Read Online Island of Doom: Hunchback Assignments 4 (The Hunchback Assignments) by Arthur Slade - Free Book Online
Authors: Arthur Slade
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boredom grew to excitement, for a pattern was beginning to emerge. A large purchase of metal from Ontario had been made by several companies with Greek names. Did the Clockwork Guild not have a penchant for using Greek names? It was perhaps a reference to the past glory of that civilization. The metal had been shipped to an unknown destination in the Pacific.
He worked even longer hours. He read accounts of metal leaving from Vancouver, from Seattle—and spotted a large shipment three years ago to a Chinese buyer in the Yellow Sea. That piqued his curiosity, for he knew that Hakkandottir had once been employed by the Chinese triads, the pirates and brigands who fought both the emperor and theBritish empire. He’d dealt with many of them, Hakkandottir included. He knew she’d not easily give up those ties.
Sixteen years ago he had met her in a sword fight on the deck of a two-masted junk and severed her hand. At the time he’d been pursuing the leader of a triad, someone known only as 489. It was a number from Chinese numerology that referred to the dragon master, the leader. Mr. Socrates had been reassigned to India, but his fellow servicemen had never discovered the identity of that triad leader. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? The elusive 489 could have formed the Guild. The organization did not have the structure of a triad—it was something much larger—but would take the same skill set to control. It was entirely possible.
He remembered the junk, the ship of Hakkandottir’s that he had captured. It had been steam-powered, with an engine he’d never seen before.
Was it all connected?
Oh, Alan, you fool. Of course!
Their nest was in the Pacific; as far from British might as possible. Now the only difficulty was to pinpoint exactly where they were.
It became clear what he must do. It was a big world, made smaller by train and steamship. He summoned Cook and Footman. By the time they were standing before him, he was practically vibrating with excitement.
“I’m about to ask the two of you to charge full steam up a hill,” Mr. Socrates said.
“I was hoping so, sir,” Cook said. “I’m ready, willing, and able. Just point me in the right direction.”
Footman only nodded in agreement, but Mr. Socrates was certain he saw excitement in the Chinese man’s eyes.
11
The Heart of the Agency
I t had been relatively simple for Modo to take Directeur Bélanger’s form. Modo had paid for a room in a nearby hotel and rested for several hours. He then removed his mask and composed the face while staring at the man’s photograph. Colette had fetched clothing from a haberdashery, while Octavia quizzed him about the upcoming mission. When he emerged, dressed in a dark suit and a long jacket, belt cinched tight, he was amused by Colette’s shocked expression.
“Sacré bleu!”
she said. “You have captured the image of Directeur Bélanger.”
“It’s a stunning gift, this shape-shifting.” Modo had meant this to be lighthearted, but he was suddenly aware that it sounded like bragging.
“
Très excellent
is what it is!” Colette said.
“I prefer when he looks younger,” Octavia added.
“Young or old, the disguise lasts for only a few hours, so let us hasten away,” he said. Within minutes they were in another fiacre and, shortly after that, had returned to the Bureau.
Despite the plain facade of the stone building, Modo felt as if he were looking at a fortress. The fence was taller than any of the nearby ones and there were several guard stations and plenty of gas lamps, making the courtyard relatively bright. He wiped the window of the fiacre, for their breath had fogged the glass.
Smoke rose from three smokestacks protruding from the roof of the building. In the short time Modo had been watching he’d seen three tarp-covered wagons stop at the gates, present papers, and then continue up to a large delivery door that led into the lower section of the building. Were the tarps hiding arms
He worked even longer hours. He read accounts of metal leaving from Vancouver, from Seattle—and spotted a large shipment three years ago to a Chinese buyer in the Yellow Sea. That piqued his curiosity, for he knew that Hakkandottir had once been employed by the Chinese triads, the pirates and brigands who fought both the emperor and theBritish empire. He’d dealt with many of them, Hakkandottir included. He knew she’d not easily give up those ties.
Sixteen years ago he had met her in a sword fight on the deck of a two-masted junk and severed her hand. At the time he’d been pursuing the leader of a triad, someone known only as 489. It was a number from Chinese numerology that referred to the dragon master, the leader. Mr. Socrates had been reassigned to India, but his fellow servicemen had never discovered the identity of that triad leader. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? The elusive 489 could have formed the Guild. The organization did not have the structure of a triad—it was something much larger—but would take the same skill set to control. It was entirely possible.
He remembered the junk, the ship of Hakkandottir’s that he had captured. It had been steam-powered, with an engine he’d never seen before.
Was it all connected?
Oh, Alan, you fool. Of course!
Their nest was in the Pacific; as far from British might as possible. Now the only difficulty was to pinpoint exactly where they were.
It became clear what he must do. It was a big world, made smaller by train and steamship. He summoned Cook and Footman. By the time they were standing before him, he was practically vibrating with excitement.
“I’m about to ask the two of you to charge full steam up a hill,” Mr. Socrates said.
“I was hoping so, sir,” Cook said. “I’m ready, willing, and able. Just point me in the right direction.”
Footman only nodded in agreement, but Mr. Socrates was certain he saw excitement in the Chinese man’s eyes.
11
The Heart of the Agency
I t had been relatively simple for Modo to take Directeur Bélanger’s form. Modo had paid for a room in a nearby hotel and rested for several hours. He then removed his mask and composed the face while staring at the man’s photograph. Colette had fetched clothing from a haberdashery, while Octavia quizzed him about the upcoming mission. When he emerged, dressed in a dark suit and a long jacket, belt cinched tight, he was amused by Colette’s shocked expression.
“Sacré bleu!”
she said. “You have captured the image of Directeur Bélanger.”
“It’s a stunning gift, this shape-shifting.” Modo had meant this to be lighthearted, but he was suddenly aware that it sounded like bragging.
“
Très excellent
is what it is!” Colette said.
“I prefer when he looks younger,” Octavia added.
“Young or old, the disguise lasts for only a few hours, so let us hasten away,” he said. Within minutes they were in another fiacre and, shortly after that, had returned to the Bureau.
Despite the plain facade of the stone building, Modo felt as if he were looking at a fortress. The fence was taller than any of the nearby ones and there were several guard stations and plenty of gas lamps, making the courtyard relatively bright. He wiped the window of the fiacre, for their breath had fogged the glass.
Smoke rose from three smokestacks protruding from the roof of the building. In the short time Modo had been watching he’d seen three tarp-covered wagons stop at the gates, present papers, and then continue up to a large delivery door that led into the lower section of the building. Were the tarps hiding arms
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