Page 5

“No, you listening won’t be taken as an agreement to go on with it. Although I’d be surprised if it doesn’t at least intrigue you,” said Sir Newton.

Andrew nodded once, and the man snapped open the file.

“We have need of a skilled handler to run an operation in Edinburgh. Your hometown.”

“I’m from Eyemouth, not Edinburgh,” he said.

Sir Newton glanced up but then shrugged. “It’s Scotland, the same general part of the world. We’ve received concerning reports from a field office there.”

“There are always concerning reports out of every field office. It’s how they manage to keep themselves from being closed. They never amount to much,” Andrew said.

“Not like these,” said Rickman. “A constable chasing a robber through one of the warehouses at the edge of the city knocked over a box. When it fell, the lid dislodged, revealing a crate of guns. Rifles, incendiary devices, all manner of nasty things.”

“Then arrest the warehouse owner and have done with it,” Andrew said.

“It isn’t that simple,” said Rickman.

“We left the weapons where they were found because we also intercepted a missive from the owner’s home that we believe is a coded directive, but we’ve struggled to work out what it means save a set of dates,” said Sir Newton.

“And you want to trace the weapons and find out where they’ll lead you,” Andrew said.

Sir Newton nodded. “It could be one of any number of groups. The anti-unionists, the anarchists—”

“Anarchists?” he interrupted. “Doesn’t the degree of planning necessary to secure and store a cache of weapons imply a greater degree of organization than their philosophy allows?”

“Your commentary is not appreciated, Colter,” Rickman nearly growled.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t know why I’m here. I suggest you deal with the problem in whatever manner Home usually does. This is not my area of expertise,” he said with a shrug. It wasn’t as though the British government was afraid of exerting its power, even over its own people.

“It’s not quite that simple. The dates we were able to discern from the intercepted message coincide with the Prince of Wales’s visit,” said Sir Newton.

Andrew sucked in a breath. He’d been at sea and dodging Russian sabers and hadn’t had time to keep up with his reading. He’d missed the news of the prince’s visit to Edinburgh, but he knew what it would mean for the city. Thousands of people out in the streets, all vulnerable to attack, not to mention the heir to the throne and his entire traveling party. It was a nightmare scenario.

“The prince will be in the city for five days. You can imagine the logistical challenge this creates. There’s no possible chance that the Queen’s Guard and the local constabulary can cover an event of this size and protect everyone,” said Sir Newton.

Home had to try to figure out what the threat was and shut it down.

“We’ve identified a civilian who we believe is in direct contact with the man who owns the warehouse where the guns were found,” Rickman said. “We’re confident she can be turned and enlisted to ferry information to us. We want you to recruit her.”

His brow furrowed. “Her?” He knew some of the most valuable intelligence assets in British intelligence were women, but they were usually highly trained women. He’d never heard of a handler being asked to recruit a female civilian and put her directly into contact with a target so quickly.

The admiral folded his hands and leaned forward in his chair. “Her name is Mrs. Lavinia Parkem, though you might’ve known her once as Lavinia Malcolm.”

Andrew’s stomach fell three stories to the street, and he shot to his feet. “No.”

“Stop, Captain,” Admiral Perry ordered.

Years of sailing and its strict hierarchy onboard brought Andrew up short three feet from the door, and he cursed under his breath. Clenching his fists, he slowly turned to face the men.

“I understand that you and Mrs. Parkem were once engaged,” said Sir Newton, looking up from the files.

His mouth went dry as the memories he kept as neatly packed away as his ship’s chest came loose. “Yes.”

“What happened?” the man asked.

“I was shipwrecked and declared dead, but I didn’t die. It took me months of recovery and four ships to get home, and when I arrived I found out she was another man’s bride. Lavinia Malcolm didn’t even give me the courtesy of a full year of mourning before she married Parkem.”

His sweetheart from the day her brother had hauled him into the kitchen of their family home to steal the plate of biscuits she was helping the cook make, she’d been his heart, his rock, his everything. When a storm had destroyed the ship he was sailing on, the memory of her had been what’d kept him clinging to a broken door as he was battered by the sea. Returning to her had been everything, yet when he’d finally laid eyes on her again—blissfully happy to return to his beacon—she’d looked at him with an uncomfortable mixture of horror and pity. That was when he’d learned the truth. She’d been married two days before. She’d moved on. He didn’t even know if she’d mourned him.