Tintin and the Double Kate
The red carpet cascaded down the
steps of The British Museum, surrounded by journalist, police officers, and
gushing well-wishers hoping to catch a glimpse of the royal sweethearts. The
newly married Prince and Princess had just made their way inside to attend an
annual charity ball.
Inside, the royal couple, dressed
to the nines, make their way ‘round the pillared hall, admiring priceless
artefacts, and making small talk with politicians, film stars, and models. One
of the many gentlemen in black ties glances shiftily in each direction before
sliding off into a neighboring corridor.
“Everything’s in place, just as
planned.” The man speaks into the phone retrieved from his tuxedo jacket.
“OK, we’re a-go.” He replied to the
voice on the other end, before hanging up.
The man jumps when he turns. A lean
woman, with stringy blonde hair, stands in the shadow of a marble pillar. He
panics, had she heard his conversation? The blonde woman holds an unlit
cigarette between her pouted lips.
“Cigarette?” She offers, motioning
the box in his direction.
Her face coming into light, the man
recognizes the model, and to breathes again.
“No,” he grunts back, “there’s no
smoking in here.” Leaving the model, he walks back the way he came.
Meanwhile a media van, one of many
that night, pulls up outside the museum. The royal limousine’s route now
blocked, a police officer approaches the van’s window.
“Excuse me, you can’t park here.
Move along please.”
The driver sticks his head out, “Oh
sorry officer, be gone in a sec.”
Satisfied, the officer walks away.
Glancing back, the officer watches the man jump out the driver’s door and
sprint off. “Hey! Stop!” The officer began, just before he was knocked to the
ground.
The van exploded, engulfing the
royal motorcade in a fireball, and blowing all those around of their feet.
Inside the museum alarms immediately
sounded. Bodyguards rush to the royal couple’s side, pushing them in the direction
of safety. They bolt down a side corridor, the armed guards receiving
instructions from their ear pieces. The primary motorcade had been compromised,
switch to protocol B.
Darting across a courtyard, the
bodyguards are forced to throw themselves across the Prince and Princess, as
masked assailants burst from the windows above, showering them with glass.
Recovering too slowly, the bodyguards attempt to fire but are taken out first. Grabbing
the Princess, the attackers make off into a waiting van, leaving the Prince and
his bodyguards lying in the cobbled yard.
*
Tintin awoke with a long yawn, out
stretching his arms. Sitting up, he glanced out the window of his London hotel,
“Another wet day, ae boy?” He spoke to the white fluffy mess curled up at the
foot of the bed, Snowy. Tintin pulled on a robe over his blue pyjamas and a
pair of hotel provided slippers, and then made his way across the room. Opening
the room door, breakfast and a newspaper was found waiting as per arranged.
Tintin picked up the tray, leaving Snowy to bring in the paper, and sat down at
a small table beside the window to enjoy his traditional English breakfast.
Midway through his eggs, Snowy
began barking at his feet. “What is it boy?”
Snowing stood next to unrolled
morning paper, nudging it towards Tintin.
“Ok, ok, I’ll have a look. Now
let’s see what all your fuss is abou... OH NO!” Tintin sprung from his chair,
startling Snowy. Across the front page of the paper was a large picture of the
Princess, teary eyed, with a masked gunman standing over her. An accompanying
headline read ‘Take-y Kate-y: Princess Kidnapped in Attack on British Museum.’
Sprawling the paper out, Tintin
quickly read through all the pages. Further in were pictures, one of the burnt
out shell of a limousine, another, the Princess smiling with a slender blonde
woman.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Tintin
exclaimed as he turned another page. A picture was printed of two identical
investigators taking part in the case, Thomson and Thompson.
“If anyone can solve this case,
it’s Thomson and Thompson.” He told Snowy
Putting the paper down, and
continuing his breakfast, Snowy, again, began to bark.
“Quiet boy.”
But Snowy continued and starting
pawing at Tintin’s leg.
“No, I’m sorry boy. We can’t help
with the case. This is far too big for us. They have the royal guard, police,
plus Thomson and Thompson, to deal with this.”
Snowy put his head between his
front paws, sighing.
“I know you just want to help”,
Tintin laid his hand on Snowy’s head, “But there will be plenty of mysteries
for us to solve back home. That is if we make our flight! Gosh! Look at the
time boy, and I haven’t even packed!”
On the bedside table, the telephone
sprang to life. “Wonder who that could be?” Tintin asked before picking up the
receiver on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Tintin? This is Colonel Yorkshire
here.”
