Nine, Agent Nine

London. Far across the Atlantic, before the events that are to soon to transpire in the West Wing suite of rooms at the great house of Collinwood now occupied by Samantha Evans – who has only just recently discovered that she is in truth the illegitimate daughter of Quentin Collins – a young woman is about to learn about a mysterious village in Maine and a family of wealth and secrets.

The white Ginetta G40R speeds through the wide, tree-lined streets of Hampstead Garden. The long shadows of the trees flicker-flashed across the windscreen as she drove with the top down. There was a mere chill in the air, but not enough to put her off from feeling the wind running loose through her red hair. Earlier that morning, she had received the rather cryptic message that she was to make straight way to a meet at a certain address in the very fashionable suburb of North West London. Soon the sun would begin to set, lowering dusk across the smart lawns and manicured landscaping. There was for a moment a inappropriate memory of her childhood. A quick down shift of the Ginetta G40R brought the reassurance of the 5-speed H-pattern Gearbox as the tight automobile took the curve, slowing as she scans the roadside to her right, and sees just ahead the entrance to the curved drive. She pulls the car straightway up the incline of the entry past two stone columns of the low wall surrounding the house.

It was an old terra cotta brick home with well-manicured gardens and lawns. All very posh she thinks walking up to the front door and using the polished brass of the ornate knocker.

The door opens, and, having allowed herself to take a decidedly lazily look across the lawn, the tall red-head turns at the sound of the opening door and smiles as she looks at a very attractive young woman just beyond the threshold. She is perhaps no more than twenty. She stands there in the open doorway and she inspects the tall, redhead rather quizzically, “Yes?”

Quizzically perhaps, but there was more than the subtle hint of the professional – she was more than certain that the young woman at the door was ever ready to draw her concealed weapon should she give her the slightest provocation.

“Beauregard.” She says giving the code for the day.

“Oh, yes. You are expected.”

The young woman takes a single step back and allows the redhead to enter and then closes the door behind her. She makes a casual gesture with her hand – a gesture that spoke far more of theatrics than the girl’s natural inclination toward self-assured reserve. Which piqued a question, just what were her inclinations, the redhead found herself contemplating as she watched now with acute interest the long legs and the short woollen skirt of the woman leading the way. And it was not as if the young woman was not aware of the redhead’s appreciative eyes upon her as she continued to lead the way across the sunlit foyer to a dimly lit corridor, which lead back into the mahogany panelled corridor giving egress to the heart of the house.

There was no conversation as they walked along the carpeted corridor. Just the hushed sound of their heels in the thick, recently vacuumed nap. They passed dark antiques and woodland landscapes along the rich wooden walls of the corridor until the young woman comes to a halt and opens the door that let onto a conference room. “Here you go.”

The room was dark, no doubt as befitting one of the more secret chambers of the Ruling Cabal of the Diogenes Club. For she had not driven out to the North West London address without having first taken the precaution of determining precisely what she would find at the rendezvous – particularly when the invitation had been so rather furtively delivered, certainly not at all along the usual channels. A small note inserted in her morning paper – with the address, the time, and the code for the day. And so, she had arrived well aware that this was the private residence of the Chairman of the Ruling Cabal of the Diogenes Club: Vanessa Coats.

And the young woman dressed in the fashionable grey woollen suit with the magnificent, athletic stride was Manon Trueblood, personal assistant to Vanessa Coats. Trueblood now steps aside to allow her to enter the conference room and stands for a moment at the door, “Would care for anything, water? Tea perhaps?”

“No – No thank you,” Agent Nine tells her looking around the room. The room was dark-panelled as well. Recess lights were inset into the ceiling and walls. Several conference tables were set about, their tops all highly polished. A much different look and feel than the Inner Chamber within which the Cabal met at the Diogenes Club’s Pall Mall location – where there were no windows and the high walls were lined with bookcases reaching all the way to the ceiling, ladders on brass rails that allowed one to slide from one end of the room to the other, and everything was so very dimly lit by old banker lamps,

The conference room gave the appearance that even the dust had received the memorandum, in triplicate, of course, and so knew better than to alight atop a table top.

“Very good.” Manon Trueblood says with a soft voice and very blue eyes, “Miss Coats will be with you shortly,” and then, the young woman closes the door.

