Honour be Damned Read online

  Goodnight decided against pointing out the king was still alive.

  The princess sighed, then swept everything from her desk on to the floor. "None of this will do, none of it. I want something that makes a bold statement about who I am - pinks and pastels are never going to achieve that!" Having finished her display of petulance, Marie-Anne sank into a high-backed leather chair and stared at the new arrival. "So, I'm given to understand you've never failed an assignment."

  "Yes, your majesty."

  "Give me examples of your latest endeavours - and don't worry, I have full security clearance for anything you might mention."

  The secret agent outlined three recent missions: the ongoing seduction of the French ambassador, five months spent undercover as a croupier in the Casino Royale at Monte Carlo, and a torrid weekend spent in bed with the Tsar's senior financial minister that ensured a constant flow of information about the state of the Makarov fortunes.

  "Very well. Your credentials are impeccable, so I am going to trust you with a difficult but not unimportant assignment. During his interrogation, the king's assassin alluded to having an accomplice, a bald man with a goatee beard and an unhappy face. He claimed to have last seen this person on Westminster Bridge, less than an hour after my father was shot. Assuming this individual exists, I want you to find them and bring them before me so I may determine their part in these tragic events. Is that clear?"

  "Quite clear, Your Highness."

  "I have one stipulation to add. You must not-" But the princess's words were cut off by an abrupt knock at the door. "Come!"

  A footman entered and approached Marie-Anne. He whispered a message in her ear, then withdrew. Goodnight was startled by the effect this had on the princess. She became tense and agitated, her shoulders hunching around her neck. "Your majesty, is something wrong? Has the king passed away?"

  "It's Dante. He's escaped." The princess rose from her chair and went to look out a window, her face hidden from Goodnight's view. "This changes everything."

  "Perhaps you wish me to leave?"

  "No, stay. I meant this changes the nature of your mission. No doubt the police will blunder about in search of this fugitive, along with fools from every other law enforcement agency in Britannia. I want you to find Dante first and bring him to me."

  "Is that wise? If he shot your father-"

  "I do not recall asking for your advice!"

  Goodnight blushed, angry at having overstepped good sense. "My apologies, ma'am."

  "You will find Dante and bring him to me. He is not to be captured by anyone else. If he is, I shall hold you personally responsible."

  "Yes, your majesty."

  "He must be brought to me alive. I want to look into his eyes as the death sentence is carried out." Marie-Anne looked over her shoulder. "Are you a creature of ambition?"

  The secret agent frowned. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I am, ma'am."

  "Good. Succeed and I shall make you commander of all Britannia Intelligence agencies. Fail and you shall know my wrath like no other person ever has. Do you understand?"

  Goodnight nodded. F must have known the assignment would be something of this nature, it explained her reminder about loyalty.

  The princess smiled. "I must ask you to reveal nothing of what we have said here today - not to your colleagues, your commander, your family or friends. Betray my trust and the consequences will be ruinous to you and all who know you. Good hunting!"

  Goodnight realised the interview was at an end. But a thought occurred that had to be spoken aloud. "Excuse me, Your Highness, but I've seen official briefing papers on this Nikolai Dante before. His Weapons Crest makes him a dangerous, elusive quarry. I've little doubt I can find and catch him, but how do I hold him?"

  Marie-Anne returned to the vast, imposing desk. "I was wondering if you would have the wit to ask that. F chose wisely when she sent you." The princess opened a drawer, removing a pair of black handcuffs and tossed them to Goodnight. "When the Tsar heard of Dante's presence here, he sent these bindings by overnight courier. The connecting chain is all but unbreakable, it requires a diamond cutter to sever any of the links. The cuffs themselves incorporate an experimental substance developed by the Tsar's scientists that should disable most Weapons Crest capabilities, such as Dante's bio-blades. While wearing those he will be no more dangerous than any other criminal. Find him, Agent Goodnight. Find him, catch him and deliver him to me - I will make certain justice follows swiftly afterwards."

