Game Of Seduction

Chapter 11

Brad meets with his team to brief them before they move in to break up the Funteyn conspiracy. It's a low-level thing mostly; a couple of disaffected Catholic sympathisers who've listened to the wrong kind of foreign rhetoric and jumped the wrong way politically. Probably funded by foreign gold; from that meddling Gregory XIII or the powerful and troublesome de Guise family, eager to put their kinswoman Mary, Queen of Scots on the English throne at last. Nevertheless, it needs to be stamped out immediately before it gets serious, and Brad and his team are the men to do it .

"So what are you planning to do? Gatecrash their meeting and arrest them all? You'll have a job getting all the warrants."

"Already taken care of, Signor Espera." Brad says with a flourish. "Took a bit of persuasion, but Lord Burghley came through in the end."

"The benefits of having the ear of the mighty-" Espera gives a low whistle. "I try to get anything done through Schwetje, it takes three godamn weeks to get anything approved. The Spaniards are f*****g laughing at us. I had Lilley smuggle out plans for an Armada and do you know what the dumb fucker did? Spilt wine over the plans so you could barely read them. Luckily Patterson and I had them all copied before we submitted them."

"It's not the enemy that'll get us killed, it's command." Ray says, shaking his head. "Just imagine if they acquired themselves brains? How dangerous would they be then?"

"Ray, when you're right, you are definitely right."

"Which is not that often, so don't start getting too damn cocky." Espera grins.

"So what's the plan, Brad?" asks Ray, ignoring Espera's needling.

"We pick them off one by one as they gather to finalise the plan at Funteyn's house. We ask them questions and we get to the bottom of this. If we need to take them into custody, we will."

"You've got this all planned out, haven't you?" says Espera admiringly. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Of course. And that's the way I like it. A clean orderly campaign ."

"What about Trombley?" asks Espera, slightly later on once Ray has left the room. 'Brad, I have to say I'm concerned that you want him in your team, let alone on assignment-'

"What about him?"

"You know how enthusiastic he gets about torture. Do you think that taking Funteyn and his group into custody is a wise idea?"

"No one said anything about torture. Lord Burghley and I just want to find out some facts about the conspiracy, that's all."

"That may be the case, but you know how volatile that boy is. Will you be able to control him?"

By the look on his team leader's face, Espera knows instantly that he has overstepped the line. Brad looks at him for a long moment with those ice-cold eyes, saying nothing, watching him squirm as he slowly realises his mistake .

"Poke, I sincerely hope you weren't doubting my ability to control my team? Were you?" he says eventually.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between them.

"No, Lord Colbert." He says, reverting to formality.

"Because it distinctly sounded like you were?"

"Of course not!" Poke protests, before inadvertently making it worse for himself. "You have to admit though; your team is a little eccentric-"

Brad raises one fair eyebrow. "Eccentric?"

"Come on, you have to admit that there's something not right about Trombley."

"He's young, but he has potential, once he calms down a little. He's a tremendous shot. The lad has the ruthlessness to get things done without quibbling. He's a work in progress."

"-And as for Ray-"

Espera scoffs, but doesn't say anything out loud.

"Need I remind you that Ray Person is the best coder on the team? We need his skills to break the enemies' code and I for one, am extremely glad he chooses to dedicate his extensive intellectual skills to the security of his country. I know Sir Francis and Lord Ferrando feel the same way."

Espera knows that once Brad takes that tone of voice with him, it's going to be difficult, nay well nigh impossible to sway him."Hey, it's your team, not mine."

Ray's waiting outside. He's obviously heard the entire conversation.

"Hey, thanks for sticking up for me there."

"You shouldn't be listening in on other people's conversations." says Brad with an absolutely deadpan face.

"I know-" Ray says, awkwardly scuffing the toe of his boot along the floor. "But for what it's worth, thank you."

Brad doesn't reply, although the small smile on his face gives him away.

