All That Mattered, Ch. 16

Francine felt faintly ridiculous in the large-paned glasses, but the stylist at the eye salon had insisted they were the height of couture right now, particularly for women who wanted to look intelligent in addition to glamorous.

She’d taken the win. At least the woman hadn’t asked why she hadn’t brought a prescription with her. And the lenses’ tint — which was also supposedly fashionable — probably kept her eyes from giving too much away. The rest of the disguise had been easy enough to put together, including the counterfeit press pass. The novelty of an American reporter who actually spoke fluent French without accommodation would get her the rest of the way.

Now, she sat across from a senior attaché in the embassy, sipping on espresso while she concluded her interview. “So you’ve hired a consultant to harden your security in both the Paris headquarters and in your embassy here.”

“Yes,” said the attaché. “We actually hired an American company, as it was. But they are the same company used by your own embassy, so they certainly had a good recommendation. Not to mention having been vetted through your channels, which should reassure you.”

She offered a not-quite-insincere smile. “Was there a particular reason the French Diplomatic Corps chose to take this project now, Monsieur Vautrin? You could have done this last year, or you could have postponed it until next year.”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly. “It was the right time.”

“I see. And you’re certain you’re protected against — what did you call them again?”

“Cyber-attacks. Yes, Mademoiselle. We are quite sure. As for the timing, everything is cyclical, of course. It simply was our turn this year.”

“Of course.” Francine set her cup down so she could make notes on her pad. “And the firm’s name again?”

“Science Applications International. I believe you use the initials SAIC in English.”

She pretended to check her notes. “Was there evidence of any security intrusions prior to the contractor starting work on your system?”

Vautrin only went still for the briefest of moments, but it was enough.

“An anomaly,” he said. “Not an intrusion. Just…something that didn’t belong.”

She cocked her head. “A transmission of some type?”

“Non. A pattern. Repeating. The consultants described it as similar to a radio code no longer in common use. Something old. Nothing of consequence.” He paused. “We simply prefer not to be careless.”

Francine underlined the word anomaly twice, made a note in shorthand about the timing, and then capped her pen. “Of course. That concludes my questions. Do you have any for me?”

“Non,” he said again as he rose and took her hand. “This was my pleasure, Mademoiselle Dettman. Do return anytime.”

“I might. Thank you again, Monsieur.”

Francine waited until she was a full block and two turns away from the French embassy before finding a pay phone and dialing a number from memory. “Not a clean line. Is Scarecrow there?”

“He’s in a meeting downstairs,” said Amanda from the other end. “I think it’s about you. Should I have him call you?”

“Please,” she replied. “I have something for his case — or is it your case too?”

“It is, but I can’t get away. Lee was pretty…” Amanda trailed off. “Agitated when he left, so depending on how the meeting goes I can probably talk him into taking a walk.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Francine. “About me, huh?”

“Not a clean line,” reminded Amanda. “I’m not sure all the heat’s out of the kitchen, either.”

Francine’s pulse quickened, but she kept her voice even. “Understood. I’m headed for my usual location. I’ll wait for your call there.”

“Soon as we get a chance,” promised Amanda as she hung up.

She forced herself to take even breaths as she crossed to the curb and waved down a taxi. Work first. Worry later.

---

There was something off about his supervisor’s tone. Douglas wasn’t sure it was worth worrying about, so he continued with his verbal report. “After my explanation about the data architecture, Melrose agreed that he needed specialized help to harden the Agency’s systems. He’s asked me to assist with recruitment and selection, including soliciting my recommendations about any current agents who would be well-suited to the job.”

He could hear a soft clicking on the line that told him this call was being recorded, but he’d expected that. “Did you make any recommendations?”

“Yes, I did. Francine Desmond and Nancy Zusterakos. The latter’s sometimes called Agent Zeta.”

A brief burst of static sounded before his MI6 supervisor’s voice came back onto the line. “Didn’t you mention that Desmond had been put on leave?”

Douglas sighed. “Yes. But I’m assured by several reliable sources that her recent behavior isn’t her norm.”

“Which ones?”

“Several of the other agents. Including, but not limited to, Zusterakos and Melrose.”

“What specific information,” the supervisor asked carefully, “have you given the Americans?”

At that, he frowned. “As I understand it, the Americans are our allies. I didn’t withhold any information in my explanations about database architecture. The database in question was one of theirs, not one of ours.”

“They are our allies,” his supervisor confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean they need to know everything about our information security. I’ll remind you that GCHQ’s work is classified.”

“I know that.” Douglas tried not to sound peevish. “And I’ve no intention of giving the Americans specifics of our internal arrangements. But I didn’t realize the techniques themselves were also considered privileged information. All I’ve disclosed are techniques known to any competent systems specialist — civilian or otherwise.” Despite his attempts, he heard an edge in his tone and forced it away. “I apologize. My point is that I’ve disclosed nothing proprietary, nor do I intend to do so inadvertently.”

“Do not forget that this is a temporary assignment. You remain in service to Her Majesty. That must be your first loyalty.”

Now he was frankly irritated. This had been a competitive placement, not a favor. “Never for a moment.”

“Very well. Have you any other information to report?”

“Not at this time. I’ll report again as scheduled.”

