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Jeremy tries to shout something but a white van screeches to a halt, the side door slides open, and three men in black clothing and masks pile out, grab Amy Cornwall, and put a sack over her head, and in seconds she’s gone.
Amy Cornwall is gone.
Chapter70
ERNEST HOLLISTERwatches in satisfaction as Horace Evans puts his phone down in its cradle and with a tired voice says, “It’s done. Amy Cornwall has been seized by your contract force.”
“Good,” Ernest says, feeling satisfied indeed, but not wanting to stay here much longer and revel in his win. This room is old, creaky, and damp, and he’s sure the air is filled with mold spores and dust. How in hell could anyone of worth stand working in this dump?
Horace says, “I trust you and your force will be discreet.”
“Absolutely.”
“And I imagine you will shortly return her to the States?”
“Perhaps,” Ernest says. “Then again, it may be worthwhile to keep her in place for a few days, to conduct an interrogation.”
Horace purses his lips. “That’s not discreet.”
“It’s discreet enough if no one knows about it, am I right?”
When Horace doesn’t reply, Ernest says, “Just to ensure that we have a clear understanding, you are to halt all operations—sanctioned or unsanctioned, official or unofficial—against Rashad Hussain and his associates. Is that clear?”
His MI6 counterpart seems to struggle with his temper. In a weak voice he says, “That is incredibly shortsighted. We have intelligence that Rashad is—”
“…that Rashad Hussain is a completely vetted and supported confidential source for our operations in Langley,” Ernest says. “He has been responsible for us disrupting three terrorist plots against civilian targets in the United States. What you have, in comparison, is idle chatter, suspicions, and what is most likely a personal grudge harbored by your Jeremy Windsor.”
“That still doesn’t mean—”
“Look, we’re done here,” Ernest says. “I told you politely to cease your ops against Rashad. Now I’ll be impolite:back the fuck off.All right?”
Horace gives the slightest nod, indicating a great surrender. Despite the dust and mold in the air, Ernest is looking forward to what he’s going to say next.
“Now, let’s get to Jeremy. I want him taken care of, just like Amy.”
Horace says, “I assure you, there will be disciplinary actions.”
“Tell me, Horace, is it my American accent that’s screwing you up, or are you that dense? We have a phrase on our side of the pond to smoke an officer, orGitmohim. I know you have something similar—to beFaroe’d.Correct? I want Jeremy Faroe’d.”
“No,” Horace says.
Ernest says, “My boss is Malcolm Rooney, head of our Special Activities Division. Former Army general. I served with him in Iraq. He trusts me fully and explicitly. One of his duties is serving on a committee responsible for allocating funds to our fellow intelligence agencies, especially those who have fallen on hard times ever since their great and mighty empire collapsed. And if I give him a recommendation to cut your funding allocations in half, Horace, he’ll do it without hesitation.”
Silence in the dusty room. Then, in a low and nearly trembling voice, Horace says, “It might take some time. There are…procedures to follow.”
Ernest says, “I’m a reasonable fella. Take the time you need…as long is it’s quick, and it’s done.”
“But there’s the matter of the Parisian woman, the one—”
“Yes, the amateur biochemist,” Ernest says. “She’s French, her crimes took place in France—let France pull its weight for once. There’s no evidence she’s left the country.”
After spending so many days being ignored by this sad little man before him, Ernest takes pleasure in one last dig. “And in this mess you call an office, I’m sure a few things can be overlooked, Horace. So don’t overlook this: we have the deep means and resources to ensure that you keep your word. Uncle Sam will be watching and listening. So don’t screw this up. Stop hunting and harassing Rashad, let the French take care of their problem, and handle Jeremy Windsor. He aided and abetted one of our officers in going rogue. That can’t stand.”
Horace’s hands move across his paper-strewn desk as though he’s trying to hold on to something for reassurance. “This isn’t a good day for Anglo-American cooperation, now is it? Our special relationship.”
Ernest gets up, his skin nearly crawling from the dirt in this office. “Haven’t you heard? Since the last election, it’s a new world out there. We’re America, bitch. That’s all you need to know.”
Chapter71
