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By Root 919 0

Tangorn, whereupon they'll immediately stake out the port and start combing the city closer to evening. In spy slang his position is known as 'leper with a bell': he has no right to either call on his old agents for help (his pre-war information on that network may very well be at the Gondorian station), or to appeal to the Umbarian Secret Service (they will only cover him if he admits to being Faramir's man, which is flatly impossible). The saddest thing is that he had lost all possibility of contact with the Mordorian network here – the only people who could have helped him reach Elandar. To make a long story short, he failed his task and is now marked for death; that none of it is his personal fault is totally irrelevant – Haladdin's mission will now never be completed.

So now he has no agents, no contacts, no safe houses; what does he have? He has money – lots of money, over four hundred dungans in six caches – plus the well-hidden mithril coat that Haladdin gave him to sell in case he could not locate Sharya-Rana's gold. He has a couple of reserve hideouts from the old times, which will be dug up in a couple of days at most; he has some old connections in the underworld, which could be stale. That seems to be it… He doesn't even have the Slumber-maker – the sword is still at Alviss' house, and returning to either Jasper Street or the Happy Anchor is absolutely out of the question.

By the time the gondolier let him off near the harbor warehouses, it was clear to him that the only sane tactic in such overwhelmingly appalling circumstances was to bluff without restraint – to mount an attack rather than crawl into a hidey-hole.

Chapter 42

Umbar, 12 Seashore Street

June 4, 3019

Mongoose walked unhurriedly down the embassy's corridors. The worse and more dangerous a situation is, the more deliberate, unhurried, and polite must the commander be (at least in public); to judge by the serene smile firmly plastered to Mongoose's face, the situation was the worst it could possibly be.

He found the chief of station, Captain Marandil, in his office.

"Hail, Captain! I'm Lieutenant Mongoose, here's my badge. I am carrying out a top-secret assignment here in Umbar. Regretfully, I'm having some problems…"

Marandil did not even stop gazing at his nails; it was obvious that some invisible shred of skin on his left pinkie was of much more interest to him than some visitor's problems. Just then the door banged open, and a burly guy almost seven feet tall pushed the lieutenant aside most unceremoniously:

"Time to start, boss! The girl's first class!"

"You guys must've gotten yours dipped already," the captain grumbled good-naturedly.

"No way, sir! The boss gets first dibs, we regular folks follow… but the lady's already undressed and waiting impatiently."

"Let's go, then, before she gets a chill!"

The big man guffawed; the captain started getting out from behind the table, but caught Mongoose's look. Something in that look suddenly made him feel that he had to explain: "She's from last night's catch, a Mordorian agent! The bitch'll wind up in the canal anyway…"

Mongoose was already dispassionately studying the kitschy ornaments on the ceiling (rather tasteless stuff, really); he was genuinely concerned that the overwhelming fury he felt was about to spill out through his eyes. Sure, spying is a cruel business; sure, a third-degree interrogation is, well, an interrogation in the third degree; sure, the 'girl' should have understood the risks before she got into these games, that's all fair and by the book… What was not by the book was how these two colleagues of his behaved – like they were not in His Majesty's service, but rather… Actually, to hell with them all – so far, at least, straightening out the resident spies was not within Task Force Féanor's ambit. The lieutenant addressed Marandil again in such a gently persuasive tone that any competent person would have immediately guessed how serious he was:

"My apologies, Captain, but my business brooks no delay, believe me. I'm sure that your subordinates