Alone, Agent Nine continues looking about the room – it seemed immaculate. As if very few meetings had ever taken place in this room. The carpet had the feel and the appearance that very few feet had ever actually strode upon it. Which was unusual to say the least. Was the room merely for show? A backdrop for videoconferences? Rather odd. For what she knew of the history of the Diogenes Club, the Ruling Chairmen had not been superfluous or ostentatious. But then, she had left MI6 a little less than a year ago, having accepted a reassignment after the events surrounding the acquisition of but a small part of the Cabinet of Curiosities of the late Dr. Thackery T. Lambshead and her discover of the long missing Castleblackney Key. Or as it was more succinctly put to her by her section chief on that gray, rainy morning:You see it’s like this now that you know, they feel it’s time you joined the Club. The club being the rather mysterious Diogenes Club, which she had come to understand not only protected the realm but this entire plane of existence from occult menaces, threats born in other dimensions, magical perfidy, and the Deep Dark Deadly Old Ones. And so she arrival at the highly secretive intelligence bureau had coincided with the tenure of the previous Chairman, Catriona Kaye. Of whom it was said, she was all protocol, procedure, and above all else a pinnacle of professionalism. There certainly wouldn’t have been a meeting in her flat. Nor would Kaye have lived in the fashionable suburbs of North West London.

Kaye had lived within walking distance of the club.

She glances at her watch fighting an urge of impatience.

Only the wait is not that long, as suddenly, to her right, a side door opens and a tall, slender woman enters. She looks over with a detached air as she gestures a hand toward one of the conference tables, “Do have a seat.” Her voice firm and commanding,

“Yes, Ma’am.” The red-haired agent says walking over to the conference table and pulls back a heavy chair and takes a seat.

“So good of you to stop by on such short notice, Agent Nine.”

“You requested my presence Miss Coats.” The redhead replies sitting now watching as the current Chairman of the Ruling Cabal of The Diogenes Club strides confidently around the table and pulls back a chair. The agent is surprised that she does not take the seat at the head of table, but rather, the chair across from her.

Vanessa Coats was tall – almost six-foot and dressed in a smart black pants suit, gray shirt, with an expertly knotted tie. Agent Nine had never met the woman, but she immediately felt the woman’s sense of presence — she was used to command. She demanded attention and was more than assured she would receive it.

“We have watched your career for some time and I must say we have been most impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“I am sure you are wondering why you have been called to a meeting by the Ruling Cabal.”

“Unless I am very much mistaken, you have an assignment for me of some sort.” Agent Nine tells her, “One that is perhaps a bit sensitive, seeing as how you asked me to meet you here rather than the usual Pall Mall offices.”

“Right.” Vanessa Coats admits, “What do you know of Catriona Kaye?”

“The former Chairman?” Agent Nine asks, “Only that she was murdered some time ago, according to the press.”

“Yes—well one can’t always be too sure of what one reads in the papers these days.” Vanessa Coats says with a wry smile.

“Oh?” Agent Nine arches a brow, her curiosity sparked now that it wasn’t going to be some tomb guarding assignment.

“And perhaps, that is undoubtedly the best place to start.” She sits back watching the attractive redhead as she begins, “As you know Miss Kaye held the seat that I now hold.”

Agent Nine nods.

“Normally, as such, one would not expect to have found her actively engaged in a field assignment. But—Catriona being Catriona, one never knows quite what to expect . . . and so, unbeknownst to the rest of the Cabal, she undertook it upon herself to muck about on an investigation of her own.“

“I see.” Agent Nine says, aware that the Cabal itself consisted of two Chairs and the Chairman none of which were expendable enough to actually engaged in any activities other than the strategic operations of the Club.

“It all seems to have been in response to her having received three Tarot cards in the post.”

“Tarot Cards?”

“Yes.” Vanessa Coats replies as she leans forward placing her hands atop the table, “Which three, she did not divulge. But—it would appear they held some special significance – for her — which no doubt was the intent of the one who sent them.”

“I see.” Agent Nine nods, “Was anyone aware of the origin of the post?”

Vanessa Coats shook her head, “No—Catriona kept it all very hush hush you see. We only know what we know in the aftermath of events.”

Agent Nine nods.

“And so, as I said, she rather injudiciously undertook an investigation on her own.” Vanessa Coats continues, “The long and short of it is that in the end, Miss Kaye, in Westminster Cathedral, received three gunshots in the chest at very close range.”

