Meyers handed back the photograph. "I've already been approached by this man," he said.
The other man listened in silence as Meyers gave an uneasy confession detailing their conversation. Sometimes what seemed like the most innocent bit of prattle could lead to a sunken ship. As he spoke the horses picked their way past the dry stone walls and lowly hovels of the tenant farmers until they came upon a grand house. It stood out queer and alone amongst the surrounding poverty. Meyers assumed it belonged to the landowner, though he had no knowledge of how it came to be used by the secret services.
On the inside it was clear the house no longer served as home to anyone. Old furniture mingled with recently added desks and that were laden with paperwork. The floors were scuffed from the hasty re-arrangments. A quick glance at the papers showed tax and income records dating back several years, overlaying survey maps of the island and surrounding mainland. A small cluster of men and women stood around a larger map marked by pins, muttering about troop movement and potential points of ingress, but none of them spared him a glance.
"Wait here," The man from the carriage told him, and headed up a narrow flight of stairs. When he came back down he said "He needs to speak to you. There's been a change in your assignment."
No further explanation came forth, so Meyers made his own ascent. At the top he found what had once been a bedroom now served as a private office. The stout man sitting behind the desk bore heavy jowls and an even heavier scowl. Meyer's set his own expression into one of studied respect. The spy master Erin Sager had a reputation for being easily insulted, and quick to avenge any perceived slight. He looked at Meyers now like he was already plotting how best to do him harm.
"Meyers, is it?" Sager's rough tone did nothing to ease the unfriendly atmosphere.
"Yes, sir." Meyers said.
Sager gave him a beady eyed stare. "Well, Mr. Meyers, you have done the unthinkable."
Meyers broke out in a sweat.
"I am assuming, of course, that you were entirely honest in the details of your conversation with Allen Clegg." Sager demanded.
"Yes, sir. I was." Meyers just managed to keep his voice steady.
Sager folded his hands under his chin and regarded him closely. "Imagine that. One day on the job. Just one. I can tell you, that is something of a record."
Meyers swallowed back the bile that rose up from his stomach. The dreams he harboured of defending the peace and integrity of his country shattered before him. He clenched his jaw and blinked away the tears that stung his eyes. He may have lost his job, but he would not humiliate his country by snivelling.
"You're a special one, Meyers," Sager continued. "No one has ever succeeded in gaining the trust of an American agent, no one, that is, until you came along. To think you actually established a rapport with this man so effortlessly just astounds the mind."
"Erm, I did?" Meyers sputtered.
"Skip the modesty, it'll get you nowhere in this line of work. I want you on this man Clegg immediately. Find out how long he's been here, and what he's planning. Report back to me directly as soon as you found out even the slightest detail." Sager told him. "1871 is an important year. We are on the cusp of convincing America to sign what has been dubbed The Treaty of Washington. I'm sure I don't need to stress to you how vital it is nothing go wrong. I've already assigned another agent to take over your duties monitoring Fenian activity. I need you to uncover what this Clegg is up to."
"Surely the American's want this treaty as much as we do," Meyers pointed out.
Sager's expression turned even colder. "We have reason to believe Fenian sympathizers have gained influence in the highest levels of American governmental authority, perhaps even within their own spy agency. We believe the Fenians want to prevent the signing of this treaty, as they feel an agreement between Canada and United States, in which they are named, would be a threat to them. If you suspect Clegg is doing anything at all to manipulate the outcome of that treaty, put a stop to him. Don't wait for authorization."
Meyers knew by reputation that Sager's methods for putting a stop to anyone tended towards the deadly, and he didn't dare argue. He'd find some way to get the job done.
"Stick to the cover we've already arranged. Your still a member of the Department of Land and Forestry, checking land ownership and tax records for Farm and Wild Lands surveys." Sager went on when Meyer's didn't reply. "I'm confident you'll have this concluded well before the treaty is signed."
Sager's tone didn't suggest confidence so much as a challenge. Meyers took the dismissal without complaint and left before Sager could rethink his high opinion.
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Meyers found himself back on the ferry and returning to the mainland the same day. The trouble was, he didn't have the first clue where to track down this Allen Clegg. Despite the faith placed in him, he had learned nothing of the man beside his thinking the lake was nice. Even the most devouted admirer couldn't stand by the shore all day. Meyers wasn't even entirely sure he wanted to find him, or at least, not for this reason. As much as he was loath to doubt Sager, he found it hard to believe someone as young as Allen could pose a threat. How did a sixteen year old become an agent in the first place? The notion seemed so unlikely. Meyers had held himself in esteem to be granted the privilege of serving in the Canadian agency at the age of twenty-five.
Meyer's reconsidered his task in light of new knowledge. If the agency said Allen was a foreign operative, they would have evidence to prove the claim. It was on him to firm up his faith in his superiors. Allen wasn't some friendly nature-lover as he pretended, no matter what his age. He was a spy possibly in league with Fenians. Whatever his true agenda, he had reason to be in this area, and he was trying to pass himself off as an uninformed traveler. There was little to draw a tourist. This town's main industry relied on shipping wool and grains from the surrounding farms to the hungry cities down the waterways. The people who passed in and out were either drawn to the land to start a farm of their own, or escaping those same farms in hopes of finding an easier living labouring in the cities.
Speaking of which, he needed to take care not to raise anyone's suspicions as to his own reasons for being here. A good spy did more than give lip services to a cover. He was prepared to live that cover as if being a government land surveyor was the only thing he'd ever wanted. The first thing he needed was the information to play the part. Local census records could tell him who lived here, and on what land. It would give him a clue where to start his real mission, but reviewing land records in a government archive wouldn't draw out an American agent. In order to to that he had to put his boots on the ground. He already had some notions on what ground to cover. At least a few people along these shores were fortunate enough to own their land, and thereby unfortunate enough to fall under direct taxation. That would serve as excuse enough to stick his nose in other people's business. He also knew these farms were managed almost entirely by Irish immigrants. If Fenians were to find local sympathizers, they would find them there. If Clegg really was working under Fenian influence, he'd find him there too.
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Author's note: I used the actors ages to calculate what Meyers' and Clegg's ages would be in 1871. 25 and 16 gave me pause, but I wanted to use an actual event in Canadian and American history to base this story. The Canadian Encyclopeida sums up the shared history of Canada and America in the late 1800's as "remarkably little", so it was the Treaty of Washington in 1871 or bust.