“Thanks Bev … let me know if the mobile comes online again.”
Jack stepped out of the maze of offices on the fourth floor, where the logistics and surveillance teams operated. The elevator took him to the second floor. People got in and out, as it stopped twice before reaching its destination.
Jack barely noticed them. Had it been a mistake to throw Wilson so quickly into the deep end? He was not a trained agent, not the way Langley people were trained before becoming field operatives. He was just a smart kid who had noticed perhaps a little too much for his own good. Jack arrived in his office.
It was only 4pm in Virginia but already 9pm in London. Still, Jack was certain that the CIA station chief would still be at his desk in the London office.
“Jethro … still around?”
“Just about to call it a day … what can I do for you Jack?”
Station Chief, Jethro Greeney, sounded suitably harassed after another day at the helm of London’s CIA team.
“A person of interest to us has, for want of a better word, evaporated very suddenly, or at least his mobile phone has. It is a matter of concern.”
“He’s not an operative I take it?” Jethro’s voice tightened a little … he did not appreciate having been left out of the picture, if there was indeed a new recruit in London. He would also rather avoid having to have a difficult conversation with his counterpart at MI6 about an operation he was not aware of, which was about to turn bad.
“Nope … nothing like that. He is a potential recruit, but for the time being he is providing information. It’s speculative but I believe there is something in it.”
“But you’re not certain yet … I get it. And you’d like me to send a team to check his whereabouts.” Jethro was fumbling with something at his end and Jack could only imagine it was his other mobile on which he had stored a list of available agents and intervention operatives.
“Is this guy a Yank by the way?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Good, that makes my life a damn sight easier in case it goes belly up.”
There was a short silence. Chief Greeney seemed to have found what or whom it was he wanted. “I’ll call you back when I have some news.”
Jack thanked him and sat back in his chair. His eyes re-focused on the file he had dragged from the depths of his filing cabinet. Its colour was a faded pink. It had a stain marking the top left corner, the sign a cup of coffee had leaked some of its contents on it a while ago.
The topic covered by the file had been of concern to Jack in the wake of 9/11. The weaponisation of pathogens was always going to be a temptation for smaller malign organisations and terrorist groups. Yet what Wilson had stumbled upon did not quite fit the bill.
In Jack’s experience, large countries which felt secure in their armament capabilities, showed interest in bioweapons of a more academic nature. They carried out extensive research to discover what chemicals or viruses were capable of … including how these could affect a population.
They sometimes also sought to enhance their preparedness at combating a rogue event with countermeasures in the guise of specialist teams or anti-viral medication.
Wilson had computing skills in the biotech sphere that were of interest to the agency. The job he had recently landed at a new biotech company in London, with links to Asia, was an unexpected bonus.
Jack leaned forward and opened the bulging file onto his desk. He knew the contents almost by heart. The details he needed to check were lying somewhere in the slew of papers that had spilled out in front of him.
* * *
“Help me …” Nancy was holding a young woman’s head in her shaking hands. Pole dropped his biking gear, knelt down and gathered the limp body of the young woman into his arms. Her face was a ghostly white and her breathing shallow. She was wearing only a light T-shirt over faded blue jeans. Yet the top looked expensive. Perhaps chosen carefully to express something about her identity. Oddly she had no bag with her.
Nancy ran round to the lift and pressed the call button. She signalled to the security guard not to be concerned as she returned to gather Pole’s rucksack and helmet.
“Who is she?” Pole asked once they were in the lift.
“The friend I was supposed to meet this evening.” Nancy pressed the top floor button.” I tried to call quite a few times but there was no reply and now here she is.”
The lift doors opened. Nancy hurried to unlock her apartment door. Pole followed carefully moving sideways to avoid the walls of the entrance corridor. He laid the young woman on one of Nancy’s sofas. She covered her friend with a blanket she kept in the lounge and started to rub her hands and feet to restore their circulation.
“She’s been hurt, too.” Pole pointed to the gash in her foot as Nancy took off her trainers. He disappeared into the bathroom to find the first aid kit.
Nancy nodded without looking at him. Her attention was solely focused on her friend’s face. “I found her like that, slumped outside … According to the security guard she didn’t ring the main entrance bell, so she must have walked in when a car entered the car park.”
Pole moistened a piece of cotton wool with surgical spirit and applied it to Cora’s wounds. She moaned a little, an encouraging sign.
“Cora …” Nancy called softly. “It’s Nancy … you’re in my flat … you’re safe.”
Nancy pushed aside a strand