That evening, Southwark

The man looks terrified as he ducks down the alleyway, c*****g his head this way and that. Brad and his team have been lying in wait for a long while until all the conspirators have assembled, picking them off one by one for questioning . This man is the last one, and if his guilt wasn't already known to the team, it would be written in his gestures.

"Don't even think of trying to escape, Symond Funteyn," Brad says into the man's ear, hidden so well the prey had no idea he was there all the time. He has that disconcerting knack of melding into the shadows despite his distinctive looks. Of course it helped that Funteyn was so preoccupied, he lost his focus.

The man lets out a squeak of fear as Brad easily disarms and captures him, a wicked sharp dagger pressed to his throat.

"Me, Sir? I've done nothing. You have no right-" he splutters, the blade pressing against his windpipe.

Brad is utterly unpiressed with his bluster. "Lord Burghley would like to talk to you regarding a matter that's very close to both your hearts. If you wouldn't mind obliging me-"

A guilty flush stains his face in the dim light of the alleyway. "Not me sir, I know nothing. Must be a case of mistaken identity."

This man is a liar, senses Brad with a narrowing of those clear blue eyes, and a very unskilled one too.

He saw his signature, not once but several times on the paperwork the recon team had managed to recover.

That cannot be an accident even if Corbache hadn't confirmed his involvement to save his own skin. The conspirators are using his house as a base of operations. Every single member of the group they have pulled up has identified him as their ringleader. Funteyn is in this up to his neck.

"Please don't try to insult my intelligence, Mr Funteyn. If you have nothing to hide, then you will not object to meeting with Lord Burghley and telling him what you know to help our efforts to safeguard the security of the country. Will you?"

Brad starts to march Funteyn to the waiting carriage, the butt of his pistol pressed hard into his back. Funteyn still attempts to struggle, twisting this way and that, although his efforts are half-hearted now. The plotter knows resistance is futile.

"Could you bind him, Trombley? I went to a great deal of trouble to get him, and I'd not like him to escape."

Trombley snaps to attention, eager to be of assistance to his team leader, 'Yes, Sir!'

"You have no right to do this! You can't prove a thing-" Funteyn splutters, face turning red with anger and exertion."This is that devil Walsingham's doing! His prejudice towards Catholics who merely want to worship freely in line with their consciences."

Ray has had more than enough of his weaselling words. "We've been watching you for the past week, fucknuts. You don't think we would swoop in and take you and your fellow conspirators in without a cast iron warrant?"

Funteyn panics, knowing he's been outsmarted and driven into a trap. "I've been perjured. It's a snare, God, help me-" He looks round the carriage searching for mercy from his implacable captors. "Please, kind Sir-" he says, addressing Trombley. "You're a young man of good family. Have some mercy on a beleaguered soul."

Trombley just gives him a disconcerting smile, as he tightens the knots.

Ray whistles in amusement as he watches his comrade. "You must be the worst judge of character ever to walk this sorry earth. Appealing to Trombley for mercy! f**k, we spend our lives trying to rein in that lunatic and I mean that in the most affectionate way, I really do."

At Lord Burghley's Headquarters

"Is he here?" Burghley asks as soon as he arrives. Brad barely has time to marvel that he came so quickly in response to his message, but at least he's shown he takes Brad's warning seriously.

"Please sir, I was trying to tell your men. This has been a terrible mistake. Don't torture me." Funteyn pleads, noticing that Burghley seems to be the authority within the group.

His eyebrow raises. "Torture? Colbert?"

"I haven't touched him." Brad protests. "Trombley secured the prisoner. I merely told him to loosen the knots. Funteyn has been treated with all possible courtesy so far-"

Funteyn is rocking in his seat back and forth, utterly terrified. His breaths come shallow and rapid, rattling in his chest. He clutches the armrests of the chair, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Brad wonders how far down the chain of command he is, and who is really responsible. Perhaps he is telling the truth. This plot is backed from abroad and a pathetic rube like Funteyn is just the convenient fall-guy. But why would they be so willing to sell out their agent?

