Chapter Text
"Mother, have you been messing around with the local wildlife again?"
"Not lately. Why?"
"Because there's a pigeon on the window sill with something tied to its leg." There's something a little off about the bird itself, though Carl can't place exactly what. It looks a little skinny to be a city pigeon, though, and he can't think who would want to track one of those down long enough to tie anything to it.
"Huh. Okay, I'll see what's up." With that, Mother heads out of the office. Crease sighs and turns away from the window; Carl can only guess he'd rather not watch the free entertainment.
Mother comes back in about five minutes later, carrying a bundle of paper that wouldn't look out of place at a Renaissance fair. The pigeon finds itself something to eat on the sidewalk, then flies back up to the window sill. Without the paper, it looks oddly familiar, but still not quite like any pigeon Carl's seen in action.
"Very strange mail call, apparently. I'd say it's some kind of job offer."
That gets Bishop's attention. He gets up, takes the paper, and reads it, looking more and more confused as he goes along. "Wait, the Ministry of what?"
None of that helps Carl any, but to say Mother's face falls would do a disservice to just how quickly it happens.
"Let me see that again - oh, no. Not the British wizards. I thought it was Americans, from the pigeon, but apparently he's just the relay."
Crease groans. "You have got to be making this up."
"I'm not. And something's fishy about this. The British wizards don't talk to non-magic-users if they can possibly help it, and they don't like Americans at all. I don't know why they'd come to us unless they don't mean well by it."
Carl's been keeping an eye on the pigeon the whole time, partly to see if it goes away (it doesn't), and the rest of the conversation rings enough bells to fill in why it looks wrong. "He's not kidding, Crease. Not unless you know of somebody else who'd be using a passenger pigeon for their mail service."
The office goes quiet. A minute or so later, Whistler says, "What's the pay scale on this thing look like?"
Mother glances at the paper again. "Pretty good on paper. But I'd have to find someone who knows the exchange rate before I could say for sure - they didn't bother translating it."
"Then this is either a very elaborate hoax, or another government offer."
Bishop sighs. "And after the last 'government' offer I got us into... Whistler's right. One way or the other, this is going to take a lot more research before we can answer."
"I'll call Mary later," Carl says. They're due to talk anyway, and she might know something from her own job that would help.
"Good start. We can tear into it in earnest tomorrow. Not much point in starting something new this late."
Carl goes back to the coding experiment he'd been working on before he noticed the pigeon, still keeping an eye on the bird as much as he can. He hears Crease say, "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but how do you know more about this than the rest of us?"
Mother snorts. "I don't care what kind of laws are in place, do you really think I'm not gonna keep tabs on people who could wipe my memory at the drop of a hat?"
Carl just shakes his head. He's got a feeling this is going to get interesting fast.
***
When he gets home from the office, Carl takes a few minutes to unwind, then calls Mary. He's heard a bit about this sort of thing - from people who aren't Mother, which makes him a little more inclined to believe there might be something to the job offer - but he's never bothered to research, and none of the guys want to pick up yet another 'government' offer only to be screwed over. They're going to use all the connections at their disposal.
That includes someone who's worked for the NSA and the FBI, since the offer's not even from an American entity.
"Got a question for you," he says, once they get through the initial pleasantries. "It's... probably gonna sound a little weird."
"Go for it."
"Okay. You know anything about British wizards?"
There's a long pause, but when Mary finally answers, it's not with the 'possibly you've lost your mind' tone of voice he was half dreading. "Why do you ask?"
"Job offer. Supposedly government again, and we're trying to figure out if it's likely to be worse than the last time we were handed that line."
"Huh. This is a bit out of their way, I'd think."
"Yeah, that's one of the things that's got us wondering. You got anything?"
"...Watch Star Wars."
Carl blinks. "Do what?"
"I'm not kidding. It's partly a documentary about what was going on over there in the '70s - something about Lucas going to visit some friends and finding out it was a lot worse than the news let on."
"Sort of thing Mother would love, then."
"I'll take your word for it. Anyway - watch that, substitute magic for the technology, and keep in mind that I think their Darth Vader analog made a comeback recently."
"...Cheerful."
"That's one thing to call it. I'll see if I can dig up anything else that might help you guys out. And..." Mary pauses again, but not as long as last time. "If this looks like it's gonna be any worse than the job we met after--"
"Then we're not taking it. We learned from the last one."
