The Last Sly Fox

            Adrian Marcali scanned both sides of Oxford Street like an African lion searching for prey.  Except she was the prey, and today London was the Serengeti Plain.  The car with the broken headlight was nowhere visible, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t being watched right now, or worse yet, stalked.  She knew how to hide, and had been trained to hide in plain sight without giving the impression of purposeful concealment.  But at five feet ten with stark blonde hair and luminous eyes, insouciance was a conscious exercise.  She managed to glance at her watch without turning away from the door across the street.  Eleven o’clock.  Time to rock and roll.

            She entered McGregor’s through the side entrance and remembered instantly all that she loathed about the place.  Low ceilings, canned music, an atmosphere drenched in smoke.  Brushing past tables, she caught the stare of an ogling bartender.  Damn, I hate this place, she thought.

            “Adrian, love,” a man burst out in a tone much too loud for the clientele.  “I should’ve known it was you.”

            “Yes, Ian, you should’ve.”  She leaned over the table to kiss him on the cheek but gave a sly grin instead.  “Who were you expecting, after all?”

            Ian Taylor sat back down and took a sip from the martini in front of him.”

            “A little early, even for you.  Isn’t it?” she noted.

            He took another sip.

            “So?”

            “Would you hate me if I said I was expecting a man?”

            “No.”  She laughed.  “That was the point.  You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

            “That’s right, I wouldn’t.  And we both know why, now, don’t we?”

            She had gotten into the habit of looking away from Ian when she talked to him, if for no other reason than fear of laughing.  But she took it all in, the angled walls of gray hair sticking straight up on all sides, with tufts bleeding out from ears much too large for the rest of his face, light blue eyes set too far apart with a crazed, almost glassy glare to them.  Absurd as he looked, though, on the outside, Ian Taylor was the only man she’d ever trusted without being sorry for it later.  There’s still time though, she thought and picked up a menu.

            “A man, a colleague really, was supposed to meet me last night to give me something.  He—”

“Give – you something?”  Ian grinned.  “Can hardly blame him.”

“Stop it,” she said.  “He never showed up.”

            “Knowing what I know about your line of work, the something in this case could be anything from a book to a bomb.”

            “Don’t be so melodramatic.  It’s an envelope.”

            “Containing?”

            “Just some photographs.  Nothing really.  The problem is that whoever has Jake Donnelly right now also has that envelope … and is looking for me.”

            Ian rolled his eyes and leaned against the back of the chair with his arms folded.  He paused, closed his eyes, then looked up at the pattern on the ceiling.  “All right, let me guess.  A Member of Parliament doing unspeakable acts with a Piccadilly tart?  Or a Cambridge professor found with a fourteen-year-old girl in his bed at dawn?  Wouldn’t be the first time.”

            “The first time what?” she asked.

            “I’d been asked to cover it up of course.  That’s what a private investigator does.  There’s always the meat and potatoes jobs like surveillance for marital infidelity, but our underground talents are really about scandals and making them go away.”

            “Isn’t there another name for that?  Like assassin, perhaps?”

            “Ha!  You should talk,” Ian smirked.  “You’re stalling.  No doubt a technique you learned from me.  Now tell me about these photographs.”

            “They’re of a sword,” she said leaning forward.

            Ian turned away as she said it to glance at the waitress walking past their table.  “Look, are you going to eat anything or not?  The girl’s come round three times and I’m famished.”

            She stood and hung her black silk jacket on the back of the chair.  “I’m going to the powder room.  Order me the crab cakes, if you would.”

            “Something to drink?” Ian asked jiggling the ice in his now empty glass.

            “Just coffee.  For God’s sake, it’s eleven thirty.”

             Adrian returned a minute later to find that a cup of coffee, milk and sugar containers, and a basket of bread had been added to their table.  She was sure Ian had probably gotten the waitress’ telephone number by now as well as her life’s story.  Because that’s how Ian Taylor was.  Friendly to the point of annoyance, a shrewdness about human nature way beyond just insight, and a shameless flirt.  It was the shrewdness she concentrated on as she sat down and saw Ian’s eyes on the front of her blouse.