“We’ll expect the call. In the meantime, do think twice before you make any more recommendations.”

After hanging up, he stared at the notepad and pencil in front of him. Ordinarily, he took notes during his check-ins and occasionally wrote down action items afterward. This time, the paper was blank.

Abruptly, he remembered the one item he’d forgotten: Lee Stetson was a distant relative.

No, he decided after another moment. That’s personal information MI6 does not require. At least, not until after I’m back in London.

The thought felt vaguely unpatriotic. Recalling the strained tone of the call, he decided it was justified. There was no need to raise an alarm that might not be warranted.

Standing up, Douglas brushed himself off before retrieving the white-noise machine he’d set up in this small office. He wasn’t trusting the Americans implicitly, but at the same time, he hadn’t been wrong that they were allies. What, then, had so unsettled his supervisor? The fact that he had stopped criticizing Melrose outright? That he was willing to consider the possibility of having misjudged Desmond? Something else entirely?

He adjusted his cuffs, smoothing his jacket sleeves. There wasn’t any way to find out for sure. Best not to dwell on it unless and until it came up again.

As he left the office, the paper on the desk remained blank.

---

The printing on the paper in front of him was so dense it might as well have been camouflage. There was no way he was pulling out a magnifier with an audience. At least, not this audience.

“I don’t have all day, Melrose.”

“And I never sign anything I haven’t read,” he countered with a level look at Dr. Smyth. “But you can come back later and pick it up, if you’d like.”

“Nothing doing. This is Code Vermilion.”

Billy took his glasses off. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“Of course not.”

“And why in the world would someone slap a Vermilion on a personnel file?”

“When 1600 Penn got hold of the situation, after hearing from some very unhappy ambassadors.” Smyth paused. “No arguments, Melrose. It just needs your John Hancock.”

“No.”

Smyth went still. “Are you refusing?”

“Until I’ve read it through for myself? Yes, I am.” He could feel the skin under his collar beginning to heat up, but he ignored it. “There is nothing that needs my signature that isn’t worth my time to read.”

“You’re telling me you go over every one of your division’s expense requests with a fine-tooth comb?”

“This is not an expense report.” He closed the file with a snap. “This is you trying to sanction one of my people for actions that, the last time I checked, were legal.”

“That appears to be a matter of opinion. It’s a done deal, Melrose. Sign.”

“No, sir. And I’ll be happy to explain the reasoning to your superiors if you need me to.” He paused. “You want to put Francine Desmond on ice? You’ll do it without my cooperation, at least until I have a chance to review this.”

Billy had never seen Dr. Smyth’s face take on a flush before. “That’s orders from on high.”

“Orders to you. Not to me.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” retorted Smyth. “You want to go through and look for loopholes. Keep Desmond with the Agency.”

He took a deep breath and counted to three before responding. “Desmond is an asset to this Agency and you know it. So do I.”

“She’s become too much of a liability.”

“To the Agency, or to you?”

Smyth’s face darkened another few shades. “That’s a rickety bed you’re building, Melrose. Be a shame if you had to lie in it anyway.”

Careful to keep his movements smooth and controlled, Billy came to his feet. “Is that a threat?”

The director responded with a sphynx-like smile, although the hand that held his cigarette trembled. “For want of a nail, the whole kingdom was lost.”

“Desmond has saved my life more than once. She’s pulled nearly every agent on this floor out of some sling or another.” He lowered his voice. “I will not sign off on her termination unless and until I have a chance to read the orders myself. Especially if it’s eyes-only above her level to begin with.” He paused. “What exactly isn’t she allowed to see on this, and why not?”

“Yours is not to reason why, Little Boy Bluenote. You’d do well not to improvise.”

Billy felt his fists clench. “This isn’t improvisation. This —” he indicated the paperwork “— is a cover-up and I will be damned if I play along. You want to terminate her? Then do it in the open. Call her in for a formal board. Don’t hide behind a Code Vermilion!”

“There is,” said Smyth, his voice like silk, “no reason to air dirty laundry.”

His hand hit the desk before he realized what he was doing. “There is every reason to give my agents due process!”

“Due process is for the courts.”

“Due process applies everywhere!” retorted Billy. He only belatedly realized he was shouting. “What the hell are you hiding, Smyth? Because you wouldn’t push this hard if you were on the level! You can’t just suspend procedure because it might be inconvenient. Not with my name on it!”

Smyth picked up the folder. “Very well. We’ll simply proceed without it.” He paused. “Then we’ll see whose names end up appearing where, when it’s all over. You should be careful, Melrose. For all you know, there’s a Vermilion file about you too.”

A less-than-professional retort formed, hot and reckless. He managed to swallow it just in time. “You have no cause for anything worse than reassignment. For either of us.”

“That remains to be seen,” was Smyth’s exiting line.

Billy sank down into his desk chair, feeling the sweat gathering at his hairline and his hands beginning to shake. He took another three long breaths, reached for the antacids in his drawer, and did not allow himself to think until he’d swallowed them. He simply stared at the closed door for a long moment.

Then he reached for the phone.

No, he realized. Not yet. Smyth had overplayed his hand, but timing was everything. And this wasn’t the right time.

But, he promised himself as he withdrew his hand, that clock just started ticking.