The author of this damsel in distress story can be contacted at drake.fiction@gmail.com and would greatly welcome all comments and feedback. Martin Drake, October 2010.
The view from the top of the marble staircase was really quite magnificent. An antique chandelier of clearest crystal hung above the panelled floor of the spacious ballroom. Full-length portraits and exquisite tapestries adorned the walls, depictions of historic leaders and events purposefully chosen to cultivate an aura of pomp and majesty. Light notes of classical chamber music rose from instruments played by a world class string quartet, the flowing melody covering the hubbub of gossip and conversation from the tuxedoed men and elegantly frocked ladies who filled the room to capacity. Some glided gracefully across the dance floor, whispering secret promises to the partner held closely in their arms. Some sipped champagne or nibbled canopies proffered on silvered trays by immaculately groomed waiters. Others gathered in tight huddles, laughing merrily or nodding sagely while discussing the vital matters of the day.
No doubt about it, the Italian ambassador certainly knew how to throw a party. Alison Douglas sighed. It would have been nice if she had time to enjoy the festivities but there was important work to be done tonight.
The twenty-six year old spy turned from the scene of revelry below and made her way further into the ambassadorial mansion. The trailing skirts of her dove-grey gown swished along the floor in time to the clack of high stiletto heels as the shapely blonde paced down the marble corridor. It was always fun to dress the part for occasions such as these. Her shoulderless outfit had been made to measure by an exclusive New York designer. The satin material hugged her waist in a tight bodice which also lifted her rounded breasts to display a pleasing level of cleavage. Silver threading highlighted the lines of the skirt which clung tightly to hips and thighs before flaring out to pool in long folds around slender ankles. A delicate wrap of gossamer silk rested stylishly in the crook of her arms, the whole ensemble beautifully accessorised by a silver choker with matching earrings and bracelets, each piece studded with perfect blue sapphires. Ally was forever grateful that a government funded expense account came as a perk of her job.
The daring agent reached a remote area in the embassy’s east wing, far from the guests and serving staff gathered back in the central hall. Her objective lay beyond the solid oak door leading to the ambassador’s private library. A careful glance around confirmed that there wasn’t much in the way of security in this distant corner. A single camera monitored the junction of two corridors near a seldom used stairwell. It was a simple task to time her movements so that she passed unseen through the camera’s blindspots. A heavy brass lock held the library door firmly shut. No problem, the resourceful girl had come prepared for such obstacles. Ally lifted the hem of her skirts and reached down to the stilettoed sandal strapped to her left foot. A set of lockpicks were extracted from a cunningly concealed compartment built into the tapered heel. Steady hands, some deft manipulation and a few seconds’ concentration soon had the lock defeated and the door swinging smoothly open.
Once inside, with the door safely closed behind her, Ally halted, momentarily overcome with awe of her surroundings. The room she had entered was vast! She had been expecting some sort of study with maybe a cabinet and one or two bookshelves. Instead she found herself confronted by row upon row of tiered bookcases which between them must surely house thousands of titles. How did anyone ever find anything in this maze? The entire collection was unlabelled with no obvious filing method used to organise its contents. A quick inspection of the nearest shelf showed leather-bound anthologies of romantic poetry, rolled parchment maps of medieval Europe, first edition printings of some modern classics and a stack of ‘Time’ magazines covering the last decade.
It truth, the young spy didn’t know precisely what she was seeking anyway. A last minute intelligence source had only been able to alert her superiors to the importance of the ambassador’s library and to provide an obscure code for guidance, ‘2L3D4U18R’. The agency’s director hoped this vague clue would advance their current investigations, but it was a pretty flimsy starting point. However, now that she was here, Ally’s ingenuity could at least deduce the significance of that mysterious set of characters. ‘2L’, second bookcase from the left. ‘3D’, third case down. ‘4U’, fourth shelf up from the bottom. ‘18R’, eighteenth book in from the right.
