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It made people less wary, made them underestimate you. Under the cover of inane jokes and patter, he’d assessed each man present and either added or discarded them from his list of suspects.
He wasn’t here as a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries.
He was here to expose a traitor.
Tinted Spectacles had arrived just before the meeting began. There was something familiar about him, though Raven couldn’t place his finger on where he’d seen him before.
He almost looked like a Frenchman, with that slim moustache and his brown hair combed fashionably forward. His delicate, elongated fingers gripped the back of the bench in front of him with such force that his knuckles were white—a sure sign of mental turmoil.
Raven’s job was to notice the small, overlooked details.
Fingernails too polished. Cuffs slightly too long.
Details could be exploited.
He was watching for anomalous behavior. Laughter where there should be solemnity.
A gaze that darted here and there instead of holding steady.
He didn’t want to believe that one of his countrymen was behind the recent spate of security breaches within the Foreign Office’s covert operations, but he couldn’t trust anyone, not after what had happened in Athens.
He had to keep the smile on his face, keep the jokes flowing from his lips and the brandy pouring down his throat.
He had to pretend to be carefree when his entire life was crashing down around him.
Don’t dwell on it, Sir Malcolm had said during Raven’s briefing, after Raven had returned to London, battered, bruised, and shaken.It happens to the best of men, Malcolm had said.
It doesn’t happen to me. And it will never happen again, Raven had replied through gritted teeth.I’ll find the traitor. I’ll make him pay.
Malcolm had given him a hearty clap on the back that had made Raven wince from the sharp pain in his ribs.
Perhaps you should take a holiday first.
That’s what they said to agents they were ready to put out to pasture, Raven thought bitterly.
He’d been careful, he’d hidden his movements, coded his communications, but a fellow British operative, known to Raven only as Jones, had died in Athens during what should have been a clandestine rendezvous.
Raven had nearly died as well.
Staring up at a stained-glass window the color of blood and bruised flesh... the color people were on the inside.
The soft insides... the vulnerable places.
Jab a finger into a kidney and watch a man crumple.
There was nothing soft about Raven. Nothing vulnerable. He’d rid himself of all weakness and emotion long ago.
He’d given everything up for a higher purpose, and for the chance to clear his father’s name.
When he became an agent for the Crown he’d been forced to alienate Indy. His best friend, his future life companion.
He’d left her behind, choosing instead this dangerous, solitary path.
Closing himself off from his emotions and severing all connections with those he loved. He hadn’t seen his mother, or his younger brother Colin, in years.
He’d chosen this life. And he didnotneed a holiday. He needed to prove his fitness for duty.
Jones had been about to tell Raven something urgent about the Rosetta Stone when the surprise attack occurred.
