He sauntered to his study, his mind elsewhere as he thought over the events of the evening. The pieces of the puzzle all fit together, but it was impossible to know exactly how. Like an activity he enjoyed when he was younger, when the box of pieces tipped over, it was utterly incoherent to grasp whatever picture was on the other side, but he knew the pieces could complete each other, and when they did, the image would emerge and make sense.
It was exactly similar and just as frustrating, even more so because others depended on their figuring out the image before it was too late. Emerson softly closed the door to his study and found his chair behind the desk, his mind sifting, sorting, churning with ideas.
He considered all the pieces.
Again.
And again.
As the hours moved past, and he discarded the tea he’d ordered somewhere in the middle, he began to wonder if Jaxsen had found any information. But how much information could be found in Britain when the issue was France.
Except.
It wasn’t.
He froze. His mind sped ahead with the implications, the possibilities all shifting into probabilities.
Revolutionists.
Changes.
Sympathies.
A war-torn general and the country that had”got away”from Napoleon’s grasp.
Britain.
The coup wasn’t just plotted for France.
But Britain as well.
Good God. A chill of understanding lit up his spine as all the pieces clicked together. Monero was the first battle that had given Napoleon his title as First Consul in Paris.
What battle was he planning to appoint him the head of state in England?
And Volland… He wasn’t transporting information. Could he be bringing in revolutionists from France to incite rebellion? It wouldn’t be difficult; politics were unsettled at best currently.
Then he thought back to the original missive they’d collected from Wessix — Colors fade in sunlight.Was that a message about when? Time of day?
And who was the money for? Wessix and Daverson at Faro, the willing loss of bets. It had to be connected, didn’t it?
His head ached with understanding and the inability to do anything about it, at least till Jaxsen returned. A whole new wave of irritability and restlessness hit him. This knowledge would be paramount in assisting her with what to search for on her“reconnaissance”mission. But there was no way to contact her, and if he dared try and find her, he could easily jeopardize the mission or even her safety.
No.
He had to bloody well wait.
And he had never wanted to be more active.
The clock ticked as if taunting him with the slow progression of time, and without the ability to do anything but wait, he withdrew a sheet of parchment and began to make a list of what he’d connected, lest he forget any detail.
It was too important.
Too much was at risk.
Yet, even with the national security in danger, the only name he could focus on was hers.
Jaxsen.
