The Game's Afoot

A waiter brought his drink.  Varys paid immediately with a five pound note, and a small slip of paper found its way into his hand when he received his change.  He placed the change in his jacket pocket, but moved the note to an inner pocket in his vest.  He would read it later, then burn the evidence.  Varys was nothing if not careful.

He sat in the darkest corner of the room, though at only four in the afternoon was not very dark at all.  His back was to the wall and he could see both the front entrance and the door to the kitchens and staff area.  The employees were readying themselves for the evening rush.  Soon there would be a steady stream of workers entering the bar for a drink and male companionship before heading home to the wife and dinner.  These precautions had become a habit to the agent and with war on the horizon they would only become more necessary.

His rye sat on the table before him, untouched as he considered the coming war.  Things were ramping up and at the Bureau C was quite anxious.  Most agents were in the field, some already in France and Germany, but Varys remained in England.  He wondered what his superiors had planned for him.