September 1954, one afternoon
"Lieutenant, Lisa is in the hospital!" The officer who almost shouts the news as he enters the room seems panicked. "And the exchange is tonight!"
His superior, more experienced, is much calmer when he asks about the situation. "Her state?"
"Appendicitis, sir. By this time she must be on the operating table."
The officer shakes his head. "Arabella?"
"Undercover, and with a leg in a cast to boot."
"Penny?"
"On a mission in Glasgow."
The lieutenant sighs, examining the possible candidates to replace his sick agent on such short notice. "Alice Lawson?"
"Does not have the necessary accreditation."
"Mathilda Brown?"
"Same."
Frowning, the officer takes his head between his hands to better concentrate. "Miss Mawdsley?"
"Not in London right now, sir."
"Miss Mansfield?"
"Neither."
"Thank you Harvey." Lieutenant Piwett gets up from behind his desk. "I'm afraid I have to escalate this problem."
A few hours later, after leaving the I.S. Director Col. Dorian Cartwright's office, Captain Francis Blake, head of M.I.5, is in a deep discussion with his counterpart of M.I.6, Commander William Steele.
"But really, William, are you completely sure you don't have anyone you can lend us for this mission?"
"Alas, no." The commander cannot help but smile slightly.
"This amuses you far too much," Captain Blake complains as he opens the door of an office in his unit. "And I absolutely don't see why we can't promote an agent for this simple exchange of documents."
His colleague shrugs. "You know the sensitivity of the mission."
"Promise me, William, promise me that tomorrow you will support my request to have more female agents get higher accreditations. We clearly need more redundancy for cases like this!"
This time, William Steele lets out a laugh. "Granted, Francis, granted!" Then he gets a little more serious. "It is true that on a more critical mission, the effect could have been disastrous."
"Joke all you want!" Blake complains, while sitting in front of the mirror of a make-up table and smoothing his mustache. "It's not you who will have to wear a false mustache all this coming month!" Then, turning to his friend and colleague: "Even Miss Pound could accomplish this mission without problem!"
"She's on vacation in Florence, Francis, I'm sorry."
"And her replacement?"
"Alan Matthews?"
Blake grimaces as he thinks of the young man's thick beard.
At that moment, the door opens and Captain Blake's assistant, David Honeychurch, enters with all the necessary equipment.
"David, I'm sure you could ..." Blake tries again.
"Sorry, Captain." Honeychurch shrugs. "I'm not that much a good actor."
Blake sighs. It would seem that he cannot escape.