“No,” said Alex, sulkily. “I don’t think so. I don’t know, I think he likes me, but not… you know, in that way.” She handed the baby back to Blackbird who took him from her and settled him in to her lap. “What am I going to do?” she asked, sitting back in the chair and wrapping her arms around her knees.
“I have to ask this,” said Blackbird, suddenly serious, “and I don’t want to sound prudish, but you said he touched you. Did he force himself on you in any way?”
“No!” said Alex. “He’s been very kind.”
“Have you had sex with him?”
“No! It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”
“Would you like to?” asked Blackbird, frankly.
“No,” said Alex, but the words squirmed on her tongue. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“I see,” said Blackbird. “So, one thing I don’t understand. How did you come into physical contact with a Warder?”
Alex looked evasive, but then sighed. “I followed him. I know it was wrong, but I wanted to see where he was going. We ended up in a wood and there was no sign of him. I got lost and tramped around in the brambles for hours before he found me. I was scratched, and sore, and cold, and wet.”
“You do know how dangerous it is to follow one of the Warders?” said Blackbird.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Alex protested. “If there’d been any danger I’d have just hopped back on to the Ways — left him to it.”
“Promise me you won’t do anything that reckless again,” said Blackbird.
“Anyway, he found me and carried me back,” she said, carefully skipping over both the promise and what she’d seen in the woods.
“He carried you back,” repeated Blackbird, “and since then you’ve been thinking about him a lot?”
Alex sniffed. “I guess. You won’t tell Dad will you?”
“We’ve already established that not every conversation we have is shared with your father,” said Blackbird, “though if he knew you were following the Warders around he’d be horrified.”
“Don’t tell him,” Alex pleaded. “He doesn’t need to know.”
Blackbird shook her head. “He may find out anyway, Alex. Your father is also a Warder and Tate may tell him.”
“What am I going to do?” asked Alex.
“About your father?”
“No, about Tate.”
“Well you have the usual options. You can declare your heart to Tate and find out if he reciprocates your feelings,” said Blackbird
“What if he doesn’t? What will I do then?”
“Or you can keep your feelings to yourself, and remain as wretched as you are now,” she said.
“Oh, God,” said Alex.
“Or you can take a hot bath, eat chocolate and get over it.”
“I can’t,” wailed Alex. “Don’t you understand?”
“Or there’s the fourth option,” said Blackbird.
“What’s the fourth option?” asked Alex, miserably.
“Among the Feyre, Alex, it is the custom and practice for the females to choose a mate. The males can register a protest if they are not happy with the choice, but it is not their choice. I chose your father, though he has not been unhappy with that choice, I think.”
“A mate?” asked Alex.
“With the intention of becoming pregnant and having a child,” said Blackbird. “It’s not a commitment to be entered into lightly, and if you are not ready I do not advise you take that course, but if you were to choose Tate as a mate, he could be yours.”
“Oh,” said Alex.
“Perhaps,” said Blackbird, “you are not ready for that commitment just yet. Why not consider one of the other options. All of them are less complicated than the last.”
“Oh God,” said Alex.
“Quite,” said Blackbird.
SEVENTEEN
An hour later I was standing watching the London Eye turn in slow cycles. The wardings I had set made sure I was conscious of Sam’s approach, though I did not turn. He approached quietly, moving on the balls of his feet.
“What do you have for me?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the Eye.
“Is she around?” he asked.
“She could be right behind you and you’d never know,” I said, truthfully. I turned and watched him scanning the crowds for Amber. “What have you got?”
He took a deep breath. “There is no Secretary Carler. There’s no one in Whitehall by that name — not a private secretary, not even a receptionist. The name, by any spelling, does not exist. It’s another codename, probably, and it’s locked up tighter than a duck’s arse.”
“If you’re telling me you’ve wasted my time, Sam…”
“The second name, De Ferrers, sparked a reaction, though,” he said. “We got a phone call within minutes of me typing it into the system. I was immediately suspended, pending an investigation into my conduct. My access is revoked and I am on indefinite leave. You’ve trashed my career,” he said.
He didn’t sound that upset about it. Maybe it was trashed already. “You want an apology?”
“There’s no loyalty any more,” he said. “Not in this new lot. They all hate each other.”
“New lot?” I asked.
“The old guard, we look after each other. We’ve been through it together. We know it takes trust to succeed.”
“Spare me the pep talk,” I said.
“I got a call before the interview. They told me the word had come through that I was for the high jump. The short of it was that I was poking my nose into things that didn’t concern me.”
“Interesting,” I said, “but not enough.”
“It came from Cheltenham.”
“What did?” I asked.
“The call. It routed internally, over secure lines. It was encrypted to buggery and scrambled to hell because it came from the one place that cares more about secrets than anywhere else.”
“And where’s that?” I asked him.
“GCHQ,” he said. “And if they’re interested in you, they’ll know everything. Your inside leg, where you buy fuel, who you text, what you say, what you had for lunch. They’ll know what’s in your Christmas presents before you do.”
“They don’t know everything,” I said.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he said.
He hugged himself, beating his jacket in an attempt to stay warm. “So that’s it. I don’t have access to anything any more. I couldn’t get you information if I wanted to.”
“You don’t understand, Sam. You’re mine now. The only reason you get to walk around is because I think you might be useful. If I were you I’d try and stay as helpful as possible.”
On cue, Amber appeared at his shoulder. She grinned at his reaction.
“I’ll be in touch,” I told him.
Amber and I walked away.
“I don’t have anything any more. They’re not going to let me back in after this,” he called after me.
We vanished into the crowds.
GCHQ is not exactly a secret. It was established as a listening and intelligence agency after the code-breaking work that went on at Bletchley Park in the Second World War. It persisted as a result of cold war paranoia when some countries, including ours, started building nuclear bombs. That was about as much as anyone outside the intelligence community knew about it, including me. There was much speculation as to what else it did — it was a favourite of conspiracy theorists who alleged that it sifted through all our communications, cherry picking the streams of voice, text and email for indications of criminal, immoral or unpatriotic activity.
For an organisation based on secrecy, it’s not hard to find. There is a large building at the edge of Cheltenham in Gloucestershire with clear signposting to the entries and exits. It has car parks around it for employees and visitors, and entry gates at various points around the perimeter. It’s only when you start looking closely at it that you begin to see that careful thought has gone into its construction.
The car parks have pedestrian turnstiles which require an access card and a code to enter or exit, the implication being that people are counted in, and counted out again. Once inside the perimeter, you have to go through security to reach the building itself. There are more gates, each monitored. The building itself is a giant ring — toroidal is the term, like a doughnut, a nickname used by local people for the place. The roof of the building has a curved shield on it, it’s not clear from outside what that’s hiding, but it makes entry via the roof nigh impossible. There is an inner courtyard, within the ring, but that’s only visible from above. All this we could see from the top of the hill about a mile away, using the powerful binoculars we’d brought with us.