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ocean worth-while.
    “Demolitions, huh? Thank you, Major Carstairs.”
    “It adds a certain pleasing, hmm, completeness to the picture, does it not? And this brings us around to your particular need. As I was saying, Bunsen appears to have been distancing himself from the radical fringe. He is working his way up in the more mainstream political world, in part by immersing himself in Union work, but also through his establishment of a politically orientated organization with the, shall we say, rather optimistic name of Look Forward, which sponsors speakers, free legal representation, and educational opportunities to the working classes.
    “As a part of this transformation, Bunsen takes care to make regular appearances in the vicinity of Good Works. In recent years, many of those stem from his attachment to Lady Laura Hurleigh. She is a founding member of a group of health care clinics called Women’s Help, which operate in the poorest areas of London. An association with these clinics bestows on Bunsen a distinct cachet of respectability and responsibility.”
    “Like they say, you can’t buy that kind of press.”
    “Er, quite. In any case, Lady Laura has a number of staff who oversee the day-to-day running of the clinics, but her overall assistant, her right-hand woman, if you will, who appears recently to have taken on a number of functions in the Bunsen organization as well”—(if he dragged this out any longer, Stuyvesant was going to throttle it out of him)—“is a sweet but naïve young lady by the name of Sarah Grey.”
    Ha! Stuyvesant thought—at last. “Grey. Related to your mind-reader?”
    “His sister. But please don’t call him—”
    “Yeah, I know, he’s just another shell-shocked officer.”
    Carstairs frowned again at the end of his cigar, although it was burning just fine. “You know, Agent Stuyvesant, I am grateful to you for bringing me your question regarding Bunsen yesterday. Not only have you caused me to focus on a potential troublemaker, but in reviewing his file, I remembered Captain Grey, and realized that I hadn’t been in touch with him in some time. Honestly, I’d nearly forgotten about him, but I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t check on him.”
    When someone like Aldous Carstairs used the word
honestly
—and in a speech devoid of
hmm
s,
shall we says,
or
so to speak
s—it might have been a neon arrow flashing at the opposite.
    “Glad to be of service. So, how does your man Grey come into this?”
    “Almost not at all, considering how much of a hermit the man has become. I gather that he and his sister—whom I met briefly, long ago—see each other rarely, although they no doubt exchange letters. However, they are in some contact, which is what brought him to mind as a potential link in your chain. What if Captain Grey were to provide you with an introduction to his sister? Would that give you enough of a foot in Bunsen’s door?”
    To this point, all they’d traded was information; now, Carstairs was proposing action, a thing that could put Stuyvesant in his debt. “It would save me days of footwork,” Stuyvesant admitted slowly. Weeks, even. “But why would Grey do that? He doesn’t know me from Adam.”
    The smile returned, but the earlier flower of warmth had been replaced by something very cold indeed. “He would do it if
I
asked him.”
    “Doesn’t sound to me like your Captain Grey would be that enthusiastic about it.”
    “Mr. Stuyvesant, I assume that America’s enemies are like our own, serious and without qualms. If you’re going to go all polite and ethical on me, perhaps you ought to return to New York.”
    Stuyvesant replied lightly, “Oh, it’s not being a bastard that worries me. It’s just that forcing someone to help has a way of back-firing in your face.”
    “Perhaps, Mr. Stuyvesant, you haven’t tried the correct kind of force.” Carstairs dropped the stub of cigarillo to the ground and stepped on it. “So, would you care to