Page 1 of Licence To Howl
Chapter One
‘DoI get a sporty car with an ejector seat?’
‘No.’
‘How about a watch that shoots poison darts? Do I get one of those?’
‘No.’
‘A pen with a hidden microphone?’
‘No.’
‘A gun?’
Sarah Greensmith stared hard at him. ‘Mr Webb,’ she said heavily, ‘this is not a film and you are not James Bond. I am not M. There is no Q. And you are not a sex symbol.’
‘That remains to be seen.’ Devereau linked his hands behind his head and offered her an easy grin. ‘Martini,’ he said, ‘shaken, not stirred.’
Greensmith rolled her eyes and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath while a pair of Lycra clad joggers bounced past them. Her eyes tracked them until they disappeared out of view. Devereau paid them little attention. He wasn’t stupid; he knew they met in places like this rather than any official MI5 buildings because nobody wanted to acknowledge that he was now working for the British government. He was a werewolf, and an ex-criminal. He wasn’t the type of recruit that tended to do much for PR.
‘What about training?’ he inquired.
‘You don’t get any training either.’
He raised an eyebrow, surprised for the first time. ‘Seriously?’
‘We need you to be you. It’s why we have recruited you in the first place. Any training we provide will take the sheen off Devereau Webb, career criminal and lonely supe. It would make you look like a stooge. The less training you have, the more genuine you appear. We can’t allow anyone to gain even the faintest inkling that you are not anything other than what you present yourself to be.’
‘A drop dead gorgeous crime lord with a fondness for the full moon?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t make me regret hiring you.’
Devereau had the distinct impression that she was already regretting it. ‘What happens if I’m captured by an evil mastermind and tortured to force me to reveal everything I know?’
Greensmith held up two fingers. ‘First of all,’ she told him, ‘you won’t know anything. Second, in that scenario it wouldn’t matter how much training we gave you. Everybody talks under torture. That’s why it’s so effective.’
He watched her delve into the bag which sat beside her on the park bench. She started rummaging through it. ‘Suddenly,’ he said, ‘I’m no longer so sure that I want to be part of MI5.’
‘Too late. You’ve already signed on the dotted line.’ Her expression cleared as she found what she was looking for. ‘Here it is.’ She slid over a large brown envelope. ‘This is for you.’
‘What is it?’
For the first time, Sarah Greensmith smiled. ‘Your first assignment.’ She pointed at the envelope. ‘Information has reached us that a certain Member of Parliament has been compromised as a result of an evening he recently spent with a sex worker.’
Devereau shrugged. ‘So? I imagine that sort of thing happens all the time.’
‘This particular MP has considerable dealings with the Ministry of Defence and he’s party to a great deal of sensitive data. Our tip off tells us that he’s being blackmailed by a gang out of South East London as a result of his dalliance. Your job is to either confirm or deny the allegations.’
‘And put a stop to the blackmail?’
‘No. All you have to do is find out whether it’s true or not. We will take care of the rest.’
Devereau opened the envelope flap and took out the papers within. ‘Alexander Carruthers,’ he read aloud. The enclosed photograph was of a pompous looking man in his fifties. He had ruddy cheeks and appeared to be wearing a cravat. He looked like the very definition of an Eton educated British politician.
‘That’s the MP,’ Greensmith said.
‘Anything on the sex worker?’