"Good. I'll give you a call when I know what I can find, all right?"
"Sounds like a plan."
After they get off the phone, Carl considers getting the movie out, but figures it'll be better if he just takes it to the office. This offer's getting weirder by the minute, and he's getting the feeling it'll only stick to that pattern before it lightens up.
***
Crease still can't quite believe this is happening.
He'd heard a few rumors that back up what's come out of Mother's mouth since that pigeon showed up, when he was in the CIA, but he'd never had to deal with magic on a direct level, so he eventually dismissed the rumors as cases of people over-indulging in the substance of their choice. Aside from the fact that it always grates when Mother's paranoia pays off, he's still sorting out what to make of those rumors having some truth to them.
Of course, there's also the fact that Carl brought in Star Wars as preliminary research, apparently wholly serious in doing so. Mother came in babbling about exchange rates and the Ministry of Magic's approach to by-laws, but the movie at least did the service of shutting him up in short order - though that might have been the combination of Martin and Whistler telling him to wait.
As the movie nears its end, Martin says, "All right, Mother, what was all that about exchange rates?"
"I tracked one down. Two, actually, since I had to go from their system to pounds and then pounds to dollars. If all went well, we'd end up with about twenty grand each, it looks like."
Crease considers that for a moment. "In light of your reservations from yesterday, I don't think they're expecting to have to pay us."
"I don't either. They probably think they can kill us or wipe our memories before we get out of England - and the latter's entirely legal, over there. If we take the movie as research, it's a safe bet the people in charge won't care if murder's illegal, either."
"Wonderful. This is sounding more and more like we shouldn't take the job."
"On the other hand," Martin says, "now that they've gone to the trouble of fishing us out, they might pull one of those on us anyway if we say we won't do it. I think our choices are to take the offer, or never reply."
Mother shrugs. "If we do it, we can most likely out-think them. British wizards aren't known for their logic, from what I've heard - or for paying much attention to modern technology."
"So I'd be hard pressed to find a computer?" Carl asks, glancing away from his own desktop.
"You'd be hard pressed to find a kerosene lamp, more like."
"...Great. And to top it all off, Mary emailed me. Her hunch last night was right - the Empire did strike back, to stick with the theme."
"So on the one hand," Whistler says, "we'd be walking into a dangerous situation that won't necessarily play to our strengths. And on the other, not being able to rely on magic might help us get through it - and there's a hundred grand in it for us."
Martin nods. "Not to mention, if the government's as badly off as everything we've got suggests, there's got to be more to the story. It's probably nothing we could hear from trying to find their local newspaper, either."
"And if we don't do this, or don't follow through to find out what they're up to, we're probably dead," Carl adds. "If the guy behind this was the model for Darth Vader, I don't see him being content with taking over one country."
Crease sighs. He still doesn't like the sound of this situation overall, but Carl's got a point with the self-preservation aspect.
"All right," he says. "Supposing we do this, how do we go about telling them?"
"Request some of the money in advance," Whistler says. "And probably also ask for some background information, so we know what they want us to think. Whether we think it or not is another story - and highly unlikely, at this point, but they don't need to know that."
"And when we're there, we're just particularly careful," Mother says. "Sounds like a good plan. Let's get something written up, and - is that pigeon still out there?"
Before he leaves for the day, Crease pulls Martin aside briefly.
"Talk to Liz about this, before we leave."
Martin looks positively baffled. "Why? She won't want to go to England - not for our business, anyway. I think she's already done the tourist thing--"
"So she knows you're going into a dangerous situation, Martin. She'll be more upset to hear about it after the fact, and you know that."
"...Good point. She'd probably have my head on a platter."
***
They rule out taking the employees' entrance in about thirty seconds. Bishop wonders how no one gets stuck on the way down; Carl wants to know what teenager contributed to the design; Whistler, upon getting a description, thinks some architect was trying to be ironic about what the Ministry's employees actually mean to the institution; Crease thinks it's undignified, doubly so since these people don't seem to have senses of humor, never mind highly-honed appreciation of irony.
Mother just wants to know how people can flush themselves into work without knowing where those toilets have been. Really, anyone desperate enough to use the employees' entrance deserves what's coming to them.
