take some time."
"I'll write to her." He shifted on his feet, assuming the role of a bashful boy. "I'd be glad to come work here, especially if I'd get to see you every day." He smiled, "It's not often I meet such a pretty girl."
She blushed a bit, "I don't think I ever got your name."
"Francis." He held out his hand.
She placed hers in his. "Mary, and it would be nice to have you around."
"We could go to the pub, if you like?"
"I'm afraid I can't, at least today. Maybe next week?"
He dropped his head, "I'm headed back up to London, looking for work."
"Well, when you're back down, I'd love to have a pint with you." She smiled, and Campbell had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, a bit of flirting and women were putty in your palm. He loitered around the docks the rest of the day, listening for any other word about Murdoch, but didn't catch anything.
If there was any talk it was about his wife.
The return train to London had him a bit spooked, constantly watching the other passengers to see if any would follow him when he got off. Fortunately, he made a clean escape and gave a small sigh of relief when he was ensconced in the walls of the Admiralty. His uniform drew no attention here, and in fact a few other officers invited him out for a drink after their shift.
Here was where the real work of the war was done, strategy and spying, codebreaking and covert operations, everything flowed down from the Admiralty. When he spoke to Captain de Bourgh's secretary, he was ushered quickly inside.
His commanding officer, a rail thin man who affected a dark, thin mustache that did nothing to distract from the ever-growing gray patch of hair on his head, glanced up. "Report."
"I trailed the package from Rosyth to Southampton but was unable to intercept it." He shifted, sensing 's displeasure. "I have reason to believe that there is a larger operation at hand, but will require time in order to determine the extent of it."
"Did you at least learn where the package went?"
"I'm assuming New York. He's been passing papers onto a foreign interest, an American shipping line. I managed to flirt with a secretary and learn that his wife owns the damn thing."
"You think she's a German sympathizer?"
"I am unsure, but I think we need to contact some assets in New York and get some eyes on her. If she cares to talk to the papers, she could pass on things we don't want getting out." Campbell raised a brow. "They may even be able to intercept whatever communication Murdoch passed on over there. Perhaps even inform us about their previous correspondence."
de Bourgh snorted. "More than likely she's just some greedy American and is selling whatever he tells her off to the highest bidder."
"I defer to your superior judgement."
"Hmph," He rolled his eyes. "I'm placing you on surveillance for those two. I'll have any information from New York wired over, but I want you to keep digging at this. They're passing something between them, and unfortunately for us they have the means to hide it. See if you can't insert an asset into their line."
"Of course, sir."
"Any mention of them in the papers, I want you on it."
"Yes, sir."
"Now get out."