Free The Iscariot Sanction by Mark Latham Page A

breaches.’ Marcus Hardwick’s responsibilities had increased tenfold since the first breach. Now he was the Minister for Defence, a relatively new position that had elevated the old soldier to one of the most powerful men in the Empire, changing his relationship with the Order for ever. And with such responsibility came a long list of commitments, upon which his family, it seemed to Lillian, sat very near the bottom.
    ‘I’m sure you can spare a few minutes for me… Father.’ Lillian held his gaze confidently, and he sighed.
    ‘Very well, but only a few minutes.’
    They made their way down to the great marble lobby and through to the members’ bar, where they secured a private booth.
    ‘How was Alaska?’ Lillian asked.
    ‘Cold,’ her father replied.
    ‘You look tired.’
    ‘It was an arduous voyage.’
    ‘Had it not been for the summons to the briefing, I would not have known you had returned.’
    ‘What is it, Lillian?’ Marcus Hardwick sighed again. ‘Were your orders not clear enough?’
    ‘Perfectly. In fact, Sir Arthur is down in the armoury right now, no doubt haggling with Lord Cherleten’s secretary over exactly how many forms he must sign for our supplies this time.’ At the merest mention of Arthur’s name, Lord Hardwick let out a disapproving snort. ‘Father, please,’ Lillian chided.
    ‘What? Must I be happy that a daughter of mine is off gallivanting around the country with that… that…’
    ‘He’s a good man, and a good agent. Would that I had his experience, so I could serve my country half as well.’
    ‘So it’s true?’ He raised an eyebrow.
    ‘What is?’
    ‘You and him?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have to dignify that with a response. Am I not a lady still?’
    ‘I don’t know, my girl, are you? I certainly raised you as one; and yet the rumours suggest that you have had “relations” with a… a… Majestic.’
    Lillian felt embarrassment and anger in equal measure redden her cheeks. ‘I thought I could bear the callous remarks and tittle-tattle of the so-called “gentlemen” of this club, but to learn that my own father listens to such hearsay is hurtful indeed. As it happens, it was my mother—if you even remember you have a devoted wife—who raised me as a lady. What you raised was a killer. And now, when I am finally given the chance to serve my country as you did, you join the gossiping old men of society in slandering me?’
    ‘Hold your tongue, girl. Your privilege as my daughter carries you only so far.’
    Lillian rose. ‘Sir Toby has been more of a father to me than you have these past years, and I barely see him. I do not feel especially privileged to be your daughter.’ As she stepped around the table to leave, her father grasped her wrist firmly.
    ‘Wait. I…’ He took a breath, and tried his best to soften his tone. ‘Don’t be upset, child. What was it you wanted to say?’
    ‘I was hoping you would wish me a happy birthday,’ Lillian said, coolly, ‘before I go off “gallivanting” with Sir Arthur Furnival.’ She pulled her arm from her father’s grasp, and without another word walked briskly from the room, leaving him silent in her wake, as the sage old clubmen pretended not to pay any heed.
    * * *
    John rushed into another room, throwing shut a large door behind him, and slamming his back against it.
    But for his lantern’s pale glow the room was dark; no electric light shone in here. The air was distinctly musty and foul, carrying the scent of soil and age upon the gentlest of breezes. He could hear scratching and tapping ringing in the corridor behind the door, accompanied by a muffled sound as of deep, guttural voices, or perhaps pig-like grunts. The tiny derringer in his hand suddenly looked most inadequate.
    The tunnels were impossibly vast and labyrinthine—they could not have been put here by the builders of a factory. More likely, John guessed, they were catacombs from some ruined abbey, now pressed into service as stores. He