Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) (20 page)

“I assume you have employed all the requisite security measures.”

“Naturally. But we have something else in mind. We need to sink a man deep into the red hot spots in the East End. A sort of spy who can ferry us information on the movements of these groups and let us know if something big is coming down the pipeline.”

Lazarus studied his former employer intently. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I might be this man.”

“It’s perhaps not as exciting as your previous assignments but it’s a damn sight less dangerous. It’s intelligence gathering. A small job to bring you back into the fold. My trust in you hasn’t been completely swept away, Longman, although there are some in my circles who believe you should have been shot as a traitor. I want to prove them wrong. You’re a damn good agent and I don’t want to lose you. You just need a bit of a chance to prove to us that you’re still our man.”

“For God’s sake, Morton!” Lazarus exclaimed. “I’m an antiquarian! A treasure hunter as your man outside was so keen to tell me. I’m not a spy or an undercover policeman. Why on earth do you want me for this thing?”

“For the reasons I have just outlined. And because all my other agents are tied up with more important matters.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

“Come off it, I didn’t mean it like that. I want you back on my go-to list and you need to show us that you’ve still got what it takes. Besides, don’t you speak Hebrew?”

“I can read Hebrew should the occasion call.”

“Can’t you apply yourself and see if you can’t get an ear for it? It would be of enormous help in infiltrating the Jewish radical clubs.”

“Jews in London generally speak Yiddish. Quite different.”

“Well, I understand Hebrew is still used in some of their pamphlets and propaganda. Anyway, you wouldn’t be working alone. I’ve arranged for a man to accompany you on your journey into the underworld. Sort of a bodyguard. You’d be the one in charge, there’s no mistake about that. I’d like to introduce you tomorrow morning.”

“Morton, I still don’t think I’m the man. And I’m very busy at the moment.”

“Giving lectures and chasing down obscure books? This is national security, man! And this isn’t just some plebs beating the war drum. We’ve reason to believe that the socialists are becoming extremely organized. The Russians may be involved.”

Lazarus’s heart skipped a beat. For all he knew about Russia, its mention only stirred up one thought in his mind these days.
Katarina
.

“The revolutionist movement is even bigger in Moscow and Saint Petersburg,” Morton went on. “And intelligence says that the reds over there have been shipping hardcore rabble-rousers to London to influence and stir things up even more. Something’s got to be done or we’ll lose control over our own bloody city!”

“And am I to identify these Russians?” Lazarus asked.

“If you have the chance. But you are to report on all developments in socialist circles, Russians, Jews or anybody else.”

Russians, thought Lazarus, remembering Katarina’s pale breasts and the scent of her perfume, crumpled sheets smelling of their sweat in a Parisian hotel room. Of course it was ludicrous to think that by coming into contact with some of her countrymen he would somehow be drawn closer to her. As the niece of a high-ranking member of the Okhrana, Katarina was no revolutionary. But for some reason, the mention of Russians made the whole business seem not altogether unappealing.

“Who is this fellow I’m to be working with?” he asked.