Chapter Two
The following takes place between 3:00am and 4:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial Election
Director Barnes closed the door quietly as he left Malfoy's office. The two Muggle police constables were then left with this strange man in a most secluded part of the building. Neither felt this was a good turn of events and that whatever had happened tonight was far more serious than either had first thought. It didn't feel like a typical interrogation; the clichéd idea of a bare cell was absent, replaced by a splendid office that wouldn't have been out of place as a beautifully furnished study in a grand manor house. Still, the Agent facing them was possessed of an unusual aura and his very presence made them uneasy.
"Please, sit," said Malfoy, waving his hand towards them as he moved behind his desk. It came as something of a surprise to both Rees and Jennings that there were now two chairs behind them, though neither could recall seeing them there before.
"Who are you?" asked Jennings. "What is this place?"
Malfoy peered almost disinterestedly back at Jennings. "When I am ready," said he, "I shall ask the questions."
The words were spoken in such a commanding way that made Jennings, war veteran and all, cower back in his seat. He and PC Rees watched as Malfoy fiddled with several peculiar looking instruments on his desk; all were spindly and other-worldly looking with one in particular emitting a low humming sound. Malfoy adjusted them in an expert manner, though what they did was a mystery to both the Muggles.
"Let us start at the beginning," said Malfoy. He adjusted one of the instruments again. "What are you names?"
"Ross Jennings and Karen Rees," said Jennings.
The hum coming from one of the instruments changed to a lower pitch. Malfoy nodded as if he understood.
"Tell me about the letter," said Malfoy. "Which one of you found it?"
"I did," said Rees.
"Did you read it?"
"No, the man who gave it to me said it was for the Prime Minister so I didn't open it," said Rees.
"Not even to check if it was booby trapped?" asked Malfoy.
"Excuse me?"
Malfoy stood up, exasperated with the Muggles already. He moved to look through the window again.
"You say you didn't open the letter as it was intended for the Prime Minister," Malfoy began. "In that case we can assume you meant to try and give it to him at some stage, a supposition further enhanced by the fact that you used Jennings' contact at Scotland Yard to try and facilitate that."
"I didn't try to facilitate anything," Jennings protested. "I only asked DI Mills to search for a name."
Malfoy rounded on him. "It was a means to an end. Had she given you any useful information you would have used it to try and carry out your task. Stop me if I'm wrong."
Neither of the Muggles could respond. Malfoy continued.
"Had that course of events played out and this letter been placed, unvetted, in the hands of the Prime Minister it would have been an incredible security breach. The letter could be an explosive, contain a poison or other such substance and the leader of this country could have been placed in jeopardy."
The two police constables looked solemnly back at Malfoy; neither had considered this as a possibility.
"As it is," said Malfoy in a softer tone. "That scenario has been avoided and we find ourselves in this situation. I just want to impress upon you the potential severity of any covert action regarding the Prime Minister. To the matter at hand, describe the man who gave you the letter."
"Well he was so badly injured I couldn't give you a description of his face," said Rees. "He barely had one left, to tell the truth."
"His clothing then, and any items found on him," said Malfoy.
"He was wearing robes," said Rees. "He was on his back when I found him but I think the robes would have reached the floor had he been standing."
"Was he carrying anything unusual?"
"I didn't search him myself," said Rees. "But the paramedics said he was carrying a pouch with some foreign coins and a short wooden rod."
Malfoy nodded as he listened and made several more adjustments to the spindly instruments. He made a note in his parchment ledger, writing with a large feather quill. The two Muggles found this as baffling as anything yet.
"Describe the coins," said Malfoy. "Were they gold, silver or bronze?"
"They didn't find any gold but there were some of the others."
"And the man said only that the letter was for Harry Potter?"
"Yes. He also said it was a matter of national security and that the Prime Minister could find this Harry Potter."
"Do you have the letter with you?" asked Malfoy.