“Oh, Colonel Yorkshire, it’s good
to hear from you.”
“Thank you Tintin, but I’m terribly
afraid this isn’t a social call. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the Princess was
kidnapped last night, and we’re in overdrive here at the palace trying to find
a lead.”
Yes, it’s terrible news. But I
don’t see where I come into the picture, Colonel.”
“Well, since I’m head of Her
Majesty’s Royal Guard, it’s my duty to make sure I have all the best men on the
job. So I need your help investigating this outrageous act.”
“Well sir, I’m honoured that you
asked. But I don’t see how I can help. They have all of Britain’s police and
military searching, and well, I’m just a journalist!”
“I know Tintin, but I trust you,
and… there’s something else. But I don’t
want to talk about it over the phone, so come to the palace and we’ll chat
then.”
“Well ok, Colonel, but I can’t promise I’ll be
much help.”
“I’ll send a car. Thank you
Tintin.”
Ten minutes later Tintin and Snowy
walked out the lobby doors, and hoped into an awaiting silver saloon. In no time
the car was making its way through the gilded gates of The Royal Palace, and
pulling up to a small, yet grand, side door. A uniformed guard opened the
saloon’s door, allowing the pair onto the palace steps. Snowy stopped just
before going inside. Confused, he steered blankly as a small brown dog, nose in
air, was carried past on a velvet pillow.
“Now don’t get any ideas boy.”
Tintin chuckled.
The Colonel’s office was a great
panelled room, with Persian carpets and tall windows overlooking the gardens.
In the centre sat a large oak desk littered with various maps and blueprints.
“Ah, Tintin my man,” Colonel
Yorkshire entered through double doors, “thank you for coming on such short
notice.”
“No trouble at all, Colonel. Now
what is it that I can help you with?”
“Well, as I’ve mentioned, the
Princess has been taken…”
“Yes terrible business. Thank
goodness no one has been killed.”
“But, see that’s the problem.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow,
Colonel.”
“When the assailants took the
Princess, they shot her bodyguards and His Highness, the Prince. But they shot
them with tranquilizer darts, not bullets.”
“Why not kill the guards if you’re
going to take the Princess hostage?” Tintin queried.
“Exactly! It doesn’t make sense.
All evidence suggests these men are highly trained and extremely dangerous.
Highly trained men don’t use sleeping darts. They kill.”
A knock came at the door, followed
by an officer needing the Colonel. The Colonel excused himself, leaving Tintin to
browse over evidence.
Photographs from the previous
evening were pinned to a bulletin board, names from the guest list under each.
In the corner were three small screens playing security footage from the
museum. Tintin fast-forwarded till the screen read 10 minutes before the
attack, and began to watch.
Some time passed, allowing Tintin
to re-watch the scene several times over, before the Colonel re-joined him.
“Sorry about that Tintin.”
“I quite understand Colonel. I can
only imagine how busy you must….There! Stop the tape!” Tintin shouted, bustling
past the Colonel back to the screens.
“There! See?” Tintin pointed out a
man in black tie who looked side to side, before disappearing out of the
rotating camera’s range.
“Why that’s just one of the Queen’s
personal attendants. They often attend royal functions.” The Colonel explained.
“Yes, but look at the blonde woman
in the black dress. She’s next to that man most of the night. Then look” Tintin
points at the screen, a minute after the man walks off, the woman slips out a
side door.
“30 seconds after she returns, the
bomb goes off!” Tintin furthered, “and she’s holding something small in her
hand, a controller?”
“Tintin, that woman is one of the
world’s top models. Why would a world famous model plant a bomb and kidnap a
royal? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Tintin trailed off.
“Regardless Tintin, we need your
help. Something is quite off about this kidnapping. So I need those I can count
on.”
“Well you can count on me Colonel!”
“Ah excellent!” The Colonel gave
Tintin a hearty slap on the back
“Now we’ll get copies of all this,”
he motioned to the piles of evidence, “sent over to you. But for now I must say
farewell, pressing matters an all.”
“Of course Colonel, and thank you.”
“Oh, and Tintin, keep this hush
hush. We don’t know how many we can trust in times like these.”
“I understand. Goodbye.”
Back in the comfy silver saloon,
Tintin made his way back to the hotel, still unable to throw the image of the
model and the object in her hand, from his mind. “We’ve certainly got our work
cut out for us this time, Snowy.”
Snowy barked in response, happy to
be on the case.
End.
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