The visitors' entrance isn't much better, since it insists on providing them with name tags, but at least it's a phone booth and not a toilet. Mother keeps the top of the badge covered, even though it's got an assumed name on it. All anyone here needs to know is the 'official business' part.
The Ministry officials asked them to focus on the atrium and the downstairs area near the courtroom; Bishop and Crease head down to see what they can see, leaving the other three to ignore the rather disturbing statuary as best they can and start looking for potential breaches. It's more than a little outside their realm of experience, in some places, but Mother figures if the Ministry can't keep the magic part in hand, they're doing something wrong.
Not long after the employees start coming in, Whistler pauses, his head tilted to the left. "Guys? Who's over there?"
"Three people," Carl says, after having a look. "Tiny older woman, skinny guy, and a big, burly guy with a beard. They look like they belong here, but... not as a unit, I'd guess."
"Well, they sure as hell don't sound like they belong here. Seasoned employees wouldn't be that concerned about making it through the entrance, and unless those statues you guys mentioned went up yesterday, they shouldn't still be gawking."
Mother gives up on trying to figure out how the hell the architects got from toilets to fireplaces - if there is an answer, it just might be 'magic' - and has a look at the trio for himself.
"That woman's purse is all wrong for this place. Too sparkly for something she should be hauling to work."
"Put it all together, and I think they're someone here doing what we're supposed to stop," Whistler says.
"That'd be my guess - oh, hell, her purse is open. She can't be used to this many people in one place. Carl? How do you feel about your aim?"
"All right, I guess. Why?"
Mother pulls one of his trackers out of a pocket. "I figured before we left that tracking devices might come in handy. And if these people aren't the other side of the Ministry's story... they can probably point us in the right direction. Think you can get one in her bag?"
Carl raises an eyebrow. "I can try. But are you sure we'll be able to track them?"
"Radio signal. These guys have radio programming, so it should work, whatever else is going on around them."
"Well, if you're sure..." Carl takes the tracking device, and lobs it toward the group just as they start to head for the elevators; it banks off the strap of the woman's purse, then falls in, apparently without catching her attention.
The trio get lost in the crowd by the elevators soon afterward, but that's all right. As soon as the guys get away from the building, Mother will be able to find them anywhere within a hundred miles or so. He turns his attention to the visitors' entrance, since that would be any sane person's choice of a way to sneak in, despite the name tags.
Bishop and Crease come back upstairs a few minutes later. Mother doesn't really register their presence as more than background noise until Bishop joins him.
"Find anything interesting?"
Mother nods. "Not so much around the entrance points, but we did catch some people sneaking in. Got a tracking device on them. How's downstairs look?"
Bishop sighs. "Kind of like the employees' entrance. Anyone wanting to get into the Pit of Despair has more problems than we could help them with."
***
When alarms start going off around an hour later, the guys figure it's as good a time as any to get the hell out of the building. The doors are closing fast, when they reach them, but they've got enough time to get out - if barely. Mother can't help wondering what they're using in place of electronics to do that, in a moment of professional curiosity cutting through the panic.
Three people got out just ahead of them - most likely the kids Whistler heard sneaking in, if only from the way they're running like half the Ministry's after them. (Since they probably set off the alarm, that's quite likely, though whoever's giving chase is taking their sweet time about it.)
The guys have almost caught up with the first group within a couple of minutes. In fact, Bishop's got his hand on the girl's arm when they disappear with a loud crack - taking Bishop with them.
"...Well, crap," Carl says, after a long pause. "That's gonna make life interesting."
The four of them left behind keep walking, until they're reasonably sure they're out of the immediate danger zone. Mother gets out his signal tracker, along the way, and watches for it to start working again. When it does, he says, "Okay, we're probably good to stop whenever we want. They'll probably do a more restricted search first."
Crease sighs. "That's all well and good, but how are we going to find Martin?"
"By following him, of course."
"I don't know if you noticed," Carl says, "but he kinda disappeared. I think that's gonna make him hard to follow--"
"Guys, guys, give me some credit. You think I'd be carrying around tracking devices without making sure one of us could find everyone else?" Mother eyes the readout on the tracker. "He's still in the city, which is apparently more than can be said for the kids at the moment. This won't be as hard as you're making it sound."