Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [1]
‘She’s pretty,’ his Agent remarked, watching Alicia as she slammed the espresso machine into action.
‘She’s irrelevant,’ Sabbath told him. He reached into the inner jacket pocket of his linen suit and drew out several unsealed manila envelopes which he dropped on to the table in between them. The Agent let one hand drift towards them, then paused.
‘What are these?’
‘Works of fiction. Stories. Fake histories.’
His Agent pursed his lips. ‘What’s the job?’
‘There are some fellow travellers here, or will be shortly. They have information I would prefer them not to have, knowledge of certain past events that it is not in my – or your – interests to be revealed.’
The slight, younger man gathered up the envelopes, flicking them open to inspect the papers within but careful to keep the contents concealed from any observers and not to touch them. Once he handled the papers, they were tied to him, unusable to any of Sabbath’s other agents. He nodded over the information within, before slipping them through a rip and into the lining of his coat.
‘You need me to –’ The younger man broke off whilst Alicia served them the coffee. ‘Gràcies, comrade.’
Sabbath waited until he had seen their waitress smile rather more warmly towards his Agent than she ever did towards him and for her to go back to the counter with a little extra strut.
‘I want you to wipe it out,’ he told the man before him, regaining his full attention. ‘Ensure the information is no longer available. Wipe them out, if that is what it takes.’
‘Means?’
‘Any necessary, but I’m sure I need not impress on you to be discreet. The mess in Rome was forgivable – how could you have expected him to duck? – but this is a delicate time and we don’t want any unwanted attention. You’ll need to deal with any repercussions yourself.’
The Agent leaned his elbows on to the scarred wooden table top, tapping his thumb against his upper lip whilst he considered. Sabbath was pleased that he didn’t deny past errors of judgement: he had hopes for this fellow. He was ambitious, true, and clearly wanted to be Sabbath’s favoured representative but he was also shrewd enough to admit his mistakes. This was the first true test though – to complete this without disrupting the timelines required a delicacy of touch that assassinating Popes lacked. The younger man put his hand down and raised his eyebrows at Sabbath.
‘I’ll need details: how many, when, how will I recognise them?’
Sabbath chuckled. ‘Knew you’d be unable to resist, dear boy.’ He reached into the inner pocket and drew out a slim red envelope, its flap secured with a plain black wax seal.
‘There’s all you need to know about the targets.’
The Agent picked it up and slipped it into an outer pocket without even glancing at it. Sabbath always prepared the dossiers with meticulousness, always predicted all the scenarios, all the possible questions and they both knew it. The Agent stood to leave, patting all his pockets again briefly then frowning slightly.
Sabbath dropped the glasses back on to the table. ‘And with those, you’ll recognise them,’ he said. He privately enjoyed the look of surprise on his Agent’s face as he recognised his own spectacles, somehow taken from his jacket pocket and modified with a few thin strips of metal along the frames. The lenses gleamed with the faintest coppery tinge. The Agent picked them up and cautiously put them on, sliding them up his nose. He looked about the café, then smiled widely as he looked at Sabbath.
‘Oh, I see.’
* * *
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Part One
Course Introduction
‘No, painting is not made to decorate apartments: it’s an offensive and defensive weapon against the enemy.’
– Pablo Picasso
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Chapter One
Coneixeu El Vostres Drets
‘And now, if you will excuse me?’
The