“How . . . symbolic.”

“Quite,” The Chairman of the Ruling Cabal arches her brow, “And that should have been the end of a very illustrious career, posthumous commendations from Her Majesty, a rather ceremonious interment . . . but—you see, when the first responders arrived, she was most surprisingly still alive.”

“Alive? Three shots, close range, into the chest?”

“Precisely.” The Chairman nods, aware that the agent sees the incredulousness of circumstances. “They of course immediately began the process of putting her on life support, and she was transferred to hospital in grave, critical condition.”

“A rather fortunate woman.”

“Well, yes and no, especially for a woman sixty-seven years old. The trauma was such that she lapsed immediately into a coma. She was kept alive only by life support. The doctors assured us that it would be best to let her follow a natural course.”

“I see.”

“Only—while attempting to ascertain next of kin, all the legal formalities in order to make the decision you see, seeing as how she had been put on life support . . . Catronia flat-lined. And was dead for approximately 90 seconds, officially.”

Agent Nine blinks, “Was dead you say?’

“Yes,” Vanessa Coats nods, “Aware of the nature of our cases, you know, we do expect the unexpected—except of course when it is one of our own. It is rather odd when one of us comes back from the dead, don’t you know.” There was a slight irritation in her voice, “For you see after being officially pronounced dead, time of the death attested to and all that, 90 seconds later, Catriona awoke.”

Agent Nine Nods “Uncommon, but not unheard of.”

Vanessa Coats looks at Agent Nine intently, “Quite – but there are the certain unusual circumstances surrounding her miraculous resurrection. You see all of the hospital equipment just suddenly failed. Watches stopped. Mirrors broke. And, all of her wounds were healed.

Agent Nine sits up straighter.

“And, the woman that awoke from the dead was physically a woman of 30.”

“Now that is unusual.”

“Yes – rather. That of course was when she and I had our first discussion in regards to the events that lead up to her shooting and those—afterwards.” The Chairman took a deep breath, “Have you heard of something called The Dreamlands, Agent Nine?”

“I read something about them once . . . but it was many years ago.”

“Well – it seems that Catriona remembers a priest kneeling beside her in Westminster – all a bit haze you know, having just been shot three times, but, rather than uttering a prayer or attempting some last rites, she remembers him speaking in a language that she recognized as Aklo.”

“Alko?”

“You are aware of the implications?”

“Certainly.”

“Yes,” Coats continues, “And rather than lying there dying – she suddenly found herself in Dreamlands. A rather beautiful port in the Land of Sona-Nyl, to be exact.”

Agent Nine now arches a brow skeptically.

“In what little we know of Dream Lands, it is said that in Sona-Nyl is the Land of Fancy, and there, there is no suffering or death. There is no time or space.”

“So, you think this had something to do with her resurrection and the altered state of her age?”

Vanessa Coats make a motion with her hand, “One never knows for certain. But you see, she told me that rather than staying there, she remembers meeting someone, although she doesn’t recall who, that told of her a ship. A White Ship preparing to set sail for the Basalt Pillars of The West. A voyage to which she was told that would lead her back eventually to the Land of Hope and there, she would find her way back to the world of awaking reality.”

Agent Nine frowned, “And so, I gather something happened upon this voyage.’”

“Yes—and now this is where things get a bit dicey, Agent Nine.”

Agent Nine now listens intently.

“For apparently she believes she got off the ship in the Great City of Thalarion, the mythical city of a thousand wonders.”

“Did she now?”

“What do you know of Thalarion?”

“Nothing, I must say.”

“Well, the city is said to hold all the mysteries that man has striven in vain to fathom. A city that contains the sum of all knowledge that is beyond human comprehension.”

The red-haired woman now began to look once again rather skeptically of the story.

Vanessa Coats raises and eyebrow as she detects the look, “Now of course – I know this all sounds very surreal to you, as most of us know very little at all about The Dreamlands. But, what you need to know is that according to those that are aware of the them, that know of the Land of the Six Kingdoms that exist beyond the Walls of Sleep, it is known that no man has ever set foot in Thalarion and lived.”

“I see.”

“It is said that within in the city of Thalarion there exists only deamons and mad things that are no longer men. That the streets of the city are white — paved with the unburied bones of all those who have entered.”

Agent Nine sits silently contemplating this bizarre story.

