11The number of nightmares among sane field agents in London might have been reciprocal to the amount of stress they'd been under for several days. Or it could just be a reaction to having someone unpleasantly killed in front of you by a mystery woman in a chillingly not human manner. Either way, Crawford Oxblood and his partner both awoke drenched in sweat from dreams that faded away quickly, almost too quickly. Neither called the other. Both walked into work the next morning looking under the weather.
"You look ..."
"Don't say it," Del snarled as she grabbed a mug and poured a healthy dollop of cream and several spoonfuls of sugar into it before grabbing the coffee pot and adding scalding black coffee to the mix. "I had a bad night."
"That makes two of us, luv," he noted quietly, looking around the office to see if anyone else was not up to snuff.
Miss Chase materialized nest to them with a nod, putting together two cups for the gentlemen who were her responsibility. "Good morning. Your boss asked me to tell you that there's a briefing in his office in half an hour. The two of you, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin and a guest will be present. Best get this to my bosses." She nodded to them and headed off with the cups.
Dropping the beverages off to the American agents, she continued on to the office she was sharing with three other secretaries and the files Mr. Kuryakin had been working on. She did wonder who the guest they would meet was. A quick call to Diamene revealed that she was not the mystery guest this time.
Napoleon and the Russian entered the London director's office to find Oxblood and Crow already there. The shock was seeing Cheri Yuconovich and Tamara Taakin also seated at the ubiquitous round table across from George Dennison, Number Two, Section One. The man was the antithesis of Alexander Waverly who wore baggy tweeds much like the stereotypical Oxford Don. Dennison was clad in something tailored and expensive, more reflective of Napoleon's taste in suits. He nodded to the American agents and gestured for them to sit down.
"I suppose you're wondering why I called you all here," Cheri greeted them with a grin.
"Miss Yuconovich and her companion have come with an offer of truce until a different threat is dealt with, gentlemen."
"How do we know we can trust her?" Illya countered his cold gaze on her.
"You don't," she answered his question. "However, as a demonstration of good faith, I've brought a couple of things I believe you'll find of interest." She pulled two scientific notebooks, a folder and a vial out of her briefcase and pushed them across the table to Mr. Kuryakin. He looked at them curiously, opening the bottom notebook and giving her a startled look. "Yes. Dr. Crane's notes on the virus."
"They were burned," Napoleon objected.
"A smart supervisor makes certain there are copies. Dr. Crane's patron is very smart and a little worried about Crane's stability. As we are aware, Dr. Crane had some issues which led to her demise. The other book is a copy of Dr. Heron's extrapolations and experiments."
"Why are you surrendering this information?" Dennison inquired.
She turned those marvelous green eyes on him. "As a gesture of good faith, of course. Besides, if we can't humble you without taking your will away, what's the point?"
Del and her partner looked suitably taken aback by her honesty. They wisely let the other three men deal with the discussion from there. The file was a profile of one Dr. Chang Bela D'Antonini. Neither of the London agents had heard of the man, although Del thought Cheri's Middle European pronunciation of the man's middle name was a bit affected.
"Dr. D'Antonini is a quite brilliant, if erratic member of our research and development staff. That vial is a sample of his latest endeavor."
Illya took it in his fingers gently and looked at the cloudy liquid. "What is it?"
"About sixty years ahead of itself. Dr. D'Antonini seems to have developed nano technology several decades before anyone is even dreaming of such things and certainly before anyone else could actually pull it off." She held up a hand to fend off questions. "No, I cannot explain the technology. Suffice it to say that somehow my dear Chang has managed to combine what is essentially a robot bacterium with Dr. Crane/Heron's virus. At this exact moment in time, it's harmless. Undeniably brilliant, but useless as the current technology level is decades behind his invention."
"If it wasn't?" Napoleon was trying hard to maintain his suave and debonair exterior.
"Disaster, on a global scale. There would be no way to keep the virus out of every device, including computers, on the planet. Luckily, our current technology level is immune to it," she finished with a laugh. "Once you've investigated it, do put it somewhere safe."
"Why?"
