Vauxhall Cross, London
ANGELA SCOTT LOGGED off her computer and cleared her desk. There was precious little paperwork on it these days but what there was still went into the Sensitive Documents safe in the cupboard at the far end of her open-plan office. Not everything in the Secret Intelligence Service was unrecognizable from the dingy, brown and grey days of John le Carré.
She glanced at the clocks on the wall. Washington, London, Beirut, Beijing. It was nearly time to attend the HR ordeal she had let herself in for: the CADISC, the case discussion, convened by that irritating man with the trendy specs. Angela’s mind and her attention were firmly rooted on a place ten thousand kilometres away, a former Portuguese colony where she had just sent Luke and Jenny authorization to go ahead with meeting Miss Xinyi. The Service gave its frontline intelligence officers a great deal of discretion in the field but this was a special case. Luke and Jenny were operating on the other side of the world, ‘at reach and at risk’, with none of the normal back-up in place. If something, anything, went wrong the nearest help was a long way off and it was debatable just how much assistance, if any, they could expect from the Embassy in Beijing.
Angela took a deep breath and pushed open the glass door to MI6’s HR department. She had been with the Service long enough to remember when it was called ‘Personnel’. To her, adopting the American term ‘Human Resources’, as the whole country had done, somehow made it feel less personal, not more.
‘Angela, Angela, Angela …’ intoned Nigel Kittle. ‘Do come in and sit ye down.’ He motioned towards a single chair facing a small semi-circle where he sat flanked by two others. She recognized one of them from Legal but the other was a bearded man she hadn’t seen before.
‘This is Keith from Compliance and Procedures. He’ll be taking notes. Clarissa from Legal, I think you know.’
Angela nodded, as she took her seat in front of them. This was starting to look more like an inquisition than a discussion.
‘Right. Let’s kick off, shall we?’ Nigel began. He made a point of looking at his watch. ‘So, just for the record, it is … three minutes past five. A little later than scheduled,’ he glanced at Angela, ‘but no matter, we’re all here now. So, I have convened this CADISC at the request of Ms Angela Scott here—’
‘Sorry,’ Angela interrupted, ‘but you requested it, Nigel, not me. I just came to see you yesterday to let you know we had a missing person on our team.’
Nigel Kittle leant over to Keith. ‘Yes, she came to my office to report this, but without having filled in a Sentinel form.’
Keith, whose shirtsleeves were rolled up, she noticed, stopped writing and raised his eyebrows as if this was the most shocking thing he had heard all year. He gave Angela a long critical look before jotting something down on his notepad.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Angela apologized again. ‘I’m sure there are protocols for this kind of thing but all I’m doing is letting you know we have someone on a live operation who has gone missing. Apparently nobody has told you and I thought you should know.’
She paused, looking from one to another. The only sound in the room came from Keith’s now frantic scribbling.
‘I’m not even in overall charge of this op,’ she added. ‘That would be Felix Schauer.’
‘Aha!’ pronounced Nigel, as if he had just discovered a major flaw in her argument. ‘You see, Director Critical has already been in to see us.’
‘He has?’
‘Yes. And he was quite specific that while he was operationally in charge, any issues of human welfare were under your jurisdiction. I’m afraid the buck stops with you on this one, Angela. I’m hoping – we’re all hoping – we won’t have to escalate this but let’s just see how the next hour goes, shall we?’