Chapter 26: THE BRITISH COMPLICATION
Peggy's briefing was thorough, professional, and deeply inconvenient.
"The anomaly is centered beneath St. Michael's Church in Brighton." She spread photographs across the conference table—architectural images, historical documents, maps showing the church's position in the coastal city. "The building dates to the fourteenth century, but the foundations are older. Possibly Norman, possibly earlier. Local records mention a crypt that's been sealed since the Tudor period."
"Templar?" Steinberg leaned forward, his academic interest engaged despite the operational complications.
"The historical evidence suggests it. Brighton was a Templar stronghold before the order's dissolution. When Philip of France moved against them, the English Templars had warning—enough time to hide their most valuable possessions." Peggy tapped one of the documents. "This is a 1536 inventory from the dissolution of monasteries. It lists 'items of uncertain provenance' being transferred from Brighton to a location that was never specified. The transfer never happened. The items are still there."
Sam stood by the window, his posture relaxed but watchful. "The church is still active?"
"Anglican parish. Small congregation, declining attendance. The vicar is seventy-three and more interested in retirement than investigating his basement." Peggy's expression was neutral. "The practical obstacles are minimal. The legal obstacles are significant."
The legal obstacles. The dagger theft hung over any British operation like a sword. The investigation had gone dormant—no active pursuit, no international warrants—but the files existed. My description was probably in them. Operating openly in Britain meant risking recognition, arrest, exposure of everything we'd built.
"We need a local partner." I stated the obvious. "Someone with academic credentials, institutional standing. Someone who can request excavation permits without raising suspicion."
"Someone British." Sam's voice carried dry acknowledgment. "Since the rest of us are either wanted or foreign or both."
"I might know someone."
Peggy's voice carried reluctance—the first time I'd heard uncertainty from her since her recruitment. She pulled another folder from her briefcase, this one thinner, marked with her own handwritten notes.
"Dr. Eleanor Vance. Egyptologist, thirty-four, currently affiliated with the British Museum's research division. Oxford education, published extensively, considered brilliant by everyone who's worked with her."
"Why the hesitation?"
"Because she's also considered difficult." Peggy opened the folder. "Principled, uncompromising, intolerant of shortcuts or deception. The Museum passed her over for a curatorial position last year—gave it to a less qualified male colleague. She filed a formal complaint, lost, and has been quietly building a reputation as a troublemaker ever since."
"Frustrated talent." Steinberg's voice carried recognition. "I've known many such people. Germany was full of them before I left."
"She's more than frustrated. She's furious." Peggy met my eyes. "And she's sharp. I investigated her six months ago for an unrelated case—inheritance dispute, completely mundane. She noticed my surveillance within three days and confronted me directly. Demanded to know who hired me and why."
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth. That her cousin suspected her of forging documents." Peggy's mouth quirked. "She laughed, produced the original documents proving her cousin was the forger, and suggested I find better clients."
The picture that emerged was someone I both needed and couldn't afford to underestimate. Eleanor Vance would provide the academic credentials and institutional access the Guild required for British operations. She would also, almost certainly, figure out that something was wrong with our organization long before we wanted her to.
"She's exactly what we need," Peggy summarized. "And she'll hate everything about our methods."
The meeting ended with a decision: approach Eleanor through legitimate channels first. Offer Foundation funding for her research, establish a professional relationship, reveal more as trust developed. The strategy was slow, cautious, possibly inadequate—but the alternative was operating in Britain without local support, which was barely operating at all.
Peggy caught me in the hallway afterward.
"A moment, Mr. Caldwell."
We stepped into an empty office—one of the spaces still awaiting furniture, walls bare, windows overlooking the street below. Peggy closed the door with the deliberate precision of someone ensuring privacy.
"Eleanor Vance is sharp." Her voice was direct, stripped of professional polish. "Sharper than anyone else you've recruited. She'll figure out something's wrong with your operation within a week of joining it."
"That's exactly why we need her."
"Is it?" Peggy's expression was unreadable. "Or is it because you're attracted to the challenge? You have a pattern, Mr. Caldwell. You recruit difficult people—people who push back, who question, who don't accept easy answers. Sam, Steinberg, me. Now Eleanor."
The observation landed closer to truth than I'd expected. I'd chosen every member of the Guild's core team precisely because they weren't compliant. Because they would challenge decisions, demand explanations, force me to justify choices that might otherwise go unexamined.
"Difficult people keep me honest."
"Difficult people also create complications." Peggy's voice carried something that might have been concern. "Eleanor won't be satisfied with partial truths. She'll dig until she finds the whole picture. Are you prepared for what happens when she does?"
I thought of the Heart's test in Mexico—the examination of my motivations, the acceptance of imperfection, the understanding that flawed purpose was still purpose.
"If she digs deep enough to find everything, she'll find out we're trying to protect the world from things that shouldn't exist. That's either enough to keep her, or it isn't." I met Peggy's eyes. "If it isn't, I'd rather know now than later."
Peggy studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded, once.
"I'll arrange the introduction. But don't say I didn't warn you."
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