  FIVE

  "A thief knows a thief even in the darkest night."

  - Russian proverb

  "Trains bearing the name Flying Scotsman have journeyed up and down Britannia for hundreds of years. The first such vehicle was a steam engine that travelled between London and Edinburgh in the Nineteenth century. The service was discontinued but the name remained alive and was applied to other trains. Most recently the soubriquet had taken on a literal meaning with the introduction of the Flying Scotsman hover-train. Predominantly a tourist service, this airborne locomotive and its passenger carriages offers a gentle return to the luxurious train travel of centuries past. It may be most popular with foreign visitors to Britannia, but the Flying Scotsman remains one of the most romantic ways of seeing the nation."

  - Extract from Around the Empire in Eighty Ways, Mikhail Palinski

  The London International Train Terminal's concourse was awash with people, luggage and misery. Every face around Dante was tired or unhappy, the wan features of waiting passengers bleached yellow by harsh overhead lighting. The station was a vast space stretched out beneath a grime-coated glass roof. Three of the four walls were given over to overpriced traders with surly faces. Never in all his days had Dante seen such a depressing, dispiriting place. It stank of body odour and hopelessness.

  "Fuoco," he muttered. "I've been to funerals with better atmospheres. What happened?"

  You did, the Crest replied. Look at the departure boards.

  Above the gate of each platform floated a holographic display unit showing when the next train was due to leave, the stations it would visit and a final destination. All but one of the boards was bright red with the words "TRAIN CANCELLED DUE TO NATIONAL SECURITY ALERT" flashing on and off in large, unfriendly letters. "What's that got to do with me?" Dante asked.

  News of your escape has obviously reached the authorities. They have cancelled all international train services out of Britannia. I will hack into the Imperial Net to see if there is another option still open to you.

  Dante sighed. As usual, the Crest had been right. Getting out of the country would be all but impossible now. He needed to find a place to lie low, to plan his next move. So far he had been operating on pure instinct and it wasn't enough.

  It's the same everywhere: no international flights, no ships are being allowed to leave port, nothing. For all intents and purposes the borders of Britannia have been sealed. It won't be long before they-

  The Crest suddenly fell silent, leaving Dante waiting. "Crest? It won't be long before what happens?"

  You need to get out of here, it replied. While you still can.

  "Why?"

  Because of what's about to be broadcast on every holographic display in the country.

  Dante heard a crisp, slightly nasal voice speaking via the station's public address system. "Is this thing on? Good. People of Britannia, my name is Inspector Rucka of Scotland Yard. I have an important message for each and every one of you." Like everyone else in the station, Dante felt his gaze shift to the departure boards. Each display was filled by Rucka's unsympathetic face. "As you know, our king lies close to death following a cowardly attempt on his life. The same craven attack claimed our beloved Queen Mother Barbara. But you will be overjoyed to hear the Britannia Royal Constabulary has wasted little time in capturing the fiends responsible for this sickening act of terrorism. Two of the culprits await execution. Regretfully I must tell you their ringleader escaped during transportation to the Tower of London, killing five
good men in the process. The driver responsible for allowing this fugitive to flee has been executed for his folly."

  Dante began walking towards the nearest exit. So much for sparing the driver's life, he thought - my escape still got him killed. The station's outer doors opened to admit a phalanx of policeman, all carrying sidearms and murder in their eyes. Dante quickly retreated the way he had come. The only hiding place on the concourse was a row of antique red phone boxes in the central area, so Dante ducked inside the first empty booth. Even inside, there was no escape from Rucka's relentless broadcast. The Imperial Net screen inside the booth was also showing the inspector's stern speech.

  "Every way out of the country has been sealed to prevent the fugitive escaping justice. I gave that order and I hereby apologise to all those innocent, trustworthy citizens whom it has inconvenienced. However, I feel certain you willingly make this sacrifice to help us capture the monster who murdered Queen Babs and mortally wounded our monarch!" Behind Dante all the passengers on the concourse simultaneously applauded, nodding their approval at Rucka's draconian actions.

