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Lancelot Knight squinted as he looked up at the austere building. “Boston Public Library,” he murmured. “Stupid place for a meeting of secret societies.”
Hugo Marchand glanced at Lancelot. They were partners in an important—and dangerous—mission, but had only met for the first time on the flight here. There were many things he didn’t know about the man, and apparently, more than a few things Lancelot didn’t know about him.
Including that Hugo and his fellow “librarians”—a secret think tank within Europe’s oldest and most powerful secret society—held their meetings in the library of Trinity College in Edinburgh. Apparently great minds thought alike…when it came to their libraries. “I’m sure the grand master has a better grasp of this place than we do.”
Hugo held a PhD in political science and taught at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. He’d had several opportunities to travel to the States for lectures, and he’d even taught a semester-long course at Northwestern once, but Boston was a new city for him.
Of course, this trip wasn’t part of his scholarly duties.
He was here acting as a representative of the Masters’ Admiralty. In recent months—no, years—the secret society had come under attack from a villain, a mastermind, believed to have detailed knowledge of their organization, and possibly the ability to decrypt their coded communications. The mastermind was operating with the help of…well, for lack of a better term, pets. Psychotic, maniacal pets with skill sets that ran along the lines of serial killing, bombing, and torture.
Thus far, the mastermind had managed to remain one step ahead of them, and the body count was growing. Hence Hugo’s trip to Boston.
While there were nine territories in the Masters’ Admiralty, spanning the United Kingdom and Europe, as well as parts of Eurasia, the United States was not included.
Instead, the Trinity Masters, founded at the same time thirteen colonies decided they wanted freedom from the British monarchy, was the secret society ruling on this side of the Atlantic, under the leadership of a Grand Master, Juliette Adams.
The Masters’ Admiralty and the Trinity Masters had a somewhat antagonistic relationship. The current state of affairs could best be likened to the Cold War. The delicate political situation—combined with literally hundreds of years of mistrust, misinformation, and outright antagonism—was why Hugo was here. When walking into a situation where the politics and culture of a place, both past and present, made any conversation a veritable land mine, one of Europe’s most respected political science professors was the best bet as lead negotiator.
At least that was his cover story.
A known associate of the mastermind, Alicia Rutherford, who had been wife to a sniper who had shot and killed several members of the Masters’ Admiralty, and the lover of two different traitors, was an American. They’d been closing in on her when she’d fled Europe. Their intelligence assets believed she was hiding in the States. In order to seek out the enemy, Hugo had to first ask permission of the Grand Master.
“Today’s objective,” Lancelot said as they climbed the front steps, “is to avoid starting a turf war?” They entered the building, passing by the welcome desk, climbing the marble staircase, and walking through the massive lion statues standing guard.
Hugo chuckled even though the knight’s description was accurate. “Precisely.”
“How do you want to play this?” Lancelot asked.
Though the two of them had spent the last seven hours sitting next to each other in first class on the flight from London, they’d spoken of nothing of significance. It was too dangerous to speak in public about anything of meaning. They’d spent a good two hours debating football, arguing who had the best chances of running away with the Premier League Cup, then another hour or so discussing their work.
Knight wasn’t just Lancelot’s last name; it was his position within the Masters’ Admiralty. As a knight of England, Lancelot’s job consisted of serving as both police and judge, maintaining law and order in his territory. In addition to that, the knights served as personal guards to the admiral and vice admiral of their territory. For a knight of England, which included modern-day Great Britain and Ireland to leave his territory and his admiral, was another indication of how important this mission was.
After a few hours of pleasant conversation, the effects of the Scotch they’d consumed had lulled them both into a peaceful slumber, neither of them rousing until the plane touched down at Logan Airport.
Hugo stopped on the first landing of the grand staircase, the two of them stepping aside as a teacher led a group of primary school children through a tour. “We’re here as a courtesy, according to the fleet admiral. We’re to state our business, ask permission, then hope they agree to let us search for Alicia Rutherford. Given the current political climate, my strategy is to offer as little information as possible as to why we’re looking for this person, and to acknowledge that this is a favor, and we are guests.”
Lancelot nodded. “You do the talking. I’ll read the room.”
“Read the room?” Hugo was a fluent English speaker—he’d been tutored in the language since the time he was six, which gave him proficiency those who’d learned their second or third languages as adults usually couldn’t achieve. Still, he didn’t know all colloquial expressions and idioms, and Lancelot’s accent was unusual, and not at all like that of the Oxford-educated tutor who’d taught Hugo.
“You can tell a lot about people simply by watching their body language as they interact with others. While you secure their permission, I’m going to try to figure out if we can go about our investigation without having to look over our shoulders the entire time we’re here.”
“You believe you can acquire a sense of security or threat simply by watching?”
Lancelot nodded.
“A fascinating skill. I shall talk, you observe.”
Hugo continued climbing the stairs to the mezzanine. The Grand Master and her consultants planned to meet with them in a reserved conference room. Or at least that was the information England’s vice admiral, Lorelei Madden, had relayed to him.
Once they reached the small conference room, they paused, glancing at each other, communicating without words. Both of them understood the importance of this meeting. If they couldn’t secure the Grand Master’s approval of the investigation—hunt was probably a more accurate word—they would have to reevaluate the situation. Returning home without Alicia Rutherford was not an option in Hugo’s mind.
While he’d never met Juliette Adams, Hugo already preferred dealing with her anger or disapproval as opposed to admitting failure to the fleet admiral. Eric Ericsson was also known as the Viking. Though he’d only recently assumed leadership of the Masters’ Admiralty, stories about the Viking had circulated for years, and had included everything from sheep herding to berserker rages. Hugo had no interest in discovering if any of the scarier stories had validity firsthand.
Lancelot was the first to enter the room, and Hugo observed as the knight quickly scanned the area, his eyes taking in everything in the small, bookcase-lined meeting room in a moment. In deference to their audience, the longsword a knight typically wore had been left in Europe, traded out for a Bowie knife strapped to his ankle.
Lancelot glanced back at Hugo and gave him a subtle nod.
