That became an order of magnitude more difficult when Lisa admitted she hadn’t seen the new ASCII post yet. It had been sent early on Sunday, while Bridge was still driving back from Izzy’s farm, and when she arrived at the guest house she hadn’t thought to check the newsgroups herself. After all, Lisa was supposed to have that covered back in England.
“I’m sorry, Ms Sharp, but I wasn’t here yesterday, and when I got in this morning I prioritised my own work. Your newsgroup check just hadn’t made it to the top of my pile, yet.”
“You didn’t brief anyone to watch over the weekend?”
“GCHQ business takes priority.”
Bridge’s hands trembled. She and Ten had a running joke that her get-rich-quick scheme was to invent a machine that allowed you to strangle people over the internet. Right now she would happily use that machine, and was glad the call was audio-only so Lisa couldn’t see the anger in Bridge’s face. On the other hand, maybe then she wouldn’t be so bloody relaxed about the whole thing. “Leave it with me,” Bridge said after a deep breath. “Giles Finlay will be in touch.”
She ended the call, immediately switched to Giles’ profile, and hit the button for his mobile. He answered after one ring.
“Yes. Line?”
“Secure. Giles, it’s Bridge. We may have a problem.”
“You’ve been blown?”
“No, my position’s good. I spent most of today talking to senior staff, making progress. But there’s been a new coded post, and GCHQ missed it.”
“How?”
“Didn’t prioritise. To be honest, I don’t think they ever took it seriously. But listen, the post was made twenty-six hours ago.”
She heard Giles curse at the other end of the line. “What day was the paper? I’ve still got Friday’s Times at the office.”
“No need. They put the answers on the website the day after, and I already decoded it. It’s for a meet this evening, in fifteen minutes’ time.”
“Shit. What does it say?”
“Just today’s date, location, and time: Myddelton, 2130.”
“Twenty-one? Half nine, you’re sure?”
“Yeah, it’s —” Bridge realised what Giles was asking, and sighed at her oversight. “Oh, I’m on Paris time. So you’ve actually got an hour and a quarter.”
“Brilliant. Now what on Earth is ‘Myddelton’?”
Bridge smiled. “Oh, that’s an easy one. Hugh Myddelton, there’s a statue of him on Islington Green.”
“Are you sure? No chance it could be something else?”
“Trust me, he’s the only Myddelton with a statue.”
“Then leave it with me.” She heard the scratch of his pen as he made a note. “Bloody good work, Bridge. And I’ll put a rocket up GCHQ’s arse in the morning.”
“Anything I can do right now? We have no idea what the target looks like.”
“No, but there’s no way you can chase that down inside the next hour. Relax and get some sleep. Tomorrow, try to find out if anyone from the project left town at the weekend, and I’ll update you on tonight’s events.”
She ended the call and removed her headphones, wishing she was back in London. She knew Islington well; what she hadn’t told Giles was that she’d spent many a night drinking at the feet of Hugh Myddelton’s statue with her friends, after leaving the local goth club and waiting for the tube to resume morning service. If there was reconnaissance to be done, she could be valuable. But it was impossible. There was no way to get back to London in time, and even if she could, doing so would completely blow her cover here.
Besides, whoever was meeting in London tonight, it wouldn’t be the mole themselves. They were still in Agenbeux, right under Bridge’s nose and laughing up their sleeve.
She opened the interview spreadsheet and began reading it over, to refamiliarise herself with everyone she’d spoken to so far. Tomorrow and Tuesday she was scheduled to finish the project leads, then on Wednesday she’d do Voclaine, Montgomery, and their secretary. After that, it was all down to her own instincts and judgement.
She made some coffee, set Radio 3’s online feed playing on her iPhone, and settled in for the evening.
37
Andrea Thomson kissed Giles when he joined her at the window table of the pub, which was something of a surprise. “Just pretend we’re together, I think I’ve got them,” she said quietly in response to Giles’ raised eyebrow. “Corner of the bar, having a quiet wee argument. Get yourself a drink, see what you can hear.” She raised her own glass, barely touched, indicating she didn’t need another herself.
Giles had phoned Andrea the moment his call with Bridge ended, and asked if she could help him with a surveil and potential shadow. She wasn’t impressed. “I’ve just finished eating, Joan’s putting the boy to bed, and we’re halfway through the last Downton box set. Can’t one of your own help?”
“There’s potential for arrest, and you know how bad that looks on the Service. Besides, this is almost certainly linked to…the other matter.” Giles was hesitant to say too much on an insecure line, but knew she’d understand. “And there’s nobody I trust more for a shadow in London.”
Andrea sighed. “Yeah, yeah, butter me up. But I’m telling Joan it’s you who owes her dinner for this one.”
“Promise,” he said, and gave her the details as he left the flat. Even with that head start Andrea had beaten him to it, texting him as he exited the turnstiles at Angel to say she was in a pub, across the road from Islington Green and the statue of Hugh Myddelton. Giles kept an eye on the roads as he walked, just in case, but there was almost nobody around, and certainly not two shifty people having a shifty meeting.
That wasn’t entirely surprising. After Bridge had decoded the posted messages, Giles ordered
