The Prime Minister's Secret Agent(53)

It was impossible to approach the house without incurring the further wrath of the dog.

The door banged open. “Oh, do shut up, Jasper—that’s quite enough!” the older man said to the dog, who whined and went to greet him, tail wagging, licking his fingers. The man was silver-haired, with a neck hidden by fallen flesh, and mud-caked boots. “And who are you two interlopers?” he demanded, one hand on his hip, the other carrying a rifle.

“Are you Fergus Macnab?” Maggie asked.

“Who’s asking?”

Once again, Mark pulled out his identification cards. “I’m Mr. Standish with MI-Five, and this is my colleague, Miss Hope. Are you the owner of sheep—”

“—with two ear notches and a red dot on their rumps?” Maggie interrupted.

“Aye, those are mine,” Macnab said. “What business is it of yours?”

“I was the one who found one of them, washed up on the shore near Arisaig House, covered in sores.”

“What of it? Sheep get sick, they die.”

“Who do you sell your sheep to, Mr. Macnab?”

His eyes narrowed. “The government, o’ course,” he retorted. “Wool for clothing, horns for buttons, meat for the ration queue.”

It was quite possible that the man had no idea what was happening to his sheep. “Do you know the names of the government officials who buy your sheep, Mr. Macnab?” Maggie asked.

“Too many to keep track of,” the farmer muttered. “But it’s the installation just down the road, by the shore. Took over my land, they did, the blighters, just like they took over Arisaig House!” Macnab shook his fist. “You got problems with what happened to those sheep, you ask those buggers. You give them what for!” he barked. The sheepdog barked too, as if in agreement.

“Yes, sir,” Maggie said. “We most certainly will.”


“Not too much farther, Mr. Standish,” Maggie said as they walked down to the shore. “Almost there.”

“Almost where?” Mark panted, not used to country paths anymore. “If we took the road, we’d get there quicker.”

Maggie couldn’t believe that Mark was most likely several pay grades above her. “Yes, but then they’ll see us coming. Do you really think they’ll just give us the key to all their files and tell us to go on and have a look?”

“Well …”

“If we can observe them from the shore, we have a chance to see what they’re really doing, without them being aware of our presence.”

“Very well, Miss Hope.” Mark sighed. “Carry on.”


The scent of salt water and seaweed was stronger near the water, as Mark and Maggie walked the pebbly shore. “They’ve launched boats from here,” Maggie decided, looking at the ropes and the wear of the beach.

“Boats for what?”

Maggie found a grassy spot, just out of sight of a long wooden dock with several boats roped to it on the beach, and sat down cross-legged on a flat rock. “I don’t know,” she said. “But we’ll wait and then we’ll find out.”


They waited for hours and nothing happened. There was only the lapping of the waves and the occasional cry of a seabird. As the sun continued to rise, the day grew warmer and Mark’s stomach rumbled. “Don’t suppose you have anything to eat?” he whispered.

“No,” Maggie whispered back. This is one of MI-Five’s finest? God save the King, indeed …

“It would—” From the corner of her eye, she spotted movement. She raised one hand to silence him. Men in uniform, each carrying a sheep in his arms, were walking down the dock and loading the animals into a waiting boat. When the boat was full, they pushed off, using a small motor to head to an offshore island. When the boat was out of sight and the rest of the soldiers had dispersed, Maggie stood, brushing off the bottom of her trousers. “Sixteen sheep,” she said.

“Now what?” Mark asked, bewildered.

“Now we go after them, of course.” Maggie gave a crooked smile. “You may not know this, but stealth water landings are one of my specialties.”


They borrowed one of the other boats and went to the same island, but landing on the opposite shore. “Come on!” Maggie said. Mark and his city ways were really getting on her nerves.

They pulled the boat onto the pebbled shore and hid it beneath some trees, camouflaging it with dead branches. Then they made their way to the top of the hill, crawling the last ten feet.

Below them lay a grassy valley, dotted with grazing sheep. The scene was pastoral, bucolic, except for the armed soldiers stalking the perimeters. “Keep your head down!” Maggie growled through her teeth.