Bruce did not go far at all. His contact was waiting in the basement of the hostel. Jack Harkness had described Strobel as "an odious little creep" and Bruce had found himself in rare agreement. Strobel was little more than an informant with the delusion of being an international spy. He worked at arms length. But he was very good at asking questions or overhearing important information. Bruce suspected that even he would disapprove of how Strobel gained his intelligence, but it was nearly always reliable. And 'nearly always' was better than most of the rubbish that the Intelligence Services were supplying currently.
"Where are my packages?" Bruce asked directly.
"And good afternoon to you too, Bruce. How's Bonnie Scotland? I hear it's lovely at this time of year."
"The packages? I have very little time."
"Efficient as ever, Bruce. But, no doubt, you forgot the Scotch that you owe me? The packages are fine. All neatly bundled onto parachutes and ready to drop like little Christmas presents onto your Buddhist temple."
"Good. They're ready. Here? Are they here in Nepal?"
"No. That kind of op would be too tricky for the people we have here. I've got a good team working on it in Peshawar. Done and dusted."
"Pakistan? Not too reckless. But the Americans will be everywhere. At least one of your team will be on the payroll of Central Intelligence."
"We have better healthcare than the C.I.A." joked Strobel. "And the van Statten people are crawling all over this town. The best thing to do is play it cool. You could do 'cool' if you tried Bruce."
Bruce forced himself to remain calm. "Then our agreement is fulfilled. Thank you. We will do business again," he growled.
As Bruce turned to leave, Strobel tutted.
"Now now, Bruce. The Boss insisted that I keep him apprised of your progress. I'll be honest. We're both at liberty to dispose of each other if we get suspicious of the other's motives. Or maybe if we just get bored of each other. Do us both a favor, and give the Boss a call. Then he won't get worried and start calling me personally. That always makes me nervous."
Strobel produced a bulky satellite phone and offered it to Bruce. "Don't mention me by name."
:::
Bruce pressed the satellite phone to his ear and let it connect. While it clicked and bleeped, he composed himself. "Act positive," he thought.
"Bruce? How are we today, my old friend?" asked Saxon's silky voice. Bruce could hear a busy crowd of people in the background. Music was playing.
"Everything is going well, Prime Minister. I needed to let you know we may be out of reach over the next few days. Whatever is happening at the monastery may interfere with our satellite communications. But I will complete the mission in the next two or three days."
"Yes. A minor worry. But I know you can be trusted, Bruce. Just get the job done."
"I was surprised to find you had left Downing Street, Prime Minister. Don't you have an important visitor to attend to?"
"I asked Adams here to take me to this place with the tower. A short trip, I thought. But it turns out this is not Paris. But I am still amused by their little Tower."
Bruce was not sure how the Prime Minister's humor worked. He was surely aware of the Tower in Blackpool, even with his highly privileged background.
"Mrs. Saxon and I, the lovely Lucy and I, have been dancing on the floor. Do you dance, Bruce?"
"No, Mr. Saxon. Not since I was a young boy. I was forced to learn at school."
"Ah. Well, I would never force you to do anything, Bruce. How is your little showpiece proceeding? Is our amusing conspiracy picking up pace? Your toys will have arrived?"
"I'm confident that my ordinance has reached its destination. Or will do very soon."
"I'm feeling a little pressed for time, Bruce. My thoughts are moving away from flair and clever plots. It might be best if you just disposed of Harkness's team."
"I had hoped to pick up leads on the Captain's whereabouts before removing his colleagues."
"Don't worry about Harkness. He is being properly dealt with."
"What do you mean, sir? I thought he was missing. That's partly why I've brought his team here. Do you know where the Captain is?"
"No, Bruce. I don't know specifically. But I'm fairly sure he is not making snowballs on the top of a mountain. It's not really his style."
Bruce thought quickly. His already flimsy plan was losing momentum.
Bruce knew now that he was lying to the Prime Minister. There was no way his own plan could be concluded in two days, not even if he executed the Cardiff team here in Kathmandu. There was much more that he wanted up in the mountains.
"Can you excuse me, Bruce. I may try to make better use of this fascinating musical instrument. I seem to have grown tired of the current cycle of 'tunes'." There was a muffled clatter of noise as the receiver at the other end of the line was relinquished.
"Bruce?" The voice of the personal assistant returned to the phone.
"Adams? What is going on? I need to confirm a few things with the PM. I don't have a lot of time and the line is not very clear."
"Mr. Saxon appears to be attempting to play the wurlitzer, Bruce. I don't know how long he will be. At the moment he seems a little capricious, if you know what I mean? He flits from one idea to the next. All very energetic, but I can't think of a single thing we've actually achieved since the election."
There was a crash and a wail as the music came to a stop.
"Bruce? Can I get back to you? I have to go now."
Bruce allowed the worried PA to close the call. Bruce knew that his next actions were ambiguous. He had been on the brink of being called back, but he had also been close to being ordered to execute his colleagues.
He always hated executions. They were never a good resolution to a problem. The confusion of the call, then, was his chance to turn events further to his advantage.
:::