  Bojemoi, Dante fretted, they actually believe these lies.

  Rucka's message continued over the clapping. "I show you now the face of the fiend we seek. As I speak policemen are entering all major train stations, airports and transportation centres in search of him. If you have seen this vile killer, approach a constable. With your help, this cowardly assassin cannot remain at large for long. The murderer's name is Nikolai Dante and this is what he looks like." Rucka's face was replaced with a particularly unflattering image of Dante, his face puffy and bruised from one of the many beatings he had taken recently.

  "Is that the best photo they've got of me?" Dante protested. "I look terrible!"

  It's not your most flattering likeness, the Crest conceded, but you should be grateful.

  "Why? For making me look fat?"

  The less accurate the image, the less likely you are to be identified.

  Dante scratched his chin thoughtfully. "There is that, I suppose..."

  He noticed the line of policemen was getting steadily closer, checking the identity of each and every person on the concourse - man, woman or child. Rucka was back on the holographic displays, a smug smile smeared across his face like excrement on poor quality toilet paper.

  "To encourage everyone in Britannia to do the right thing, a reward of ten million roubles is being offered to whomever supplies information leading to Dante's capture. If you see him, contact the number listed below, and apply for your reward. Thank you for your time and patience. Rule Britannia!" The displays dissolved to static, then resumed showing their messages.

  Once again Dante cursed himself for accepting King Henry's invitation. "For that reward every scumbag and bounty hunter in Britannia will make it their business to hunt me down."

  Not to mention every law enforcement officer and intelligence agency operative, the Crest added. In other parts of the Empire your notoriety keeps you safe, despite the Tsar's bounty on your head. Here you are fair game. Rucka has declared open season on Nikolai Dante.

  The fugitive was still cursing his bad luck when movement nearby caught his eye. Among the travellers being questioned by the police was a balding man clutching a heavy suitcase and a timetable. He was facing away from Dante, but once the police were done with him the man turned towards the phone booths. Dante was startled to recognise the traveller's goatee beard and sad face. "That's him! That's the man I saw on Westminster Bridge!" The traveller walked past the booth towards a nearby gate, not noticing Dante staring at him. He went on to the platform with a cluster of other passengers.

  "Crest, what train leaves from that platform, number thirteen?"

  The Flying Scotsman. It's a leisurely tourist service, stopping at various scenic destinations en route to Orkney before returning to London in several days time.

  "When is the next one leaving?"

  Any minute. But that train won't get you out of Britannia.

  "I've decided to take your advice and clear my name. If I hunt down the real assassin and bring him in, Rucka will have to let Spatchcock and Flintlock go free."

  Why the change of heart? Has your little used conscience got the better of you?

  "I'm certain one of the assassins just got on the Flying Scotsman. I'd guess he's planning to blend in with the other tourists, then slip out of the country with them when the train trip ends."

  Quite a coincidence, him catching a train from this station. Dante, it has all the makings of an ambush.

  "Why would the authorities bother with an ambush?"

  Not everybody will want you found alive, the Crest pointed out.

  "It doesn't matter - I have to get on that train!"

  Then get moving, the police are almost on top of you.

  Dante turned his jacket collar up to conceal his face, then slipped out of the booth and walked slowly towards Platform thirteen. "Excuse me, sir, could you stay where you are," a constable called, but Dante kept walking. "Sir? I must ask you to stop immediately!"

  Faster, the Crest urged as Dante quickened his pace.

  "Stop now or else I will be forced to intercede," the constable shouted.

  "Not the most threatening phrase I've ever heard," Dante commented, breaking into a jog. Around him others on the concourse were looking round to see what was happening. Several pointed at Dante, calling out his name. "Britannia's police must be the most polite in the Empire. All the others are usually shooting at me by now!"

  Dante-

  "Let me guess, evasive action?"

