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(Author's note: These events take place 1 1/2 days before Wulfgar010 speaks with RBB)
From Philm Phan's digitallly-recorded journal, encrypted:
Mr. Wood and I had been having a rum time of it. ScotIntel and MI6 were stonewalling. This much we had acertained...the corruption reached higher than we'd dreamed.
Weeks had gone by since the attack on Rockefeller, and the death of Namagomi.
The stink of unctious government functionaries whose morality and consciences had rotted away to a vile mass hung ‘round like a loose burial-shroud.
I had been calling in favours and also applying what some, for lack of breeding and taste, would refer to as blackmail (I preferred to think of it as appealing to an individual's sense of enlightened self-interest).
The head of Division 6, one Edgar Britt, had not been returning my calls...
"Oh, I'm sorry, Dearie, Mr. Britt's not in just now...I would be more than happy to take a message..." his secretary liquid-sunshine said in that perfunctorally pleasant-til-she-hung-up way. I did so.
Not-so-puzzling was the fact that according to my parabolic listening-device, I could hear Good Mr. Britt quite clearly on the phone inside his office.
Interesting conversation, as well...if only I could make out who he was talking to...
"That...WOMAN, Philm Phan, is nosing about" (I could hear the muffled sounds of the reply from the other end) "AND that damned old goat Wood has been helping her."
(In point of fact, Mr. Wood was just now off gathering information from, as heput it "A damned jumped-up, fat-faced, round-arsed Irishman...")
I heard Britt scuffling his feet nervously against his desk as the voice on the other end of the line became more angry, insistent, and demanding...
"YES, OF COURSE, if she gets too close, she has to die" (pause) " AND the ‘auld bastarrrd' also; it won't be easy. They're two of the best agents thatwe've ever had. Damme, but the man WROTE half the manual on clandestine operations, and edited the rest!"
The voice grew ever louder, but remained just below the threshold of intelligibility.
"WHAT?!? You can't be serious! Not...Dick Stroker! MI6 has a ‘ terminate-upon-sight' order on him. The last time he was here, he tried to assassinate the fucking Queen! If one of her damned Corgies hadn't lept up and took the bullet for her...half of Britain was outraged about it.
The only person more popular than the Corgies was Diana...damn, this is not cricket, you know, letting a chap know about this when it's too late...AND WHO?!? You can't be serious!"
Britt was gulping and breaking wind nervously...I could practically hear the fat sweat-drops striking the desk-top, like cannon-balls.
Dick Stroker; Troll, terrorist, assassin, kitten-eater; this was bad...
I only wish that I'd known HOW bad...
(To be continued...)
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