Villains in Venice (Taylor and Rose Secret Agents 3)

Secret Service Bureau HQ, London

Released from the Bureau? Is – is there some sort of a problem?’ Sophie faltered.

‘A problem? Oh, my dear, my goodness, of course not!’ exclaimed the Chief. ‘You know how delighted I am with your work, and Miss Rose’s too of course. It’s simply that I don’t expect to have a new assignment for you for the time being.’

Sophie felt astonished. Quite apart from anything else, now more than ever Taylor & Rose needed the generous fees they earned from the Bureau. And there had never been any shortage of work for them before, she thought: if anything, she’d heard the Chief say many times that there was too much work and not enough agents to cover it. What was going on?

‘I don’t have anything suitable, you see. No assignments that are the right fit for young ladies like yourselves,’ the Chief was saying.

‘But what about the Fraternitas?’ asked Sophie.

‘Ah! You may rest assured that things are moving forwards on that score. And of course I will keep you updated on any significant progress. But for now you’ve done your part, and done it very well I might add.’ The Chief smiled again. ‘You have worked hard. The last few months must have been exhausting. And tremendously difficult with – er – what happened to your young associate. Tragic business. Most unfortunate. If you’ll permit me, Miss Taylor, might I suggest that this would be a good moment for you and Miss Rose to take a holiday?’

‘A holiday?’ Sophie repeated. What was the Chief up to?

‘I know you are a hard worker, Miss Taylor. But even the best of us need a holiday every now and again, don’t we? Rest and recuperation is important. And a change of scenery, perhaps. No sense in overdoing it, you know,’ he finished in an unexpectedly firm voice, fixing her with a sharp, bright gaze.

‘I suppose we could think about it,’ she murmured.

‘Very good, Miss Taylor. You do that,’ said the Chief. ‘Well, I’ll be in touch when I need your services again. Thank you, my dear. Good afternoon!’

Sophie got to her feet. The Chief did not even glance at her as she left: he had already turned back to his documents and was once more humming under his breath.

Outside the Chief’s door, Sophie found that the Bureau was unexpectedly busy. Normally, there was only Captain Carruthers lounging back in his chair, studying a document, but today it seemed full of people. A messenger boy was at Carruthers’ desk, waiting for him to sign for a stack of official-looking envelopes. Across the room, the tall, bronzed and handsome Captain Forsyth was deep in confidential conversation with a surly looking fellow in a dark raincoat whom Sophie knew by sight as another agent, Mr Brooks. They both looked over at her as she came out of the Chief’s office and her cheeks flushed pink. The door had been open: had they heard she wasn’t being given a new assignment? For them of course it would simply reinforce the idea that Sophie and Lil were lesser agents, and that working with female detectives was a waste of the Bureau’s time.

She hurried past them, muttering only a quick, ‘Good morning,’ and barely making eye contact with Carruthers as she passed his desk. On their mission to St Petersburg he’d become something of a friend and normally she’d have stopped to chat with him, but now she was eager to get away.

Back at Sinclair’s, Sophie went straight to the offices of Taylor & Rose, hurrying past the reception desk where Mei was on the telephone and passing the door of Billy’s office without a pause. She knew they’d be waiting to hear what the Chief had said but she didn’t feel like talking. Instead, she went into the office she shared with Lil, closing the door behind her and flopping down into her chair with a long sigh.

The Russian phrasebook was still in her pocket. She took it out and opened it and read the note again. Tonight at the usual place – 8 p.m.. The words were reassuring.

It was three o’clock now and she certainly had enough work to keep her busy until then, she thought, eyeing the stacks of paper on her desk. But as she opened an account book she felt fidgety and unable to concentrate. Her mind was still running over the day’s events: the newspaper stories. German spies. The Fraternitas. The meeting at the Bureau. Brooks and Forsyth, looking at her knowingly. Tragic business. Most unfortunate.

She knew she did not have time to be distracted. There was a great deal of work to be done – more than they could easily manage. They really needed to take on some more part-time help, she thought, but could they afford it? She frowned at the account book and then began jotting down some possible wording for a job advertisement. But after a moment she gave it up again. What she really needed was to talk it over with Lil – but Lil wasn’t here.

She pushed the account book aside and instead turned her attention to a file of information about a new case that Billy had left for her. Before long she was so engrossed she did not even notice the light ebbing from the sky. Her head was still bent over the file when Billy put his head round the door to say he was taking Daisy out for her evening walk. She only said ‘mmm’ when Mei appeared a little later to say they were going home now and should she lock the office door? It was not until a quarter to eight that Sophie looked up and realised it was quite dark outside, and if she did not hurry she was going to be late.