"Yes, I have it here," Rees replied. She took the blood-stained envelope from her pocket and placed it on Malfoy's desk. He eyed it suspiciously but seemed unaffected by the state of it.
"You found it in this condition?" he asked.
"Yes. Like I said, whoever did this really went to work on him."
Malfoy moved to sit on the front of his desk and looked in the eyes of first Rees and then Jennings. Both Muggles felt like Malfoy was looking through them, or more accurately, into them.
"Right, you can go," said Malfoy. "Director Barnes will be down the hall. Send him to me."
"Is that it?" asked Jennings.
"What did you expect?" asked Malfoy. "I believe you have told me everything so this interview is finished."
"What will happen now?" asked Jennings.
Malfoy looked at him disdainfully. "It is none of your concern now. Your part in this is over. Send Barnes to me."
* * *
3:11am
Lucien Carlton strode along the deserted corridor enjoying the silence. It was the calm before the storm and he intended to savour it as long as he could. Strong candles burned brightly, lighting his way towards a large room at the end of the corridor. The low buzz of activity filtered through the heavy wooden doors to the room and as Carlton stood outside them he thought he could guess who might be up at such an unearthly hour.
Tom Kennedy, the campaign manager, jumped as Carlton entered the room. The papers he had been sorting slid to the floor and he bent down quickly to retrieve them.
"You're up awfully early this morning, Tom," said Carlton.
"It's a big day, Sir, I had to get an early start," Kennedy replied.
"It's also going to be a long day," said Carlton. "I hope you don't flag by midday."
"I have a healthy supply of coffee to keep me going."
Carlton chuckled. Tom had been there right from the beginning, pulling the long and thankless hours behind the scenes. He would be an invaluable ally in the trenches of political warfare that would surely characterise the day.
"So what, exactly, are you looking over at this unworldly hour?" asked Carlton.
"I've been reviewing your campaign schedule for the day," Kennedy replied.
"Again?" Carlton was beginning to grow weary of Tom's edginess on this issue. "I thought we'd gotten past this."
"I still don't like it, Sir," said Kennedy. "It's too open. The risk assessment is still very high with too many exposed locations."
"Tom, we're going to be travelling half way round the country today, of course there will be open spaces."
"I accept that, Sir, but I still think you should resist visiting the more, er, unsavoury places."
"Tom, these are the very people I've targeted my entire campaign," said Carlton. "Those voters whom the Ministry have lost touch with. Its there that this battle will be won."
"Just as long as limbs aren't lost in the process," said Kennedy, darkly.
Lucien Carlton chuckled again. Tom always did have an over-active imagination; it was what made him such an ingenious campaign manager. He just had to hope this was one of his more fanciful flights of fantasy.
* * *
Avalon Heights, Cornwall. 3:15 am
The sultry night air, turned balmy by a breeze from the coast, shrouded a figure as he passed silently through the dormant main street of the second largest all-wizard dwelling in Britain. He looked fondly at the local inn, The Peacock's Tail, remembering his wedding night spent in chaotic revelry in the subterranean function room. He missed his wife; she had been a good woman. She had been the perfect sacrifice to make to join the Brotherhood; nobody could have provided a greater demonstration of his commitment to the cause. She was buried over in the cemetery somewhere; the figure made a note to visit her grave once his task here was done.
There was a house at the far end of the village. Its large garden, the earth parched due to a particularly hot summer, was surrounded by a rickety wooden fence which had certainly seen better days. A pretty stone well stood in one half of the garden and though the bucket had been broken in a Gobstones-related tantrum by one of the children of the house it was yet to be replaced. It hung there, its ragged remains swaying in the breeze and the creak of its old hinge was the only sound that could be heard.
