and the office reverted to its domestic role. Wickham’s tenure ended and I received my appointment.” A thin smile split the aristocratic features. “I dare say some would regard it as the poisoned chalice”
Brooke returned his attention to the map on the wall. “As I was saying: we never for a moment thought it was all over. We knew as soon as Bonaparte appointed himself Consul for life he’d be looking for ways of expanding his damned empire. We heard from our royalist friends that he was already making plans, building up his forces, even as we were putting pen to the treaty. It didn’t take a genius to know that we’d be in his sights again. Only one thing for it; we had to rouse our correspondents from their slumbers and put them back into service. While our little corporal plotted to increase his military might, we chose to pursue a more surreptitious approach. You recall what I said about your Chinese general and the hundred ounces of silver?”
“Guile not guns?”
“You have it.” Brooke looked pleased that Hawkwood had remembered. “By the time war was re-declared, our correspondents were back in place and in stronger positions than before. They’ve been active ever since, burrowing their way into the heart of the Empire, like moles in a garden; keeping us abreast of events and Bonaparte’s intentions.”
Brooke’s face grew more serious. “Which brings us to the reason you’re here.”
Here comes the rub, Hawkwood thought.
“A situation has arisen,” Brooke said slowly. “We’ve received a communication from one of our correspondents which we feel merits serious and immediate attention. It concerns a proposal – I’ll call it no more than that – which, if acted upon, could well pave the way towards a cessation of hostilities. Magistrate Read and I have held various discussions on how we should proceed and your name was put forward. You have – how shall I say? – a number of talents that we believe could be relevant to the task.”
“Talents?” Hawkwood repeated cautiously. He’d no intention of querying why Brooke should have been consulting with James Read in the first place. Hawkwood was well aware that the Chief Magistrate’s responsibilities extended far beyond the confines of a small, dark-panelled office at 4 Bow Street. He’d long since ceased to be surprised at the influence James Read wielded within the serried ranks of the high and mighty.
Though that didn’t prevent another warning bell chiming inside his ear. A similar blandishment had been voiced prior to his last assignment, and he hadn’t long recovered from that bloody enterprise. James Read’s enquiry into his well-being suddenly started to make sense.
“Magistrate Read was kind enough to furnish me with some details of your previous undertakings, in particular the infiltration of the French community on the prison ship Rapacious. Most impressive. You posed as an American officer attached to a French infantry regiment.”
The job which James Read had termed the Morgan Affair. Hawkwood had been sent to investigate the fate of two Royal Navy officers who’d disappeared while trying to infiltrate a British smuggling ring specializing in helping French prisoners of war get back to France. Though there had been a satisfactory conclusion to the assignment, a not inconsiderate amount of blood had been spilt along the way.
Hawkwood said nothing.
Brooke pursed his lips. “Could you not have passed yourself off as a French officer?”
Hawkwood’s response was immediate. “No.”
Brooke’s head came up quickly, indicating it wasn’t the answer he’d been seeking. “Why not?”
“Because I’d’ve had to pretend I couldn’t speak English and that would have been impractical.”
“How so? I don’t follow.”
“The alternative would have meant trying to speak English with a French accent, and that would have been stupid and damned near impossible. They’d have been on to me the moment I opened my mouth. It made more sense to pass myself off as an American who could speak French.”
“Ah, yes, indeed. I see. Fair point.” There was a pause, then Brooke said, “What if there was no requirement to speak English? Could you pass yourself off as a French officer, then, do you think?”
“You mean to other Frenchmen?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Hawkwood asked, warily.
“Just humour me,” Brooke said. “Yes or no?” Caught in the light from the windows, the superintendent’s face was un naturally still. His raptor eyes were bright. Tiny dust motes tumbled and spiralled above his head.
The small distinct voice buried deep inside Hawkwood’s brain came to life again and hissed urgently, Say no, you damned fool! Say no!
“Probably,” Hawkwood said.
As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he felt the atmosphere in the room change. A nerve trembled along the superintendent’s jaw. The reflex was followed by what might have been a sigh. Though, like the last words he thought he had heard pass from James Read’s mouth, Hawkwood could well have been mistaken.
“I assume you’re about to tell me why that’s important,” Hawkwood said.
Brooke hesitated and then said, “We require someone to liaise with our correspondent to verify the feasibility of the proposal and, if it is at all viable, to assist in its implementation.”
“And that would be me?” Hawkwood said.
“That’s why you’re here.”
“You don’t have your own men?” Hawkwood asked.
“Oh, indeed I do, and very capable they are, too, but none of them have quite the qualifications that we’re looking for.”
“Which would be?”
“Let us say there are certain parameters attached to the enterprise which would require the involvement of someone with a military background. You clearly have proven expertise in that field. You are also fluent in French and you are no stranger to taking on an assumed identity. In short, you are uniquely qualified for this particular . . . assignment.”
“You want me to go to France and pass myself off as a French officer?” Hawkwood said.
“As a French citizen, certainly. As to the exact identity you would have to adopt, that has yet to be determined. It would depend on the prevailing circumstances. I’m afraid I cannot be more precise than that. Would you be willing to undertake such a task?”
“You’re giving me the option?” Hawkwood asked, surprised.
“Your attachment to this office is at my request but at Magistrate Read’s discretion. On that basis, he advised me that, given what befell you the last time you placed yourself in jeopardy, it would be unconscionable of me not to draw attention to the hazards and allow you the opportunity to make up your own mind as to whether you accept the undertaking, or return to your law-enforcement duties. In short, Officer Hawkwood; it will be your decision.”
“Based on what?” Hawkwood said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’ve
