6

MI6 HEADQUARTERS

THE RIVER HOUSE

LONDON

Jenna Hartford was leaning back in her chair. On her desk were several pieces of paper, laid out in a row. They contained the details of an operation she had designed.

Different intelligence services are good at different things. MI6 was the world standard-bearer in terms of covert operation design.

A middle-aged woman named Veronica Smythson was MI6’s director general of operations design, but it was Jenna who was the small department’s star. In three years at MI6, she had risen on the strength of her bold, often theatrical operations. Jenna had designed the complicated, brilliant operation to kill Fao Bhang, head of Chinese intelligence. She was also the chief architect of an operation to expose a pair of moles inside MI6 who’d been selling secrets to the Russian government.

The operation in front of her was a simpler affair. MI6 was attempting to recruit a Saudi attorney who acted as a courier between Hezbollah and ISIS. The agent handling the recruitment believed the Saudi was now having second thoughts. Jenna’s operation was originally supposed to be a simple snatch-and-grab. It wasn’t that simple after all. Jenna had spent the night before analyzing various electronic data surrounding the Saudi. She was convinced he’d long since abandoned the idea of running to England. He was escaping—and somehow knew MI6 was coming.

Despite spending all night designing the now somewhat complicated operation, Jenna wasn’t reviewing it. Instead, she was reading, for the hundredth time, the forensic analysis of her husband’s murder. Each time, the report made her heart ache as she thought of Charles in the very moment the bomb went off. It was as if she needed the pain to make her feel less guilty. Of all the professions she could have chosen, why did she choose intelligence work? And why had she let Charles borrow her car that morning? For six long months now, the questions kept occurring and reoccurring in her head as she thought about the sight of the flames and fire on the street below the window of their flat—and her husband incinerated within.

She studied the summary:

TOP SECRET

MI6 CODE

77.c.5Tx

WITH MI5 SPECIAL UNIT

AFTER ACTION INVESTIGATION AND ANALYSIS:

CHELTENHAM BOMBING—4-APRIL

[NOTE: INVESTIGATION IS ACTIVE]

SUMMARY: Until further evidence is developed, the preliminary conclusion of the committee to investigate the events of April 4 at Cheltenham Mews is inconclusive. The explosive used was SEMTEX. Analysis of residue implicates a Philippines manufacturer whose product is widely available throughout the world. Analysis of CCT video is also inconclusive. The investigation is, per order of DG Chalmers, to be kept active and focused on individual motives related to F6-2 Hartford, whose previous actions may have motivated the event.

*   *   *

Why me? she thought to herself as she stared at the top sheet. Fucking, why? She put her hand to her eyes and rubbed them, slowly shaking her head back and forth.

The door to Jenna’s office suddenly opened. A young black man in a dark sweater put his head inside. It was her assistant, Jonas.

“Jenna, the briefing?” he said. He said it scoldingly, but with a tender smile on his face.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. She glanced at the clock on her desk. She stood up, placing the file down.

She had on a pair of tan linen pants and a sleeveless Burberry blouse. Both were wrinkled. The blouse was untucked.

Jonas scanned her up and down and shook his head. He stepped inside and shut the door. He walked toward her.

“Your hair is a mess,” he said. “Did you sleep here again?”

“No,” she said, lying.

“You’re a bad liar. You were wearing that same outfit yesterday. Where’s your brush?”

“I don’t have a fucking brush,” she said, her British accent sharp and precise. “Who cares anyway?”

“I do,” he said.

Jonas stood in front of Jenna and reached forward with both hands, running them through her hair from front to back several times, trying to straighten it out.

“There,” he said.

He pulled his sweater off and handed it to her.

“Put this on. We’re the same size. It’s Paul and Shark. It’s unisex.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Jenna. She pulled the sweater down over the blouse. It fit well.

“Brilliant,” said Jonas. “Now get going.”

Jenna started to walk to the door.

“Wait,” he said. He reached to her desk and grabbed the operation design. “Might be a good idea to bring this.”

Jenna took it from him and looked briefly in his eyes, saying nothing. She walked to the door and stepped out.

*   *   *

Inside the operations briefing room, half a dozen individuals were already seated, including her immediate supervisor, Smythson, and Derek Chalmers, the head of MI6. When she stepped inside, the conversation stopped. Jenna said nothing. Instead, she took a seat at the end of the table and looked with a blank expression at those seated around it. All eyes were on her.

“What?” she asked. “I’m sorry I’m late. I … I lost track of time.”

Smythson stood up and walked around the table, coming up behind her. She reached forward and, without asking, took the operation briefing from Jenna. Standing behind her, she read it over. After a minute, she handed it back.

“Needlessly complicated,” said Smythson. “This is an exfiltration. We have assets in-theater. We know he’s going to be at the train station at sometime between twenty and twenty-two hundred. The car is positioned outside. Airport, flight to London. Frankly, we didn’t even need an architect on this one.”