The figure moved around the fence slowly towards a part of the garden thrown into deep shadow by the house itself. He stepped carefully around the rusted remnants of an old bicycle, through a wooden gate and into the back garden. Here stood a sign very similar to one which had once stood in the front garden, but which had blown over in a storm and had never been replanted. The children had thought it would be funny to write the sign backwards, seeing as it was going to stand in the back garden. The figure read the sign. Had it been forwards it would have read "Sparrow's Nook", but as it was it looked like complete gibberish. The man, however, knew he was in the right place. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a mobile communicator and ignited it.
"Dahlgren? Are you there? I have arrived."
* * *
3:21 am, Auror Headquarters, Diagon Alley
Stian Dahlgren looked up as his FlooPhone suddenly lit up, casting an eerie green glow around the otherwise deserted Auror Office. He had just finished disabling all lines of communication between the office and the Aurors; those that couldn't be disabled suffered the same fate as Harry Potter's personal router and were destroyed. He wasn't wary of being caught as not even the field Aurors were likely to be up at this hour. A voice sounded through his F-Phone; it belonged to Callum McDonagh and Dahlgren couldn't help but snarl at the dour Scottish accent which he had always hated.
"I'm here, McDonagh," Dahlgren answered. "You're sure it's the right place?"
"Of course, it has the sign as I was told it would," McDonagh replied.
"Good. Is there any activity inside the house?"
"No, it's all in darkness."
"Excellent. The Baron did suspect that there may be some hidden security measures at such a place."
"Doesn't look any kinda high-tech to me," said McDonagh.
"Coming from Dundee I suspect running hot water would seem futuristic to you, McDonagh. Looks can be deceiving."
"You shut your hole about Dundee," said McDonagh angrily. "I'll have you if you say another bad word about my home."
"McDonagh, you're just a hired thug," said Dahlgren coolly. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You may well be able to beat me to a pulp but don't delude yourself that you'd be able to get nearly close enough."
Dahlgren smirked at the lack of response. He loved the idea of infuriating these barely human idiots. He could almost hear McDonagh fuming down the line.
"What am I supposed to do now?" McDonagh said eventually, though the grinding of teeth was clearly audible.
"Sit tight and watch for any movement," said Dahlgren. "Get out of sight. If the Baron decides to move on the house I'll let you know."
"Got it."
"Good. And remember, stay out of sight. The only advantage you have is surprise."
"I can handle one little girl."
"Trust me, McDonagh, the Weasley woman is no little girl. You'd be no match for her in a duel. Stay put, you`ll hear from me soon."
Dahlgren extinguished his F-Phone. He took something from his drawer before rising from his seat and crossing to a room at the far end of the office. The door to this room was protected by an array of enchantments, as the contents inside were of the highest importance. The room could only be accessed by those with the highest level of authority and, with a system mirroring the one at Gringotts bank, the stroke of one finger would bypass the spells and open the door. Luckily for Dahlgren he'd been sent the hand of a person with just the right clearance level. He held it up now and stroked it along the smooth mahogany of the door, watching as it melted away before him.
Dahlgren tossed the hand aside as he entered the room. Magical equipment, the likes of which he'd never seen, whizzed and whirred in front of him, scribbling information onto reams of parchment which fell to the floor. Three pieces of equipment in here were inactive, each one with a single word inscribed above them. They were known as Trackers and in order they read: Imperious, Cruciatus, Avada Kedavra. Dahlgren drew his wand and reduced each one, in turn, to ruins. Then he left.
* * *
3:30 am, Thames Valley Water Main Station, London
A large horn blew one long, loud blast to signal the shift change. Workers, tired and bleary eyed from the late-night shift, moved away from their work stations, some heading for a quick coffee in the canteen while others simply clocked out and made for the car park. A new set of workers took over from their colleagues, some still yawning at such an early start time. The morning shift foreman is called Stuart Jones and today he is regretting not taking that second round of toast at breakfast.
"Good morning, Julie," said Stuart as he passed by one of the workers.
"What's good about it?" Julie snorted in reply.
