“Monsieur Montgomery and I are both very busy,” said Voclaine, frowning. “If you have need of someone to help you, call the secretary. Also, she can translate, when you make to interview the French staff.”
“Je vous remercie Monsieur, mais ça ne sera pas nécessaire,” Bridge smiled. “Je parle et comprends assez bien le français. Et maintenant, je souhaiterais parler à Monsieur Montgomery, s’il vous plaît.”
Voclaine sputtered in disbelief. “I’ll ask him to see you if he’s free,” he replied in French, and stormed out of the room. Embarrassing one of the most senior staff on the project could prove unwise, but Bridge hadn’t been able to resist pricking his bubble. Besides, it wasn’t necessarily all bad. If Voclaine was the leak, throwing him off-guard might force him to make a mistake.
She arranged what few possessions she had on the desk and shelves, then opened her laptop, a cheap Dell. It was a mission prop, almost empty except for deathly dull HR management files, a spreadsheet of the facility staff, and vetting files. But there was also a secret encrypted partition, hidden from the main file system and password-protected, where Bridge could take her real mission notes before switching back to the regular, boring files when she was done.
She’d just finished logging in to that boring section when Montgomery knocked on the open door. “I’d advise you to keep this closed at all times,” he said. “Security protocol, you know.”
Bridge smiled. “Monsieur Voclaine failed to close it on his way out, and I was expecting you. I’ll make sure it’s closed in future, though. Please, sit.”
“I can’t possibly do the interview now. Frightfully busy, as I’m sure you’re aware. Can we schedule for tomorrow?”
“This isn’t the interview.” Bridge closed the Dell and clasped her hands on the desk, her smile unwavering. “I’ve been considering how I’m to go about my task here. And as the site manager has ultimate authority, I’d like to run my intentions by you before I begin.”
The gentle flattery worked. Montgomery sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, and Bridge was reminded of the Carter sting earlier that week and half a lifetime ago. “I understand,” said Montgomery. “Do go on.”
“The first thing I have to say is —” Bridge paused, and made a show of turning in her seat to look up at the ceiling corners. She turned back to Montgomery, lowering her voice. “Are we, um,” she spun a finger in the air, to indicate the room, “are we being watched? I noticed the outside was covered in cameras.”
Montgomery dismissed her concerns with a wave. “Not in here. Exterior, absolutely. Every location and angle is covered several times over. Do you smoke?”
“Yes,” said Bridge, to keep the conversation going. In truth, she hadn’t touched a cigarette in four years, but maybe she was about to start again?
“Well, even the smoking compound is festooned with cameras. But inside the building there are no such monitoring facilities, for purposes of security. It’s not unusual in operations like this. I don’t know how much you know about the work we’re doing here, Ms Short, but if it were to get out…well, we wouldn’t want that. So, no cameras inside. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, don’t worry, James — may I call you James? Please, call me Bridget — I’m cleared on Exphoria. In fact, I’m told you’re going to come in on-time, on-budget, and with remarkably little staff turnover.”
Montgomery straightened his back a little, and leaned back in the chair. “Just doing my job,” he said. “One takes pride in one’s work.”
Bridge smiled. “Well, it hasn’t gone unnoticed in Whitehall. Part of the reason they sent me out here is to get an assessment from the staff, so we can learn from your managerial process and hopefully implement it in other areas to increase productivity. A happy staff is an efficient staff, after all.” She lowered her voice again and continued, “A little birdy tells me there may even be a new post in it. The department’s changing so much these days, new posts being created all the time… There are people at the FCO keeping an eye on you, James.” And that, she thought to herself, was completely true.
Montgomery flushed a little and made a fist. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Bridge had created the entire pep speech out of thin air, so whatever Montgomery knew, it would be quite a coincidence.
“The celebration party in London,” he said, lost in thought. “A big shindig next month for Exphoria’s launch, with the Secretary and Joint Chiefs and lord knows who else. I’ll be there, naturally, as the project site manager. But I knew there had to be more to it. I wonder if it’ll be black tie…”
Launch drinks weren’t unusual, although Bridge didn’t know the specifics of this one. But she did recognise vanity when she saw it, and it was fast becoming apparent that James Montgomery had a surfeit of it. Briefly, she wondered if she’d be able to find low-cut blouses and short business skirts in Agenbeux — today she was in a dark trouser suit, with a simple polo neck and ankle boots — but then thought again. She’d known plenty of company men in her clubbing days, buttoned-down careerists who were absolutely proper Monday to Friday, but come the weekend could be found haunting dark, smoky corners of basement clubs, clad in PVC and fishnet. And many of them liked nothing better than a woman in a power suit and heeled boots; whip optional. If that was really James Montgomery’s style, it certainly didn’t hurt that Bridge stood several inches taller than he did. Regardless, he could turn
