A Clandestine Meeting (MM - SIS)

[Dieter Schprokets]

Wilhelm walked to the centre of the memorial square in New London. A vast labyrinth of stone, black marble, was set out in a maze, with the names of the millions of dead engraved thereon.

It was a place that spoke to the heart of sacrifice, honour, and loss. The Bretonians had fought hard for Leeds against two powerful adversaries, for years, and had fought well, but ultimately could not hold the lines there.

At least the Kusari did not have the dishonour to destroy what they could not possess outright..

He spotted a man on a bench, feeding pigeons from a small cloth bag of feed. He walked nonchalantly over to him and and sat down, and took out a novel from Rheinland and began to read.

"Karl Schroeder is an excellent author." said the man beside him, still nonchalantly feeding the birds.

Pigeons. Rats with wings..., thought Wilhelm.

"His early work was best. More exciting."

The code words exchanged, the man subtly looked around to confirm no one was even close to earshot.

"Hello Mr Humboldt. I've been instructed to discuss certain opportunities for your organisation. I am to find out what you offer us, so that others that I report to can determine your usefulness to us."

Wilhelm smiled. "Drywork, and wetwork if needed."

The man nodded slightly. Wilhelm continued.

"We can provide eyes and ears in places where you do not want it known that you have eyes and ears."

One of the pigeons crapped. Wilhelm wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"And with respect to the wetwork, we can provide plausible deniability. In fact, I propose we make the accounting up front and untraceable, so that that the connections are as tenuous as possible."

The man frowned a little. "How so?", he asked.

Wilhelm looked up at a large container ship in final descent to the New London spaceport. Quite an old ship, but it looked serviceable. He pointed to it.

"Someone owns that ship." He knew he was stating the obvious, but he had a point to make.

The man's frown deepened. "Yes. I suppose that is true. And?"

"Well", continued Wilhelm, "Someone is piloting the ship. Men and women are crewing it. Others will unload it, and others still will maintain and service it while it is docked."

Wilhelm leaned in a bit.

"But the owner, whereever he or she is, simply stays in the shadows and reaps the dividends."

"And sometimes, the dividends are not money, but outcomes."

Wilhelm began to straighten his clothing. The meeting was looking more like one, and less like a casual conversation between strangers.

"And wouldn't you agree, sir, that multiple payments over time for services rendered are quite easy to track, and just might reveal themselves in time. But a one time investment? Well, there are all sorts of ways to launder that."

Wilhelm stood and gave a quick nod. The stranger held his gaze, and said;

"Mr Humboldt. I think we understand one another. I will pass on your proposal."

Then louder;

"Indeed I will have to look for Mr Schroeder's novels, if I can find some translated works here in New London."

Wilhelm smiled. "I hope you find some. I do enjoy his work."

He turned, and left the square, looking sideways at the huge memorial structure. So many names...

So much unpaid for.

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