Close Call by Stella Rimington Read Free Book Online Page B

prepared,’ he added, glancing at her bag.
    ‘Good morning,’ she replied, her heart sinking as she noticed that Bruno was carrying a black leather valise. It looked as though wherever she was going, he was going too.
     
    In Andy Bokus’s office in the CIA suite of rooms behind the locked and alarmed steel door in the Embassy, a plate of oversized bagels and cream cheese was set out on the table. ‘Help yourselves to breakfast,’ said Andy, waving his hand at the plate. ‘Coffee’s over there.’
    Fane shuddered slightly at the sight of the bagels, and from the corner of her eye Liz caught Bokus’s grin. Liz enjoyed watching Bokus and Fane playing a game with each other. It was a game that neither acknowledged but she suspected both understood. In Fane’s presence Bokus played up his roots as a son of humble immigrants – his grandfather had been a coalminer in the Ukraine and his father had landed on Ellis Island at the age of sixteen with nothing but the clothes he stood up in. Bokus senior had ended up running a gas station in Ohio and making enough to put Andy through college. Andy was bright, or he wouldn’t be where he now was, heading the CIA station in London. But he didn’t like London and he didn’t like most of the Britishers he met. And in particular he didn’t like Fane, who struck him as snobbish, self-satisfied and devious. So to Fane, Bokus presented himself as rather stupid and very uncouth, hence the enormous bagels. Fane responded by shooting his cuffs and adopting an exaggeratedly public school drawl and a patronising manner.
    How much of all this psychological drama Bruno was following Liz didn’t know. He was contentedly munching a bagel, seemingly oblivious. But she knew that you could never tell with Bruno.
    ‘Well, I’ve got things you folks need to know,’ said Bokus. ‘We’ll go down to the Bubble.’  The Bubble was the secure room in the bowels of the basement, purpose-built to foil any attempt at eavesdropping. It always struck Liz as strange and illogical that, as the main threat of eavesdropping in London must come from the British intelligence services, the Agency conducted its most sensitive conversations with the British in their most secure room.
    The door of the windowless room closed with a pneumatic hiss behind them and they sat down on padded benches around a central table. The faint hum of the high-frequency-wave baffler had a rather soporific effect on Liz and she hoped that the hastily convened meeting was going to produce something worthwhile.
    ‘Geoffrey, you and Bruno know something of what I’m going to say, but I’ll just recap for Liz here. We recently sent an officer to Sana’a. He had one objective, to make a quick pitch to a highly placed official who’d been making it pretty obvious to the Commercial Counsellor – a State Department man – both that he was in the arms business and that he could be bought. So we sent young Miles Brookhaven. You all know him from his time here.’ He grinned at Liz; she pretended not to notice. ‘He made a quick pitch and it came good. The guy is now signed up. He’s going to give us stuff on arms supplies going through Yemen, to rebels and jihadis. As you know we’re particularly looking for anything coming out of Europe and the States.’
    Fane shifted in his seat, unwrapping his long legs and crossing an ankle over a knee. He clearly found the narrow benches uncomfortable but, more importantly, he couldn’t bear to let Andy Bokus talk for more than a few minutes without interrupting. ‘I mentioned to Elizabeth that you thought young Brookhaven was making progress,’ he said.
    ‘Yes. He’s done quite well.’ He looked at Liz, ‘You heard he had a rough time in his last posting? Quite badly injured.’
    ‘Yes. I heard.’ Liz was wondering when he was going to get on to whatever had brought them here.
    ‘So,’ said Bokus. ‘What he’s got from this new source – we’re calling him Donation – is