Leaving the file on her desk, Sophie put on her hat and coat and slipped out of the now-empty office and down the back stairs. She’d once found the deserted store rather creepy at night, but now it seemed comforting and familiar. She sucked in a deep breath of the warm air, fragranced with rose and violet, and the spicy, heady aroma that made her think of rich furs and the cigars that Papa used to smoke after dinner.

Outside, the wind felt very cold against her face, smelling instead of motor-car fumes and bitter smoke. A cold rain was falling and she was glad of the shelter of her umbrella as she splashed through the puddles and out into the street.

Even on a gloomy February evening, Piccadilly Circus was full of lights, sparkling with the brightness of street lamps and motor-car headlights and illuminated advertisements for Bovril and Perrier. But Sophie turned quickly away from the glitter of shops and restaurants, hurrying across Regent Street towards the darker streets of Soho that lay beyond.

Here, the wide roads gave way to a twisty labyrinth of poorly lit streets lined with little shops, pubs and eating- houses. Sophie took a winding route along them, glancing up into a darkened window every now and again to check the street behind her. It had become a habit, but tonight more than usual she wanted to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

She turned a corner, past a coffee merchant’s, past an ironmonger’s shop all shut up for the night, and then turned again, heading down a dark cobbled alleyway between two crooked buildings. Halfway down it was a doorway: once more, Sophie checked quickly around her to be sure she was alone before turning the handle and slipping through, closing the door behind her.

Once inside the dark shabby hall, she went swiftly up a steep narrow staircase, the stairs creaking beneath her feet. On the second-floor landing, lit only by a single flickering gas-lamp, she stopped and knocked sharply on a door. A moment later, it had opened a crack.

‘Miss Taylor,’ said a stern voice from inside. ‘Come in. You’re late.’

A Secret Location, Soho, London

As the door closed on the dark stairwell, Sophie stepped into a small, snug sitting room, so different from what lay outside that it was hard to believe she was still in the same building. It was comfortably furnished with a blazing fire in the hearth and several cosy armchairs drawn up around it. A table was set with cups and a jug of cocoa and a plate of currant buns, and Sophie – who had missed her tea – heard her stomach rumble.

‘Miss Taylor!’ came a familiar voice from the depths of one of the large armchairs. ‘Ignore my grandson’s bad manners and come in and warm yourself, my dear. Sam, pour her a cup of cocoa, there’s a good fellow.’

The Chief’s feet were resting comfortably on a footstool before the fire while he puffed on his pipe. He gestured to the armchair beside him and Sophie sat down thankfully, shedding her damp coat, hat and umbrella, while Captain Carruthers, who as well as being the Chief’s assistant was also his grandson, rather grumpily hung them up and poured her a cup of cocoa.

The three of them had been using this Soho room as a secret meeting place ever since November when she’d returned from St Petersburg and told the Chief about the double agent.

‘If the Bureau truly has been infiltrated, then we cannot be too careful,’ the Chief had said. ‘We cannot count on any conversations at the office remaining confidential. We must have a safe place we can talk.’

No one else could know about their safe house, or the conversations that took place there. It was very important to make sure the double agent did not suspect they had been discovered. ‘If they know we are suspicious, they will begin trying to cover their tracks,’ the Chief had said. ‘But if they don’t . . . well, we may be able to find out who they are and then we can work them to our advantage.’

‘You mean they might lead us to some of the members of the Fraternitas?’ Carruthers had asked.

‘Or we could use them to feed false information back to the Fraternitas,’ suggested Sophie. ‘To mislead them and disrupt their plans.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Chief, nodding to them both. ‘But best of all we could persuade them to reconsider their loyalties. To return to our side and spy on the Fraternitas for us.’

‘So the double agent would become . . . a triple agent?’ Sophie had asked.

‘Precisely!’ said the Chief with a little smile, rubbing his hands together as though he relished the challenge.

In the days and weeks that had followed, Sophie and Lil had concentrated all their efforts on finding Joe and the mysterious woman, but all the while the Chief and Carruthers had been busy with investigations of their own, doing everything they could to identify the double agent that had been passing her secrets. It would not be easy, for they knew very little about him except what Joe had told Billy – he had watched a man whose face he had never seen clearly leaving the Bureau with some documents, which he had then hidden for a woman to collect.

