between dealing with a security issue and an engineering challenge, or a question of development or resettlement, and you would do your dough cold betting on the former.
When he finally looked up from the legal pad, which he had filled with pages of scrawled notes and diagrams, it was after midnight. He wondered what might be happening in Texas, if anything, and resisted the urge to call Wales Larrison in Vancouver.
He could talk to him first thing in the morning. No point waking the man up to deal with something over which he had no control. For the moment at least, the President remained unaware that Monroe was operating within the boundaries of the United States, in direct contravention of his wishes. Perhaps they could keep it that way.
52
FORT HOOD, KILLEEN, TEXAS ADMINISTRATIVE DIVISION
‘Well, this is awkward.’
‘You could put the gun down, Ty. Might help.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, smiling disingenuously. ‘And if you could keep your hands where I can see them and stay out of striking range, which I presume to be considerable in your case, we’ll be cool.’
He took a step back into the corridor, allowing her a better view of two security guards flanking him, both with their own handguns drawn and pointed none too steadily at her head. One of them moved towards her, reaching for a set of handcuffs.
‘Whoa. I really wouldn’t do that if I was you, Sam,’ said McCutcheon. ‘You don’t want to get too close to her.’
The Governor’s main man grinned as though he’d just played the winning card. ‘Gee, this is a surprise, isn’t it? The international super-spy gets her ass handed to her by a bunch of hicks. Embarrassing much?’
‘A bit. But how?’ she asked. ‘Surely not the clowns you had monitoring my room back in Temple?’
She had her hands up, and the night-vision goggles pushed back on her head. One of only two advantages she held at that moment. Another second and she would’ve fitted the NVGs, blinding herself when McCutcheon had thrown open the door and flooded the room with light.
He laughed. ‘No. Rest assured, your surveillance shift is still listening to whoever you put in your room. I checked in with them earlier. She snores, which you don’t. Those boys are probably jerkin’ their gherkins right now while they tell each other exactly how many ways they’d fuck you from Sunday.’
‘Nice to know I still got it,’ said Caitlin.
‘Oh, you got it, baby. And I want it. Now hand it over.’
He pointed his gun at her phone.
‘Just lay it on the floor and step away.’
‘You didn’t tell me how you blew my cover, Ty. You know, in the movies the super-villain has the decency to explain that sort of thing.’
She crouched down and laid the cell at her feet, before backing away. McCutcheon sent one of the security guards through to collect it while keeping his gun aimed at the centre of her face.
‘I’m more of a senior henchmen than your actual super-villain,’ he replied. ‘But for what it’s worth, you can blame your husband. Well, if you ever get to see him again.’
‘Bret?’
‘Oh, don’t be too hard on old Melly. He meant well. He loves you, and he’s very proud of you. That’s why he sent a wedding photo to an old army buddy of mine, a Ranger too, who forwarded it to their regimental association, who then published it in their newsletter. Their
She closed her eyes.
‘Yes, you remember now? Hatches, matches and dispatches. That newsletter covers them all. And, of course, Bret was quite the fifteen-minute celebrity for a while there.
She said nothing.
‘It was the old man who remembered you. Well, not you, but your husband. The Governor doesn’t wear the uniform anymore, of course. Wouldn’t be right. But he keeps up with the regimental news, makes sure to get along to the annual reunion. It’s good politics, if nothing else. We have a lot of Rangers down here. Soon as he met you, bells started ringing. You are a good-looking woman,
Still she gave him nothing. It wasn’t Bret’s fault. He’d sent a photo to an old army buddy, a guy who hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding. The way old buddies do.
‘I can see you calculating the odds and the angles, Caitlin,’ he said. ‘So if you want to unburden yourself of that awfully heavy handgun you’re carrying, and any USB sticks or data disks you might’ve used to copy my files, you’d make me feel a lot less like shooting you in the face.’
As she reached slowly for the weapon, all three men adjusted their stances. She slowly placed the pistol on the ground and kicked it over to them.
‘The phone is the data disk,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to pat me down. But it’s all in there,’ she lied. ‘Encrypted, I’m afraid.’
‘I’d love to pat you down, but I could do without the broken arm,’ McCutcheon said. ‘It’s a pity really. I was wondering last night at drinks whether your devotion to duty and country might let me score a free blow job from Colonel Murdoch. Now we’ll never know. And don’t sweat the phone. I’m sure we can find some redneck genius somewhere to figure out how your cell works. Don’t be too hard on yourself, by the way. Some of it was just bad luck. It’s a small world these days.
‘We didn’t clue in to who you were right away. The boss just had a feeling that he knew of you from somewhere, and not as an air force wingnut. Me, I’d never heard of a Colonel Murdoch. And the USAF, especially these days, it’s a small town, let me tell you. It was when you said you’d been exiled in the UK for a couple of years that the penny dropped. The Governor remembered the wedding story. Just one of those things. If you hadn’t mentioned it, you might not have jogged his memory about good old Bret and the newly minted Mrs Melton. That’s some tough shit, eh?’
McCutcheon did love the sound of his own voice. She didn’t bother feeding his ego with a reply. The way he was grinning now, it didn’t look like he needed it.
‘Come on, Caitlin. We better go see the old man and figure out exactly how much damage you’ve done.’
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
He thought at first that it was his bedside alarm. Jed Culver groaned until he realised the ring tone was wrong. He had a phone call.
He wasn’t ruinously drunk or hung-over. But the brandy and bourbons lay heavy on his brow as he struggled up out of a fitful slumber. His indigestion came roaring back too, courtesy of the four-cheese pizza. For a second, he couldn’t understand why Marilyn wasn’t in bed, then he remembered she was back home and he was crashed out in the townhouse. The entirety of the evening came rushing back in on him. The unpleasant surprise of discovering Kipper knew of Colonel Murdoch and her mission in Fort Hood, thanks to Blackstone and the Federation’s special operators, who’d turned out to be anything but special.
Jed’s voice was so croaky and thickened with alcohol and sleep that he couldn’t even get the words out at first. He coughed to clear his throat.
‘Culver,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
As soon as he heard the Echelon’s Deputy Director of Special Clearances on the line, all of his grogginess sluiced away on an adrenaline surge.