  Evasive action, the Crest agreed. Now!

  The first shot was a warning blast that skimmed over Dante's shoulder. The other officers felt no need to offer such a warning. Within seconds the concourse was a shooting gallery as dozens of constables opened fire.

  "Diavolo!" Dante cried out, flinging himself towards the closing gateway. He slid beneath the metal gates just before they slammed down from above. Bullets thudded noisily against the reinforced steel barriers, but Dante was safely on the other side. Ahead of him the Flying Scotsman hissed clouds of steam as the final few passengers climbed on board the last carriage, among them a beautiful woman in a figure-hugging navy blue catsuit. She was struggling with several hat boxes and an antique trunk, shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair falling over her pretty, delicate face. "Crest, how long before the train leaves?"

  Less than a minute, but the police will be through the barrier before then.

  "I'll have to risk that." Dante sprinted to the last carriage. The young woman had got all her hat boxes inside, but was still trying to manhandle her trunk on board. Admiring the curve of her taut buttocks, Dante grabbed the other end of her awkward luggage. "May I help?" The woman nodded gratefully and climbed into the carriage. Dante spared a glance back at the gates, where the police were shouting for the barrier to be re-opened. The woman followed his gaze, before raising an intrigued eyebrow at Dante. "Overdue parking tickets," he smiled. "You can never find a space when you need one."

  "I know exactly what you mean," she said, her voice betraying a private education but with a hint of mischief behind the precise vowels and phrasings. "Thank you for helping me, Mr...?"

  "Durward," Dante replied, reverting to his usual alter ego when in need of an impromptu alias. "Quentin Durward, at your service." He bowed his head to her, but let his eyes hungrily examine the contents of her catsuit. The woman could not yet be thirty, her breasts still proudly straining against their confinement, while narrow hips led to slender, athletic legs. As Dante straightened up again, he was struck by the sardonic arch of her eyebrows and pert, upturned nose. Everything about this woman said she knew how to enjoy herself and anyone invited to the party would have the time of their life.

  Dante, try to concentrate on the matter in hand, not on the commands of your groin.

  "You can call me Penelope," the woman said. "My car broke down on the way to the station and by the time I reached the pla
tform all the porters had vanished."

  "It's my pleasure to be of service," Dante smiled, all too aware of heavy footfalls rapidly approaching the train. His eyes lit upon a doorway behind Penelope. "If you'll forgive me, I have an urgent call of nature." He clambered over the trunk, then squeezed past Penelope to gain access to the toilets. As he passed her a waft of exquisite perfume filled his nostrils, causing a stirring in his loins. Dante slipped inside the bathroom and locked the door as pursuing policemen reached the carriage.

  "Madam, an escaped murderer just got on this train - dark hair, beard, a scruffy looking creature by the name of Nikolai Dante - did you see which way he went?"

  Dante held his breath, willing the woman not to give him away. But his heart sank at hearing her next words.

  "Yes, I did see him actually!"

  Dante extended his bio-blades and got ready to fight his way out of the cubicle.

  "He ran to the far end of this carriage and jumped on to the tracks on the other side. I thought he must be crazed, he had a wild look in his eye. You say he's an escaped murderer; who on earth did he kill?"

  "The Queen Mother. You're certain he got off the train?"

  "Absolutely, and thank heavens he did! I mean, a murderer on board the Flying Scotsman, it doesn't bear thinking about!"

  "No, madam, you're right. Thanks for your time."

  Dante strained forward, trying to hear whether the policeman had disembarked yet. A whistle sounded shrilly in the background, along with a gruff voice from nearby on the platform. "Stand away, please, stand away - this train is leaving the station! Stand away!" A warning beep announced the doors were closing, then came the sound of someone jumping back down to the platform as the doors slid shut. The train slowly rolled forward, picking up speed. Dante retracted his bio-blades, listening carefully for any hint of a trap outside. Once he was certain the police had left the train, Dante emerged from his hiding place.