Grant gnawed the stub of his cigar, imagining Percy, pinkie raised, sipping his bloody tea.

"Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Not at the moment, but we have a team already surveilling the meeting place. As soon as his contact shows up, we'll have him and then our assassin." The action report rolled off his tongue with practised guile.

"Yeah, but when, Percy?"

"Soon."

"Soon! Jesus Christ, Christmas is soon. Do I have to deploy more troops to get this done?"

"Her Majesty's government would look upon that with intense disapprobation."

"Don't wave your flag at me, Percy. Since you people don't seem to be able to find a master criminal you were watching, for Christ's sake. A little outside help could only be beneficial."

"Not on, old chap. We've already seconded your man Morrisey. Any more would be looked on as charity to your organization."

"Is that right. Well one of ours should be plenty to get the job done. Keep me informed."

Tweedy little prick. Grant jabbed his cigar into the marble ashtray.

Arrogant bloody colonist! Percy's tea had grown cold.

♟♟♟♟♟

Percy buttoned his suit, shot his cuffs, exposing the sterling cufflinks, and strode from his private office to the briefing room. Several department heads slumped casually at the round table, each noting, with varying silent opinions, their chief's entrance.

"Gentlemen." He paused looking for the tea tray, frowning at finding there wasn't one. He took his seat and adjusted his clothes before opening the red file marked 'Eyes Only'.

"Our boffin's abilities were rewarded with an anonymous message re the operation Red Closet." He paused and cast an informed look around the table. There were a few furtive glances, and barely contained smirks. Percy was known for his pontificating.

"What the hell is that?"

With patient restraint, Percy faced the speaker, brow moderately furrowed. "A level of highest classification for this operation . . . are we now informed? It will proceed tomorrow morning with knowledge of the address and the seizure of the assassin's contact."

"Reliable?"

"My dear, Gregory, how would you suggest we discover that without actually going to the location?"

"I didn't mean the content, Percy. The message itself."

"Well we've all been read bedtime stories, but yes, the intercept has been deemed solid treasure."

Another round of surreptitious eye rolls.

"How do we proceed?"

"Each of your desks will monitor and filter all communications for all the flags identified on these sheets." He opened the red folder and distributed a page to each man. "Anything, and I mean anything, that looks, tastes, or smells like those flags, will be instantly forwarded to my office, marked Red Closet."

"Whatever you say, Percy." The men picked up their pages and filed out of the room, muffling sniggers and a few unkind observations.

Percy removed his phone and punched a contact number. "Martin? Martin, when a meeting is scheduled in the briefing room, I want to find fresh tea and services for as many as are present. Understood is it, Martin? Good, in future see that it is so."

♟♟♟♟♟

Mallory emerged from the bathroom, her towel draped inefficiently around her shoulders. She gathered her hair back behind her head, and gave it a shake.

"It's all yours."

He smiled at her casual attire. "And I'm enjoying every bit of it."

Her eyes went round and her brows snapped together, then the towel came off her shoulders in a swift arch, twirling in her fingers as she snapped it at his bare side.

"Hey, whoa!" He rolled off the bed and darted around her for the bathroom, the tip off the towel catching him with a painful bite on the buttock as he slipped inside, shutting the door. "That hurt, West." He called through the closed door.

"You're lucky that's all I got."

"Boy," he chided, "you Brits are all romance."

"It's our history, Morrisey. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats. You want romance, read them"

Shower done, he opened the door cautiously and poked his head out. Mallory was seated on the bed, fully dressed in a soft looking, beige pullover and a trim pair of brown slacks.

"I don't suppose you thought to have any of my stuff brought over?"

"Couldn't," she said, half turning, "my friend was taking a risk just getting mine. By the way, Percy called. We are now officially mission Red Closet."

He saw her mouth tremble, suppressing a laugh, and he just rolled his eyes, holding up his wrinkled pants.

"I've got another pair of slacks in green if you want to try them." Her grin was malicious.

"Yeah, right. Thanks anyway. When I get into your pants again, it won't be to put them on."

Red became the colour of the day as her mouth dropped open and her tongue froze. He grinned back and proceeded to climb into his only clothes available. As in the films, the moment was interrupted by the tones from her phone, and blinking herself back into focus, she answered, listening silently.

"Our friend called down for directions to an art gallery, and a taxi."

"Another meeting?"

"Could be. He seems pretty confident about doing that over a hotel phone." She puzzled.

"Did they say when?"

"They are going to call up when the taxi arrives. They'll call me first."

Morrisey went to the door and opened it slightly, peering down the corridor toward Luka's room. He closed it quickly and signalled to her. "He's on the move - empty-handed. Call down and see if he leaves the hotel."

Mallory put away her phone. "He's in the coffee shop, at the counter."

"Looking for a tail."

"Could be, but he doesn't have the case?" She enquired.

"I didn't see it. Maybe he's just testing the territory, assuring himself he's not being watched."

The phone sounded again, alerting her that Luka was coming back up on the lift. This time she went to the door, cracking it open enough to see, unnoticed.

"He's back," she whispered. "I think we should act now while he feels safe."

"Safe? Wait a minute. How do we know he didn't get information in the coffee shop? He could have been passed another note."

She took another look, and pulled back quickly. "He's going again. No briefcase." She watched until he was gone then closed the door. "Think he forgot something?"

"Why order a cab to an art gallery? Why sit in the coffee shop?" Morrisey shook his head. "Something way off about that behaviour."

"Whatever, he's gone again, and without the briefcase. What better opportunity?"

"Can you get a key? He's a pro, Mal, he'll have something rigged. At least with a key it could look like housekeeping. Check downstairs and make sure he left."

"No key, but I have a set of picks," she said, getting out her phone.

♟♟♟♟♟

Luka thanked the desk clerk and went outside, climbing into the taxi. As soon as it hit the street, he told the driver he had forgotten something, and he was to wait there. Exiting the taxi, he hastened around to the rear of the hotel and entered through the delivery bay. A service lift took him, with a disconcerting rattle, to his floor, and he stepped out into the hall, moving to an alcove and waiting. Watching.