            “Go ahead,” she said waving her hand.

            He smiled.  “You overslept, for one thing, dashed out the door without your requisite pot of tea and unbuttered toast, you got a run in your stocking by catching it on the end of your umbrella as you were stepping into the trolley, and …you had a street vendor’s hotdog for lunch.”

            “Street vendor’s hot dog?” she raised an eyebrow.  “Yes, your powers of perception are remarkable.” 

            “Why else would you have a mustard stain on your blouse by the third button?”

            “That’s the complication of our relationship, Ian.  I really can’t stand you, but I miss you when I go long periods without seeing you.”

            He raised his glass.  “Here here.  Now I demand to know about this sword.”

            “It would be better if you didn’t.  For you, I mean.”

            The waitress set down two plates in front of them. 

            “How about it I tell you about it then?  What if I said the sword in those photographs is an authentic English rapier dating from the late 16^th century and used during the English Civil War, that it was stolen from the Billberg estate two weeks ago and the prime suspect is a member of the London City Council.”

            “You’re no fun,” she replied.

            “I do read the papers you know.  Now why did you ask me here?  You must need more than just a free lunch.”

            “Quite a bit, actually.  I need to find Jake Donnelly, for one thing.  But my real assignment is to bring round photographs of the antique sword to Councilman Barry so he can exonerate himself to the police.  He collects swords, you know, but apparently once he discovers the exact sword that was stolen, he can compare his own inventory to the stolen sword and prove he doesn’t have it.”

            “Oh, right!” Ian grimaced with a flail of his arm.  “That’ll prove nothing of the sort.  They’d have to completely search his house to be sure he didn’t have it, and even that isn’t a sure thing.  He could be hiding it somewhere.  Have you found a motive yet of why he would have taken it?”

            “He and Billberg have differing opinions on a piece of legislation being voted on right now.  But not enough to resort to crime.”

            “Enough to make one sufficiently think about it though?”

            She shook her head.  “I don’t know.  He seems very low profile.”

            “What’s his title?”

            “Financial Director of one of the sub-groups I think.”

            Ian tilted his head back.  “Have I taught you nothing over the years?  Since when is handling other people’s money low profile?”

            “Look, while Jake Donnelly is missing, my life’s in danger.  Do you hear me?” she leaned forward and whispered as she spoke.  “We’re talking life and death.”  Mine, she thought.

            Ian put his palms up in front of him.  “Where’d you see him last?”

            “I told you, he was supposed to meet me last night to discuss the case and never showed.  He was picking up the photographs of the sword from another man who reportedly knows where it is, and was going to meet me after that.  I tried his apartment, but no answer.”

            “Any sign of the photographs there?”

            “When I got there, the door was ajar and I could see that everything had been turned over.  Someone was looking for those photographs, Ian, and got Jake as well.”

            He reached in his coat pocket for a pen and passed it and a napkin across the tablecloth.  Write down his address and I’ll see you back here in twenty-four hours.”

            “No, not here.  Someplace less conspicuous.  How about the Open Air Theater in Regent’s Park?”

            “I’ll meet you at the main gate.”  He watched Adrian stand up.  “What about your crab cakes?”

            “They’re for you.  Three martinis is hardly considered lunch.”

            Adrian leaned in close to the mirror behind the bar at the Hard Rock Café and pretended to inspect her makeup.  With mascara in one hand and a tube of lipstick in the other, she watched what looked like Councilman Richard Barry and his entourage settle into one of the round, corner booths in the lounge behind her.  From the mirror reflection, she recognized Barry’s wife, his eldest daughter, and a man named Bones who served as his personal assistant, driver and all-around bodyguard.  Jared “Bones” Rifke, of part Indian descent, possessed a handsome, rough exterior that otherwise concealed the heart of a coward.  Sadly for Barry, Bones worked for TRIAD and, thus, his loyalty was with a higher power.  Bones was sharp enough to recognize her from her perfume, let alone her conspicuous appearance.  And even though members of TRIAD were expected to share a certain camaraderie, she knew better.  Bones was different.  His allegiance was only to himself.  And now he’d just spotted her.     

