It always made Jenny Frobisher smile to see Hollywood’s depiction of a Secret Service incident room. There would be banks of glowing monitors, agents roaming around some 3D-rendered desert, satellites being repositioned at a moment’s notice. The reality was somewhat different, Jenny thought, as she looked about her base of operations. Four computers, four telephones, whiteboard, kettle. The only impressive thing was the view of the Thames. She could make out a guide pointing up at them from the deck of a tourist ferry as he honed his James Bond spiel.
Jenny considered her team. There was Alexander Guilherme – a small, shrewd man whose parents were Sri Lankan émigrés. He was very London, very street; she knew from his file that in the Eighties he’d hung out with New Romantic bands and used cocaine. Paradoxically, MI6 valued such people. By confessing drug use or sadomasochism at the first opportunity, an agent became impossible to blackmail. At that moment Guilherme was in Battersea, dressed in workman’s overalls and removing a window pane from Jake Wolsey’s back door.
Sat in front of her was Jess Medcalf of Belfast: feisty, foulmouthed and flame-haired. Like Guilherme, Medcalf was a party animal, but she was tough too. Her records revealed that as an eighteen-year-old she had beaten up two Catholic teenagers (both male) who’d attempted to assault her. Medcalf’s crime had been wearing a Rangers shirt. One of her attackers ended up in hospital.
The third of Jenny’s team was Edwin de Clerk, a computer boffin back from secondment at GCHQ’s listening post in Cheltenham. He was pale and lank-haired, but a gifted triathlete. De Clerk was also a genius. They had trained together in Gosport; then as now amorous interest radiated from him shyly.
“Ok, folks,” Jenny began. “For as long as this job continues, we work twelve-hour shifts. Edwin’s the computer geek, so he’ll be based here.”
“It’s true,” de Clerk admitted. “I am a geek. That’s why I love this job – I get to be surrounded by people just as geeky as me, all pulling together for a common purpose.”
Jenny felt his eyes linger and averted her gaze. After the travesty of her engagement she had forsworn relationships altogether, at least for the foreseeable future. She had the sense men found her attractive and she would use this to her advantage if the job demanded. But romancing a colleague? Not a chance.
“That means the rest of us will have to take turns keeping tabs on the journalist,” she finished. “One by day and one by night, while the third agent rests.”
“Nice of you to join in with all the sneaking about,” said Jess Medcalf.
“Nothing hacks me off like the boss being cosy and tucked up in bed while I’m up all hours,” said Jenny. “Besides, I don’t know why, but the powers that be have given us way less manpower than we need for a watch like this. We all need to muck in.”
“I’ve already got a tap on his personal mobile and landline,” said de Clerk. “The work phone’s not far off.”
“Just how hard are we going on this dude?” asked Medcalf. “Like, are we tapping his fecking parents?”
“Yes,” said Jenny. “Good thought.”
“And bugging their house?”
“No. Actually … actually, yes. We’ll see if we can spare Alexander to get down there tomorrow. Edwin, how close are we to his emails?”
De Clerk was frowning. “I’ve already got the Gmail account, but the paper’s security is tougher than most. Give me a couple more minutes.”
“Good stuff. Alexander’s putting ears in his flat, and he’s got a little moped – a sky-blue Vespa. We’ll get a tracker on that too.”
Medcalf made furious notes.
“One more thing,” said Jenny. “This is basic stuff, but I want you to all make sure your passports aren’t out of date. Wolsey travels at short notice. His last ports of entry were Paris, Marrakech and Warsaw.”
De Clerk stopped typing. “Jenny, do you have even a clue what this is all about?”
She smiled. “Edwin, as of this moment I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Jenny’s phone bleeped; her smile tightened. Another text from Dad.