Page 122 of The Secret of Secrets

“Gross negligence or treason?” the director demanded as she entered his office.

“It was a careless mistake, sir,” she replied truthfully. “That file must have gotten mixed up with my work papers. I had no idea it was even in my possession.”

The director studied her a long moment. “I’m inclined to believe you, but obviously you can no longer continue as general counsel until we sort out how this could happen. I’m putting you on indefinite leave and handing this over to the IG for an inquiry.”

“Sir, I really—”

“Effective immediately,” he declared, his eyes unyielding. “This is a gift, Ms. Nagel, and I strongly suggest you accept it before I change my mind.”

A week later, Heide Nagel was still at home, suffocating from boredom and professional limbo. Her children were long grown, and her postdivorce “luxury condo” was empty and depressing, although she’d never noticed until now because she’d spent most of her waking hours at work.

My life is over, she realized. I’m damaged goods.

At sixty-three years old, Nagel was too young and ambitious to retire, but too old to hang a shingle and start a law practice. She wondered what she was going to do with herself. Book groups? Online dating? It all sounded like hell.

Then came a call she never expected.

The director phoned two weeks later in a rare display of contrition. “I feel bad about how this played out, Heide, and I’m hoping to make it right.”

That’s impossible, she thought.

“As you may know,” Judd told her, “the president-elect and I are old prep school chums. He called me this morning for guidance on staffing a few key appointments—including the U.S. ambassadorship to the Czech Republic. I told him that considering the growing unrest in the region, he needed an ambassador with solid knowledge of international law as well as experience in the intelligence community. In a word—you.”

Nagel was stunned. The old-boy network is now recruiting old girls?

The decision had been a no-brainer. Four months later, press releases had been sent, and Heide Nagel found herself living in Prague’s spectacular ambassadorial residence, overseeing a talented embassy staff and doing meaningful work. Best of all, every time she caught a glimpse of the castle, she felt like she was living in a fairy tale.

Then, in a single night, it had all changed.

A month into her new post, Director Judd had called to check in, and after some small talk, he made an unusual request. “Heide, I’d like you to dine with a colleague of mine who is now stationed in Europe.”

“Of course, sir,” she said, feeling it was the least she could do for the man who had essentially saved her life. “Who is it?”

“A new hire for the European office of In-Q-Tel.”

Q? she thought, feeling a twinge of apprehension.

She was no stranger to In-Q-Tel—or “Q,” as agency spooks called it—the secretive investment arm of the CIA. Their shadowy team of financiers took huge positions in technologies they deemed relevant to the CIA’s interests and national security—everything from Biomatrica’s anhydrobiosis mechanisms to Nanosys’s microscopic electronics to D-Wave quantum computing.

More than once as CIA counsel, Nagel had advised the director on legal issues related to In-Q-Tel’s “creative investment techniques” and “asset protection methods,” but it was rare that the group was ever reined in.

Why is someone from Q coming to Prague? Nagel was puzzled that a high-tech investment firm would be interested in Old World Prague. Their normal hunting ground was Silicon Valley.

On the night of the meeting, Ambassador Nagel arrived early at her restaurant of choice—CODA—a discreet local establishment with superb Czech cuisine. To her surprise, her contact was already seated. He was a slight, formally dressed man, probably in his mid-seventies, with a thick shock of silver hair. He was polishing his glasses as she approached the table.

Numbers guy, she decided.

Nagel could not have been more wrong. This man turned out to be Everett Finch—the legendary longtime director of the CIA’s Directorate of Science & Technology. Finch’s team at DS&T, along with those of the other three directorates—Administration, Operations, and Intelligence—made up the four pillars of the Central Intelligence Agency.

They moved Finch to In-Q-Tel? In Europe?

The only logical explanation Nagel could imagine was that Director Judd had wanted Finch’s expertise in Europe for some clandestine reason…and quietly stationed him here under the radar.

The waiter arrived, presenting them both with an amuse-bouche—two tiny teacups of a delicate Czech mushroom soup called kulajda. Mr. Finch drained his cup, touched a napkin to his lip, and then leaned across the table.

“Heide…” he said, ignoring her formal title. “I trust you’re enjoying your ambassadorship here?”

“I am,” she replied, wary.