Pacing wildly down the mildewed corridors of the disused subbasement of the almost forgotten Requisitions Building, the King gestured violently, barking into his two-way radio.

“We know she has them, Admiral.” He ground his words out through the mock English accent. “That is why thou must spring them and bring them hither at once!”

A long pause on the other end followed with a heavy sigh. “I realize their importance to the operation, sire. But you can’t expect someone with my clearance to just waltz past top-level security, pop the lock and steal away with them in my pocket. It can’t be done!”

“Calm down, Admiral, and take heed. Thou art not our apprentice for naught. I have faith in thy prowess. Every provision has at its core the flaw of human fragility. Has the Duke arrived yet?”

“What Duke? Who the, uh…of whom do you speak, sire? Oh. Bosak?”

“Aye.”

“His chopper just touched down, uh, sire.”

“Splendid. This changes the winds in our favor. We assume there will be meetings. Due to the Duke’s priority, security will be most concentrated around he and his nobles. That shall be thy window of opportunity. Create a diversion in the great hall of meeting. That shall call forth the cavalry from all corners to fortify the premises. As one among their ranks, thy presence shall go unnoticed.” The King smiled softly to himself and slunk down against the wall, fumbling for the cigarette case in his tattered suit jacket pocket. “When that happens, thou shalt waltz in, indeed! Oh, and please maintain radio silence until you reach the third drop point. We don’t want any of the Duke’s wayward sons catching wind of our involvement. Capiche?”

“Yes…sire. I understand. I’m on it! Over and out.”

“Godspeed, Admiral. Over and out.” The King switched the two-way off and rested it on the dirty floor. Unhinging the gold cigarette case, he withdrew a dog-end and placed it delicately between his lips. Striking a match against a patch of dry stone, the flash back hit him.

Withdrawing from Muggs’ fraternal embrace, he grinned back at his partner who was removing a strand of liquorice from his field jacket. It was their last meeting before the bughouse became fully operational. Adjusting some levels on the soundboard, the King readied the equipment for its maiden snooping. In the reality of the present, he absent-mindedly mouthed the words:

“Now we can really catch them with their pants down, eh?”

“Absolutely, A.J.” The look of concern on Muggs’ face flashed before his eyes. “Now, you’re sure you’re all right with this? I mean, you’ll practically be in a cocoon for six months.”

“Hey, the provisions are more than enough. I can go ten, if need be. We’ve taken the fight beyond their doorstep. We’re under their floorboards, now. We’ll catch every creak, every whispered conversation.”

He watched the flame lick along the small timber of the match, drew it to the cigarette, toked then shook it out.

“And you’re sure you have enough of your medication?”

“Of course, Mose. Of course. I always do.”