Stuart chuckled. Most of the people around him didn't enjoy working at such an early hour and though he'd been doing it for several years he had yet to appreciate just how much others hated it. He was aware that his jovial attitude annoyed the hell out of some of the employees who had confessed to not being `morning people', but he still hadn't learned to check it.
Jones continued his routine checks of all the systems. Everything was in good order, which was to be expected as people who used water at this time of the morning were definitely in the minority. He was just about to go to his office and finish the paperwork when he spotted a man standing under one of the large treatment tanks. Jones stowed his pen in his clipboard and made his way across to great the stranger.
"Hello, can I help you?" Jones asked.
The man looked at him with dark eyes that made Jones uneasy. "Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same thing," said Jones. "Do you have clearance to be down here? This area is restricted to employees only."
"I'm here for an inspection," the man replied.
"I don't know about any inspection," said Jones. He couldn't work out why, but there was something about this stranger he just didn't like.
"Would you expect to know about an inspection?"
What a bizarre question, Jones thought. "Well as morning foreman I think I would have been told if an inspector was coming here. This is highly improper if you don't mind me saying."
"I'm from Health and Safety; it's a spot check, unannounced to review your work practices."
"Do you have any ID?"
The stranger handed Jones a laminated card bearing his face and credentials. Jones started, caught off guard.
"This seems in order, Mister…Coles," said Jones reading from the ID. "Sorry for my attitude, your being here is just a little out of the blue."
"That's the idea," said Coles. "No chance for you to prepare this way."
"Fair enough," said Jones. "Where would you like to start?"
"At the treatment works," said Coles. "Then at the pumping station. I want to make sure the water is flowing as efficiently as it can be."
"I'm sure you'll find we're running at optimum capacity," said Jones.
"That's what I hope to find. Lead on."
* * *
At the Auror office, Stian Dahlgren is checking in. His F-Phone is once again alight though a different voice is coming from the green flames this time.
"It is done? You are certain?"
"Yes, Baron," said Dahlgren. "The Trackers have been destroyed. The spells on them are useless."
"Then we can use the Unforgivable Curses without the Aurors detecting them?"
"Yes, at least until they discover what has happened."
"Don't fret about that, my boy," said the Baron. "By the time that happens it will be too late and it won't matter. The Aurors will be finished."
"Yes, sir."
"You've done well, Stian," said the Baron. "When you return here you will be well rewarded."
"Thank you, sir."
"What's that I can hear?" asked the Baron. "What's that banging?"
"Oh that," said Dahlgren. "It must be that silly junior Auror. She must be awake."
"Deal with her, Stian. Permanently."
"Yes, my Lord."
Dahlgren moved across to the cupboard where Amanda Banks was banging to get out. She was screaming and ranting and throwing obscenities through the magically sealed door. Dahlgren drew his wand and composed himself. Apparating inside would take a great deal of concentration and he was out of practice with the Cruciatus Curse he planned to use on the feeble Miss Banks. He focused, imagined the spot the other side of the door and turned into the Apparition.
* * *
3:42 am, St. Philip's Infirmary
The small medical centre was surprisingly full considering the time of day, stocked mostly with drunks sporting minor injuries and several people who looked like there was very little wrong with them at all. Alexis Algeron sneered at the sight of them. Whatever happened to grinning and bearing it, he thought. Then again, they were Muggles; they couldn't be expected to have any kind of pain threshold. A quick Crucio here and there and they'd soon know what real pain was.
"Can I help you?"
Alexis had almost forgotten where he was.
"Ah, yes, sorry," he replied, putting on a simpering voice much unlike his usual tones. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Disappeared in Barnet tonight. We were at a party and got separated."
The receptionist looked oddly at Alexis, clocking his appearance. It wasn't often people in robes strode into the waiting room.
"Did the police ask you to come here?" the receptionist asked.
"The Police?"
"Yeah, to identify the body."
"Body?" said Alexis in mock surprise. Secretly he knew this must be the place.
"Oh my God, tell me you knew," cried the receptionist. "Please tell me you know what happened?"
