July 17, 1933 BCE
Haakon resisted an urgent need to scratch. Somehow, the creature-comforts of 1933 London didn't extend to fashion. His stuffy, tweed suit itched, his stiff collar chafed his neck, and the garters that held up his socks pinched his legs. He twisted his shoulders in lieu of an uncouth scratch and surveyed the hotel's breakfast buffet. His mouth turned down at the muffins, hard-boiled eggs, and the greenish mish-mash made of cucumbers, parsley and oil. Even the scent of the bacon crackling on the chef's griddle made his stomach roil. He longed instead for simpler fair, for the hard bread and ale he'd shared with Gunnar in Scarborough.
Memories of that last time he'd seen his friend made him wince. No doubt he'd make a great Resident. It was a perfect position for a tight-ass.
His partner for his current assignment, Nell Trent, jostled his elbow. "Penny for your thoughts?" Concern welled in her deep brown eyes as she gazed upon him.
He pulled himself back to the ornate Victorian dining room. "It's nothing. I was just marveling at English culinary skills." When he tried to use his fork to make room on his plate for an egg, greasy scalloped potatoes slithered onto the terra cotta tiles on floor. He rolled his eyes. "I think I'll just have bread. But I bet they've managed to make even that tasteless."
Her cheeks dimpled, and she and answered in her native Cherokee. "My father was wise when he named you Cries Over Spilled Milk."
His face heated and he answered in the same language. "He was wise indeed, as is his daughter."
Most of the other guests ignored them with the cold indifference—or was it good manners?—of their Anglo-Saxon forebears. But the short, dumpy fellow wearing pinze-nez glasses and standing behind Haakon peered at them. "Excuse me," he piped, in a heavy Hungarian accent. "I thought I could recognize any tongue, but that one is to me strange." His face glowed with curiosity. "I don't mean forward to be. My name is Leo." He stuck out his hand.
"Haakon." They shook, and the man's dry skin and calloused palm chafed against Haakon's. Strange. He couldn't be a laborer, not dining in the Imperial Hotel. Perhaps he was a craftsman of some kind?
Haakon's partner reached across him to offer her hand. "My name is Nell." They shook and she continued, "You're not forward at all. We were speaking Cherokee. Most rude of us, really. I must apologize. We should use the native language." A rare smile flashed across her features, and Haakon marveled at her transformation from mouse to movie star. "We're Americans."
Leo's face crinkled in a roguish grin. "Nice to meet both of you. I've been here for months. I, too, am a stranger in this strange land. Would you care to join me for breakfast? Perhaps I could share some insights about our hosts." He jabbed his glasses back up his nose with his forefinger and raised his eyebrows.
Haakon was about to decline, but Nell interjected. She nodded toward the window overlooking a floral garden. "We'd be delighted, Leo. There's a free table on the far side of the room." Rain drizzled on the panes, turning the view into a blurry Matisse landscape.
A puzzled frown flashed on Leo's features as he mused, "A free table? They don't charge for the tables here." His eyes widened, and his tone changed from pensive to delighted. "Oh, an unoccupied table, you mean. See, you've taught me a new word in American. I knew this would be a productive encounter. I'd be delighted to join you." He bustled away from them.
Haakon leaned into Nell and muttered, "Really? This is how you choose to spend our first morning here?"
"He's harmless. He's observant and curious, too. It can't hurt, and maybe he's noticed things the scans back in Chicago wouldn't pick up. Context is everything, you know."
Haakon sighed and followed her to the table, where Leo was rearranging the salt and pepper shakers, the sugar bowl, and the creamer, placing them in the precise geometric center of the table. He flashed an improbable smile at Nell and leapt to his feet to hold a chair for her.
"Thank you, Leo. It's nice to dine with a gentleman." Her eyes twinkled at Haakon, who restrained a snort. "So, we're here as students. What brings you to London?"
His mouth hardened. "The god-forsaken Nazis, that's what. They forced me out of my position at the Technische Universität Berlin. Now I help other refugees find positions, as best I can."
Haakon glanced up from buttering his bread. "So you're an engineer, then?" That could explain the calloused hands, but how could a refugee professor afford the Imperial?
"Physicist. I'm an inventor, too. My friend Albert and I have designed a refrigerator with no moving parts. We've even found a capitalist from Texas who's interested. It's hot in Texas, no? They need refrigerators?"
Nell's fork clattered to the floor. When she stooped to pick it up, Leo jumped to his feet and snatched it from her reaching fingers. "My dear, let me get you a clean one." He dashed back to the buffet.
She leaned forward and whispered, "My god, do you know who this is?"
"A Hungarian physicist with the hots for you?"
