Free Another Small Kingdom by James Green Page B

answer.
    â€˜To answer that, sir, I think we must find out all we can about what is happening in New Orleans. From what we know that’s where I should say the next move must be made. If I’m right the British will have someone there already or damn soon will have. It’s time, I think, to send someone down there and see if we can’t put some sand in that axle grease.’
    The General nodded.
    â€˜I think you may very well be right. Let me have your thoughts on who and how, a written outline on it tomorrow morning.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    Left alone a chilling thought crept into the General’s mind. Fouché might have the best secret service in Europe but who had the best in America? He forced such thoughts away from him. The game’s not done ’til it’s done. Jones was right. New Orleans, that was what mattered now. Get someone there and get the job done. But just as important, done by someone he could trust.

Chapter Twelve
    I n a government building in London there was another man who, like the General in Washington, kept late hours reading reports by lamplight.He too had an assistant sitting at a desk in an adjacent office. The man reading the reports was a thick-set, rather ugly man in his thirties with short, grizzled hair. His manner of dress was careless, chosen for comfort rather than fashion. His coat could only be described as an unfortunate accident, being too black, too long and too loose, and on his feet, in what must have been a deliberate affront to fashionable sensibilities, were buckled shoes rather than polished riding boots.
    His assistant differed from his superior in a variety of ways. Firstly, he was most definitely a man of fashion. Everything, from his high neck-cloth down to his skin-tight breeches tucked into glossy, riding boots spoke of up to the minute elegance. Next, he was young and handsome, although with a fullness of face and figure which spoke of easy living. And finally, his desk was bare and the young man was lounging back in his chair gazing at the ceiling. All ceilings, however, even the best of them, cannot grip the mind indefinitely and the young man, having lost interest in his particular ceiling, sat up, took a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and looked at the time. He put the watch away in an annoyed manner, thought for a moment then stood up and went to the door between the two offices which he pushed fully open.
    â€˜God’s teeth, Trent, do you know what the time is?’ The man at the desk ignored him and kept on reading. ‘Trent, it’s damn well past eleven. You’ve no right to keep me here at this hour of the evening. I’m not some lackey to hang about on a whim of yours.’
    The man put down the report and frowned at his young assistant in the doorway. His coarse features were further marred by a nose which at some point in his career had been badly broken. His small, dark eyes, set in such an unattractive setting, were unnerving and before their steady gaze the young man’s temper wilted, but survived sufficiently to carry him into the office where he continued petulantly.
    â€˜What is it you want of me, anyway? I’ve nothing to do except sit out there. Dammit, Trent, if there’s nothing for me to do why keep me?’
    The man at the desk suddenly brightened as if he had been given a novel idea to consider.
    â€˜What a good question, Melford, why indeed should I keep you?’
    Then he sat back, folded his arms and looked at his assistant with a smile on his face. The smile was not pleasant and his young assistant became nervous and, when nervous, he did what he always did, he blustered.
    â€˜Blast you, Trent, give me a civil answer or none at all. Why should I sit out there at this time of night waiting on your beck and call?’ Finding himself not checked in his outburst he continued. ‘What are you after all? You’re nothing but a common thief-taker who’s pushed