Jenny had it out with her agent by the Blue Mosque. The cascade of domes was reflected misty-grey in the surface of a pond as children chased a spinning top around the water.
“Do I need to replace you, then?” she began.
Medcalf flushed with worry. “What the hell? No, of course you don’t need to replace me. Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m not sure I trust you anymore. What were you playing at back there?”
“Look, I was curious, ok? Aren’t you? I mean, this is the weirdest job I’ve ever been on. Why would MI6 give a toss about the ancient Etruscans?”
Oh, Jenny was curious all right – the intrigue was hot in her throat. A commotion interrupted her thoughts. Two tourists were attempting to purchase the spinning top and the children had become little businessmen, faces earnest as they haggled up the price.
“I don’t like it when members of my team hide things from me,” said Jenny. “Alarm bells start ringing.”
Medcalf’s head shrank into her shoulders. “I was embarrassed, ok? Because this operation is clearly fecking mental, right? I thought you’d laugh if you knew I was actually reading up on the history. It would be like …” she sought an analogy. “It would be like us investigating a spate of crop circles and me spending my time off logging on to UFO fansites.”
“Nevertheless, this cock-and-bull story about emailing your family – I just can’t have it. Lies are our stock in trade. If we aren’t able to trust each other then we’re lost.”
A deal had been struck with the urchins and a fistful of lira was produced; the leader of the pack wound the string around his toy like a curator handling a Fabergé egg.
“I don’t think you can continue on this job,” said Jenny quietly. “Yes, I’m intrigued, and off the record I agree this whole project is totally whacko and Charlie must be mad wasting our time on it. But my opinions are irrelevant. You can see how worked up he is about the whole thing. My handling must be above reproach.”
“Please.” Tears were in Medcalf’s eyes. “It was a moment of madness. If you send me home it’ll go on my file forever.”
“I need total integrity from my agents. I’m sorry.”
Medcalf began sobbing. “I’m such a messed-up bitch. Like to think I’m the hard case, huh? Well, look at me now. I didn’t cry at my own dad’s funeral, but screw up my career and I’m blubbing like a schoolgirl.”
Jenny could make out every detail of the mosque in the pond; a fish broached the surface and the reflection shimmered away like a lost belief.
“I know how you feel,” she said at last. “It does it to you, this job. You forget what’s important. Friends, family.”
“At least you’ve still got a job. I might as well ask for my P45 with fibs on my record. They’ll bump me right down to the post-room.” Medcalf laughed. “Massive black mark against my name and it happens on the most ridiculous operation ever.”
Jenny knew she should do what needed to be done. Get rid, get someone else in and move on. If she wanted to be in Charlie Waits’s shoes one day she had to be ruthless in these situations. But something Medcalf said had got to her – that bit about not shedding a tear at her father’s funeral, yet weeping for her job. It had opened a window onto a life of ambition.
As Jenny watched the mosque reform itself she thought of her mum, trapped in that ward and staring at oblivion. She thought of her friends, giving up on her one by one. And she thought of her engagement.
“I never even see you,” Marc had shouted in that final row. “All you care about is your wretched job.”
More damning still: “You’re just no fun.”
The pond had regained its mirror surface.
“I’m not going to send you back,” she said.
An important decision.
“Thank you so much,” Medcalf gushed. “You’re a friend, a real friend.”
“I hope so. I could probably do with one too, you know.”
Medcalf was beaming. “I tell you what, when this job’s over let’s go on the lash in London, just me and you. Come on, you’ll enjoy pretending you’ve got a life. Ministry of Sound perhaps, somewhere with decent house music.”
It was hardly Jenny’s scene, but it had been years since she’d had such an offer. And Medcalf’s enthusiasm was infectious.
“Sure,” she said, grinning too. “Why the hell not?”
Before the Ulsterwoman could reply Jenny’s phone began ringing.
“I think you’ll want to see this,” Guilherme began.
“See what?”
“They’ve found something.”