Bloody hell, she thought, slinking down low on the barstool.  With her compact open and the mirror facing him, she saw that he hadn’t yet moved.  Now he was standing up looking toward the front door and scanning the occupants at the main bar.  She squatted on her ankles and nearly crawled toward the restrooms where she knew was a back door.  These were the times when she wished she had been born five foot six with light brown hair and a plump figure.  As she turned the corner toward the restroom hallway, she glanced in the mirror once more toward Councilman Barry and saw him talking to a waitress. 

At nine thirty-five, it was time to report back to TRIAD headquarters, or at least check in to give her location, check the profiles of any new missions, and retrieve phone messages.  Maybe Ian had called.  And maybe, if luck was in her favor, which it never was, Jake left her a message to say he’d gotten hung up with an old girlfriend and would meet her first thing in the morning.  She leaned on the back door of the bar, which led to a rather seamy alley off of Old Park Lane.  As her face hit the cold air of winter, she was startled by a familiar sight.

“Hello Adrian.  You’re surprised to see me?  Not half as surprised as I was to see you a few moments ago scurrying like a rodent across the floor.  Come on out, now, like a good girl.”

She obliged and stepped out into the dark alley, then was slammed against a black car.  She wondered about its headlights. 

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

“Who are you?” she said without thinking.

Bones leaned his head to the side with a devilish grin.  “Oh, now that’s touching.  Really.  You trying to keep my cover so I can keep my job.  Well I assure you, the Councilman knows all that’s going on, both in TRIAD and the rest of the world.”

“Aren’t you going to frisk me?” she asked with a half smile.

Bones regarded her closely, pausing to get a full shot of her chest and hips, and glanced back at Barry.

“Keep it in your pants, Bones.  Put the girl in the car.”

Bones opened the back door and shoved her inside with the heel of his boot. 

Barry glared back from the front seat.  “Her gun.”

“What?”  Bones looked confused.

“Her gun!  Take it, for God’s sake.”

*

Well now you’ve done it, Marcali, she thought as Bones handcuffed her wrists behind her back.  On his face and neck, she detected the unmistakable odor of adrenaline – a combination of sweat, bravado, and fear.  Figures.  By tomorrow morning when she was supposed to meet Ian at Regent’s Park, she would be in one of three possible states:  a) unconscious, b) dead, or c) wishing she were dead.  Probably within the next hour, they will have injected her with some chemical coercion to force the sword’s location from her unwilling lips.  She’d lived through this before; more than once.  She wondered, in that moment, what her life would have been like if she’d gone to accounting school like her mother suggested, and met a nice man and got married.  Not just wondered about it, but wondered if she was capable of this, of a life of stable sensibility.  Of outright normalcy.  Not likely.  Bones was a TRIAD agent, for God’s sake!  How could he do this to one of his own operatives, to a colleague?

            Two hours later, she opened her eyes and found them strangely too close to the ceiling.  When she turned her head she saw a pair of shoes.  Was she asleep, or dreaming?  Or on drugs?  But wait, the shoes were moving now.  God help me, I’m upside down, she thought as a throbbing pain rolled around her head.  A moaning echoed from another part of the basement.  She moved down the length of her body to scan for fresh wounds.  Head wound on her left temple, left shoulder throbbed. 

            The shoes moved again.  She followed them with swollen eyes. 

            “You’re awake.  About time.”

            “What’s next?  Bloodletting?  Or did you have electric shock treatment in mind?”

            “We don’t really want to harm you … in any permanent way, Adrian.  Just jog your memory a bit.”

            “My memory’s fine.”

            “So you’re asking for more torture?”

