The Virtuosic Spy 01 - Deceptive Cadence by Kathryn Guare Read Free Book Online Page A

seaside. I’ll sit here and drive, and you sit there and shut up, right?”
    “Yeah, right. Whatever.” He turned to watch the outskirts of London passing by, adding in an audible murmur, “Wanker.”
    He heard a low grunt of amusement, and after a moment, Shelton spoke again in a more temperate tone. “They’re having you down there for training at Fort Monckton. It’s where MI6 sends its recruits to prepare for field operations.”
    “Does Frank do any training?” Conor asked.  
    “No.”
    “He’s just a recruiter?”  
    “No.”
    “Well, what’s he do, then?”
    Shelton’s eyes continued to focus on the road in front of them. His large, square face remained neutral. “Frank’s got his finger in a bit of everything.”
    “Meaning what?” Conor asked.
    “Meaning exactly what I just said, smartass,” Shelton snarled. He pulled into the passing lane, and the police car shot down the motorway. Flipping on the flashing lights, he scowled a warning at him. “Chat’s over, Paddy. Shut it now, right?”
    “Right.” He sighed, and settled back into his seat for the long ride to Fort Monckton.

    T HEY HAD TO cross a golf course to get to it. It was a small detail, but it accentuated Conor’s sense that he had stepped onto the stage set of some absurdist theatre piece. Sitting at the tip of a peninsula overlooking Portsmouth Harbor—mere yards away from the scene where pensioners duffed their way around the sand traps—Britain’s most secretive installation was taking in recruits and training them up to be players in the deadliest game of all.
    They rolled to a stop in the courtyard, and as he stepped from the car, a tall, angular woman with graying blond hair greeted him. She introduced herself with a brisk, utilitarian manner that belied her exotic name—Valencia Mathers— but offered nothing to identify her position within the Fort’s hierarchy. From her smooth blend of deference and authority, he thought she could be anything from the housekeeper to the senior agent in charge.
    She escorted him to his room, which proved a stark contrast to the plush coziness of his suite at the Lanesborough. It was spacious enough but almost devoid of decoration or character. Its austere atmosphere seemed perfectly designed for the nameless recruit whose purpose was to become expert at being nondescript.
    Only one item disturbed the anonymous uniformity. It lay at the foot of the bed, its antique leather shining with incongruous brilliance in the colorless room. At Valencia Mathers’s slight nod of permission, he released the clasps of the violin case and lifted up the instrument inside. Sweeping his fingers over the cinnamon-hued varnish, he peered through the f-holes at the label inside.
    “My God—a del Gesù?” Conor pulled his head back in surprise.
    “Correct,” she replied crisply. “Bartolomeo Giuseppe Guarneri, made in Cremona, 1726. Mr. Murdoch secured it on loan from a private collector. He thought you might enjoy playing it during your stay at Fort Monckton.”
    He studied her with a curious frown. “How long have you had it here?”
    “Mr. Murdoch had it delivered by special courier a week ago.”
    “Did he, now?”
    He turned his attention back to the violin with a private smile. Frank had evidently held a high degree of confidence for the success of his recruitment mission. It was a magnificent instrument, but he wasn’t tempted. The Pressenda demanded his loyalty. He placed the del Gesù back in the case, snapped it shut, and passed it to his aloof hostess with a look of apology. “I’m sorry for the trouble that was taken, and I appreciate the gesture, but please tell Mr. Murdoch it’s one I can’t accept. I won’t be playing the del Gesù or anything else until I’m finished with all this.”
    Valencia Mathers mastered her surprise and accepted the case with a curt nod. “As you wish.”
    She directed him to an informational binder on the desk to obtain an orientation to the