Whispering under her breath, Ally counted off each book with a gentle tap on the spine ... sixteen, seventeen, eighteen! Her finger came to rest on a slim volume with a plain, but much worn, cover. Taking it down from the shelf, she carefully leafed through a few pages. Ally was no scholar, but even she recognised the famous sketches attributed to Leonardo da Vinci. This book seemed to contain perfectly transcribed copies of Leonardo’s work, complete with handwritten annotations in Greek and Latin. She frowned in confusion. Clearly a manuscript such as this would be highly valued by collectors, but what relevance could it possibly have to her agency’s goals?
"Well, well. If it isn’t the inimitable Miss Douglas."
The cultured British accent made Ally spin in alarm. The woman who stood before her was both a little taller and a little older than Alison herself. She wore a shimmering red dress with matching gloves that stretched past the elbows to upper arms. A folded white scarf was worn as a narrow band across her head to hold back thick tresses of rich chestnut coloured hair, the trailing ends of the scarf brought forward and draped lazily across one shoulder. A pearl-decorated clutch handbag was balanced in the woman’s left hand. Of more immediate concern was the small pistol gripped in her right.
"Lady Longford? I wasn’t expecting to run into you tonight."
"I might very well say the same. Although I should have guessed that your team of meddlers would know about da Vinci’s Enigma. You just can’t keep your noses out of my business. Now be a good girl and hand over that book you’re so feebly trying to hide from me."
Damn! Ally swore to herself in bitter frustration. She had been making a vain attempt to discretely tuck the small book into the folds of her wrap. Caroline Longford was well known to the agency. The recent widow and sole heiress of a wealthy English aristocrat, she also led a double life with alleged attachments to a global conspiracy of kidnapping, blackmail, extortion and theft. Whatever was going on here, whatever secrets this manuscript contained, the involvement of Lady Longford could only mean trouble.
"Oh, you mean this little book?" Giving up on her attempts at concealment, Ally switched to more defiant tactics. "No, I think I would prefer to keep it. After all, I don’t believe that you’re going to use that gun. You would have a hard time explaining yourself to the embassy’s security."
The elder woman gave a cold laugh, "Silly child. The ambassador and I share a ski lodge in the Alps every winter. I’m quite certain that he would accept my word if, for example, I was forced to act in self-defence against an aggressive intruder. On the other hand, I do wonder what would happen if a servant of the United States government was caught in an act of trespass on foreign territory. Go ahead, call for security. Which of us do you really think has most to lose?"
Damn again! She was right. It was the nature of espionage work to flirt with the borders of jurisdiction and legality. Ally’s very presence here could spark all sorts of political fallout. Her bosses could probably smooth things over, but not without some major ramifications. Still, it was also in the nature of espionage work to bide one’s time and take a long term view. Better to yield now and live to fight another day. Though it galled her to do so, Ally knelt and slid the da Vinci text across to her rival.
"Very sensible." Keeping her weapon trained on the blonde spy, Lady Longford placed the precious book in her clutch bag. She then reached in and retrieved an altogether different item from that bag. A taunting smile played on her face as a gleaming pair of handcuffs were held for display before being tossed across with a metallic jangle.
"I presume that you know what to do with those?"
Ally’s stomach lurched as she caught the heavy restraints, "Is this necessary? You’ve got what you came for. Why not just make good your escape?"
The villainous heiress only cocked the hammer of her pistol and laughed again, clearly relishing her victory. "Indulge me."
Fuming at the mocking tone and her lack of options, Ally snapped a steel band across her left wrist. She moved to place the second band around her right wrist, but was interrupted by an exaggerated tut of disapproval.
"Hands behind your back, my dear. Let’s do things properly, shall we?"
Ally reluctantly complied. She brought both slender arms behind her back and fumbled to manoeuvre the empty cuff around her free wrist. Dreading the thought of what she was doing, the captured spy closed the metal loop to the sound of a ratcheting series of clicks. With a shiver of trepidation, she closed her eyes and wondered, not for the first time, how she had come to wind up in such a predicament ...
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