Smythson dropped the paper down on the table.

Again, there was a period of quiet as all eyes went back to Jenna.

“Why was I asked to bloody well do it then?” said Jenna, staring hard at Smythson.

“Because it was a straightforward snatch-and-grab you could’ve penned in thirty minutes,” said Smythson. “I was trying to be kind.”

“Maybe I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” said Jenna.

“Oh, for Christ sake, have thicker skin, Jenna,” said Smythson, sitting back down.

“Thick skin?” said Jenna.

“Yes. Don’t take it so personally.”

Jenna paused.

“Fine, I agree we should all have thick skin,” said Jenna. “So I hope you won’t take it the wrong way if I tell you you have no bloody fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Smythson’s eyes grew icy.

Chalmers cleared his throat.

“Veronica, Jenna—” he said.

“Let her finish,” said Smythson, leaning back. “This should be good.”

“If I had written the design as you instructed, the target would have escaped and we’d be out one courier, a man we’ve spent two years and millions of dollars recruiting,” said Jenna.

“Oh, bullshit. How do you know?”

“Because I ordered up two years of Echelons on the man and I spent more than an hour poring through bloody cell taps and emails. Your courier won’t be at the train station. He bought a plane ticket to Cairo. He’s not going to be there! He lied to you. So if we want to take him, my operation is the only way to do it. He needs to be taken at lunch—today. Otherwise we can all forget it. He’ll be gone.”

Jenna paused and stared at Veronica.

“I know how thick your skin is, Veronica,” Jenna said, “so don’t be upset by the fact that your operation would have resulted in the loss of a key MI6 courier.”

Smythson was silent, as was everyone else in the room. It was Chalmers who finally spoke up.

“Give us the room,” he said, looking at Jenna.

Everyone stood up from their chairs and started to leave except for Chalmers, Smythson, and Jenna. Chalmers glanced at Smythson. “You too,” he said. “And run the operation as Jenna designed it.”

Chalmers and Jenna were alone, at opposite ends of the long glass table. After several pregnant moments, Chalmers smiled.

“You pretty well put her in her place, didn’t you?” said Chalmers.

“She deserved it.”

“Does anybody deserve anything, really, when it comes right down to it?” said Chalmers.

“What do you want, Derek?” said Jenna.

“Did you know I was the one who recruited you?” said Chalmers.

“I thought it was Burrows.”

Chalmers shook his head.

“There’s a professor at the university,” said Chalmers, “a man who occasionally marks a promising individual. Anyway, he’d spotted someone, Nicholas something or other. I took him to coffee. Afterwards, he was in the finals of the student union debating competition. There was a large crowd. I went into the back of the auditorium and took a seat to watch our man, Nicholas, in the debate. I figured he would destroy whoever he faced.”

Jenna said nothing.

“Anyway, I watched a young, pretty, brown-haired girl come out onto the stage. She didn’t have any notes. She was a first year at Oxford. Nicholas what’s-his-name was president of the student union. I think everyone expected him to stomp on this young girl.”

“Woman,” said Jenna, barely above a whisper.

Chalmers smiled. “Woman,” he agreed. “But you weren’t having any of it, were you, Jenna Bradstreet Hartford?”

A small smile, the first in weeks, came to her lips.

“I’ve often wondered if I should have just left you alone,” said Chalmers. “After all, you’d be an MP by now. A young Margaret Thatcher, but with beauty.”

Jenna stared at Chalmers for several seconds.

“Are you firing me?” she asked.

Chalmers said nothing. He held her eyes in his gaze.

“No,” he said, finally. “But I’m assigning you.”

“What?” she barked. “Why? I’m the … well, let’s be honest: I’m the bloody well fucking best at what I do.”

“You’re talented, Jenna, no question,” said Chalmers. “But you need a different platform than what MI6 is willing to provide. A broader platform.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ve spoken with Hector Calibrisi and Bill Polk,” he said. “They’re both familiar with your work. You’ll join the Directorate of Operations. They need an architect, badly. Frankly, it’s in MI6’s interest for Langley to have someone with your skills there.”

“And am I obligated to tell you everything? I’m not going to be a rat of yours inside the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“I agree. You work for them and your loyalties are to America, and, hopefully, Britain always.”

“What makes you think I would even consider going to the CIA?” Jenna yelled. “Fuck them. Americans? Fuck all, Derek.”

“You’ll go,” said Chalmers, looking her in the eyes and picking up his water glass. He took a sip. “We’ve leased a flat for you in Kalorama. You’ll be on triple pay. Two years. That should clear your head.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Chalmers grinned.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he said. “I’m giving you a license to kill. At least show a modicum of appreciation, will you?”