Seale stopped, turned to face Crocker.
“So now COS London is inquiring. The CIA wants to know, Paul. Why didn’t you tell us you’ve got an operation running in Tashkent?”
“Why’s your COS Tashkent watching one of your FSOs?”
Seale shook his head. “You first.”
Crocker freed his pack of cigarettes from inside his coat, taking his time to pick one, then to light it. Taking the time to think. In all honesty, he was surprised Chace had made it this far before being made; he’d half expected to hear similar news via Tashkent Station, asking the very same thing and more than a little irate at the thought of an ex-Minder in their midst with no forewarning. That it had come from the CIA instead, and through these channels specifically, gave him something else to worry about.
It meant that COS Tashkent, whoever that was—Crocker couldn’t remember the name—truly had been watching the FSO in question for one reason or another. His knowledge of American embassy workings was limited, but he was reasonably certain that it wasn’t the CIA who was responsible for maintaining the security of the mission staff. So the FSO, whoever the hell he was, had earned the attention somehow.
That couldn’t be good news for Chace, not unless Crocker could somehow shut down Seale’s inquiry. Which meant giving the Americans something plausible, and that, in turn, meant burning either Seccombe or Barclay. One of the truths would have to come out now. Which one was the only question.
“Paul?” Seale asked. “If you’re fucking us in Uzstan, things are about to get ugly.”
Crocker hoped to hell that he was reading the tea leaves right.
“It’s about the Starstreaks, Julian.” Crocker took another drag on his cigarette, meeting Seale’s eyes. “The ones you told me about. Barclay lost them four years ago. He’s understandably anxious to get them back.”
“I told you about the Starstreaks on the seventeenth, Paul. Chace was apparently riding our FSO to the heights of passion on the night of the sixteenth. Which means she left England some twenty hours prior to that, which means you briefed her before
“Or I already knew about the Starstreaks when we met on the seventeenth,” Crocker said.
“Which is it?”
“You can take your pick, but think about it. Barclay’s the one who is ultimately responsible for those MANPADs being lost. Which means if they surface in any fashion that includes civilian or Coalition casualties, he’s dead. He asked me to get them back for him.”
“He’s firing you.”
“This is how I keep my job,” Crocker said, bitterly. “He doesn’t want anyone to know it was he who lost the fucking missiles. That’s why I’m using Chace, not one of the Minders. That’s why she’s running free, without Station contact. No one is supposed to know she’s there. I save C’s career, he saves mine.”
A wind rattled the leaves, followed by another spattering of rain, icier than before. Crocker resumed walking, waiting for Seale to fall abreast.
“And that’s why she’s using a blown cover.”
“I was expressly forbidden to use any SIS assets for the mission,” Crocker confirmed. “Barclay’s paranoiac, Julian. He’s afraid someone will find out, use the information against him.”
“A nice, altruistic motive.”
“Those are still around?”
“I hear rumors.” Seale fell silent for several more long strides, apparently thinking about what Crocker had just told him. “So Barclay offered to let you keep your job. . . .”
“He actually offered me Gordon-Palmer’s job, if you want to know the truth. He seems to think that he’ll be getting rid of her soon.”
Seale digested that, then said, “Fine, you get made DC. What does Chace get? She’s got a kid now, doesn’t she? How’d you get her to agree to this lunacy?”
“Chace wants to come back. I told her if she does the job, I’ll make her Minder One again.”
“And will you?”
“If she does the job? In a heartbeat.”
“Then here’s hoping she does the job.”
“Amen.”
“Doesn’t explain why she met with the FSO, though.”
“I think you have your explanation already,” Crocker said, and then, in answer to Seale’s look, amended, “Libido.”
“You expect me—no, better—you expect the Tashkent COS to believe it was coincidence?”
“No. She probably made your guy as a member of the U.S. Mission, tried to use him for information. Where she picked him up, I can’t begin to guess. She’s under orders not to make contact with me until she’s located the missiles. I would guess—and it’s only a guess—that she made your FSO, then got everything she could off him, and indulged herself a bit in the process. That’s if she did actually sleep with him; she could have had him drawing her maps of Tashkent, for all we know.”
“Regular Mata Hari, this Chace.”
“A spiritual daughter, yes.”
Seale slowed, then stopped, and Crocker had to stop as well, turning back to face him. He couldn’t read anything in the American’s expression, no sign if he was buying the story or if he was merely allowing Crocker to dig himself in deeper.
“You have no contact with Chace at all?”
“None.”
“Then you don’t know where she is?”
“Tashkent, I presume.” Crocker frowned. “Why? Do you?”
Seale shook his head. “She checked out of the InterContinental the morning of the seventeenth, hasn’t been seen since. COS Tashkent hadn’t bothered to put her under hard surveillance—he was more concerned with the FSO.”
“It’s possible the trail has taken her out of the city, or even out of the country.”
“Chechnya, you mean?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“How’d you guys get on to the Starstreaks, anyway? Angela was sure she was giving you a gift, not confirming something you already know.”
“I don’t know,” Crocker said. “Barclay approached me, remember? I’m assuming he picked up word of the sale from D-Int, or another source entirely.”
“That’s possible.”
“You’d be doing me one hell of a favor if you get a line on where these things are, Julian. I don’t know how I can get word to Chace, but if CIA locates these Starstreaks and she can recover them . . .”
“Yeah, I get it.” Seale massaged his earlobe with a thumb and forefinger. “You know Malikov’s circling the drain?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like the daughter is going to take over,” Seale said. “She’s already had communication with State and the White House.”
“And State and the White House approve?”
“We want someone who’ll continue the relationship begun with her father, someone who’s on the same page about the war. We have to step carefully in Uzbekistan. Malikov’s a tried-and-true fucker, no doubt about it, and his daughter isn’t much better.”
“Then why support her?”
“You know why. We lose Uzstan, we’re down to Pakistan and southern Afghanistan as our primary staging areas in the region, and neither is what I’d call secure. We
