The sky above London was overcast, a dull gray that mirrored the mood of the city. The wind whipped through the streets, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and the distant clatter of horses' hooves on cobblestone. Frost and Blake made their way back to the station, their minds heavy with the revelations from Victoria Blackwood.
The Black Hand was much more organized than they had initially thought, and the scope of its operations far exceeded London's borders. France. A foreign contact. An unknown weapon. It was no longer just a local problem—it had become a matter of international consequence.
As they entered the station, Frost's mind was already whirring with possibilities. Who was this contact in France? What was their connection to the Black Hand? And, more importantly, what was the weapon capable of? The questions circled his thoughts like vultures, each one more pressing than the last.
Inside the station, the usual hustle and bustle of officers going about their duties filled the air, but there was a tension that hadn't been there before. Word had spread about the Black Hand's reach, and the gravity of the situation had begun to sink in. This was no ordinary case—it was a war, and they were deep in enemy territory.
Blake dropped into a chair at his desk, running a hand through his hair. "This just keeps getting bigger, doesn't it?"
Frost nodded, standing at the window and looking out at the gloomy city. "It does. But we're not done yet. We've got leads. We need to follow up on them."
Blake leaned back, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. "What do you think the Black Hand's endgame is? They've got money, power… Why all this effort for a weapon? What are they planning to do with it?"
Frost's brow furrowed. It was a question that had been gnawing at him for days. The Black Hand's motives were shrouded in mystery, but one thing was clear—they were after more than just wealth and influence. This weapon, whatever it was, had to be central to their plans.
"Control," Frost said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They want control. Power isn't enough for them. They want to dictate the future."
Blake scoffed. "The future of what? London? England?"
Frost turned to face him, his expression grim. "The world."
There was a long silence as Blake absorbed the weight of Frost's words. The idea of a shadowy organization with global aspirations was terrifying, but it wasn't impossible. The Black Hand had already demonstrated its ability to operate across borders, and if they had the right connections, there was no telling how far their influence could reach.
"We need to stop them," Blake said, his voice firm. "Whatever they're planning, we can't let it happen."
Frost nodded. "Agreed. But we need more information. We're still operating in the dark. Victoria gave us something to go on, but it's not enough."
Blake sat up, his mind already racing with ideas. "What about Rookwood? He's still out there, isn't he? Maybe he knows more about the weapon, or the contact in France."
Frost's eyes narrowed. "Rookwood is a loose cannon. If we can find him, he might be useful. But we'll have to approach him carefully. He's unpredictable, and he's not going to cooperate willingly."
Blake stood, grabbing his coat. "Then we better start looking. I'll get a team together. We'll scour the East End, see if anyone's heard anything."
Frost nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Rookwood was important, yes, but there was something else nagging at the back of his mind. A connection he hadn't fully explored yet. Something from his past.
"Blake," he said suddenly, stopping his partner in his tracks. "Before you go, there's someone I need to see. An old contact. He might have information we can use."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Frost hesitated for a moment before answering. "A man named Elias Mercer. He's…not exactly on the right side of the law, but he has his ear to the ground. If anyone knows what's happening in the underworld, it's him."
Blake looked skeptical. "And you trust him?"
Frost smiled grimly. "No. But I trust that he values his own life enough to give us what we need."
Blake nodded slowly. "Alright. You do that. I'll work on finding Rookwood. Let's hope we both come back with something useful."
They parted ways, Blake heading out of the station with a determined stride while Frost made his way through the narrow alleys of London toward a part of the city that most respectable citizens avoided. Mercer was a man with a reputation—a reputation for knowing things that others didn't, for being able to get information that seemed impossible to obtain. And right now, that was exactly what Frost needed.
The streets grew darker as he approached Mercer's lair, a nondescript building in a part of town that even the most hardened criminals steered clear of. The smell of decay hung in the air, and the only sounds were the distant echoes of the city and the occasional scurrying of rats.
Frost knocked on the door, three sharp raps followed by a pause, then two more. It was a signal, one that Mercer would recognize. After a few tense moments, the door creaked open just enough for a pair of sharp, calculating eyes to peer out.
"Detective Frost," a voice drawled from the shadows. "What brings you to my humble abode?"
Frost stepped inside, his gaze scanning the room for any signs of danger. The interior was dimly lit, cluttered with various trinkets and papers that hinted at the kind of business Mercer conducted. The man himself was seated behind a desk, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he watched Frost with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.
"Elias," Frost greeted, his tone neutral. "I need information."
Mercer chuckled, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Don't you always? And what makes you think I have what you're looking for?"
Frost leaned against the desk, his eyes locking onto Mercer's. "Because you always do. And because this time, it's something big. The Black Hand. I need to know what they're planning."
Mercer's expression faltered for just a moment before he regained his composure. "The Black Hand, eh? Nasty bunch, that lot. Dangerous too. You sure you want to be poking your nose into their business?"
"I don't have a choice," Frost said firmly. "They're planning something, something that could have far-reaching consequences. And I need to stop them."
Mercer studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright. I'll tell you what I know. But this isn't going to come cheap, Frost. The Black Hand isn't something I want to get involved with lightly."
Frost pulled a small pouch from his coat and placed it on the desk. "Consider it an investment in your continued good health."
Mercer smirked, pocketing the pouch before leaning back in his chair. "Fair enough. Here's what I've heard. The Black Hand has been moving a lot of resources lately. Men, money, weapons—all headed for the Continent. France, to be specific. They're gearing up for something, and whatever it is, it's going to be big. Rumor has it they've made some new alliances with groups over there—militant types, revolutionaries. They're planning to stir up trouble, maybe even destabilize the government."
Frost frowned. "And the weapon? What do you know about that?"
Mercer shrugged. "Not much. Just whispers. Something about a prototype, a new kind of technology that could give them the upper hand. But they're being tight-lipped about the details. Whoever's in charge of it is keeping it under wraps."
Frost absorbed the information, his mind racing with possibilities. If the Black Hand was planning to incite a revolution in France, the weapon could be the key to their success. And if they succeeded, it would send shockwaves across Europe—maybe even beyond.
"Do you have any names?" Frost asked. "Contacts, locations, anything we can use?"
Mercer shook his head. "Not yet. But I'll keep my ears open. If I hear anything else, you'll be the first to know. For a price, of course."
Frost nodded, pushing himself off the desk. "Thanks, Elias. Stay safe."
As he left Mercer's lair, Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The Black Hand's plans were already in motion, and they were playing a dangerous game with the future of Europe. If they didn't stop them soon, the consequences could be catastrophic.
He made his way back to the station, his mind focused on the next steps. They needed to track down Rookwood, find out what he knew, and then get ahead of the Black Hand's plans. It was a race against time, and every second counted.
When he arrived, Blake was waiting for him, a grim expression on his face.
"Any luck?" Blake asked.
Frost nodded. "Mercer confirmed it. The Black Hand is planning something big in France. Revolutionaries, new alliances, the works. And they've got a weapon—something new, something dangerous."
Blake swore under his breath. "That complicates things. We've got our hands full here in London, and now we're dealing with an international threat."
Frost met his partner's gaze, his expression resolute. "We can't afford to fail, Blake. Whatever it takes, we have to stop them."
Blake nodded, determination flashing in his eyes. "Then let's get to work. We've got a revolution to stop."
To be continued…