            “I’m a TRIAD operative, Bones.  There was a time when you were too, when you actually believed in something other than reeling in corrupt politicians and laundering money.  Before you started dealing with the devil.”

            “Sometimes the devil’s the only one open for business.”  Bones gave a snide laugh and stroked the top of her leg.  “I could make it easy for you, you know.”

            “Perhaps you could turn me right side up so my head doesn’t explode.” 

            Bones stepped away and wrung his hands.  “Are you inclined to give me something in return?”

             “A big, wet kiss?”

            “That’s a start,” he replied and left the room.

            By her calculations, she had exactly ten minutes to get out of the hold, to untie her feet from the ropes and to unclamp the rope from the hook hanging from the ceiling.  Bones was just an errand boy, after all, and took orders from Bad Boy Barry.  And if they were in the Councilman’s estate right now, she was almost sure of the layout from a prior assignment.  From the main cellar, there was a long staircase leading up to the servant’s kitchen, and Barry’s office was at least three hundred yards from there around a sharp curve and up a flight of stairs.

            Damn this rope, she hissed, fumbling with the braided strands, pulling and pushing them apart with swollen fingers gorged with blood from hanging upside down for God only knows how long.  Her stomach muscles shook with tension, as one hand held her weight upright and the other fumbled with the knot.  When it was undone, she felt her body relax a little, as if to reassure herself that she might actually live.  A sound returned from the opposite side of the basement.  Or was it the reverberation of voices coming from upstairs?  With the tiny metal wire she always kept in the hidden pocket in her brassiere, she picked apart the metal hook holding the rope in place and fell in a thud upon the floor.  Aside from the coldest, hardest floor her skin had ever felt, it was wet.  Blood?  Hers?  After a few moments to get her balance and catch her breath, she crept through the dark and lurked behind a tall wooden door at the top of the stairs.  There were voices arguing on the other side of it.

            She could see them through a tiny crack where the door had separated from the molding.  The estate’s housekeeper and what looked like her assistant, a young, dark-haired girl of no more than twenty with a milk-faced complexion.  The old woman went into the pantry, then the young girl followed her.  Opportunity comes knocking.

            Down the corridor, up one set of stairs, then down another long hallway.  It was to her advantage that they’d taken her shoes, as this made the delicate procedure of creeping about a stranger’s house much easier.  Barry’s office was around the next corner, but she caught a glimpse of something silver on the other side of the hallway.  Moving toward the door, slowly, slowly, she turned the knob and walked into the darkness.  With her pocketlight, she examined the rows of artifacts on the east wall with her mouth open.  My God, she thought.  No wonder he’s got a bodyguard. 

            From her pocket, she pulled The London Times’ description of the stolen sword and held it under the light:

Stolen: Original English rapier sword: Dates from approximately 1580. The overall length is 50 1/4" with a blade length of 43" and width of 3/4". The sword weighs 2 lb. 4 oz. The hilt on this piece is very large; larger than most of its type. The pommel is about 3" long and 1 3/8" wide maximally. Octagonal grip with wire wrap and Turk’s head. The quillons are flattened and florally engraved as is the cup. The cup itself is pierced with squares and circles.  Mint condition.

None of what she saw mounted on the wall came even close to forty-three inches long, let alone met the exact description.  On the wall to the left of her hung a display of antique daggers, most of which she recognized from her weapons training at TRIAD –Roman dagger, Indian dagger, Russian hunting knife.  And to her right were several of Barry’s swords she had read so much about.  She moved the light down the left row – Gladiator’s sword, Charlemagne sword, a Napoleon sword and the distinctive Excalibur.  She’d always loved that one.  She moved the light to the top of the next row and heard a noise behind her in the hall.  Within one second, she was cloaked behind a fat, leather chair in the corner with a sturdy bookcase behind her.  When the noises ceased and she heard silence for five straight minutes, she stepped out from the hiding place, and started down the hallway. 

