“You wanted to see me.” Helen Coombs stood nervously in the entrance to Director Ed Parker’s spacious office in Langley. The CIA analyst wished she’d known she’d be summoned this morning to see the director; she’d have made more of an effort with her clothes and hair. She felt frumpy and fat.
Ed smiled and stood up from behind his desk. “Yes I did, Helen. And don’t be concerned — there’s nothing to worry about.” He gestured to a seat on the opposite side of his desk and sat back down. “By the way, love what you’ve done with your hair.”
She waddled to the chair and sat. “Have I done something wrong?”
Keeping his grin fixed on his face, Ed shook his head. “Ms. Coombs, you’re one of my best analysts. Just wish some of your colleagues could learn a thing or two from your work.”
The comment reassured Helen, and she felt her body relax, though she knew she had to remain on her guard. Mr. Parker could be all charm, but he was still senior management, and one didn’t get to that rank without being canny and fork-tongued.
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”
“No, I’m fine, sir.”
“Okay.” Parker interlaced his fingers. “All I have for you is a quick question. First thing in the morning three days ago, you pulled the Ferryman files from archives. You’re perfectly entitled to do that, since you have clearance, but I just wanted to check why you did so.”
Helen frowned. “Three days ago.”
“Just after nine A.M.”
Helen tried to get her mind to think clearly, not an easy task when someone as lowly as her was in the presence of such a senior clandestine officer. “I…”
“Take your time. Jeez, sometimes I struggle to remember what I’ve done yesterday.”
The frown remained on Helen’s face. “No, it’s okay. Just… just kinda embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yeah, I…” Helen’s palms felt sweaty. “Embarrassing because four nights ago I got drunk.”
Parker laughed. “What you get up to in your own time is your business, providing it doesn’t become a problem and interfere with your day job.”
“That’s the embarrassing thing.” Helen felt like she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. “Having to admit this to management. I got drunk in a bar, lost my Agency security pass, got home, and carried on partying. Truth is, sir, I was too ill to make it in to work the next day. You certain it was three days ago?”
Parker felt his skin crawl and his stomach tighten into knots. “Positive.”
“Anyway, I haven’t looked at the Ferryman files for at least a couple of weeks. No way did I pull them days ago. Couldn’t have. Impossible.”
All trace of Parker’s geniality had vanished. “When did you report your missing pass to our security department?”
“I… I didn’t wake up until after lunchtime. I guess it was about midafternoon when I realized the pass was missing. I called the bar I’d been to the night before. They told me someone had found and handed in my wallet. Guess I’d lost it at the same time as I dropped my pass. But unfortunately the pass wasn’t found. I made the call to security after that. Told them the loss wasn’t suspicious. They said they’d cancel the missing pass and reissue me with a new one.”
Parker felt a sharp pain behind his eyes. “Were you accompanied by anyone when you were in the bar and when you went home to continue drinking?”
Helen bowed her head silently, her mind racing.
“Anyone?” The director’s tone was stern. “Right now, I don’t care if it was a married Agency guy or a Russian spy. But I need a name.”
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Did you walk home?”
“No, no.”
“Drive your own car?”
“No.”
“Someone else drive it for you?”
Helen shook her head.
“In that case, you must have taken a cab home. How did you pay for it when you’d lost your wallet? I’m thinking someone else paid. And I need that person’s name.”
Helen’s eyes were watering. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Parker.”
“A name!”
She looked up. “Ellie Hallowes.”
TWENTY-NINE
As Patrick exited his car on Pennsylvania Avenue and handed the keys to a valet, the sight of the large SWAT truck farther up the road disgorging two snipers and two spotters made the CIA officer feel sick with worry for Will Cochrane. He’d often felt this sensation when Will was deployed on missions, but this was different.
Will wasn’t operating for a greater cause, and moreover was almost certainly going to die at the hands of the country he’d protected so many times.
He watched the sniper team disappear from view, wondering where they were going to hide and also wondering how many other snipers remained in the SWAT truck as it pulled away. Above him, he could see three police helicopters, and he knew they contained expert marksmen who could take a man’s head off from a distance while moving at speed. In every direction across the city, he could hear emergency vehicles’ sirens wailing.
He pulled up the collar of his overcoat to shield himself from the rain, and walked fast toward the entrance to the Café du Parc. Alistair was drinking a cup of tea within the venue’s Le Bar, and he offered no greeting or friendly expression as his colleague removed his coat and slumped into a chair opposite him.
The MI6 controller unnecessarily stirred his tea. “It’s a pleasure to be out of Bureau or Agency earshot.”
“Damn right it is.” Patrick loosened the knot in his tie.
“So, what’s happened?”
“I’ve read an interesting SMS.”
“On your telephone?”
“No.”
Alistair smiled. “Ah, on Mr. Sheridan’s phone.”
Patrick nodded.
Ever since the two senior spies had been assigned to Marsha Gage’s team and forced to share the Bureau ops room with Sheridan, Alistair and Patrick had challenged each other to see how often they could read Sheridan’s messages without getting caught.
“He was in the men’s room — just for thirty seconds, but that was long enough for me. Message was from Ed Parker, saying he needs to bring Hallowes into HQ.”
Alistair intertwined his fingers. “Ellie Hallowes.” He was deep in thought. “She’s of no use to anyone in the Agency right now, until she’s deployed again overseas. Strange that someone as senior as Parker is bothering someone as senior as Sheridan to waste time tracking down an agent who to all intents and purposes isn’t worthy of their time.”
“I agree. And that means her importance has just shot through the roof.”
“They need her to help them.”
“Unlikely.”
“So, more likely she’s done something that’s truly bothered them.”
“And they want to put the thumbscrews on her.”
Alistair nodded.
Both men had long suspected that Hallowes could be a vital asset to Cochrane, and in particular that she would attempt to access the Ferryman files and relay what she’d read to Cochrane if he made it to the States. One of the first things Patrick had done after the initial meeting with Jellicoe, Sheridan, and Parker — wherein the co-heads were told that their Task Force S was shut down with immediate effect — was to retrieve from the Agency personnel database Hallowes’s cell phone number and the name of the D.C. hotel she was staying in. Neither Alistair nor Patrick had contacted her, but they’d kept her details in case of need.