But how to penetrate the place? The more he studied it, the more impossible it seemed. He’d watched it for hours, looking for weaknesses, learning the routines of those who came and went. Memorizing each face.

From what he’d been able to glean, every woman who worked there had some connection to the Admiralty. They knew someone within, or someone important. Perhaps . . . perhaps that could prove useful. He could find a secretary to give him access to the place—perhaps one of those two who had just left the park, or perhaps someone else. He’d do a bit of research, watch the building some more. Find the most likely mark. Someone capable of giving him the access he needed. It would be a shame to manipulate or threaten the wrong person and find it got him nowhere.

He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and let his fingers brush the handle of the blade he kept close whenever he was on solid ground. He’d not had it with him aboard the Boynton, for which he was grateful. He’d have hated to lose Der Vampir. When Father had given it to him—not to Heinrich, but to him—he’d made him promise to take the best possible care of it. It had been in their family for generations, and the styling reminded him of his Bavarian home every time he looked at it.

He rubbed his thumb over the pommel and then covered it again with his coat.

“Sorry.” Yūrei came up behind him, still coughing, though not as badly as he’d been ten minutes ago, when it had sent him inside for a drink to soothe it. He sat opposite him at the Go board.

Das Gespenst summoned a smile for his fellow specter. “Why don’t we go inside for our game? Out of this blasted damp?”

“You’ve read my mind.”

Grinning, he lifted the game from its table. With the help of a secretary from the Old Admiralty Building, he’d soon be reading more than Yūrei’s mind—he’d be reading the Admiralty’s.

6

There were moments when Drake felt guilty for sitting at a bistro on a warm afternoon and ordering a meal. He knew all too well that he was eating far better here than he would be at home in London. Knew that he was eating far better, too, than the poor in Spain. He knew it, but he also knew that if he didn’t move about and act like the grandson of Francisco Mendoza de Haro, then he could well compromise all the work he was doing.

And today, he wasn’t dining alone. He certainly wouldn’t begrudge his superior a meal on Abuelo’s bill either.