Chapter 39

REID SHOWED UP at the Three Crows at six. He glanced around until he spotted the tall blond man leaning against the bar, one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a petite brunette. Another young woman—this one a redhead—sat on the next barstool apparently enthralled by whatever charming swill Stirling was dishing out. Reid thought about turning around and leaving, but was stuck when his friend spotted him and waved him over.

“Come meet these lovely young lassies, Terrence.”

Reid went over reluctantly. “John, we can reschedule if you’ve made other plans.”

Stirling shook his head. “We were just having a drink while I waited for you.” Stirling looked down at the two women, his face radiating fondness. “I told the ladies that I was having dinner with a very married friend. Didn’t I?”

The redhead dropped down from her barstool and said in an awed voice, “I know who you are. You’re Lord Reid.”

The other girl’s eyes widened as she studied him. “He is, isn’t he?”

Reid looked over at Stirling, mutely begging for rescue.

Stirling frowned. “I’m not liking all the attention you ladies are giving my friend. Married, he is, did you hear me tell you?”

The redhead nodded. “We know who he is. He’s been on the telly. Married to the American girl.” She clucked her tongue. “Scottish girls treat their men better than that.”

Stirling cocked an eyebrow. “I can see it’s time we went in to dinner. Ladies, if you’ll excuse us. Till next time.” He smiled and moved Reid away to where the hostess was waiting with menus.

His friend leaned to him, speaking in a whisper. “Terrence, my boy, you’re starting to steal my thunder with your tabloid appeal. This may be a problem in our friendship. I’m supposed to be the quine magnet.”

“You can have it.”

Stirling inclined his head. “Thank you. I accept. So, speaking of you being married, how is the fair Anne?” Stirling pulled a chair out at the table their hostess had indicated and sat down.

Reid followed suit, now in more of a foul mood than when he’d arrived. He’d hoped to avoid any mention of his wife tonight. But at least his friend had always seemed to accept his irrational attachment to a wife who’d never really been his wife.

“She’s fine.”

“In California still?”

Reid beetled his eyebrows and said nothing. He’d not told his friend anything about what had happened in California.

Stirling sighed. “I’m not blind, min. I see the news. Few of my friends are featured, but lately, you and your lassie have been in the forefront.”

A waitress brought their drinks, took their orders, and left them alone again.

Reid drank his whiskey in silence.

His friend did the same for a time, then finally broke the silence, “You don’t want to talk about her?”

“No.”

“So she stayed in California after all?”

Reid stared down into his glass, the dark honey brown elixir reflecting the light. “She’s here.”

Stirling, obviously surprised, quickly drained his glass. He motioned the waitress to bring another round.

“In town?”

“Aye. She has a job here for a few months.”

They sat in silence again until the new drinks came and Stirling raised his glass. “To Anne finally being in Glasgow.”

Reid looked over at his friend but did not raise his own glass. Nor could he think of anything to say.

Not easily daunted, Stirling tried again. “No toast? I would think that would be good news.”

Reid took a drink, letting the deep thick flavor fill his mouth, knowing that if he could confide in anyone, it would be John Stirling.

Reid had been eight years old, abandoned by his mother, sent to school by his distraught father, knowing no one, and the target for tormenting by other boys who said vile things about his mum, when he’d met John Stirling. They’d formed an instant bond, as only eight-year-old boys can do. Together Reid and Stirling did their best to beat the shite out of anyone who’d dared to bring up the subject of Reid’s mother, which happened with some regularity as the news about his mother running away with her lover spread through the school.

Things hadn’t gotten any easier after his mother had left her lover, coming back to his father with her stomach swollen in pregnancy. His classmates had left Reid no doubt about what she’d done that got the baby inside her. That fight had almost gotten him, Stirling, and the rest of their friends kicked out of school, but Reid’s father had intervened and somehow smoothed things over. Reid suspected money had been involved.

Stirling waded back into the conversational bog. “Anne looked as bonnie as ever on the telly, and I got the impression from the later stories that you two were back together.”

Reid nodded, finishing his whiskey. He couldn’t think of anything to say, even to his best friend. How could he tell him that he’d chosen a wife who’d done to him what his mother had done to his father? It was like some kind of unbelievably horrible cosmic joke.

“But not now?” Stirling emptied his own glass.

This time it was Reid who motioned the waitress for another round. He was silent until his fresh drink arrived. This one he left untouched, pushing it away and taking up his glass of water. “Can we talk about something else?”

Stirling sipped his whiskey. “Of course.”

“We’ve been intercepting some coded communications and we’re having the devil’s own time deciphering them. Darby sent them to Interpol and they’ve come up with nothing. Could you take a look?” Reid took a folded set of papers from his pocket and smoothing them out, passed them and a flashdrive to his friend. While they had been in military intelligence, this kind of work had been Stirling’s specialty. “I think we’re close. We’ve decrypted the transmissions, and been able to trace them unofficially to an Islamic cell in Nigeria. But we’ve not been able to make sense of the messages. We need to get enough to determine the next target—then, at least we’d have a chance of stopping them. Searching in every European city with a university is unmanageably hopeless.”

Stirling nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks.” Reid rubbed his temples. “John, about Anne—I just can’t discuss it right now.”

“Aye, I understand.” Stirling gave the side of Reid’s head a soft slap. “Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks.” Reid doubted his friend actually understood, but, at least momentarily, he felt less alone.

“Order us some coffee.” Stirling said, then pulled out his reading glasses and began perusing the papers Reid had given him.

Reid was on his second cup of coffee before Stirling spoke again. “I get what they’re doing. It’s like in Gibraltar. Like Llanito.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. The language they use there.”

“I know what Llanito is, but what do you mean?” Reid and Stirling had spent their initial posting for military intelligence together in Gibraltar, where Stirling’s natural genius for codes had emerged. Under the guidance of Nelson Schilling, now Deputy General of MI5, Stirling’s talents had resulted in him being conscripted into rewriting the military code books.

“In Llanito, not only is the language already a combination of other languages but they also do code-switching.” He tapped the papers with his finger. “That’s exactly what they did here. Combined languages, then used code-switching.”

“Code-switching?”

“Right. That’s not exactly what it sounds like. It’s referring to language, not codes.”

“Like using a word here and there from other languages?”

“No, it’s more than that. You actually use more than one linguistic variety, keeping the syntax and phonology of each variety intact.” Stirling signaled the waiter. “Let’s order some food to take with us. I need to be somewhere I can set up my computer. I’m pretty sure I’ve got this.”

“Got what?”

“Not what, where. For specifics, I need my computer, but I have some general locations.”

Reid’s mind finally tumbled to what Stirling was saying. He grabbed his friend’s arm. “Where? For God’s sake, where?”

“Paris is first, then London, then Rome, then Brussels, then Edinburgh.”