feed and shelter themselves, they would become too visible—and that wasn’t good for the cause.
“Be right back,” Rupert said, spotting the dark wood confessionals the note had described, along the right side wall of the chapel. As he walked away he heard Will struggling with the kneeler. It clunked down on the marble floor with a dull echo. He should have shown him how it worked so he wouldn’t be so clumsy with it. But there was only the one old woman in the chapel, so it probably didn’t matter if the boy seemed a little nervous. Didn’t lots of people get nervy before making their confessions? Facing your sins—your mortality.
He stepped into the penitents’ side of the booth and closed the door behind him. It smelled musty inside—a good kind of odor, comforting. He imagined this was how tradition smelled. On the other side of the screen he saw a shadow move. For a moment, his heart leaped into his throat, and he worried there might be a real priest waiting to hear his confession.
Just to be sure he knelt down, folded his hands, and murmured the words he hadn’t said in a very long time, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He continued the familiar litany. The time that had passed since his last confession—more than six years, he guessed. And he was about to start listing his sins, but not all of them of course, when he remembered the agreed upon password. “Oh, and also, Father, I come from Appomattox.”
A soft sound came to him, as if whoever was on the other side of the grille was also relieved. “Any trouble coming here unobserved?” a voice said.
“None, sir.”
The invisible man said something in a low whisper Rupert didn’t at first understand. “Sorry?”
“On your seat, the envelope.”
“Oh.” He shifted his hips and only then saw the small rectangular shape. When he picked it up it felt thick between his fingers.
“Open it.”
He slid his thumb under the flap and tore upward, making a ragged paper mouth. Although he couldn’t see in the darkness he could feel the leaves of banknotes inside.
“That should keep you comfortably for a while longer,” the man said. His accent told Rupert he was definitely a Brit, and educated.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Now we get down to business,” the man whispered, “before the priests return to wash away the weighty sins of old women and small boys.”
Rupert smiled. Was the man making a joke? He decided it was safer not to laugh. “Yes, sir, to our task.”
“I have a very important mission for you and your partner. We fear that our membership has been compromised by a spy in our midst. There is a job that must be done immediately. We cannot take the chance that those involved will be spotted and identified. You and your partner are new to the country, it’s unlikely the queen’s protectors know you.”
“Yes, sir.” Rupert could sense his value had just increased tenfold. He felt gratified.
“In that same envelope you’ve just received, you will find a photograph. Tonight when the opera lets out, the man in that picture will leave and, as is his habit, walk across the park to his club. If he is alone, you will kill him quickly and quietly before he has a chance to leave the park. If he is accompanied, you must kill whoever is with him as well.”
“What if he has several companions?”
“That might be a problem. Perhaps you can isolate him. The important thing is that you cannot be caught, and if you are— nothing of our organization can be revealed.”
“Understood.”
“We count on your silence.”
Did the man think he was inexperienced in warfare? Rupert shook off the sting of resentment. He was, after all, a soldier and knew what was expected of a soldier.
“Who is the target?”
“You will recognize him from the picture when you see it. The man’s death will be a powerful and personal blow to the queen, as he is a favorite of hers. This will be the first part of a double strike against her. After you have carried out the mission, we will claim responsibility.”
“How do I—”
“The method is up to you, but circumstances dictate stealth and speed. I would suggest a knife.”
Rupert nodded. Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t his specialty, bombs being a far less intimate weapon than a blade. But he’d been trained for such operations in the army. He made no objection.
“Tonight you said,” Rupert murmured. “So soon?”
“It must be tonight. There will be