The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [94]
"Understood. Will I operate independently, alone?"
"Independently, but not alone. You'll have three sergeants – choose them yourself, out of our people. If you find him quick, that should be more than enough. But if you spook him…"
"That can't happen, Captain, sir!"
"Anything can happen to anyone," Cheetah responded in annoyance, involuntarily glancing at his foot. "Anyway, while searching in the city you may not ask the local station for help, which is a great pity: they have a lot of manpower, and, more importantly, excellent contacts in the local police…"
"May I know why?"
"Because we have information that the Elves are very active in Umbar and there's a strong pro-Elvish underground there. Under no circumstances may Lórien find out about your operation – this is the strictest order – and I'm concerned with leaks: our people are in the shortest supply, and all the resident spies in Umbar are regular people…" Cheetah hesitated a little and finished in a humdrum sort of tone: "You will have a G-mandate, just in case."
Mongoose looked up at the captain, as if to confirm what he heard. So this is what 'His Majesty considers this operation to be of exceptional importance' means. A G-mandate allows a member of the Secret Service to act in the name of the King. In overseas operations this can be necessary for only two reasons: to give a direct order to the ambassador or to depose (or eliminate on the spot) the local chief of station…
Part III – The Umbarian Gambit
He was a self-made counter-terrorist, "part soldier, part copper, part villain," as he liked to say, and he belonged to the fabled generation of his trade. He had hunted Communists in Malaya and Mau Mau in Kenya, Jews in Palestine, Arabs in Aden, and the Irish everywhere. John LeCarré
Chapter 36
Umbar, the Fish Market
June 2, 3019
The shrimp were excellent. They sat on the tin plate like battle-ready triremes on the dim morning surface of the Barangar Bay: spiky rostrums in the tangle of rigging (feelers) threatening the enemy, oars (feet) hugging the body, just like they should in preparation for boarding. Half a dozen per portion – can't really handle any more of these genuinely 'royal' shrimp that barely fit in the palm; besides, the tangy juice that gave such a charm to the sweetish pink flesh was biting his out-of-practice lips and fingertips. Tangorn glanced at the awaiting tray with large coal-fried oysters: heat had split the large mossy stones a bit along the seam, shyly showing their swarthy contents; the effect was charmingly obscene. Say what you want, but nowhere in the world can they prepare seafood like they can in the small taverns around the Fish Market, not even at the fashionable restaurants on the Three Stars Embankment! Pity the sea slugs are not in season… He sighed and tackled another piquant juicy shrimp, listening absent-mindedly to his companion's chatter.
"…surely you can agree, Baron: your countries are just a tiny peninsula on the far northwest of Arda that's way overestimating its importance. Moreover, it's inhabited by paranoiacs who have convinced themselves that the rest of the world can think of nothing else but how to conquer and enslave them. Please! Who the hell needs your sickly toadstool-studded copses, your snows that don't melt for half a year, or that foamy brown sourwater that you drink instead of wine?"
Not that this dope's elocutions insulted Tangorn's patriotic sentiments (especially since most of what he said was true), but such statements sounded very strange coming from a highplaced official of the Foreign Ministry of the Umbar Republic; particularly so considering that their meeting was the official's idea. The baron was not very surprised when this morning the appropriately obsequious proprietor of the Lucky Anchor hotel where he was staying has handed him an envelope plastered all over with assorted state seals. Well, it has been three