“Now, as I said, this is her recollection,” Vanessa Coats interlaces her fingers atop the polished surface of the conference table, “And so, you can see our difficulty.”

“I believe I can.” Agent Nine nods.

“And the reason for the erroneous report in the press of her demise . . . and why Catriona was removed from the Chairmanship, and has been under close observation every since.”

“As you say, her recollection. But you can’t be certain as to what precisely happened to her.”

“To be rather blunt – all we have is supposition and her vague memories. Whether or not she was in the Dreamlands, while she was in the coma, is as fanciful as it is troubling; but what we all know for a fact certain is that she died – and she came back from the dead. Rather dramatically one might add. And if she were to have actually been in the Dreamlands – then even that is deuced problematic . . . for you see, she may not even be Catriona Kaye at all.”

Agent Nine understood the dilemma.

“The woman I have sat and talked with would appear to be Catriona, only 37 years younger. She has all of her memories . . . and outwardly, if you knew her before the incident, you would think she is Catriona – save for some . . . well, there are some changes in her personality. But those changes – the whole resurrection from the dead – the physical transformation, leaves far too many questions unanswered. Too many suspicions. “

“Perhaps she has changed in other ways yet to be perceived.” Agent Nine conjectures.

“Precisely.”

“I am surprised that you have not confined her to . . . ”

“The Mausoleum?” Vanessa Coats completes the thought for the agent, referring of course to the Egdon Heath Collection – a museum in which was housed those who were far too dangerous to be allowed to run free, and those much too valuable, or singular, to simply be done away with. She looks at the agent with an arch eyebrow, “Well, you see, in the off chance that she may in fact be Catriona – and I must warn you there are those who believe whole-heartedly that she is who she appears to be, and they do wish to have her re-instated to the Chair – I can not bring myself to having her handed over to The Undertaking. In point of fact, quite recently she was very invaluable in a case that unfolded in America, Maine to be precise.”

“Maine?”

“Yes, a small town there called Collinsport.”

“I see.” It being Agent Nine’s turn to arch a brow.

“And so, The Ruling Cabal has met and we have decided that we wish to see Catriona in a more isolated environment, but we do not want to send her to the Mausoleum or Stromcage Containment, you see.”

“I see.” Agent Nine now began to figure out why she had been summoned, “And so you want me to babysit her, I’m guessing?’

Vanessa Coats smiles, “I knew you were a very intelligent woman. We have decided to send her to Collinsport, and I need someone to accompany her. As an aid and a body guard, but also—“

“To observe and report.” Agent Nine grimaces slightly at the thought of some small town on the rocky New England coastline.

Vanessa Coats nods in agreement, “I know this sounds all rather bleak – Maine.”

“Who knows, perhaps I will learn something about canneries.”

“Ah, yes, a well rounded education is a worthy thing, what? But I do need to warn you—that Catriona – well, as I said she has changed in some regards.”

“Oh?”

“Yes—she seems to have lost certain inhibitions. She is a bit excessive. She now drinks a bit too much, smokes heavily, and . . . and not only has she become very promiscuous . . . she has changed her . . let us say she now has certain inclinations rather different than she had in her past — her choice of romantic interests.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Just to let you know – she can be a handful at times.”

“None of those are much of my concern, and if she gets out of hand . . . that’s what tranquilizers are for.

“I know it sounds loathsome. A small fishing village – although it relies now mostly on tourism, I hear. But we chose the location as we also have two members there—two other Extraordinary Members in fact.”

The redhead arches a brow.

Vanessa Coats pushes across two folders: one lists a Praetorius, Septimus and the other Collins, Nicole.

Agent Nine takes the folders, and scans the salient information quickly and then looks up to the Chairman, “This is correct?”

“Yes.” Vanessa Coats nods, ‘As I said, they too are Extraordinary Members.”

“Well, this Collinsport seems to be rather interesting.” Agent Nine, aware now of the extraordinary nature of Praetorius and Collins, gathers up the folders, “So—Madam Chairman, when do we leave?”

“Ah—as to departure.” The Chairman replies, “We have a special facility there near Collinsport, it has a portal. Have you ever used one before?”

“I have a feeling I’m about to.”

“Yes, well, we have scheduled departure for tomorrow. Now, of course, Catriona sees this all as an exile—but, I am hoping it will help us determine precisely who and or what we are dealing with.”

Cue Music End of Episode