A lethal tactic.
The Super confirmed Pole’s fears. He had agreed on an unofficial inquiry, to be carried out as discreetly as possible. Marsh had not consulted him. Ferguson, whom he had known a long time, had not communicated with Pole either. He was preparing himself to run a thorough review of what had gone wrong and friendship would not be allowed to get in the way of it.
Marsh continued talking about how beneficial the exercise would be, but Pole was no longer listening.
Pole stands outside a large vehicle that has been stationed a street away from the target they are about to storm. Steve Harris is showing a couple of pictures to members of Ferguson’s SO19 team.
“These are my agents – do not engage.” He repeats the same sentence like a mantra to each officer. They nod and when he has finished with them, they roll down their balaclavas and adjust their night vision goggles. Ferguson is the last to take a look and signals to his men they are ready with a quick rolling gesture of the hand.
Pole has not been shown the pictures, but he knows who one of the men is. Henry Crowne, high profile city banker, IRA operative, now inmate at the high security unit of HMP Belmarsh. But Henry is also a friend of Nancy’s and the reason why Pole met her in the first place.
Ferguson enters the mobile control room. Properties have been evacuated around the target. He is pressing Control for quicker results. The element of surprise is key.
The young woman in charge of OPS turns around abruptly. “We’re all clear.” Ferguson nods. “Roger that … Going dark in one minute.” He moves past Pole.
“OK lads … Let’s go.” His men are already taking positions around the small property.
“I hope they don’t screw this up.” Harris is nervous and has reason to be. The terrorist cell Ferguson is about to tackle won’t care about their own lives and there will be no surrender.
Pole hears the young woman again. “We are clear to breach.”
The lights go dark everywhere in the street.
Marsh stopped talking and Pole didn’t know whether he was supposed to agree with something.
“I’ll speak to commander Ferguson and agree a way forward.” Pole needed to make a quick exit.
“Do remember what I said …”
“I’ll inform you at each step of the way.” An educated guess that proved to be right, Marsh forever wary of Pole’s ability to make the right decisions without consulting him.
Pole left the room and stood for a moment outside the office after closing the door.
“That bad?” Denise had stopped typing and gave Pole a concerned look.
“Perhaps a little unexpected.” He managed to smile and bid Denise goodbye.
A few moments later he was back in his office and looked around the room, in its usual state of chaos.
It would be ironic if his involvement with MI6 were to herald the end of his career.
* * *
The reply had come within the hour. Jack had applied for a five-day holiday online. He had rehearsed his arguments for taking a last-minute break.
Overworked and underpaid … his boss, John (Jack) Hunter III would reply that so was he.
Needed to clear his head for the next operation … Might need a psych evaluation … Not a good idea.
Spend time with family or friends … Do you have any there …? He was not about to mention Harris.
Keeping friendly with Jethro, London Station Chief, a persuasive argument about team building, that would do.
The phone never rang and the holiday was now confirmed. A hint of paranoia crept in. Was he no longer considered a worthy agent? He shook his head at the thought … He was in need of a holiday after all.
Jack booked his airline ticket, open return to London departing from JFK at 8.15pm. He had indulged in a business class flight on British Airways.
Hell, he was not on a mission, strapped in the back of a Chinook helicopter or in the hold of a large C-5M Super Galaxy that the US Air Force used to transport people and supplies. Comfort was not a word that registered in the dictionary of the CIA OPS.
He bought his next ticket. One way to Boston, the return stop to New York.
The flight departed in a little less than two hours from Ronald Reagan Washington airport. Just enough time to nip home, pack up his toothbrush, a few more bits that might come in handy … jeans, shirt, winter leather jacket.
He decided against a weapon. Customs at Heathrow airport might kick up a fuss even with a valid licence. No need to attract attention. Above all he would take his second laptop, fully prepped already, as it always was for emergencies.
His mind drifted to a document he had recently received. Another piece of research comparing America’s and China’s military capabilities. The paper had been prepared by the military adviser to Senator McCain. The Pentagon had reviewed the thick document, recognising its importance.
At the CIA the paper had landed on his desk. He did have a reputation for fighting lost causes and extracting unexpected data from information no one else was prepared to consider. Jack checked the length of the piece again, a whopping 857 pages. He hesitated but sent it to his TO READ file nevertheless. He might get a chance to read it on the way back.
Another email alert came through, this time bringing a smile on his face. The head of BIG at Harvard Medical School had time to meet him early that afternoon … And he sounded excited to be talking to Jack about one of his most promising students in bioinformatics … Ollie Wilson.
Chapter Eight
Cora sank onto the bed. Beth had dashed into her bedroom, rapidly tidied up the unmade bed and insisted Cora should not sleep in the lounge, but that she would.
Cora looked around and Beth’s presence wrapped itself around her.
Vintage posters of French classic fashion designs by Chanel and
