Page 7 of To Love A Spy
“Despite what you think, I am not yet in my dotage. In my younger days, I was not half bad at this sort of thing.”
She rose without comment and moved to her desk. He heard a drawer slide open, followed by the rustle of paper and the scrape of a penknife. “Perhaps the key question to ask is whether you believe that this weapon actually exists. A substance that combines an explosive power beyond our wildest imagination with a fire that can’t be extinguished by water? It seems . . . unthinkable.”
“I asked the same question of my scientific consultant. As it happens, Lady Merton met El-Halabi several years ago when he was in Cambridge for a symposium on Medieval manuscripts. Based on her research, she is of the opinion that such a thing is theoretically possible.”
“Then we must take the threat seriously. Lady Merton’s expertise in chemistry is unimpeachable, despite her sex.”
“Yes, it is,” said Lynsley softly.
Mrs. Merlin looked grim. “So, you mean to go through with this, come hell or high water?”
He regarded the gilt framed portrait of Francis Walsingham, England’s first spymaster for a long moment before answer. “We have a duty to do what we are asked, no matter how dangerous or daunting, Charlotte. I won’t send an unfledged Merlin on a mission like this. So I had better do the job myself.”
Pierre Rochambeau was the most dangerous agent the French had. Lynsley had reason to know his deadly skill all too well. One of his Merlins . . .
He did not like to dwell on his failures. It was hard enough to send his women into danger. The guilt he felt when a mission went wrong tore at his insides. It was no wonder, he supposed, that sleep was often elusive.
A fresh sheet of foolscap slapped down on the desk blotter, rousing him from such dark musings. “When do they want you to leave?” asked the headmistress.
“As soon as possible. I am aiming for tonight, on the midnight tide,” he replied. “A coastal cutter is waiting at Southampton to take me across the Channel.”
“You are going alone?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmph.” Mrs. Merlin adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Well, then, we haven’t any time to waste. Give me an overview of the situation. If I can’t dissuade you, I can at least try to help you come up with a viable strategy for success.”
Lynsley gave an inward smile. Now he knew how the Academy students felt on being subjected to the headmistress’s intense scrutiny. A good many of the Merlins had sat in his place, answering both her questions and his.
Had they also experienced the small flutter of exhilaration on knowing they would soon be flying into action? Perhaps Mrs. Merlin was right. Perhaps he did miss the thrum of his pulse pounding wildly through his veins, the challenge of the unknown. He had been sitting behind a desk for more years than he cared to count.
A regimented routine.To tell the truth, his life of latehadbeen feeling a bit flat.
“I mean to keep it simple,” he replied. “I plan to land in St. Pierre Eglise?—”
“Why such a small town as St. Pierre Eglise, when the larger ports of Calaise or Dieppe are so much closer?” interrupted Mrs. Merlin.
“In his latest report, the head of my Normandy network informed me that an American envoy from President Madison is visiting relatives near the city before heading on to meet with French officials in the capital. I have already sent word for our operatives to invite the man for a more prolonged stay in the area.” He smiled faintly. “Masquerading as Mr. Tobias Payne Tremaine, I shall be welcome in the salons and mansions of thehaute monde.”
“So far, so good. It’s unlikely the French are familiar with Tremaine’s face. He’s a new appointment to Mr. Madison’s diplomatic corps, if I remember correctly.”
“Your memory, as always, is sharp as a tack,” replied Lynsley.
Mrs. Merlin tapped a pen to her chin. “What about the American officials in Paris?”
“The entire delegation is presently on a trip to the south of France for talks on the Barbary pirate problem.”
Mrs. Merlin added a few lines to her notes. “Very good. So once you are in Paris, what then?”
Lynsley shrugged. “From there I shall just have to play it by ear. The agent holding the weapon is a man who enjoys the finer things in life when he is not on assignment—wine, women, witty conversation. He will be moving in the highest circles of Parisian society, savoring all the sumptuous pleasures that the City of Light has to offer.
“Have you any ally in the city?” she asked.
“I’ve one or two names, but whether they are trustworthy is another matter. For all practical purposes, I shall assume I am on my own if things go awry.”
“We always give our Merlins a plan of escape,” she said softly.
“There simply isn’t time, Charlotte. This is a unique opportunity. We can’t afford to let it slip through our fingers.” The marquess uncrossed his legs and rose. “Think of the countless lives that will be saved, not only by keeping such aweapon from being turned on our sailors, but also by bringing this war to a quick end.”