            Barry’s private office had to be the last room on the left at the end of the corridor.  She stepped into the one next to it, and listened with her ear to the wall for noise coming from the next room.  She heard Barry’s voice.  So if he’s talking on the phone, she thought, I might get lucky and find him facing the window.  She left the adjacent office and slowly turned the knob on the handle to Councilman Robin Barry’s private office and held her breath.  And closed her eyes.  The unnerving calm before battle.  Her hands were sweating, and her feet and ankles still throbbed from the rope that had held her upside down for two hours.  Entering the room, she found herself standing in front of an empty reception desk.  Barry’s private office sat beyond the far wall.  He exhaled and tapped a pen on the desktop.  Adrian looked at her watch, certain that right about now Bones would be coming into the basement to realize she’d escaped. 

            “I’m not sacrificing what’s right, Nigel, for some iffy public interest money,” Barry was saying as she slid behind him through the open door.

            Partially concealed behind a set of thick draperies, she reached into her boot and pulled out the clip to her .9 mm Beretta pistol, then charged forward.  Luckily, his back was to her. 

            “He-llo,” she sang, ramming the end of the magazine into the councilman’s back, a feeling which she knew all too well simulated the muzzle of a gun.

            He tried to turn around.

            “Ah-ah-ah, stay right there.”

            “How did you—,” Barry said and hung up the phone.  A second later, it rang again.

            “I’ll warn you, I’m prone to being what people call trigger-happy,” she said and picked up the receiver. 

            “We’ve got a problem, sir.”  It was Bones’s voice.

            “Problem?” she asked happily.  “Do you mean me?  Because you’re the one who’s going to have a problem as soon as I decide what to do about this gun pointed at Barry’s back.”

            Silence.

            “Cat…got your tongue, Bones?”

            “Are you alone up there?”

“You think I had help?”

Silence again.  “I had this room blocked off on three sides.”

            “You and I went through the same training, so you should know.  I guess it’s me that should be asking you for the sword, then, not the other way around.”

            “Why would you say that?”

            “Never mind,” she sighed.  “I’ve got better things to do than hang around this drafty rundown cottage.  I’m leaving out the front door.  Catch me if you can,” she said and left the way she came in.               

            Adrian woke to the clamor of her telephone and the sun shearing through the curtains.

            “Hello?” she said looking at the clock.  6:16 a.m.

            “Where were you?” Ian asked.

            “I had a bad night.”

            “So did I.  You’d never believe what’s been going on with this infidelity case I’ve been working on.  Wives showing up with guns, husbands leaping out windows.  It’s getting to be high time I retired.”

            She felt her lids falling shut again.

            “Are you all right?” he asked.

            “Jolly good,” she mocked and rolled onto her side. 

“What’s the matter?”

She plopped a pillow up against the headboard.  “The world is filled with treachery.  Did you know that?  Anyone who displays an ounce of kindness is obviously an imposter.  Ulterior motives make up the entire dynamic of human behavior.”

            “I take it someone hasn’t had their tea yet.”

Adrian smiled but didn’t let on.  “No.”

“Why does your voice sound like that?”

            “Barry and his men took me from the Hard Rock Café last night.”

            “What were you doing there?”

            “I heard from one of my paparazzi friends that he’s been making public appearances in places with a younger clientele.  You know, improve his image and all.”

            “That’s right, he’s up for election again.  How bad was it?”

            “Could’ve been worse if Bones wasn’t so incompetent.  Wasn’t a complete waste of time, though.  I saw an incredible array of antiques.  You know, swords, weapons and the like.” 

            Ian chuckled.  “Anything from the 16^th century?”

            “Earlier than that, even.  It was in perfect order.  The collection’s organized into types of artifacts.  Daggers, knives, swords, etc.  I identified several of the ones I studied at the University.”

            “Did you see any descriptions or any accompanying written material?”

            “I was in a bit of a hurry to say the least.  Besides, I’m sure he’s got those stored on disc somewhere and probably kept in the vault.”

            “Did you at least see that?”

