But Wylings always thought the old man was perfectly sane, as sharp as a tack. He lived in the past, but he wasn’t prone to fancy. Even when he told the fairy tales of the Masters of Sinanju he had seemed to be improvising about the plot, but not about the Masters themselves. The challenges were prone to change—what was a three-headed dragon one time would be a serpentine basilisk the next time the story was told. The Masters never changed. Gerold seemed to take them very seriously.
Were they true? Were they genuine, but something too dangerous to talk about? Did old Gerold work the Masters of Sinanju into his fairy-tale adventures just so he could talk about it in one way or another?
If only the old gent was still around to ask. What family did he refer to that had run-ins with the Sinanju Masters and had not survived to tell the tale? There was no way to even guess.
When Sykes and Dolan arrived at Wylings Manor, they found their old friend sunk in a chair in his private study, no drink in his hand. He was sunk so low, his face a mask of concern, it was as if a large and invisible weight were pushing down on him and he could barely tolerate it.
“Sit down. We have important matters to discuss.”
They already understood that. They had been called in for a special meeting at Wylings’s personal residence, and that never happened. They always talked at the club. On the off chance anyone was keeping an eye on their activities, they didn’t want there to be any sort of pattern of activity that would hint that they were planning some sort of strategy, about anything.
Sykes and Dolan were supporters on the inside—power brokers in parliament. Wylings knew he could make his plan work only if he had governmental backing.
Right now, Sykes and Dolan were playing their games carefully. Parliament was trying to come up with a consensus on how to respond to the recolonization violence and the matter of the Proclamation of the Continuation of the British Empire. Sykes and Dolan were to keep a consensus from happening. Until parliament sent a clear message to the world that said the proclamation was illegal, then the actions in the colonies had to be considered legal under British law. Nobody wanted to offend the British—and notably the queen of England—until it became absolutely necessary.
“I have decided to ramp up the threat-level, so to speak,” Wylings announced without preamble. “I am going to assume that we are being hunted by the Masters of Sinanju.”
Sykes sniggered. Even Dolan was surprised by it.
“Before you say anything insulting, let me explain further,” Wylings said. “I did not say that I believe the Masters of Sinanju exist. They might. They might not. I am saying that I shall assume that they are hunting for us.”
“Even if they don’t exist,” Sykes said tauntingly.
“Don’t be an idiot!” Wylings snapped. It had been a long time since Wylings had said anything so harsh to his old chum. “Kindly let me finish speaking.”
“All right, Wylie.” Sykes sat and waited.
“Somebody is out there. They were in Ayounde and they were in Jamaica and they are against us. Maybe they are trying to find us or maybe just trying to stop our colonization efforts. Maybe it is not the Masters of Sinanju, but it is
“Ridiculous,” Sykes snapped.
“Maybe what we’re talking about is something as mundane as a special-forces team that’s trained to operate at an uncanny level of efficacy and stealth,” Wylings continued. “Maybe something more. Whatever it is, SAS or Sinanju, it’s decimated our men when it could, and we need to defend against it. Which is why we must be prepared for it.”
Sykes rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Sinanju, indeed.”
“Believe what you will, Sykes.
“And what do you believe, Wylie?” Dolan asked curiously.
Wylings nodded to himself, as if considering it anew, but he explained he had thought the matter over extensively in the past few hours.
“When the British Empire was pieced together out of the uncivilized world, there were always new dangers that the English hadn’t counted on or had never heard of. Think of the other stories we know from our own families, like the wild yarns your old uncle brought back from India.” Sykes made to speak, but Wylings held up his hand and cut him off. “Most of them just flights of fancy made up by savages to dazzle the other savages, naturally, but there must be some truth to some of those yarns. It’s hard not to believe in some of them, and it’s hard for me to disbelieve in the Masters of Sinanju. They’re just human beings, after all, but they happen to be the world’s most skilled assassins. What the witnesses saw in Ayounde and what Dolan’s father told him about the Master taking an American trainee tells me that this is what we are up against.”
Sykes was wavering, but he still made a face about it.
