The sound of talking brought him out of his sleep, and he scrubbed his eyes, blinking against the light from the table lamp. He sat up, staring at the dirty tray and listening to the shower, and a few minutes later, what sounded like singing.

The previous night had been an awkward bit of business, with him finally spending most of it in a chair. She never even woke up. Trying to sleep next to her had been impossible, his mind running to all sorts of unprofessional thoughts.

The door opened and she came into the room all shiny and groomed, blushing slightly at his perusal.

"Feel better?"

"Much. Time to go." She hurried to the door and checked the hall.

Morrisey stood, stretching out his tired joints. He tucked in his shirt and pulled on his shoes. "I would have liked a shower too."

"Should have got up sooner." She began fiddling with the dirty tray.

"What do you plan to do with that? Where did it come from?"

"I went out last night and found it one floor up in the hall. There are always some that don't get picked up right away."

"Were you hungry?" He watched her tidy it up so that it looked unused.

"We wait at the lift and when the waiter shows up we swap, remember?"

He pulled a face, confused, and then it dawned on him. "You want to swap somebody's dirty breakfast dishes with the one meant for Luka?"

"We do it at the lift. Just swap trays on the cart, we get on the lift and get off one floor down, and take the stairs back up."

"And the waiter is just going to stand there and let us?"

"Don't worry, I've got this. You just be ready to swap trays." She handed it to him, and folded her arms.

"Listen, about last night--" He began.

"I thought it worked pretty well. Okay, we're on."

"Wait a minute." He protested, but she was already out the door.

Morrisey was still confused while they waited by the lift, and when the doors opened, the waiter pushed the cart out and she stepped in front of it, letting out a yelp and feigning injury. The waiter hurried around to her, apologizing and blubbering about how it was an accident and was she all right.

The cart was behind him and unattended. Morrisey swapped the trays then set it down on the floor while he helped Mallory soothe the shaken waiter.

"She's fine, don't worry. Nothing needs to be said. Carry on, I'll look after her." He grabbed the tray and got into the lift with Mallory waving assurances to the waiter as the doors closed.

"Piece of cake." She beamed.

♟♟♟♟♟

Luka let the waiter push the cart into his room then waved him out, closing and locking the door. He lifted the lid from the tray and stood there, gawking at dried crusts of toast on an egg and ketchup smeared plate.

"What the hell!" He picked up a dirty knife and probed the mess, pushing it around the plate and swearing. A thorough search of the tray surrendered nothing, and he immediately went to the phone.

♟♟♟♟♟

Mallory listened on the phone, nodding and then shutting it off. "He called down and raised hell."

"Who'd have guessed." Morrisey was busy poking through the food and utensils. "You know that kid will likely be fired."

"Collateral damage. He'll survive."

"That's cold, Ms West."

"Find anything?" She said, ignoring his remark.

"Aah- I think I have." He pulled a small piece of card from the Western sandwich. "Clever, it looks like part of the filling." He lifted it carefully up to the window for a look.

"Wipe the mess off, what are you doing?"

"The message is the mess, Miss West. If I wipe it off, it's gone." He turned it this way and that. "Bloody clever."

"Can I see?"

"Yes, you may, just don't touch."

"It looks like Russian."

"Now there's a surprise." They exchanged hostile glares. "Do you speak Russian?"

"No, but I imagine you will lord over me the fact that you do."

"No lording necessary, and yes, I do, but this is encrypted like your phone call."

He placed it carefully on the clean napkin. "We'll need your people again. Since they've figured out the code, somebody can come here and read this. I don't want to take a chance on spoiling it."

Reluctantly, she made arrangements then they both sat on the bed in awkward silence.

"There's coffee on his breakfast tray if you want some," He said finally.

"Okay."

"Shall I be mother," he grinned, pouring her a cup.

When the two man team arrived and began a study of the message, they could be heard muttering curses and praise over the ingenuity of the means used. Mallory and Morrisey sat across the room and watched the performance.

"They're very good," she said, her voice low. "I've worked with them before on a number of jobs."

"How did you get into this business?" He asked, studying her profile.

"Recruited in college. The usual approach offering all the right phrases of patriotism, protecting democracy, service to queen and country."

"And you bought it."

"As I'm sure you did too, Morrisey." Her eyes swivelled slowly to his.

"Not quite." He looked back at the technicians.

"Reluctant to share, are we?"

"I wasn't so much recruited as press-ganged."

"Dear me, I would have thought that went out with slavery."

"Yeah . . . me too."

Her phone buzzed and she took it out, answering with her name. He watched as she listened, taking in the miniscule changes in expression which suggested not good news.

"That was Percy." She beckoned him closer, indicating the need for privacy from the technicians.

"What's up?"

"They report to Percy." She lowered her voice. "He knows the message was intercepted, they must have told him, and now he wants to know what the bloody hell I think I'm doing."

"I told him we had hoped to find where the meeting would be, and make an arrest of both parties, but the Russians had been very cagey with how they prepared the message, and we couldn't get it back in time."

"You are a deceitful thing aren't you? What did he say to that?"

"He was extremely narked."

"So now what?"

"Unless they discover something helpful in that piece of sandwich, we need to step up our own action." Mallory suddenly stood up and grabbed her purse. "I need to do something. Give me thirty minutes."

"Do what? Where are you going?"

"Please keep your voice down," she hiss whispered, "Just trust me, yes?"

"Thirty minutes." He sat back down and watched her leave.

♟♟♟♟♟

Grant Duggan listened with suppressed anger as Percy poured the latest news down the line.

"So, old boy, it looks like the mission is stalled for the moment. Our agents adlibbed a move that missed the mark.

"Adlibbed? What kind of service are you running, Percy?"

"They had hoped to take both the assassin and the person he was meeting. A tad overzealous they were."

"Well I certainly hope you scolded them, Percy." Jesus!

Silence filled a few moments of time, and then peevishly, "Of course we'll provide whatever intel we have, as we get it."

"Tell my agent I want to speak to him as soon as he can be reached."

"You mean my agent - at the moment? There was a long chuckle down the line, and Percy spoke again. "Listen, old chum, hands across the sea and all that."

The call ended after a few more pleasantries.

"The pompous twit." Grant tossed his pen on the desk and rubbed his eyes.

"Western cowboy" Percy lifted his tea cup and sipped.