22 September
Maggie sat with folded arms across from Jonathan Cole the next morning.
“If this is a joke,” she said, “I don’t find it funny.”
“I can assure you this is far from a joke.” Jonathan bristled and fidgeted in his chair. From the wrinkles in his untucked shirt and the bags under his eyes, the Consul-General didn’t get much sleep last night.
As for Maggie, she slept like a baby once she fell into Ashton’s king-sized bed. Her friend had called an hour ago to let Maggie know the Wallaces were safe and had made their way out the US undetected.
Jonathan’s assistant sat to his left, scribbling notes and keeping his head down, doing what he could to blend into the background and avoid his boss’s wrath. Mr. Cole was like a bear with a sore arse, and that was before he spilled his coffee down himself.
Maggie turned her attention to Danielle, sitting to Jonathan’s right. The day before hadn’t left Maggie without unscathed. Her muscles ached and her skin was covered with several cuts and bruises, but nothing she couldn’t hide under a long-sleeve shirt and some makeup.
Danielle didn’t fare as well. Arm in a sling, she sat scowling in another bland suit, the one from the night before well and truly ruined. The best drycleaner in New York City couldn’t have removed the blood and dirt from that ensemble.
One of her eyes was bloodshot and surrounded by a ghastly purple bruise that ran all the way across to her broken nose. Danielle winced as she coughed, her ribs likely wrapped up tight under her blouse, and left to heal on their own. If Maggie felt any remorse at causing Danielle pain, it was tampered down with the satisfaction that she didn’t appear to have been caught out.
“You lost the witness again,” Maggie spat, putting on a show for her colleagues. She slammed her fist down on the desk and tea sloshed from her cup. “After everything I went through to get Emily Wallace to you, you managed to lose her in less than ten hours.”
“We were ambushed by the Russians,” Danielle said. “They outnumbered us three to one.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t the only one adding some flair to the real story. Then again, Danielle’s pride wouldn’t allow her to admit she had been bested by a detail half her size.
Jonathan mopped his head with a handkerchief and wrung his hands. “The situation is unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” Maggie interrupted, waving her hands in exasperation. “What kind of operation are your running here?”
“I will remind you, Ms. Black, that you are not the authority here. You do not get to question me or my operatives.”
Maggie balked at that, and leaned forward. “Fine, but you can rest assure Director General Helmsley will hear all I have to say about the shocking levels of incompetence from this office.”
Letting her words settle, Maggie kicked her chair back and shrugged on her jacket.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jonathan demanded.
Maggie stopped by the door with a hand on the handle. “You’re on your own with this one. I did what I was sent here to do, and I don’t intend to board your sinking ship.”
“You can’t leave,” Jonathan spluttered. “You haven’t given your full report yet.”
Opening the door, Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll give it straight to the Director General herself. None of you have time to sit around asking me questions. I suggest you all use what time you have left to prepare for your own debriefing.”
Without another word, she walked out of Jonathan Cole’s office and slammed the door. Her work there was done, and it was time to go home.