            Adrian yawned and stretched out her aching limbs into the cushioned mattress.  “It’s behind the Matisse.”

            “Original?”

            “I should think.  La Musique, 1939.  One of my favorites.”

            “You’re getting warm, my dear.  I can feel it.”

            Adrian sighed.  “This isn’t a scavenger hunt, Ian.  Once again I’ve nearly brushed arms with death and my partner is missing.  Perhaps you could show some respect for the gravity of the situation.”

            “I just have more faith than you do.  You’re going to find that sword.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because you were meant to,” Ian said slowly, almost under his breath.

            “What are you saying?  That this whole theft was staged?”

            Ian cleared his throat.  “It’s nothing like that.  I’m saying that you were bored with your daily TRIAD assignments of impersonating Austrian dignitaries for the purpose of, I don’t know, whatever purpose TRIAD makes up for the circumstances.  This is just the kind of case you needed.”

            “So you think I was the one who put the ad in the paper looking for a detective?”

            He laughed.  “Who else would do such a thing?  I’m sure you have a case file on every detective in the entire U.K.  So why were you looking for me?”

“I give up.  Why?”  Adrian rolled her eyes.

“To help you remember who you once were.”

            “Enough psychotherapy for one day, thank you.  Talk to you later.”

            “Wait!  What about your friend?”

            She exhaled heavily.  “Well you obviously haven’t found him or you would have mentioned it.”

            “I’m working on it.”

            “I’ve got a feeling he’s where I just escaped from.  I’m gonna need some backup.  You up for it?”

            “Give me twenty minutes.  I’m just putting on breakfast.  Like to join me?”

            How she hadn’t realized that the voices in the basement were probably of Jake and his contact person astounded her.  She should have known better, or at least figured it out sooner.  Accounting school was seeming closer and closer by the minute.  After three stops on the Underground and a two-minute walk through Russell Square, she jogged up the steps to Ian’s building and rang the buzzer.

            Ian was standing at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed at his chest – a large metal spoon and spatula sticking out.

            “Is my breakfast ready yet?” she joked.

            “You need me.”

            “Oh right,” she said rolling her eyes.  “Like a kidney stone.”

            “Admit it.  You need me right now, and for an old codger like me, that’s an enviable position to be in.”

            “Stop fooling around, we haven’t much time.  Quick bite and we’re off.  Okay?”  She pecked him on the cheek as she shoved past him into the apartment.  She poured herself coffee and sat at the kitchen table.  When Ian brought over two plates, she slid an old newspaper across the shiny surface.

            “What’s this?” he asked.

            With a nod of her head, she motioned for him to read.     
            He picked up the crumpled paper, smoothed it down with his fingers and lowered his glasses to the end of his nose.  “Billberg?  Where did you get this?”

            “Keep reading.”

            “When was this?  1944?  I don’t believe it.  Jakob Billberg, bankruptcy?  He was the richest person in England at that time.”  He looked up.  “Except for the Queen of course.”

            “Well apparently not.  After the estate went into foreclosure, it was auctioned off and Councilman Barry was the highest bidder.”  Adrian blew hair off of her forehead and sipped more of the coffee, now only lukewarm.  “Barry’s legally owned it since 1950.”  She sat back in her chair with a Cheshire cat grin.

            “You mean to tell me that Robin Barry stole his own sword?”

            “Why not?  It’s a fabulous idea.”

            “Fabulous how?”

            She tilted her head.  “For the publicity of course.  Barry’s family already owns the Billberg mansion, but none of this became public because it happened during the war. Back then if it didn’t have to do with fighting the Germans, it simply wasn’t news.  So it got buried, and he’s counting on that fact especially now.  He arranges for the sword to be stolen so he can get his fleshy, red face on the Tele and looks like a poor innocent victim.  Then when it’s safely returned, he goes on camera again thanking people for their support in apprehending the suspect so that a piece of England’s history can be returned to its proper place.  After that, he politely asks for everyone’s vote.  And then voila!” 

