Ashe rolled noisily into the tidy village of Cudbury after a speedy drive through Berkshire’s Lambourn Valley. Karla Lindars stood outside her home, The Old Forge, with a sponge in her hand.
‘Do turn that engine off, Toby! Goodness, what a sound! You’ll frighten the ducks!’
‘Karla!’
‘You may kiss me, darling, but I’m covered in muck.’
Karla’s legs were encased in blue jeans, her slim torso barely covered by a short black woollen top, with black bra straps wrapping her shoulder blades. Her perfume was exquisite and her blue eyes glittered like a sun-kissed fjord. Even in household fatigues, Karla Lindars looked stunning.
She eyed Ashe’s car. ‘Haven’t I seen this somewhere before?’
‘Archdeacon’s funeral. Saab 9-3.’
‘Convertible too. Hmm… Rosso Bologna.’
‘Painted specially.’
‘Nice. Engine?’
‘2.8. V6 Turbo.’
‘I prefer it to the Maserati. Come inside.’
Karla placed a pot of coffee on the conservatory table. Ashe pulled out a letter from his jacket and passed it to her. Her sharp eyes took it in with gathering enthusiasm.
‘Happy now, young man?’
‘Hard to take in, isn’t it? They’ve given me the whole department!’
‘I suppose you won’t talk to me now you’re my boss.’
‘You’re my right arm, Karla. Now I can rid myself of impedimenta.’
‘If you mean Messrs Colquitt and Bagot, Toby, I believe they’ve been transferred.’
‘My God, things move fast! I wonder… You don’t know a man called Crayke, do you?’
‘My dear, nobody knows Crayke.’
Within the hour, Ashe had his foot down and was heading for Cranfield University’s campus at Shrivenham, near Swindon, on the Wiltshire–Oxfordshire border.
Cranfield University introduced academic experts to officers of the armed forces. The Shrivenham campus served as the Royal Military College of Science, a leading world centre for research into disaster management, military vehicles, guns, ammunition systems, explosives, chemistry, communications, missile-control systems, solar energy and robotics.
Toby Ashe was given a small office in the elegant brick lecture-room wing of the establishment. He had already appointed Karla as his personal secretary, on the condition he could stay at her place when in the vicinity. Karla accepted, on condition he provide champagne and flowers on every occasion.
A lecture was in progress in Room 7. Lieutenant Commander Adrian Parsons was giving a talk on defending London from terror cells when Ashe gingerly eased the door open. Ashe caught Parsons’ eagle eye as he tiptoed along the back of the lecture hall to the exit. Parsons nodded slightly at the rather Bohemian-looking figure at the back, without interrupting the flow of his troubling presentation.
Once through the exit, Ashe came to a plain white corridor, at the end of which was a double set of fireproof oak doors. A new card-swipe mechanism and a small pinewood plaque were fixed to the wall alongside. On the plaque was written ‘B5(b)’.
Ashe swiped his security card and the doors clicked open.
The office was bare but for a plush black leather seat and a fit-for-purpose desk. Ashe picked up the phone. There was a dial tone. There were also three buttons for different lines: internal, domestic, and security (red of course). The walls were white; there was no window. An adjoining area, suitable for a secretary, enjoyed one high window: fine for ventilation, but poor for daydreaming.