Irritation flickered across her face. "It's Leo Szilard. His friend Albert is Einstein. He's incredibly important."
"Oh." He considered for a second. "Something to do with the Manhattan Project?"
"Exactly. In fact, he came up with the whole idea of a chain reaction, right here in Bloomsbury. I admit, I'm a little surprised you know about him."
"I think Portia Scurlock mentioned him, along with some German chemist."
Her face squished at that. "Haber. Yes, he's here, too." She brightened. "But our new friend, Leo, he's awesome. He was Einstein's student. They even invented this refrigerator he mentioned as a get-rich-quick scheme. Einstein was always scheming ways to pay his alimony. They sold the refrigerator patent to Electrolux, but it never went anywhere."
Haakon shrugged. "Good for them. But I don't see how this affects our mission."
"I guess you're right." She touched her lips with her napkin. "Still, through Einstein he's incredibly well connected. Maybe he can help us in some way."
Leo bounced back into his seat and handed Nell a fresh fork. "There you are, my dear." He paused to survey them. "My Texas capitalist acquaintance is called Bob Quilp. Maybe you know him, since you're Americans too?"
Nell dimpled and replied, "Not likely. Oklahoma is next to Texas, but we're just poor students. We wouldn't have much contact with rich folks."
"Next to Texas? Perhaps you understand Texan, then? He speaks in the most peculiar English dialect. Did you know that in Texan there is a distinct plural form for the pronoun 'you'? I thought he was referencing a sailing craft until I deduced he meant the plural of 'you'."
Amusement bent Haakon's lips into a smile. "I think I know the idiom."
"Excellent." He sipped at his tea, but calculations still danced in his eyes. Haakon wondered if the man's mind ever stopped solving problems. Done with the tea, Leo asked, "Mayhaps the two of you would be willing to serve as an interpreter? I'd pay you handsomely for the service. I'm to meet Mr. Quilp and his associates on the morrow for a presentation on our invention."
Haakon started to decline, but Nell tromped on his foot under the table. She smiled and responded, "We'd be delighted to assist you, Leo. We could use the money." She leveled her gaze at Haakon. "It would be nice to meet a fellow American, too."
Haakon couldn't see how meeting some Texas oil millionaire would be helpful to their mission, but he didn't argue. After all, it wasn't like they had well-defined objectives in the first place. Besides, they could always split up tomorrow and pursue different approaches. That was why Control had assigned two agents, after all.
Inconsequential polite chatter filled the rest of the breakfast. As they prepared to go their separate ways, the three shared their room numbers, and Leo promised to leave a message at the desk with details about the meeting tomorrow.
Outside the hotel, they both huddled under umbrellas while they strolled down the broad sidewalk. Rain still drizzled. A bright red double-decker bus splashed through a puddle and drenched his slacks. He shook off the minor annoyance and asked, "Where to? The library isn't far, and I'd like to check the Express and the Herald." Next week both papers would publish the photo Haakon had found, the one in which Nathan had appeared. Maybe he'd find something, some precursor not in the digital archives at Control.
She nodded. "Good idea. I'd like to reconnoiter this Texan fellow, Quilp. According to Leo, he's at the Russell Hotel, not far from here." She paused while a knot of businessmen with umbrellas and bowlers rushed by. Haakon thought incongruously of Magritte paintings, but then she continued, "While you're there, you might check in again with the Resident."
"I guess." Clementine Thorogood had been primly efficient when she'd met them the night before in the library's overflow stacks, buried deep in a re-purposed Tube tunnel. But she wasn't a field agent, just a scholar documenting the era. At least she could expedite access to the stacks.
Nell nodded. "Well, then. I'll meet you for lunch back at the hotel." She set off in the opposite direction from Haakon's.
Haakon continued to push through the crowded sidewalk when a passersby's face caught his attention. The man stood gazing into the storefront for a bookstore—the Librairie Internationale. Haakon took in his tattered British Army greatcoat and battered fedora. Possibly an out-of-work veteran, then. There was something about the fellow's indistinct reflected features, though, shimmering in the rain-drenched window. Something that sent alarm bells ringing in Haakon's subconscious.
When the stranger turned to face him, the man's eyes glinted under the fedora and a hard smile twisted his features. An electric tingle zinged out Haakon's fingers as recognition flared. Kutzenov. This was the Russian KGB agent who'd threatened him in Chicago, back in 1962. What was he doing here?
The Russian had jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. He pulled the right one up a few inches and revealed a Webley MK VI revolver. His gaze locked on Haakon, and he muttered, "So, we meet again. You will come with me, tovarisch. I have many questions for you."