            Ian clanked his fork down on the table and clenched his jaw.  “I only wish it were true.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous.  Of course it’s true.  Oh, hold that thought and let me grab this,” she replied, reaching into her jacket for her cell phone.  “Yes, hello?  What?  Who is this?  Now wait a moment, you must understand –” and then she was disconnected.

            “Who was it?”

            “They’ve got Jake,” she said in a frozen voice.

            “Who?”

            She shook her head.  “I’m to meet him at Paddington Station in an hour if I ever want to see him again.”

            “You can’t go quite yet, I’m afraid.”

            “Ian, it’s clear across town.  Are you coming with me or not?”

            “Barry didn’t steal his own sword.”

She looked up.  Looked into Ian Taylor’s trustworthy blue eyes and saw in them a sadness more sorrowful than any apology she’d ever heard.  This was the Ian she had known existed all this time, but refused to believe it.  He had to be the one, the only trustworthy man in her life.  Had to, because at least someone in forty years should fill the role.

“I did,” he said.

            Adrian, already standing at the front door rattling her keys, returned to the table and sunk into a chair.  She shook her head.  “Why?”

            “For foolish reasons I’m afraid.  We needed an adventure, you and I.  Remember how much fun we had when I first opened the agency and you came to work for me?  And we spent all our days and nights together staked out in cold cars eating cold food and too much coffee?  A man, I should say a single man like me, gets bored when he grows old.  You represent a happy time in my life and, I suppose, I wanted to recreate the circumstances that brought us together back then.  Not for any romantic reason or anything like that.  Just that I thought you rather needed something like this too.  Something to remind you of who you were before you sold out.”

            “Ha!  You should talk about selling out.  You worked for Scotland Yard, for God’s sake, and gave it up for what?  To be your own boss?  You’re just too spoiled to let anyone tell you what to do.”

            “Now that really hurt.”

            “Cut it out.”  She stood by the door again.  “This may have started as a prank, but my partner may very well may be dead!  If anything happens to Jake Donnelly, you’ll be making confession every day for the rest of your life.”

            “I’m not Catholic.”

            “All the worse for you then.” 

            “Take St. John’s Gatehouse.  Trafalgar will be jammed up this time of the morning,” Adrian said from the passenger seat of Ian’s vintage Mercedes.  “So what’s the plan?”

            Ian said nothing at first, and just fiddled with the radio dial.  “I haven’t gotten to that yet,” he admitted.  “Thought since I bungled my last idea so badly, I’d leave this one to you.  You’re the one who’s had tactical training anyway.  Where are you supposed to meet them?”

            Adrian leaned her head against the side window and examined the complicated pattern of the morning sky.  Gray and white on the east side, blue on the west.  Like always.  “I suppose they’ll find me when I get there.  I don’t exactly blend.”

            Ian chuckled.

            “Here, pull up to the curb,” she said pointing.  “I’ll go around back and stake them out since we’re a bit early.  Why don’t you park at the Laundromat over there in case they know your car, and I’ll see you inside.”

            Paddington at seven a.m. was just as she expected.  Not exactly swarms, it was more like strings of businesspeople traveling in utterly conflicting directions – ramming into each other, skimming the sides of bodies so that pocketbooks, satchels, briefcases occasionally fell to the floor amid a thousand and one “I’m sorry’s”.  Java Hut Coffee had a stand in every station in London.  She spotted the familiar sign and logo on the opposite side.  She ordered a coffee and sat in the only available seat at the makeshift counter.  After pouring two sugar packets into the hot liquid, she began counting to herself.  Ten, nine, eight, seven -- a tap on her shoulder interrupted the train of thought. 

            “Come with me,” a well-tailored man said grabbing hold of her left elbow. 

            She looked up, bleary-eyed.  “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she said wriggling out of his grip.

            “Take your coffee,” the man said glancing at her.  “Looks like you need it.”  Still clutching her arm and shoulder, he shoved her ahead of him and pushed her along by a hard prod in the center of her back.