Carruthers had set up a way for them to communicate secretly, via messages left inside books in the Charing Cross bookshop. But this was their first real meeting in weeks, and after what the Chief had said at the Bureau earlier that day, Sophie was more eager than ever to hear what he had to tell her.

‘No Miss Rose this evening?’ asked the Chief. ‘She’s still busy with your other cases, I suppose?’

‘That’s right,’ said Sophie swiftly, her cheeks turning a little pink as she took a sip of her cocoa. It was not exactly a lie, but she felt uncomfortable saying it just the same, especially when Carruthers was looking at her through narrowed eyes as though he guessed exactly what was really going on.

‘Well, you can brief her of course,’ said the Chief, nodding amiably. ‘Thank you for cooperating with my little subterfuge earlier. I am sure you realise that I have no plans to release you just yet. You and Miss Rose are far too useful for that!’ He gave a little chuckle and Sophie felt herself relax. She’d guessed that the scene in the Chief’s office earlier had been a ruse, but she felt better now that it had been confirmed. ‘But with any luck our double agent will have picked up the news on the grapevine, as it were, and will report back to the Fraternitas that you are taking a break. Which of course will leave you free from scrutiny for your real assignment. You may have guessed from my mentioning a holiday that I am sending you abroad . . .’

The Chief reached into a leather case at his side and drew out a battered-looking notebook. It looked like an ordinary exercise book but Sophie recognised it immediately. It had once belonged to a Bureau agent called Professor Blaxland and it contained vital information about a secret code that was concealed in a sequence of paintings by the Italian artist Benedetto Casselli. After Blaxland had been murdered by the Fraternitas, and the notebook had been stolen, Sophie had chased it across Europe to Russia, before finally returning it safely to the Bureau.

‘As you know, we have been working hard to decipher the information in Blaxland’s notebook,’ the Chief explained now. ‘You’ll remember that Blaxland had discovered that Casselli’s dragon paintings conceal clues to the location of a secret weapon, which he believed to date back to the sixteenth century. The nature of the weapon itself is still unknown, but it is undoubtedly powerful and very dangerous indeed.

‘The Fraternitas Draconum want this weapon very much – they will stop at nothing to get it. But to do so they need the paintings, most of which are now safely in our possession.’

Sophie nodded. None of this was new information. She also knew that the spyglass she’d brought back from Russia had allowed the Chief and his experts to examine the paintings and discover the clues they contained. But what the Chief said next was news to her – and to Carruthers too, judging by his expression.

‘With the help of the spyglass, we have discovered that each dragon painting contains a hidden clue – a short sequence of words and numbers. Blaxland’s research indicates that the numbers are references to a seventeenth- century atlas created by the Italian cartographer Francisco Marino.’

‘References? Like a grid reference?’ interrupted Carruthers.

‘Something of that kind, yes. But though we have access to the atlas – there is a copy in the British Museum – we have not yet been able to determine the location of the weapon. There is one painting still missing, so the clues are incomplete.’

The Chief took a sheet of paper from the case and laid it before them both.

He prodded the final item on the list with the stem of his pipe. ‘The Dragon Regardant, or as it is sometimes known, The Black Dragon.’

‘Wasn’t that the painting that was supposed to have been lost, or destroyed?’ asked Carruthers.

‘It was,’ said the Chief. ‘But according to the Professor’s notes, that story was spread about by the Fraternitas to conceal the truth. In fact, they kept the painting hidden for centuries, passing it down from one generation to the next.’

‘So where is it now?’ asked Sophie.

The Chief smiled. ‘As usual, Miss Taylor, you come to the point quickly. I have been working hard to try to discover the whereabouts of The Black Dragon. My sources now inform me that it forms part of a private art collection housed in Venice, Italy, and I want you and Miss Rose to go there and find it.

Sophie felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. This was something real, something she could actually do to help stop the Fraternitas. Finding the final dragon painting – the last piece of the puzzle that had occupied them for so long.

‘You will find the painting in the Palazzo Stella, a palace overlooking the Grand Canal,’ the Chief was saying. ‘It belongs to one of the old Venetian families but I believe it has been let furnished to a tenant – a wealthy American. You will need to find a way to gain admittance to the palazzo and examine the painting to obtain the final piece of the secret code.’

He reached into his case again and produced another familiar item – this time the velvet box containing the beautiful jewelled spyglass, which Sophie had brought back from St Petersburg. ‘You’ll need to take this with you.’

