Chapter Thirty-five

The Ruined Church & H.M.S. Dreadnought

At first light, the ruined church overlooking Greenock Harbour and the Dreadnought were barely visible in the thick fog.

The “monk” squinted through his telescope and shrugged to another bogus monk standing behind him.

“Send the message, ‘Target obscured in fog. Will report developments.’”

The monk wrote the message on a slip of rice paper and attached it to the leg of a pigeon. He leaned out the window and released the bird, sending it on its unerring way to Deirdre.

  

On the bridge of His Majesty’s Ship, Dreadnought, Captain Summerlee observed the fog that swirled outside the scuttle. He sighed helplessly to Mycroft Holmes, who stood next to the Executive Officer (called “Number One” in the Royal Navy), just outside the hatch on the wing of the bridge, which was encased by fog. Nothing else was visible through the wheelhouse ports.

Summerlee stepped through the hatch, joining them in the damp mist, and took a sip of cocoa. “If you want the press-boat to spot us at sea, Mr. Holmes, we’ll have to wait out the fog.”

Sebastian, in letter-perfect uniform, entered through the hatch. “Their Lordships are complaining about the delay, sir.”

Summerlee thanked Sebastian and then grinned to his Exec. “Try and soothe those exalted tempers, Number One. And send up that security chap.” Summerlee was not delighted at having a ship full of Members of the House of Lords, Commons, and other high-ranking officials underfoot. They were acting as if the Dreadnought was their personal pleasure yacht, and his main duty was seeing to their comfort and answering endless, and often pointless, questions.

The Exec saluted. “Aye, aye, sir,” and smartly went about his business.