            “Smith and Wesson .45?” she asked looking back.

            “Be quiet and walk.”  Pause.  “It’s a .9 mm if you must know.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “Walk to the edge of the platform and –”

            “And jump in front of the train?  No thanks,” she interjected, and in one fluid motion extricated herself from his grip, turned, and grabbed the pistol from his limp hand.  “Where’s Bones?” she said, impatiently thrusting the stainless steel muzzle into the man’s chest.  Then she leaned in closer to his face.  “Where – is – he?”

            “In the glassed-in office.”  The man pointed east down the platform. 

            There was no time for this now.  Jake had been missing for three days, the election for City Council was next week and the Billberg sword still needed to be returned.  She wondered about Ian as the crowd seemed to part before her.  Bones and Councilman Barry appeared on the platform outside the stationmaster’s office.

            “Well, if it isn’t Rocky and Bullwinkle,” she said.

            “Where’s Milton?” Bones asked.

            “Who?” Adrian laughed and shot a look behind her.  “Looking for his gun, I suppose.  What have you done with my partner?”

            Bones looked at Councilman Barry.  “Well he’s at home of course.  Where else would he be this time of day?”  Bones smiled, while Barry stood in the shadows looking sheepish. 

            “How about lying dead in the corner of your basement, Councilman?”

            Bones handed her a cell phone and gently pulled the gun from her hands.

            Regardless of the consequences, her fingers pressed the numbers and she waited.  A moment later, she heard a familiar voice.  “Donnelly.”

            “Jake?  Thank God.  Are you –”

            Before she heard an answer, Bones grabbed the phone.  “Satisfied?”

            She considered his question on several levels simultaneously.  Bones was a thin, slight man who overcompensated for this feature by a loud voice and quick, decisive movements.  No, of all the things she was feeling right now, satisfied was hardly one of them.  “Why am I here?” she asked finally.

            “Call it an expression of good will.”

            “I should think you owe me some after hanging me upside down.”

            “You’d better be careful,” Ian bellowed from ten feet away.  “When she gets angry, there’s no telling what can happen.”

            Adrian turned toward Ian and felt comforted by his irregular, kind face.  “Don’t you need to return something to these men?  A sword, perhaps?”

            Ian didn’t move.

            “Don’t mean to rush you, but maybe before you get us both killed.”

            Bones looked at Barry and then grinned so wide his face doubled in size.  Barry reached both hands behind him and pulled forward a long case.

            “You mean this?” Barry asked.

            Ian’s face ashened.  He put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder to steady himself.  “I should have known.”

            “You’re right, you should have – known about video cameras I mean,” Bones replied to Ian.  “Even the dark can make out your pasty mug.”

            “So that’s it for me, then?  Grand theft, treason, jail?”

            Bones tilted his head and regarded Adrian closely.  “It’s not you we want, old man.  It’s her.”

            Adrian watched his movements, then glanced at Barry and back at Ian.  “What are you people?  Secret service?”

            “MI5 is the most highly regarded intelligence agency in the western hemisphere.  You should be honored to be asked, young lady.”

            “Do I look honored?  What about TRIAD?  Or do your allegiances change from week to week?”

            Bones said nothing.

            Adrian smirked as the realization crystallized in her mind.  “TRIAD is MI5?”  She shook her head and took two steps back.  “This is how it is, then.  If I come to work for you, Ian stays out of jail.”

            “Of course.”

            “Don’t bother, dear,” Ian said.  “Unless they serve beer in prison, I’m sure I’d die of withdrawal within the first week.”

            Adrian grabbed Ian’s arm and started down the platform again.

            “Just a moment!” Bones yelled.

            She turned back.  “I’ll get back to you.”

            “And when exactly can we expect an answer?”

            She leaned in toward Ian and chuckled.  “How about a year from now.”

            Ian put his arm around her shoulders.  “Well done.  What would I do without you?”

            “How about you just ring me and we’ll go to the zoo next time you need adventure.  Mmm?”

THE END