he’d not shared with Amélie. Was that just to protect her in case they’d been caught during their escape? After all, he was very protective of his little sister. I couldn’t help wondering whether we had the whole story, or whether there was much more to it.
Two days later the mystery slowly began to unravel. It began with Sergeant Walker summoning Loki, Freya and me to the brigadier’s office.
‘Ah! Come in,’ bellowed the brigadier. ‘And close the door behind you,’ he added once we’d filed inside. ‘Sit down.’
There was something different about the brigadier that afternoon. His manner had changed. He looked excited. Walker was there too, leaning against a filing cabinet. ‘We’ve got a job for you three,’ the sergeant announced. ‘That’s assuming you’d like a change of scenery.’
The brigadier rose from his chair, removed a pipe from his breast pocket, and sucked air through it before reaching for his tobacco pouch. ‘It’s a funny old world,’ he began, tamping a wad of his favourite mild Virginia into the pipe’s bowl. ‘I never thought I’d see the day we’d end up working alongside the ruddy SIS. But that day has arrived.’ He struck a match and lit up. ‘Apparently the buggers need our help.’ Pipe wedged between his teeth, he grinned wickedly.
‘It’s an opportunity for us to show them we’re no bunch of amateurs,’ Walker added. ‘X is keen that we do a good job.’
Engulfed in a cloud of sweet smoke, the brigadier reached across his desk for a bulging file stamped M OST S ECRET . He flipped it open, removed a photograph and handed it to me. ‘Take a good look at him,’ he said. ‘Memorize that face.’
We took turns to study the picture of a very suave, sophisticated man in his early thirties. His dark hair was slicked back with oil and his moustache was neatly clipped. The photograph showed him emerging from a building wearing an expensive-looking long dark coat and carrying a cane. ‘That, my dear friends, is the face of the enemy!’ said Walker. ‘We believe him to be a Nazi spy, codenamed Renard – the Fox!’
‘Where and when was this taken?’ Freya asked.
‘Good question, Miss Haukelid,’ the brigadier replied. ‘Two weeks ago outside a hotel called The Melksham. It’s located in the centre of a town called Bournemouth, less than an hour’s drive from here.’
Walker continued, ‘The rascal thinks he can steal vital information from us and get away with it. Well, we’ve got news for him!’
The brigadier sat back down. ‘The SIS has been keeping a close eye on him.’ He removed another picture from his file and handed it to us. On observing the beautiful young woman smiling into the lens of the camera, Loki wolf-whistled and promptly got a prod in the ribs from a less-than-amused Freya.
‘Just kidding,’ he said sheepishly.
‘She is rather attractive, isn’t she?’ observed the brigadier, sighing fondly. ‘That smile could melt hearts at twenty paces. Women are one of Renard’s weaknesses, apparently. Can’t say I blame him. She’s what we call a
honeytrap
. Her codename’s
Véronique
. She is a member of the SIS.’
‘With a codename like Véronique, I suppose she’s French then?’ I said, handing the photograph back.
‘Yes. As is Renard. He’s fallen for her, hook, line and sinker, allegedly. Precisely what the SIS hoped would happen.’
‘What’s all this got to do with us?’ asked Loki.
Walker began to explain: ‘A week ago, the blueprints for a top-secret device were stolen from a place called Worth Matravers. Their disappearance has sent shivers through the corridors of Whitehall. If those documents get into enemy hands it could prove disastrous.’
‘What sort of device?’ I interrupted.
‘That’s classified,’ the brigadier snapped. ‘You don’t need to know. What we can tell you, however, is that the SIS is certain Renard is behind the theft. And we have our own reasons for believing they might
Two days later the mystery slowly began to unravel. It began with Sergeant Walker summoning Loki, Freya and me to the brigadier’s office.
‘Ah! Come in,’ bellowed the brigadier. ‘And close the door behind you,’ he added once we’d filed inside. ‘Sit down.’
There was something different about the brigadier that afternoon. His manner had changed. He looked excited. Walker was there too, leaning against a filing cabinet. ‘We’ve got a job for you three,’ the sergeant announced. ‘That’s assuming you’d like a change of scenery.’
The brigadier rose from his chair, removed a pipe from his breast pocket, and sucked air through it before reaching for his tobacco pouch. ‘It’s a funny old world,’ he began, tamping a wad of his favourite mild Virginia into the pipe’s bowl. ‘I never thought I’d see the day we’d end up working alongside the ruddy SIS. But that day has arrived.’ He struck a match and lit up. ‘Apparently the buggers need our help.’ Pipe wedged between his teeth, he grinned wickedly.
‘It’s an opportunity for us to show them we’re no bunch of amateurs,’ Walker added. ‘X is keen that we do a good job.’
Engulfed in a cloud of sweet smoke, the brigadier reached across his desk for a bulging file stamped M OST S ECRET . He flipped it open, removed a photograph and handed it to me. ‘Take a good look at him,’ he said. ‘Memorize that face.’
We took turns to study the picture of a very suave, sophisticated man in his early thirties. His dark hair was slicked back with oil and his moustache was neatly clipped. The photograph showed him emerging from a building wearing an expensive-looking long dark coat and carrying a cane. ‘That, my dear friends, is the face of the enemy!’ said Walker. ‘We believe him to be a Nazi spy, codenamed Renard – the Fox!’
‘Where and when was this taken?’ Freya asked.
‘Good question, Miss Haukelid,’ the brigadier replied. ‘Two weeks ago outside a hotel called The Melksham. It’s located in the centre of a town called Bournemouth, less than an hour’s drive from here.’
Walker continued, ‘The rascal thinks he can steal vital information from us and get away with it. Well, we’ve got news for him!’
The brigadier sat back down. ‘The SIS has been keeping a close eye on him.’ He removed another picture from his file and handed it to us. On observing the beautiful young woman smiling into the lens of the camera, Loki wolf-whistled and promptly got a prod in the ribs from a less-than-amused Freya.
‘Just kidding,’ he said sheepishly.
‘She is rather attractive, isn’t she?’ observed the brigadier, sighing fondly. ‘That smile could melt hearts at twenty paces. Women are one of Renard’s weaknesses, apparently. Can’t say I blame him. She’s what we call a
honeytrap
. Her codename’s
Véronique
. She is a member of the SIS.’
‘With a codename like Véronique, I suppose she’s French then?’ I said, handing the photograph back.
‘Yes. As is Renard. He’s fallen for her, hook, line and sinker, allegedly. Precisely what the SIS hoped would happen.’
‘What’s all this got to do with us?’ asked Loki.
Walker began to explain: ‘A week ago, the blueprints for a top-secret device were stolen from a place called Worth Matravers. Their disappearance has sent shivers through the corridors of Whitehall. If those documents get into enemy hands it could prove disastrous.’
‘What sort of device?’ I interrupted.
‘That’s classified,’ the brigadier snapped. ‘You don’t need to know. What we can tell you, however, is that the SIS is certain Renard is behind the theft. And we have our own reasons for believing they might
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