“So, no damage done?”
“No, sir. We are still running dark. As far as the future is concerned, Charles Smart’s technology died with him, and we are on schedule.”
“What about Charismo? Is he still nicely placed where we can use him?”
Farley ground his teeth, never happy about delivering bad news to the colonel. “Not exactly, sir. The boy set him up for a fall with the duke. They saw the mutations. I imagine he’s getting lobotomized about now. I doubt he will have enough brain cells left to play fetch, Colonel.”
There was silence for
a moment, except for the thump-slap of the colonel’s masseuse at work.
“I never liked that guy and his creepy masks anyway,” said the colonel at last. “We can work around him.”
Farley dropped his hand for a moment and sighed. A soldier never knew when the colonel would go off like an automatic weapon, spewing bile instead of bullets.
“What about the boy? Should I remove him from the equation?”
The colonel mulled this over. “No. That’s a plucky kid there. He could be useful, and I don’t want you to get caught with your hands wet.”
“Riley is a loose end, sir. And he could cause trouble.”
“We know where he is, correct?”
“Yessir.”
“And we can neutralize this Riley anytime we want, right?”
“Yes, we can. Easy as pie.”
“Well, then, Major. Let’s keep an eye on the boy for now. If he pokes his nose into anything remotely non-Victorian, then you pay him a midnight visit. How’s that sound?”
Farley stepped into the street and watched Riley’s form flit past a row of upstairs windows, his outline shining through the net curtains.
“That sounds fine, sir. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Good,” said the colonel. “Now put one of your men on the kid. I need you back at the Hidey-Hole so that Malarkey doesn’t get suspicious.”
“On my way, sir.”
Farley severed the connection and took one last look at the Orient Theatre.
“I’ll be seeing you, Riley,” he said to the glowing silhouette. “Real soon.”