"Burris, Hasser search this man." Burghley orders. "Let's get to the bottom of this."

The two do a thorough job, turning out pockets and patting him down with a swift efficiency.

"French gold." says Walt Hasser, pulling out a heavy bag and throwing it on the table where it lands with a loud thud. Burris picks it up and weighs it speculatively in his hand. "Lots of it, and a seal. You have a lot of explaining to do, sir."

"A seal?" Brad is instantly alert. "Take this down, Ray. Every last syllable. Walt, hand me the evidence."

"I-Oh God, help me...I can't-" wails Funteyn, literally unmanned by his fear. He knows now the game is up. "I can't stand torture."

Burris hands him the seal and the money. Brad recognises it instantly, tracing the lines of the de Guise coat of arms with one finger. This case has just become a lot more complicated and a hell of a lot more dangerous. Brad can't wait to get stuck in. This has the makings of a legit reconnaissance mission. At last!

He shows Burghley the seal without a word.

"De Guise ?"

"The de Guise seal in your pocket, Mr Funteyn? Why would that be there if you are as you claim, innocent?" Brad asks with a dangerous yet pleasant smile to their hapless suspect.

Funteyn stares at him, terrified. He's trembling, fear almost visibly crawling over his clammy, pale skin. "I can't say anything. I'm lost-" hemutters to himself, rocking in his seat in distress.

Lord Burghley elects to use a measure of kindness to extract the truth, now that he has the suspect on the spot. Funteyn is a completely different animal from the hired assassin Corbache. Plainly, a man way out of his depth.

"The time for stoic silence has passed now. If I were you, I'd start talking and save myself. Do you think your foreign paymasters will protect you?"

Funteyn's eyes travel upward, regarding Brad fearfully as if he was an avenging angel complete with flaming sword. "They made me promise not to say a word and obey all orders, otherwise they'd harm my family."

"Your family?"

Funteyn nods, eager to ingratiate himself with his interrogators. "A wife and two daughters, Sir. Lettice and Bessie."

"How would they harm them, Mr Funteyn?" questions Burghley.

"They threatened to trap them and burn my wife and daughters in our house while they sleep. They have people on their payroll everywhere. I made a foolish mistake abroad and got recruited. I wish I never listened to the Jesuit."

"The Jesuit?" Brad leaned forward, pinning the hapless man within his gaze.

Funteyn swallows nervously, choking on his own fear.

"What has this got to do with Jesuits, Mr Funteyn?"

"I met a man at St Malo, Sir." Funteyn says hesitantly looking up at Brad with naked fear in his watery grey eyes. "I was in a tavern by the Quai. I'd been drinking heavily, and there was a man who kept watching me from the sidelines. Listening to every drunken word I'd said. The next day-"

Funteyn gulped, clasping shaking hands in front of him. "He came to visit and talked to me. Persuaded me this was the only way I could redeem myself. If I didn't do as he said, he would inform the authorities of my rash words. I should feel proud that he was giving me the chance to act upon my principles. Leading my country back to the true faith-"

"The Jesuits trapped you?" Brad said, looking over Ray's hastily written slates. "They entrapped you into this hopeless conspiracy? Is that what you are trying to tell us?"

"New tactic for them, don't you think?" remarks Burghley to his team leader. "Forcible recruitment? The barely even bothered to indoctrinate him this time, did they?"

"Doesn't sound like them to do a slapdash job? Those Jesuits are usually professionals, damn them! Reckon this must be a rush job or a commission. One that they don't really want-"

"What do you think we should do with him, Colbert?" asks Burghley.

"You're the boss. It's your call, sir."

Burghley observes the wretched Funteyn with an almost pitying look and makes a decision. "Take him to the cells. I'll report to her Majesty, and then we'll decide what to do with him. Good work, lads."