The Spy Who Haunted Me

We all looked at him.

“I was curious,” said Peter. “After the film . . .”

“Be that as it may,” said Walker, “that is the legend. What do we know about the facts?”

“Not a hell of a lot,” I said cheerfully. “Various Droods have looked into it down the years; we’re fascinated by mysteries, and we don’t like not knowing something that might turn out to be important. But American naval intelligence has gone to great lengths to deny, hide, and destroy all evidence of what really went down on that day of October 28th, 1943. And short of launching a major offensive on U.S. soil, we had no way of progressing. So we didn’t. We didn’t care that much.”

Our waitress had been busy removing empty plates for some time, coming and going so often that we’d forgotten she was there and talked openly in front of her. That’s why servants and service staff make such great sources of information. They’re around so much they’re practically invisible. And big people do so love to pretend that little people don’t really exist.

“You folks here about the Eldridge ?” she said cheerfully, and we all jumped, suddenly aware of her presence. “We get a lot of tourists ’cause of that. We got whole shops dedicated to selling nothing but. They can fix you up with books and posters and films and God knows what else. All junk, of course. Don’t waste your money. They make most of it up over drinks in the back rooms of bars. Tourists do love a good tall tale, God bless them. You know, my granddaddy worked right here in the docks, during the war. What he always called the Big One. He said, people back then used to call that ship the Eldritch, ’cause of all the weird stuff that went on around it.”

“What kind of weird things?” said Honey as casually as she could.

“Oh, shoot. Bright lights, strange noises, lots of coming and going. And tons and tons of brand-new equipment. Granddaddy always said the ship would have had to be bigger on the inside than it was on the outside to fit it all in!”

“And the . . . legend?” said Walker. “The tall tales . . . Was your grandfather here when all that happened?”

“Bless you, no, honey!” said the waitress. “Never saw any such thing! It’s all just stories to bring in the suckers. Sorry; tourists. Got to work that tourist dollar!” She smiled at Walker. “You know, if you want, I could get you a cup of tea from the cook’s private stock. Real tea bags!”

“We’re not stopping,” Honey said firmly. “Could we have the check, please?”

The waitress bestowed another gleaming smile on Walker and swayed off on her high heels.

“She likes you,” I said.

“Shut up,” said Walker.

“She likes you. She’s your special waitress friend.”

“I am old enough to be her father,” said Walker with great dignity.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” said Peter. “This is America. Most men here wouldn’t be seen dead with a woman old enough to be their wife. This is the only country that thinks Zimmer frames are sexy.”

Honey slapped him round the back of the head.

“Stop that!” said Peter, edging his chair back out of her reach.

“Then stop being you,” said Honey.

“Well,” I said quickly, “I think it’s safe to assume we were sent here to investigate the mystery of the Philadelphia Experiment.”

“Seems like our best bet,” said Honey.

“You could ask your people at Langley to lean on naval intelligence,” said Walker. “Get them to open some of these secret files they claim not to have.”

“Take too long,” said Honey. “Our intelligence agencies have a really bad track record when it comes to cooperating with each other. Partly politics, partly jurisdiction, partly because each agency has its own secret agenda, but mostly it’s just a pissing contest. The Company has more clout than most, but even so . . .”

“We don’t have the time,” I said. “Especially since we lost three days at Tunguska.”

“Right,” said Peter. “Grandfather could be dead by now, or getting close.”

“I have to say,” said Walker, “that you don’t sound too concerned.”

“Well, that’s probably because I’m not,” said Peter. “Except that the old goat could turn up his toes at any time, and then all of this would have been for nothing. Are any of you going to try to pretend you care?”

“I don’t know the man,” said Honey. “All I know is the legend of the Independent Agent.”

“It’s always sad when a legend passes,” I said. “One less wonder in the world.”

“Like your uncle James?” said Walker. “The famous, or perhaps more properly infamous, Gray Fox?”

“Yes,” I said. “Like that.”

“How did the Gray Fox die, exactly?” said Honey. “We never did get all the details.”

“And you never will,” I said. “That’s family business. We will now change the subject.”

“What if we don’t want to?” said Peter.

I looked at him, and he stirred uneasily in his chair. “Don’t push your luck, Peter,” I said.

“Now, children,” said Walker. “Play nice.”

“We need to go back to the docks,” I said. “I can use my Sight, boost it through the armour, if necessary. Perhaps pick up some ghost images of the experiment itself, back in 1943.”

“You think they’ll still be here?” said Honey.

“Of course,” I said. “Bad things sink in; remember?”

“Have we got time for some dessert?” said Peter. “Stop hitting me, woman!”

“How are we going to split the bill?” said Walker.

“Hell with that,” I said. “Honey can pay. CIA’s got the deepest pockets of anyone at this table.”

Honey scowled as she reached for her credit card. “Hate doing my expenses,” she growled. “They challenge everything these days. Whole damn Company is run by bean counters.”

Before we left, Walker made a point of leaving a generous tip for the waitress.

We headed back to the docks, strolling along with the portly, unhurried steps of the well-fed. There were tourists all around in brightly coloured shirts, looking like mating birds of paradise. Mostly they seemed interested in architecture, historical points of interest, and shops selling overpriced tatt. We were the only ones standing on the edge of the docks, staring out at the ships. No one paid us any special attention. I checked. The river was calm and peaceful, the sky was untroubled by cloud or plane, and the sun was pleasantly warm. Just enough of a breeze blowing in off the water to be refreshing.

I raised my Sight and looked at the river again. To my surprise, I couldn’t make out a thing. So much psychic energy had been released in the vicinity that the aether was jammed solid with an overlapping mess of signals. As though so many strange and wonderful things had happened here that the atmosphere had become supersaturated with information. It was all just a fog of events, magical and scientific, piled on top of each other like a thousand voices all shouting at once, desperate to be heard. I subvocalised my activating Words and clad myself in golden armour. Honey moved in close beside me.

“Is that really wise?” she hissed. “We’re supposed to be undercover agents, remember? Aren’t you in the least concerned that the tourists will see you in your armour and run screaming for their lives? Or an exorcist? All it needs is one quick-thinking onlooker to catch you on his phone camera, and we will be the local news, on every cha

“Try not to panic,” I said, still looking out over the river through my golden mask. “It’s very unbecoming in an agent. My torc broadcasts a signal that prevents anyone from seeing the armour. Unless I decide otherwise.”

“We can see it,” said Peter.

“Only because I let you,” I said.

“Hold everything,” said Walker. “Are you saying your torc has influence, even control, over our thoughts?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. I am a Drood and therefore by definition far too nice and good and noble to even think of abusing such a privilege.”