The walls of the hotel were coated in a fine peach colour, the floor tiled with excellent maroon marbles. Gold draped the ceiling, a huge chandelier hanging down from it. It was rare to get a hotel like this in Chelmsford since it was a village. This place was reserved for the insanely wealthy.

Gerrard was idling on a golden chaise lounge, his ankle plopped onto his knee. His black hair was perfectly permed and was parted by the crown of his head. He swirled the fiery liquid in his hold, his green eyes staring at the white rug that was under the brown coffee table before him.

It was certain to Gerrard about Robert's motives. He needed to find Captain Asher's twins and in exchange, he'll get the special metal that he needed to complete his moon lamp. None of those things would happen under Gerrard's watch. Next time, Robert and Captain Asher would be careful about the people they discuss their private matters around.

Good thing Gerrard had a bloody mole in the Captain's private army. They wouldn't have gone this far without him. Cowper was dispensable. But this mole was pivotal to most of his plans.

The door of the hotel room swung open, Mr Featherington coming in first. Following him were two buff men holding to a man who had his face covered with a cloth. They set him before Gerrard and he flicked a finger and they took off the cloth, the hostage's black hair like haphazard flames.

"P-please, I know nothing. Please don't kill me," he blurted out, his wrists bound by ropes so tight they left a red scar on both hands.

"You're a whiny idiot," Gerrard said, smirking. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it a long time ago."

That appeared to have soothed the hostage's worry a bit. His breathing was still frantic, eyes darting to both sides of the room.

"Do you know why you're here?" Gerrard asked and the man shook his head. "You're here because I'm in need of information you know."

The hostage looked at the two big men siding him. "I'll tell you whatever you need to know, please don't kill me."

"I'm glad we're on the same page." Gerrard crossed his arms. "The man you've been meeting since last week. The one who gives you money every time you meet. What does he pay you for?"

The captive's eyes circled when he discovered he had been watched. He had no choice but to tell them what they wanted to know.

"Promise you'll let me go once I tell you."

Gerrard nodded. "You have my word."

"That man pays me to keep an eye on a specific old woman who lives in Crawley. That's all our business is about."

Gerrard glanced at Mr Featherington as they shared a silent communication. An old woman? She fitted the description in the letter.

"And this old woman, did Mr Garfield have anything else to say about her?" Gerrard asked.

The hostage narrowed his eyes as he stared at the floor, trying to recall something. "I think he might've said something between the lines of her knowing where his grandchildren were. I didn't pay much attention to it since it was none of my business."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Gerrard said, settling the glass of whiskey in his hand on the coffee table before him. He stood, bringing out a pistol from his pockets and aimed it at the man's face.

"You said you'll let me go!" The man cried out, fear for his life in his eyes.

Gerrard showed him his crossed fingers. "I kept my fingers crossed the whole time. Besides, I can't have Robert knowing I'm a step ahead of him. Letting you go is too risky."

A heart-wrenching gunshot echoed in the building.

"I think we might have to kill this woman so Robert wouldn't find out about her," Gerrard said, blowing off the steam from his gun's mouth.

Mr Featherington bowed. "Whatever you say, boss."

*****

Now back in the war room of Captain Asher, Robert and Howard sat around the circular table, The captain sitting at its head. They had made sure no single guard was within hearing distance. After what happened to Cowper, they didn't want to take any chances.

"And if we capture this person what do we do?" Howard asked, leaning in with curiosity.

"We lock them up and don't ask any questions."

"Why is that?"

"We all know what happened to Cowper. He refused to say anything even after he had his nails taken off," Robert explained. "Gerrard would kill anyone we capture and they wouldn't even be willing to speak for fear that their death would come faster."

"How sure are you that this would work?" Captain Asher asked Robert, his brown eyes holding a strong connotation of curiosity.

"It would. I am very sure of it. Besides," Robert glanced between Howard and the captain. "Does any have any better ideas?"

