3 AM, July 32, M13 HQ, Pucklechurch, Gloucestershire
"Give me Jensen!" barked General Aloysius Maxwell into the intercom. Two minutes later and the door slammed open a little too fast, causing the General's coffee to find a new home on his crotch. Jensen dropped the pile of manila folders he was holding on General Maxwell's desk, crushing the expensive model ship he had gotten from the Pacific campaign so many years ago. Those were the days… back when everything was simpler and Mortimer didn't come knocking with orders straight from the PM. Last week it was an assassination. But this time it was serious.
General Maxwell tapped his cigar butt on his ashtray and pulled the brim of his enormous High Command hat down to its usual resting place on the bridge of his nose. This didn't obscure his vision, but the three-inch brim did. "That Yank colonel up at the 'Institute' is causin' trouble again!" he snapped. Jensen, the agent from the Tenbrook jailbreak, had a businesslike air today and therefore started with the chitchat and smalltalk.
"Sorry 'bout the coffee, sir. Jolly good weather today, boffo, right, me chap? Good lad that, righto. Really chuffed to be on the case, chuffed right to bits, I am."
Understandably, the General's ulcer started acting up again at the travesty that was Jensen's preferred slangery methods. As he clutched his abdomen, the coffee soaked through his thick trousers and…
"AAAAARRGH!"
General Maxwell shot up out of his chair, his overworked and overpolished buttons coming closer to bursting than an inflated sock taking a vacation at the chainsaw farm. Jensen gave him a hearty slap to the face.
"We don't 'ave the time for dillydally, ol' mate! What's the brief?"
"'Scuse me," the General said, scratching the stubble on his hard jawline and sitting down once more. "It's like I said. That Yank Musturd sent us a notice that 'e'll resign if we don't get him American representation at the 'Institute.'"
"He had the gall?"
"You don't understand. We're in no place to insult 'im, Her Majesty the Queen ordered that we fix the situation! Our best men, too, that she said!"
"You want me to fetch a Yankee to go to Dogfarts?"
"Of course not, you dolt! You're 'ere because I forgot the message code for Terence! Now go get 'im, will you? Bloody blasted heath!"
"But Terence will be fetching a Yankee?"
"Don't question Her Majesty! GET OUT!"
Jensen ran from the room, checked himself, ran back in, grabbed his pile of manila envelopes from General Maxwell's desk, and then was gone.
Two minutes later, the door crashed open a bit too quickly and the General's fresh cup of coffee found a new home on his crotch.
"AAAAARRGH!"
Terence, with a flashing smile, slicked-back black hair, and an impeccable tuxedo, looked down and found the General writhing on the floor, face red and covered in sweat. Five aspirin and a few minutes revived him.
"Sir. Jensen said you wanted me. Oh, and that your model ship ruined his manila envelope collection."
"Nevermind that, we're here for an important mission," the General responded gruffly. "I've had my share of trouble for today and angering the Queen is not something I want to add to… well, my share of trouble. For today. That is, well…"
"I understand perfectly, sir."
"Good. Here is our situation, as it stands: Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of England, has come to know that a certain Musturd at the… *ahem* Dogfarts school has brought complaints to the Ministry about American representation among students. In fact, he has threatened to resign."
"But without him, the holy arts would… would…"
"Exactly!"
"And what does the Queen propose we do?"
"Well, erm, I suppose the proper term is 'kidnap,' but we must somehow use… enhanced encouragement techniques to… relocate an American minor for their… education."
"A grab-and-go? Easy! Who's the mark?"
Some lil' tyke on the West coast who we think won't be missed and could have potential. 'Ere's the file." General Maxwell handed Terence a single index card.
"What's this?"
"The file. Recon didn't 'ave much time, so we don't 'ave much information."
"It'll do. Measly, eh?"