"I don't," said Alexis. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
"Oh God!" cried the receptionist again. "I'm so sorry. I assumed you knew."
"Knew what? Tell me."
"I don't know how to say this…I'm afraid your friend was attacked. The medical people did all they could but it was too late…he died on route. I'm so sorry."
Alexis let out an exaggerated gasp and dramatically fell from the counter. The receptionist hurried around and helped him into a seat nearby. He waited a few moments for effect, and then spoke.
"You're sure it's him, sure it's Dafydd?"
"We didn't know his name," said the receptionist. "He didn't have any identification on him."
"No, he wouldn't have. He left his wallet at the party. That's why we've been so worried about him. I just can't believe this."
The receptionist looked pityingly at Alexis and he had to work hard to suppress a grin. He always knew he'd have made a great actor.
"Can I see him, please?" he asked.
"He's in a pretty bad state," said the receptionist. "I'm not sure you want to-"
"Please," said Alexis. "I'll have to tell his family and I have to be sure."
"Alright," said the receptionist. "One of the nurses will take you to your friend. I'll inform the police so you can make a formal ID."
Alexis waited several minutes, watching the receptionist as she made a number of telephone calls. Presently a nurse came by and escorted him to a room at the back of the infirmary. A body lay inside under a white sheet and though Alexis asked for it to be moved back the nurse said it was impossible to make a facial identification and that they were waiting on dental records.
"Could I have a few moments alone with him?" asked Alexis.
"Of course," said the nurse. "I'll wait down the corridor."
"Thank you."
Alexis waited for the nurse to leave before moving to the body. He drew back the sheet and even he was repulsed by the state of Roberts' face. Holding his nose against the stench of death he checked for a pulse. There was none in the cold neck. He looked for the nurse and saw she was far down the corridor talking to a uniformed policeman. Quickly, Alexis drew his wand and pointed it at the body.
"Just to be sure. These Draughts of Living Death can be quite convincing," he said. "Avada Kedavra!"
The body didn't move. Voices outside the door drifted into the room. Alexis pocketed his wand.
"Yes," the nurse was saying. "Says he's a friend. He's pretty upset."
"I can imagine…"
Both nurse and policeman looked around the room; the former startled, the latter suspicious.
"Where is he?" asked the policeman.
"He was just here," the nurse replied.
They both stared into the room, empty but for the mangled corpse.
* * *
3:49am, MI5 HQ
Agent Scott flinched as he swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. As he did so a flicker on his computer screen drew his attention. A window had popped up in the corner of the screen and he cast his eyes over it with growing curiosity. It was a report from the Harring Street police station in Barnet, detailing the mysterious arrival and disappearance of a man connected to the death in the area that had led to an MI5 security breach. Scott read the report, found he could make no sense of it and picked up his phone.
"Agent Miller," said a voice on the other end.
"Hi Jenny, are you busy?" said Scott.
"No, sir, what do you need?" replied Miller.
"Could you get me a feed of the CCTV at St. Philips Infirmary?" asked Scott.
"St. Philips," replied Miller, working away. "Here it is. You should be seeing it on your screen."
"Yeah, I see it," said Scott. "Would you be able to show me playback from the last thirty minutes?"
"Hold on," said Miller. "I'm into their recordings. What are you looking for?"
"The John Doe murdered in Barnet was just ID'd by a man who vanished right after," said Scott. "I need to find him. Look for anyone strange."
The two Agents, at different stations, scrolled through the footage. With the timeframe at twenty to four a cloaked man strolled into the video.
"Pause! There!" said Scott. "This must be him."
"What's he wearing?" asked Miller. "Is that a cloak?"
"Looks like that," said Scott. "Matches the description of the John Doe's clothing. There must be a connection. Thanks Jen."
Scott hung up the phone and stared at the image. Within thirty seconds the phone was up again.