The two looked at each other before the captain spoke. "Fine, I'll alert the soldiers."

He stood from his seat and marched to one of the walls where a telephone was hung. Dialling a number, he put the horn on his ear.

"Seargent," he said, the afternoon sunlight from the glass cupola casting on his golden uniform. "Let the soldiers know that I need them in the war room now. Anyone who's thirty seconds late would sprint towards the Thames a thousand times."

Hanging up, he walked back and joined them at the table. "Let's hope this plan works."

"Gerrard wouldn't know what hit him," Robert said, smirking. The plan was simple, really the soldiers and let them know they wanted to attack Gerrard Finley. Whoever bit on the bait and tried to warn him was the mole in Asher's command.

If they wanted to steer clear of Gerrard's eyes, they needed to take care of his eyes and ears in their midst. That way, he wouldn't be one step ahead of them.

In merely twenty seconds, the war room was filled with men in fine red uniforms, their hands at attention and backs straight like a rod. Robert glanced at all their straight faces, trying to see if he could decipher anything odd about them.

But he couldn't. They all had the same cold, hard look on their faces. One of these people was Gerrard's mole and soon they would find out who it was.

"Tonight by eight we march to Howeld's hotel. We have a target, Gerrard Finley. He's dangerous and should be gunned down if seen. His hotel room number is B23 and you must make sure this mission goes according to plan." Captain Asher raised his chin with authority. "Am I understood?"

They saluted. "Yes Sir!"

****

The night was cold, the chilly breeze wafting through the streets of London. Papers, trash and the horrible smell of the Thames were being carried by the freezing wind. Rushing down the dimly lit street was a man covered by a black cloak, his hands cold, his head covered by the hood of his cloth.

Ahead was a tall building which had "Howeld's hotel," designed with golden calligraphy at the top. Two lamp posts were guarding both sides of the flight of stairs that led to the wide doorway that could fit over eight people.

Covering the distance, he climbed the short flight of stairs, his boots thudding against the concrete flooring. He entered the lobby which was magnificently covered with golden tiles and a pristine white ceiling at the top. The receptionist's desk was by the corner and the man in the cloak rushed to the man behind it.

He was running out of time. "Excuse me, sir," he said, tapping his hand impatiently against the wooden covering.

"Yes?" The man looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

"I'm here to see Mr Gerrard Finley in room B23."

The receptionist reached out to his telephone. "One moment." He put the horn to his ear after he dialled. "Mr Finley, a man is here to see you. What's his name?" The man looked at the cloaked fellow. "What's your name?"

"Holland."

"He said his name is Holland." The man nodded. "Okay, I'll let him in." Hanging up the telephone, he pointed at an ornate staircase down the lobby. "You can go see him. The room is on the second floor."

"Thank you." Without wasting any irrelevant time, he ran towards the stairs like a madman. Scaling the flight of stairs, he soon arrived at his destination. The door was dark brown and had the relevant number engraved above it on a metallic plate.

He knocked twice, his breath heavy and harsh. There was no response. He needed to get to Gerrard as soon as possible and this time-wasting wasn't helping either of them. He knocked again, harder this time. Footsteps sounded behind the door and he took a deep breath as the door clicked.

It swung open. "Mr Gerrard you need to—"

"Hello," Robert waved at him, his blue eyes gleaming with joy. His plan had worked.

"You're not Gerrard," the man said, frozen in shock.

"Aye, I'm way too handsome to be that blobfish."

The hood covering the man's face fell off as he turned to bolt. But his face came in touch with the butt of a musket that knocked him out of his consciousness. He slumped to the floor, his temple bleeding.

"Good touch," Robert said, smiling at the attacker.

"Thank you, My Lord." Howard rested the body of the gun on his shoulders. "I have to say, I didn't believe he would fall for your trap."

Robert smirked, tugging unto the lapels of his coat. "Not everyone has a Beautiful Mind."