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I force a smile, I start to edge away toward Canaletto’s painting of the Piazza San Marco. Keeping my tone casual, I ignore his remark. “ This is the ultimate onlooker painting. Canaletto makes you feel as if you are standing in the archway, rubbernecking and eavesdropping on the variety of people walking through the square.”
Allan shrugs. “I prefer religious art. It gives me hope. Canaletto produced paintings for tourists, not for the soul.”
“Superior tourist paintings. Every Brit on the Grand Tour wanted one.” I move to the two Turners. “Turner is one of Cress’ favorite artists.” The corners of my mouth turn up at the thought of her. “I really should take her to the Tate.”
“I can understand the appeal. Certainly, the light is more engaging.” His tone is grudgingly conciliatory.
“He’s known for it.”
I stare at “The Dogano, San Giorgio, Citella, from the Steps of the Europa,” on loan from Tate Britain. Venice with Cress in a few weeks is a sweet promise of relief from all this stress. Gondolas and cafés. I can almost smell frito misto and risotto al nero di sepia, taste the bitter tang of Spritz with Campari, and smell the salt air waft in from the Adriatic.
“Turner said, ‘It is necessary to mark the greater from the lesser truth: namely the larger and more liberal idea of nature from the comparatively narrow and confined; namely that which addresses itself to the imagination from that which is solely addressed to the eye.’ Inspirational, don’t you think?”
“Pure drivel,” Allan replies.
Baiting him reminds me of our schooldays, and the way his face darkens is all the satisfaction I need to move back to his point. “If there is no evidence that Faez is in London, why are we meeting?”
Allan’s snakelike hiss carries over to me. “Time waster.”
Arms crossed, I turn and roll my eyes. “You’re the one who chose this venue and started us chatting about art.”
Allan makes a face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Believe it or not, my assignment is to liaise with you.”
I chuckle. “Liaise? About what?”
A huff blows into my ear as Allan nudges up next to me. “This meeting is rather hole in the corner.”
I scoff. “Hole in corner? The National Gallery? You’re joking.”
“True. We arranged for it to be cleared out. Next time, we’ll meet in a pub or a wine bar for a drink. Put you on show. Set up the idea that you still work covertly for MI6. We want to use you as bait for the terrorists. They go after you, and we are Johnny-on-the-spot to catch them in the act.”
What a crap idea. I repress a shiver, visualizing myself caught in a huge mousetrap. “Doesn’t that depend on what they want to do? If it’s a straight assassination attempt, that’s one thing. But I doubt that’s the plan. If it was, I’d already be dead.”
“I heard about the white powder incident.” Allan drops that nugget casually into the conversation. “Wondered if Faez sent it as a shot across the bows or by someone else to warn you to watch out. Seems like a warning, so I agree that an assassination isn’t likely.”
“If I had to guess, I think the goal would be collateral damage in a bombing attempt. We know Faez for that sort of attack rather than targeting an individual. Of course, if the plan is revenge for the death of his brother, he might want to kill me face to face. But you said there is no sign that he’s in London.”
“We haven’t turned up anything so far, but he could have come in on a forged passport. MI5 and Special Branch have been looking into connections he has with several cells.”
The ensuing silence makes my neck itch. I check my watch. Time to go.
* * *
“I want him fired.” Clay’s command carries a note of finality.
After my encounter, with Allan, I don’t need this. JL and I sit in GSU’s offices in London, before I meet virtually with the team. Through the screen, I watch Jarvis fiddle with his pen while I toy ideas about how to answer.
Before I can say anything, Jarvis tries to paper things over. “It was a lapse of judgment on his part.”
Clay hits the table with his fist. “A lapse of judgment. Is that what you call it?” He can barely suppress his rage.
“I agree that he should have informed us when the problem cropped up. But …” Clay turns from the screen to glare at me. I hold up my hand to forestall the next explosion.
“He is one of our most valuable team members.” I hurry on before Clay can respond. “We have two priorities. One is to either fix or rewrite the software. The second is to find the culprit. Letting anyone go will not forward our second priority. My recommendation is to reprimand Erik, start working on a plan for the software, and figure out how Jarvis is going to flush out the culprit.” I lean back in my chair, exhausted from a day full of confrontations.
Clay inclines his head slightly, a grudging nod of agreement. Jarvis lets out all the air he’s been holding in for the last minute. “I’ll leave you to it then. Keep me in the loop, Jarvis.” Then he looks straight into the screen. “I’ll see you on-screen tomorrow, Max, for the meeting with the banker.” He walks out of the room.
Elena’s voice is audible in the background. “You can have them come in now,” she says to the admin on the other side of the door.