* * *
Director Barnes looked at the vacant expressions of the three people in front of him. PC Rees, PC Jennings and DI Mills all looked as though they'd just been blinded by a bright light, eyes wide and surprised. None of them had a face which could be defined.
"Are you sure this is safe? There isn't any long term damage?" asked Barnes.
"To be honest, we've never studied it," said Malfoy coolly.
Barnes was alarmed by Malfoy's lack of interest; this whole memory modification thing made the Director very uneasy. He wasn't given much time to dwell on this, however, as his phone rang and Scott's voice came over the speaker.
"Sir, can you come down to Ops, I think there's something you should see."
"What is it?" asked Barnes.
"An image from the medical centre where our John Doe was kept," said Scott. "There's a strange individual on the CCTV. He's wearing a cloak, for Pete`s Sake."
Barnes and Malfoy looked at each other, their expressions mirroring one another.
"We're on our way down," said Barnes.
"We, sir?" asked Scott.
"I'll explain when I get there. Barnes out."
The Director looked at Malfoy. "Come on, this might be your area of expertise."
The two of them left the office and made their way along the halls towards the Operations Centre.
"Do you think its right that I interact with your people?" asked Malfoy. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten the nature of the agreement between your Government and mine."
"Don't worry, your identity won't be compromised," said Barnes.
"And if Scott starts asking questions?"
"Malfoy - I'm nearly sixty years old," said Barnes. "I won't be around this place for much longer. I intend Agent Scott to replace me and when that time comes he'll have to know about you and your background. This seems as good a time as any to start that introduction."
Malfoy didn't feel quite as convinced as the Director but his curiosity to see the images Agent Scott had uncovered tempered any further complaint. The pair reached the Ops Centre, a melee of computers and readouts and screens packed with information from just about everywhere. Agent Scott was at a workstation nearby, bent over a computer terminal examining several images before him.
"What do you have?" asked Barnes as he and Malfoy reached Scott.
"These pictures were taken from the CCTV at St. Philips in Barnet," said Scott. "The dead bloke found by Rees and Jennings, which led to all this mornings' carry-on, was taken there. I requested that any information regarding what happened was to be flagged up on my screen as soon as it was logged. Not long ago a police report was filed; it said that a man had arrived to ID the body and though he was spoken to both by a receptionist and nurse the officers dispatched to the infirmary couldn't find him. He was in with the body, on a closed ward, but somehow disappeared. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I pulled CCTV and I've contacted St. Philips. They confirm that this is the guy."
Barnes and Malfoy looked at the screen. The robed figure of Alexis Algeron leered back up at the camera.
"Malfoy? Is this one of yours?" asked Barnes.
"Excuse me, sir, but who is this?" asked Scott. He eyed Malfoy suspiciously.
"Oh, forgive me," said Barnes. "Agent Scott, this is Special Liaison Agent Draco Malfoy."
"Liaison to what?" asked Scott, holding out his hand to Malfoy.
"Forgive me if I don't shake hands," said Malfoy coldly, not looking up from the monitor. "In dress I'd agree with you, Barnes. But I don't know him."
"Is there anyway you can find out who he is?" asked Barnes.
"Get me this picture," said Malfoy. "I'll send it to my office and see what they can come up with."
"Scott, print this off," said Barnes.
Agent Scott looked warily, first at Malfoy then at Barnes. He checked his complaint as he pressed the print button, then handed the copy to Malfoy. The wizard studied it hard but without success.
"I'll send this to my people and I'll get back to you," said Malfoy before turning on his heel and leaving.
"Sir, who was that?" asked Scott as soon as Malfoy was out of earshot.
"I told you, his name's Malfoy."
"But who is he?"
"Someone you're going to have to get to know very well," said Barnes. "There'll be a time to explain but for now just trust me. And keep an open mind on what he can bring to the table."
"Now what on Earth is that supposed to mean?" asked Scott.
"Trust me, you'll find out."
