| From: | Paul J. Adam Shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk |
|---|---|
| Subject: | With Despatch |
| Date: | Thu, 21 Oct 1999 00:06:40 +0100 |
>>>>>[+++++begin video
"Is there no way to make that infernal device less conspicuous, Harcourt?"
The speaker swims into view as the camera powers up, revealing him to
be a handsome blonde Elf of middle years, whose aristocratic bearing is
matched by his polished accent.
"It's _meant_ to be conspicuous." Harcourt replies reasonably. "So nobody
can claim you recorded the meeting without their consent." A complete
contrast to his companion, he's a short, stocky, Human Tynesider.
"Then its designers were repulsively successful." Pendleton sighs. "The
usual?"
"London Pride, if it's on. It's way good here."
"And would Her Ladyship care for it?"
"Get her that as well as the Scotch. I'll drink it if she doesn't." Harcourt
offers a thoroughly reasonable, if obviously self-sacrificing compromise.
"Your willingness to suffer for the Crown is noted, Edgar." Pendleton
moves out of the camera's focus.
A blonde woman, wearing a threadbare if classic Armante jacket, a silk
blouse, faded jeans and a lunatic grin, drops into the seat. "Eddie!
Where's Chuck?"
"Sue, pet, if you call Pendleton 'Chuck' he'll get Special Branch to lock you
up _forever_." Harcourt can't hide his smile, though. "How's things?"
"Pretty good, Edgar. You ought to get up to Glamis sometime and see it
now - Sir Charles, so good to renew acquaintance."
Pendleton sets his tray down. Two pints of dark ale, a tumbler of pale
golden liquid, and a tall glass of something with ice and lemon. "'Chuck'.
You called me 'Chuck'. Baroness, I should call you out for that."
"Okay. St. James' Park, dawn tomorrow, with 155mm howitzers at ten
paces." Quinn cackles happily. "Or you can accept my apology."
"Is it sincere?"
"'Course not! What do you take me for?"
"It will suffice anyway." Pendleton stifles a laugh, sips his gin and tonic.
"I
understand you're assisting some colonial acquaintances in dealing with one
Seamus Padraig Malone?"
Quinn nods around her pint of Fuller's London Pride.
"We have a peripheral interest in the matter." Pendleton says. His voice
has the smooth calm grace of a shark cutting through the water towards
a wounded swimmer.
"Oh, really? Do tell!"
"Don Malone accepted a respectable sum from our agents, for his
assistance in certain affairs then pertaining in Las Vegas." Pendleton has a
cool detachment - which means this may be _very_ personal for the Aryan
Elf. "He chose to supplement that income by betraying our
representatives. They were captured, and interrogated thoroughly, and
killed." The flat, level tone is quite frightening. A friend, a lover, a family
member caught, tortured and killed? Or just rage at comrades betrayed
and murdered?
Quinn pauses, and - rarely for her - considers her words carefully. "So MI6
would like to see Bad Things happen to Malone?"
"We would be able to offer considerable, if covert, support towards that
aim. His Majesty's Government does not officially engage in acts of petty
vengeance, Susan, but betrayal should not go unpunished. The difficulty
has been in finding trustworthy and yet deniable agents through which to
act."
Quinn pauses again. She may be itching to ask, but she manages not to. "I
think I can lay some serious hurt on Malone, Charles. I think I'd enjoy
doing it, too. I don't need help, I'd do it because I like fucking over
scumbags whenever I can."
"Nevertheless. Malone profited by harming us. You should be rewarded for
assisting us." Pendleton's tone is still flat and calm and cold as a sheet of
ice. "And you are deniable enough for our purposes, yet I trust you
completely in this. Hurt him, Susan. Hurt him as badly as you can. You will
be handsomely rewarded."
+++++end video
I am aware this is not precisely in accordance with procedure.
However, the Malone account has been outstanding for some time and
Her Ladyship offers a chance to close it. Few others would dare.
This promises to become... interesting.]<<<<<
-- Sir Charles Pendleton <23:18:32/10-20-60>
