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Book: Revenge of the Brotherhood (Book 3 in the Tom & Laura Series) by John Booth
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Authors: John Booth
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herself.
“This is not finished between us,” she said quietly to Tom before fleeing the room. She picked up her nightshirt, leaving the candle lamp.
“Women are strange,” Tom told the room. He blew out the candle and went to sleep. His night was troubled by disturbing, but strangely pleasurable, dreams.
Cam watched her travel box carried to the small cab and strapped to the luggage rack at the rear. She had heard too many stories of stolen goods not to take care, though the claim in Austria was that Vienna was a civilized city.
It was six o’clock in the morning and she had only an hour to get to the railway station to catch her train. She was heading for Amsterdam and with a little luck she would arrive there early the next day. From Amsterdam she would find passage to England.
Many small boats made the journey on a regular basis, delivering Dutch goods to British markets and returning with whiskey and other highly prized goods. Most of the trade was illegal, dodging the taxes the Revenue would impose and this was the perfect way to enter the country unobserved, certainly safer than the French routes which were closely watched by the intelligence services of many countries.
She reached the train in plenty of time and sat back in her seat, idly watching the people on the platform. Cam was sure Annelise had been trying to get her to break her cover the previous night. The question about knives showed they suspected her of killing her tail; the fact she was not being interrogated in a dank cellar suggested they were far from sure.
People moved about their business on the platform when Cam felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was a Grade 4 Empath and that meant that at best she could only detect the emotions of someone talking to her, but something important was going on outside that concerned her. The trouble was that she had no idea what.
The train set off almost immediately after her feelings started and they would not go away. Every time someone went past her compartment she flinched.
“Get a hold of yourself, Ingrid,” she whispered. Cam chose to stay in character at all times. Even when she met Burton, she was more Ingrid Brown than Camilla Burns.
The woman she portrayed really existed and left home when she was thirteen, heading for the bright lights of London. Like Camilla, Ingrid spoke fluent German, both having been taught by their mothers. Unlike Cam, Ingrid ended up as a prostitute plying the streets for trade. Paid a small stipend by MM3, Ingrid used her street name and never her real one, and so disappeared from sight.
The purely fictional Ingrid became embittered with the English and travelled to Austria to join the fight against the British Empire. Cam played her as feisty and a little bit whiney.
As the hour approached noon, Cam stepped though the carriages towards the buffet car. She affected a slow walk, as if bothered by the motion of the train, and took time to look into every compartment. Despite a sense of being watched she saw nothing suspicious. Nor did she see anybody as she ate her meal. If she was being followed, it was done discretely.
She complained about the wine to the waiter, even though it was totally acceptable. Even then, nobody showed undue interest. After waiting until the carriage was almost empty and only an aged nun remained at her seat, Cam returned to her compartment.
“Someone is following me, but they must be good,” she whispered in a disgruntled manner as she tried to doze. It was going to be a long journey.
The waiter moved up the train and gave the special knock at the door. He was let in by Annelise, who locked the door behind him.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“As you expected she made a lot of fuss about the wine, which was more than adequate. Then she waited in the carriage until everybody but a nun had left.”
“Staying in character and being cautious; that is good. But I wonder if it is her real character or the one she
“This is not finished between us,” she said quietly to Tom before fleeing the room. She picked up her nightshirt, leaving the candle lamp.
“Women are strange,” Tom told the room. He blew out the candle and went to sleep. His night was troubled by disturbing, but strangely pleasurable, dreams.
Cam watched her travel box carried to the small cab and strapped to the luggage rack at the rear. She had heard too many stories of stolen goods not to take care, though the claim in Austria was that Vienna was a civilized city.
It was six o’clock in the morning and she had only an hour to get to the railway station to catch her train. She was heading for Amsterdam and with a little luck she would arrive there early the next day. From Amsterdam she would find passage to England.
Many small boats made the journey on a regular basis, delivering Dutch goods to British markets and returning with whiskey and other highly prized goods. Most of the trade was illegal, dodging the taxes the Revenue would impose and this was the perfect way to enter the country unobserved, certainly safer than the French routes which were closely watched by the intelligence services of many countries.
She reached the train in plenty of time and sat back in her seat, idly watching the people on the platform. Cam was sure Annelise had been trying to get her to break her cover the previous night. The question about knives showed they suspected her of killing her tail; the fact she was not being interrogated in a dank cellar suggested they were far from sure.
People moved about their business on the platform when Cam felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was a Grade 4 Empath and that meant that at best she could only detect the emotions of someone talking to her, but something important was going on outside that concerned her. The trouble was that she had no idea what.
The train set off almost immediately after her feelings started and they would not go away. Every time someone went past her compartment she flinched.
“Get a hold of yourself, Ingrid,” she whispered. Cam chose to stay in character at all times. Even when she met Burton, she was more Ingrid Brown than Camilla Burns.
The woman she portrayed really existed and left home when she was thirteen, heading for the bright lights of London. Like Camilla, Ingrid spoke fluent German, both having been taught by their mothers. Unlike Cam, Ingrid ended up as a prostitute plying the streets for trade. Paid a small stipend by MM3, Ingrid used her street name and never her real one, and so disappeared from sight.
The purely fictional Ingrid became embittered with the English and travelled to Austria to join the fight against the British Empire. Cam played her as feisty and a little bit whiney.
As the hour approached noon, Cam stepped though the carriages towards the buffet car. She affected a slow walk, as if bothered by the motion of the train, and took time to look into every compartment. Despite a sense of being watched she saw nothing suspicious. Nor did she see anybody as she ate her meal. If she was being followed, it was done discretely.
She complained about the wine to the waiter, even though it was totally acceptable. Even then, nobody showed undue interest. After waiting until the carriage was almost empty and only an aged nun remained at her seat, Cam returned to her compartment.
“Someone is following me, but they must be good,” she whispered in a disgruntled manner as she tried to doze. It was going to be a long journey.
The waiter moved up the train and gave the special knock at the door. He was let in by Annelise, who locked the door behind him.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“As you expected she made a lot of fuss about the wine, which was more than adequate. Then she waited in the carriage until everybody but a nun had left.”
“Staying in character and being cautious; that is good. But I wonder if it is her real character or the one she
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