"Because there is a slim chance that sometime in the next sixty years we may need it. And the opposition might be able to use it."
That was certainly a conversation killer.
"So, where exactly does that leave us, Miss Yuconovich?" Napoleon asked curiously.
"Blackpool. Yes, I am aware that our experimental station there is destroyed. But the woman your colleagues faced must have come from somewhere. Given what was seen, I'd be willing to bet that we again face the lunatics that worship Dagon and Mother Hydra; and that the waters off Blackpool are the center of the problem."
"We cannot afford to let them breed or open a gate or summon their god," Tamara's soft voice reminded them. She met Illya's gaze directly. "You survived the last time. We cannot allow them to have you, Cheri or the Cheri on Angel Island. We cannot allow them to become more powerful and numerous than they already are." Her calm was almost as disturbing as her urgency.
"Blackpool," Dennison repeated. "What exactly do you think we can do?"
"Take the fight to them." Short, succinct, insane. Cheri regarded them calmly. "We have the methods to get to them, but we don't have the people. We need a recon and a sortie. Tam needs to be kept out of it." She raised a hand to forestall the blonde's objections.
"She is right." Support came from an unexpected source. The Russian regarded the two women somberly. "Miss Taakin, while strong and resourceful, has been under the sway of these people for much of her life. I am not discounting what you have already done," he addressed her directly. "Their influence is greater in and near the water. Blackpool is on the ocean where they are strongest."
The young woman deflated slightly. "I can stay back, on land. You may need the help I can offer, Mr. Kuryakin. After the battle, if not before."
Dennison frowned at the six people around his table. "You're certain there is no other way than direct confrontation?"
Cheri shook her head. "The time for subterfuge with these people is over. They have an interest in what Dr. Heron was completing. If you think THRUSH would be impossible with such a weapon, they would indeed subjugate the world. If they ever get the complete upper hand over us, over government personnel, there will be no stopping them."
"Their gods are not the relatively gentle ones we think of," Tamara added. "We worship beings who may be careless, but who are not inherently inclined to eat our brains for breakfast," she continued. "The Old Ones: The Black Pharaoh, He Who Must Not be Named, and a dozen others including the sea gods Dagon and Mother Hydra; all of these see us only as food. We are not the top of the food chain, we are the food chain."
Cheri chuckled. "Apex predators turned into prey, people. And absolutely nothing we can do about it once they breach our world." For a moment, she looked ancient and weary.
"Do we have any idea what that thing wants?" Crawford blurted out suddenly.
"What any good evil deity wants: world dominion, worshippers, servitors …"
Del frowned. "Wait. Servitors. What the hell is a servitor? She said that was one of her names."
Tam and Cheri exchanged a glance and then looked to Solo and Kuryakin. The Russian compressed his lips until they almost disappeared before he sighed and answered the question. "Dr. Ayala was essentially a servitor. They are, or were, humans who have bargained to gain power. Most are deluded. This woman you say, she called herself a servitor?"
"She said it was one of her names."
Tamara pulled out an ancient looking, much worn leather bound book and opened it, leafing through the pages quickly. She stared at the page for a moment, and then turned it so the others could see the drawing. "Is this her?"
Crawford reached for the book and held it where his partner could see. They both nodded. "Well, had she not been clothed, this is pretty much what she looked like." Oddly, Crawford had no identifiable accent at all. "The face is pretty good."
"St. Claire." The young woman pronounced it 'sinclair'. "The St. Claires have long been associated with the water entities, with Deep Ones; although more with Mother Hydra than Dagon. The latter is the generative face of the cult. Mother Hydra is the warrior face."
"This operation, presuming we manage it, is completely under security blackout," Dennison told them. "I don't know what your people know about all this; mine have enough on their plates with THRUSH and the evils we understand. I want security as tight as we can make it. Only those directly involved will have access to the information."
Cheri nodded. "Given our opposition, I'd love to throw all of THRUSH's abilities in behind us, but that would lead to people we really don't need involved in … well, you get my drift, neh?"
Illya met his partner's dark gaze with a look of query. How far could they trust their traitor? How far did they want to trust her?