Page 29 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)
They debated the pros and cons of Alessandro taking the lead in the conversation.
“Well, he knows me, but only as a newspaper publisher. I am not even sure he knows my British heritage,” Alessandro explained.
“However, you are unknown, which might cause its own scepticism but also enables you to introduce yourself for the first time as an agent of the Bureau.”
Rat’s natural reticence and modesty, as well as his admiration and respect for Alessandro, made him disinclined to put himself forward. “I have no way of proving that I am who I say I am. If Sir Alan already has a relationship of sorts with you, surely you are better placed for credibility.”
The conversation continued unresolved until they finally saw the black lacquered door of the British Legation appear.
“Matthew, why do we not begin with you explaining your role? He will inevitably ask why I am present, and I can then explain that I too am involved with intelligence operations on behalf of the British Government.” Rat wasn’t convinced, but as he usually did, deferred to the older, more seasoned operative.
The building was a tall, narrow mansion with a polished brass knocker and windows that reflected the light like cut glass.
The street was quiet aside from the gentle lap of canal water and the creak of a nearby barge.
Rat brushed a faint trace of soot from his jacket before rapping on the door with the large brass doorknocker.
Alessandro took the lead in requesting to see Sir Alan.
His title was enough to gain them entry.
Inside, the British Legation was a study in hushed power.
Polished wood floors gleamed beneath Turkish rugs; sparkling chandeliers hung from high plaster ceilings.
They passed an oil portrait of King George V, and a framed map of the Netherlands annotated in spidery handwriting.
A faint scent of tobacco lingered in the air.
The footman led them to a tall door at the end of the corridor. He rapped once, then opened it. “The Conte Foscari to see you, Your Excellency.”
The room beyond was spacious, with bookshelves reaching the ceiling and tall windows looking out over the canal. Sir Alan sat behind a large mahogany desk but stood when they were introduced. His expression was unreadable.
Sir Alan was tall, slender, and impeccably dressed, with the faintly aquiline features characteristic of an aristocrat. His steel-grey hair was neatly parted, his moustache precisely trimmed, and his eyes a keen blue, sharp beneath heavy brows.
He was dressed not flamboyantly, but with the sharp tailoring and perfect necktie of a man who has put himself in the hands of an excellent valet: starched collar, navy morning coat, and a waistcoat of muted brocade.
When he spoke, Sir Alan had the clipped diction of a top-notch British education. “Conte Foscari, this is a surprise. I do not believe you had an appointment?” Sir Alan approached with his hand extended.
“We did not,” Alessandro apologised. “Please excuse my intruding upon your Saturday morning, but there is a matter of some urgency.” Alessandro then gestured toward Rat.
“This is my friend and colleague, Matthew Sandworth.” Alessandro paused before saying, “A colleague in the British Intelligence services, most specifically, the Secret Service Bureau.”
Rat offered his hand, and Sir Alan shook it. However, even his excellent manners and diplomatic experience couldn’t hide his surprise at these words.
“Secret Service Bureau, you say? Can’t say I’ve heard of it.” Sir Alan indicated his guests should sit and then retreated to his seat behind the desk. “What is the Secret Service Bureau when it’s around?”
Created only in 1909, the Bureau was so new and covert that many, including some involved in the government, often had little or no awareness of it.
Rat replied, “It was founded two years ago in order to investigate enemy espionage threats and foreign intelligence activity at home and abroad.”
Sir Alan made a noise that could have meant a range of things: disapproval, perhaps confusion.
Maybe it was even a clearing of his throat with no other intention.
“Well, this is the first I am hearing about it. More to the point, I am assuming you are operating in Amsterdam without my awareness or approval.”
Alessandro glanced at Rat; they both knew they had no need to gain the diplomat’s permission or even give him notice of their activities.
In fact, quite the opposite; they were to operate as discreetly as possible, alerting no one, if possible, not even other British Government officials.
However, they needed Sir Alan’s help at the moment and pointing out such a reality was hardly likely to recommend them to the man.
Instead, Alessandro said, “Sir Alan, the mission we have come to Amsterdam to work on is a delicate one.” They hadn’t yet provided any details of their assignment, and Rat wondered how much information Alessandro would offer.
“I am sure you understand if we cannot give too many specifics. However, what we can say is that we have uncovered a very dangerous plot which we need your help to thwart.” Well, that wasn’t very detailed at all. Would it satisfy Sir Alan?
Thirty minutes later, they had their answer: no, it wouldn’t. As they left the British Legation, Rat asked, “Now what?”
“Well, he didn’t refuse to help. He merely said that he needs more evidence before he is comfortable alerting the Dutch authorities,” Alessandro pointed out.
“We showed him the fuse cap and the copies of the manifests. He could see for himself what I had deciphered. How much evidence does the man need?”
Rat was frustrated and couldn’t help expressing his frustration. Alessandro understood and shared his sentiments, but he had been in the field too long not to understand how such things worked.
He stopped walking and turned to Rat. “Sir Alan has no authority here. Diplomacy is all about influence and relationships. If he goes to the Dutch authorities with our concerns and it turns out there’s nothing behind them, he will not only look foolish and bring disgrace to Britain, but that will be the last time anyone pays attention to him. ”
Rat was not normally headstrong, but he was young and impatient.
“But there is something behind our concerns, and we just showed him the evidence! How much more does he need?” It was a valid question, and one to which Alessandro didn’t have a good answer.
Rat continued, “I found bomb parts, for goodness’ sake! ”
“Well, you found components of what might be a bomb. They could also be parts for something entirely different.”
“Then why bury them in a crate labelled nutmeg?” Rat insisted.
Alessandro smiled indulgently. “You don’t have to convince me. I agree with you. I am just pointing out that our so-called evidence isn’t indisputable.”
Rat wanted to argue the point, but knew that he would only be preaching to the converted. Still, he couldn’t help but express his deepest concern. “What if the only thing that will be sufficient proof is to find the bomb in the theatre, by which time it might be too late?”
The men had resumed walking. Alessandro considered what they knew.
“If the bomb is to detonate tomorrow evening, and the components were still at the dock yesterday afternoon, which was Friday, then the plan must be to move them today or tomorrow morning. I don’t know much about theatrical performances, but if there is a different performance tonight, then presumably, the German company will be moving in to set up tomorrow.
Our best bet is to monitor the theatre and once we are sure that the bomb parts have been moved in, alert Sir Alan. ”
This plan made sense, but something still worried Rat.
“If the point of our operation is to expose that this is a German false-flag plot to discredit Britain, it’s not enough to just find a bomb.
After all, the fuse caps look to be British-made, and we know that the plan is to shift the blame onto anarchists. ”
Both men sighed; this wouldn’t be easy, and getting the timing just right would be crucial.
Rat knew Alessandro spoke several languages. Now he asked, “How good is your German?”
“Probably as good as my Dutch, maybe a little better.”
“Then, I have an idea. Tomorrow we are going to visit the Stadsschouwburg Theatre and pretend to be part of the backstage crew. I won’t say much, but if anyone questions us in Dutch, you will claim to be with the German company, and vice versa.
We need to locate those crates and try to get a sense of where this bomb might be placed so Sir Alan can then send in the Dutch authorities. ”
“Of course, that still doesn’t solve the problem of pointing the finger directly at Germany,” Alessandro pointed out. However, they both agreed to tackle one issue at a time.