* * *
Malfoy reached his office and lit his fire. He threw a handful of green powder into the flames and called out for the Auror Office. There was no response. He tried a second and third time but with no greater luck. Perturbed, he withdrew his F-Phone and tried to contact the office that way. The little hoop burned viridian but no answer came to any of his enquiries.
"This is damned peculiar," Malfoy said to himself.
He studied the image in his hands again. A wizard, undoubtedly, perhaps the one responsible for the murder in Barnet. The magical law enforcement knew nothing of this man and now communications with the Aurors were down. Malfoy looked at the picture again and smirked. They may be crude and limited but perhaps there was something in these Muggle techniques after all.
* * *
3:55am, Auror HQ
A crash disturbed the quiet of the office. It was a severed metal door falling to the ground. It had been teetering against a wall where it had been blown off a cupboard and now its misshapen form had slid from its precarious position. It wasn't the only damage; several cubicles had large holes in them, blast marks were scorched across the walls and reams of parchment, some charred or smouldering, were strewn across the office floor.
Auror Amanda Banks looked up, breathing hard. Her long blonde hair was bedraggled and dirty and parts had been singed off. She gingerly dabbed at a large tear in her pink cardigan, beneath which a deep cut was throbbing incessantly. There were several rips in her jeans and she was sporting a few lumps on her head and back. Groggily, she looked across the office and tried to compose herself. Against a wall opposite, covered in smashed glass from a window above, lay the limp form of Stian Dahlgren. He was barely alive and Amanda knew she'd need all her strength to get him up and secure him. She summoned all her energy and set to work.
* * *
There was an underground station nearby to MI5 Headquarters, the car park of which had become the unofficial smoker's hangout as cigarettes had been banned from any area of the Government building. The car park was empty aside from one vehicle parked near the underground entrance on the far side. A man was sat inside listening to the radio when a knock on his window startled him.
"What are you doing here? You're supposed to let me know when you're coming."
"I didn't have chance. Look, this is important and I don't have much time."
"What is it?"
"There was a security breach, some cops found the traitor. They hacked into Scotland Yard to find out about Harry Potter."
"What does this mean?"
"It means MI5 is all over this. The Director and the Shadow Agent are involved."
"Damn it. This is a problem. What do they know?"
"They saw Algeron checking the hospitals. The Shadow Agent has his picture. If they ID him-"
"They won't. That's been taken care of."
"What shall I do?"
"Keep your eyes and ears open; let me know if anything develops. I'll have to get this information to the Baron."
"I'll be in touch."
"Ok. And Jenny, watch your back."
"I will."
Agent Miller kissed her companion hard on the mouth and hurried back towards her office.
* * *
3:58am
The Baron read the note in his hand and smiled. Things were going to plan. Not one hitch. The traitor, Roberts, was dead, the Aurors were neutered and everything was on schedule. There was just one last thing to check on. He picked up a small black book from a table on his side. Opening it to the only page inside, he let a few drops of ink fall from a quill onto the page. They disappeared into the parchment. The Baron waited.
I'm here.
Words had materialised on the page. The Baron wrote back.
Is everything in order?
-Yes-.
You're sure you have Potter in your sights?
-I know his exact location-.
Events are in motion now. I'm counting on you.
-I won't fail you-.
Good. I'll be in touch shortly. Stay reachable.
The Baron closed the black book and sighed contentedly. All was well in the world. It was time to begin the next stage.
"Armitage!"
A few scurried footsteps later and Armitage appeared in the room.
"Ah, Armitage, good," said the Baron. "Fetch a quill and parchment and our fastest owl. I wish for you to pen a note for me."
"Yes, sir."
Armitage did as he was told and leant at his master's side, ready to scribble.
"Write this down," said the Baron. "It is time. Move in now. Have you got that?"
"Yes, sir," said Armitage. "Who shall I send it to?"
"It's for McDonagh," said the Baron. "I want Hermione Weasley taken out of play. See that it's done."
4.00am
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