There was a long pause, during which Rupert stared directly into his employer’s eyes and refused to back down, the challenge he’d laid out containing no malice or anger but intensely serious nonetheless. Brandis, for his part, resisted his instinctive, characteristic urge to make some flippant remark or deflect the question. He didn’t know if he could answer honestly, but he did know that the young man at the very least deserved something more than mockery or the insult of a lie. He drew a deep breath and released an equally deep sigh as he removed his spectacles for the first time and matched Rupert’s gaze.
“As far as my age is concerned, I’m not even sure myself after all this time,” he began, rubbing at his forehead again. “I could give you a figure that’d be physically accurate, but it’d be meaningless in the context of who I am or how old I actually feel.” He smiled weakly. “I know that’s mostly a cop-out, and mostly because I choose not to give you an actual figure, but it’s true nevertheless that any number I gave you would be wildly unrepresentative at best.
“And who I am…? Well, that’s even more complex. It may be a cliché, but it’s no less true for all that to say that it’d be dangerous for you to know who I really am… to know what’s truly brought us to the discussion we’re having right now in this warehouse. I’m nobody… I’m everybody… to all intents and purposes, I’m a ‘phantom’ who operates in the shadows and does so with good reason. I had an single accent once… I had another name, once… was it my real name? I couldn’t answer that now after so many years. It was the name I was christened at birth, to be sure, but the one I have now has been who I am for far longer… why should that first name be any more legitimate than any others I’ve used since then?” Brandis tried to smile again, but there was no real strength in it now and he felt an almost overwhelming tiredness sweep through him as he leaned against the framework of the shelving for support.
“You need to understand something, Rupert,” he continued, seeming to veer off-topic but not really doing so. “Few people on either side of this war truly realise what’s happening in the world right now… that regardless of who eventually wins the Second World War, this struggle we’ve begun against Nazism and the Axis is going to create a paradigm shift in the way the people of this Earth view themselves and their future, both as individuals and as a global community… whether they’ll even think in terms of a ‘global’ community. This planet has never experienced conflict on the scale we’re about to see unleashed from across The Channel and around the globe, and no conflict that follows will ever be so clear cut. This is war in its purest form… plain and simple… black and white… no less that a battle of Good versus Evil itself.
“This war will be the ultimate test of democracy against dictatorship, and the outcome will determine which ideology remains dominant for decades, if not centuries to come. I’ve dedicated my entire life to a fight against totalitarianism and dictatorship, and I’m about to hand over the baton to the man you’ll start working for in two weeks’ time. Of all the men I’ve known in my life, Max Thorne is the only one I’m certain can continue that fight with the same intensity with which I’ve begun it.”
“You know him personally, then?”
“Have we met face to face yet…? No…” Brandis shook his head slowly… thoughtfully, “but I know him all the same, and that’s how I know you’ll both work together well. He’s going to need your expertise and your strength, and there will be times when you’ll need his.” He yawned suddenly and held his palm up, cutting off Rupert’s next question. “In any case, I’m dead tired and I need some sleep.” He checked his wristwatch, then slipped the spectacles back over his eyes. “It’s not too late yet: you might still make the Dorchester at a reasonable hour — give them a call and see if Nick’s still there.”
“I should think I’ll need a drink or ten tonight after all these revelations,” Rupert observed dryly as Brandis turned for a moment to close and lock the box he’d opened.
“Take my car… I’ll not need it tonight.” Reaching into his trouser pocket, Brandis took out his car keys and tossed them to his PA, the man catching them deftly in one hand. “Just don’t drive it home if you get too pissed.”
“I’ll have it back first thing in the morning,” Rupert promised as his boss turned away without another word, walking slowly toward the stairs.
“We’ll go over all the details tomorrow, Rupert,” Brandis added, pausing for a moment at the base of the staircase. “Be a good chap: turn out the lights and lock up for me as you go out, would you…?”
“You never did give me a name or a real age…” Rupert Isaiah Gold observed with a wry smile, knowing full well he’d never get a real answer.
Lowering his glasses just enough to stare at the young man over the frames as a faintly mischievous smile crept across his face, James Brandis indeed gave no reply. He did however begin to sing softly to himself — something that was quite unexpected and out of character for the man Rupert had known for so many years — and as he turned to climb the stairs, it was clearly obvious that he was singing loudly enough for the young man to hear. He was also surprised to discover that his employer had a rather pleasant tenor singing voice. The melody was unlike any Rupert had ever heard before, and seemed as unusual as the lyrics Brandis sung: there was of course no way he ever could’ve recognised The Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil, a song that wouldn't even be released for another thirty-eight years.
Brandis never once looked down as he made his way up the spiral steps, working his way through the entire first verse as Rupert stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring upward with an intrigued expression. He paused for a moment, right at the top, and delivered the first two lines of the first chorus as he disappeared inside the loft apartment. The moment those last two lines were completed, the door at the top closed softly and Rupert heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He continued to stand and look on for a few moments longer, the strange lyrics echoing in his thoughts.
Eventually he roused himself and went through the process of turning off all the lights once more before making his way through the now-dark warehouse to the caged garage area. The door guards outside opened the gates the moment they heard the Humber’s engine kick over, and Rupert took great care as he reversed the car out into the evening air once more. He fought with the gears for a moment before finally managing to get it into first and moving slowly away down the cobblestone drive, the slitted ‘wartime’ headlights giving barely enough illumination.