Carruthers was frowning. ‘Is that a good idea? We can’t risk the Fraternitas getting hold of it!’

‘Having carried it safely across Europe before, I am quite sure Miss Taylor will take good care of it,’ said the Chief crisply. ‘Besides, remember that the spyglass is of no use without the paintings. And it will be far easier for Miss Taylor to get the final piece of the code in situ, rather than trying to remove the painting itself.’

‘And once I have the code?’ asked Sophie. ‘What happens then?’

‘There is a copy of Marino’s map in Venice, at the State Archive. I suggest you go straight there to consult it. With the complete reference, you should be able to pinpoint the location of the weapon. We must not delay if we are to keep it out of the hands of the Fraternitas.’

Sophie nodded at once. While they still had no idea what exactly the weapon might be, she knew that it must not fall into the possession of the Fraternitas. Whatever it was, she knew that once they had it they would not hesitate to use it to help them spark off a terrible war in Europe. They must get to it first.

And yet, since her time in St Petersburg, she had begun to wonder about the Chief’s plans for the weapon too. Once they had tracked it down, would he turn it over to the British government so they could use it against their own enemies?

‘What happens once we have found it?’ she ventured to ask, not for the first time. She had made a promise that she would see the weapon destroyed so it could not cause harm to anyone, and she meant to keep it. But the Chief did not pay her question much attention.

‘Let’s not get too far ahead,’ he said. ‘Even once we know the location, it is likely that we will still need to crack the rest of the code. You will remember there are words as well as numbers hidden in the paintings, and rather cryptic they are too. The Professor had a few theories about what they might mean but nothing conclusive. Possibly they will make more sense once we know where the weapon can be found.’

The Chief held the spyglass out to her and Sophie reached to take it, but before he put it into her hands he gave her a serious look. ‘I must warn you, Miss Taylor, this may not be an easy assignment. Though I have no doubt that finding the painting itself will be simple work for agents of your calibre, it is possible that for all our efforts to hoodwink them, the Fraternitas will still be watching. You know how much they want this weapon. They must realise we are close to finding it. So you and Miss Rose must be on your guard.’

‘Couldn’t I go with them and help?’ suggested Carruthers.

But the Chief shook his head. ‘I need you here, to keep up the search for the double agent. They are being extremely careful, but they will slip up eventually – I am sure of it – and no one else knows the workings of the Bureau like you do.’ Carruthers flushed, trying to hide his pride, but the Chief had already turned back to Sophie. ‘However, I would suggest you take some of your other young people along with you. There is safety in numbers, you know, and besides, it may help reinforce the idea that you are going on a little holiday, should our enemies be watching.’

Sophie nodded again and the Chief gave her an approving smile. ‘I knew you would not be daunted. But I do want you to take some extra precautions just the same.’

Once again he reached into the case, this time pulling out a small wooden box and handing it to Sophie. She opened the lid and saw the gleam of silver and mother-of- pearl inside.

‘It’s . . . a revolver!’ she said in surprise.

‘A pocket pistol. Designed for ladies – perhaps a little daintier than a normal pistol, but just as effective.’

Sophie picked it up warily and weighed it in her hand. It was not the first time she had handled a firearm: Ada Pickering, the legendary New York detective who had trained her, had said it was important she knew how to shoot. But though Miss Pickering had taught her the basics, Sophie had never felt very comfortable with guns. Now, her thoughts flashed back to the East End alley: reports of a gunshot fired, Joe’s blood-stained cap.

The Chief seemed to know how she was feeling. ‘It’s only a precaution,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Likely you won’t have any need to use it. But in case you do, I’ve asked Brooks to give you a few lessons. He’s our resident expert. Of course he doesn’t know about your new assignment, but I’ve told him we’re giving you a little extra training while you are at leisure, so to speak.’

Sophie nodded, though she didn’t much like the idea of training with Brooks. Although she didn’t know him well, she knew he disapproved of her and Lil. She knew too that he’d come to the Taylor & Rose offices while she’d been in St Petersburg, asking rude questions and making contemptuous remarks about young lady detectives. But the Chief was already moving on. ‘You’ll be travelling simply as ordinary holidaymakers – sightseeing, visiting museums, that kind of thing. Sam will make all the arrangements and provide you with a dossier on Venice. But for now, I need you to look at this.’

He took a folded sheet of paper from inside the Professor’s notebook and held it out to her. For a minute Sophie didn’t understand what she was looking at, but then she realised. ‘It’s the code!’