Close Quarters

NINE

A low murmur of voices reached Lindsay Citera over the discreet swish of the air-conditioning in her room deep in the Langley Operations Centre, and she turned away from the notes she’d been making while waiting to hear from Watchman. She automatically checked her desk was clear of unnecessary paperwork. Clutter, she had soon learned, was anathema to the Agency and to be avoided at all costs. And mission notes were the most sacrosanct of material and to be closely guarded at all times.

She recognized Assistant Director Sewell’s easy tones floating along the corridor. He’d given a welcome speech to her intake on her second day at Langley, and like her new colleagues, she’d been impressed by his easy-going air of authority. She didn’t recognize the other voice, however, which was harsher and more commanding in tone, as if the man was on a public platform rather than in the bowels of the Agency. She heard the word ‘Congress’, and he appeared to be making a point about pushing forward recommendations for the next round of budget talks by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.

She switched off the monitors displaying maps of Ukraine and Moldova, along with a bank of local data she was putting together that might be of use to Watchman, such as military movements, trouble spots, secondary roads and local weather updates. Although she had been given a secure unit inside the ops ‘bubble’, surrounded by other similar rooms and personnel, Callahan had warned her that few of her colleagues would resist the temptation to see what she was working on, and that employees of the Agency were as prone to gossip as anyone on the outside. Being responsible for an information leak through canteen chit-chat wouldn’t go down well on only her second day.

She resisted the temptation to push the door shut. She felt certain A.D. Sewell wouldn’t be bringing anyone who hadn’t got the highest level of security clearance down here. In any case she’d already left it too late; slamming the door now would make her look guilty.

The footsteps were close to the door when a soft voice came over the public address system. ‘Assistant Director Sewell, please. Assistant Director Sewell.’

‘I’m sorry, Senator — I have to take this. Can you wait here? I’ll be two minutes.’

‘Of course. Go ahead.’

Sewell’s footsteps receded and Lindsay waited for the inevitable. She heard the soft brush of clothing fabric and turned her head.

The man standing in the doorway was impressively dressed with the groomed air of a senior politician. He was heavily built with greying hair carefully styled and brushed, and his skin bore the tan of the outdoors, as if he had spent time on the water. Probably in a fast yacht off Cape Cod, Lindsay decided.

‘Sir?’ she said, and waited. She couldn’t exactly tell him to go away, since Sewell had left him alone down here and that must mean he had the appropriate level of clearance. But actually inviting him in seemed instinctively wrong. She stood up to present a physical barrier just in case.

‘At ease, miss,’ the man said, and waved a manicured hand. ‘I haven’t come to steal any secrets. I’m Senator Howard Benson; I’m with the Intelligence Community and sit on more top secret committees than I care to think about.’

The name was familiar to Lindsay, and she relaxed. Senator Benson was a regular on CNN. ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t know.’

‘No need to apologize, young lady. Should I call you agent or officer? I never know what terminology people around here like to use these days.’ He smiled, showing a line of perfectly white teeth, and she had the feeling he probably knew exactly what people round here were called. ‘Maybe a first name would be better.’

‘It’s Lindsay, sir.’

‘Well, Lindsay, it seems we were destined to meet, in any case. Assistant Director Sewell was telling me earlier about you and your current task.’ He looked over her shoulder at the monitors. ‘This is a first for you, I understand?’

Lindsay blushed under his steady gaze and the knowledge that she had been the subject of conversation between two such high-powered men.

‘That’s correct, sir. I’m honoured.’

Benson moved through the doorway and into the room, his bulk and authority making it impossible for her to stand her ground. She stepped back a pace, checking that there was nothing for him to see.

He caught her glance and said, ‘Don’t worry, Lindsay, I know what you’re doing here: you’re looking after Watchman. That’s a big responsibility for one so young … and inexperienced.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She told herself not to read too much into the comment or, worse, in the way he was standing so close and smiling at her, and said, ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

Benson turned to a world map on the wall and studied it for a moment, nodding. ‘I’ve been over there myself — Eastern Europe. Interesting part of the world. You ever been?’

‘No, sir, I haven’t.’

‘Of course. Too busy building a career, I suppose. I’ve read your training program assessments. Most impressive, by the way.’ He turned and gave her another warm smile. ‘So how are you getting on with all the terminology and code names? Watchman, for example; heck of a label to work with, don’t you think, when talking to a live human being? What’s his real name?’

Lindsay shook her head. ‘I don’t know it, sir. I haven’t spoken to him yet. And I guess it would be against regulations to ask. Sorry.’

‘Really?’ Benson looked doubtful, and something dark flickered deep in his eyes. ‘I find that hard to believe. It’s pretty unusual for people working together, one relying on the other, especially in such stressful circumstances, not to ask a simple question.’

She hesitated for a moment, then decided the truth was best, even if expressing an opinion. ‘I guess if he asked, I’d tell him. My first name, anyway.’

‘Of course. But wouldn’t that also be against regulations?’

She shrugged. ‘He’s a colleague, sir. It might be the right thing to do, depending on circumstances.’ She swallowed hard as she realized that this could count against her when Benson got back upstairs. She sensed an instinctive distrust of this man, influential though he undoubtedly was, and felt a burning desire to get him out of this room as quickly as possible. She couldn’t tell why she felt this way, only that she knew he was trying to intimidate her into talking about what she was doing.

‘But he’s not really one of us, is he?’ Benson rocked back and forth on his heels, eyes on the far wall, his tone almost disinterested. ‘He’s a contractor — although I suppose you knew that.’

‘No, sir. I didn’t.’ Lindsay decided to play dumb. She wondered why he was talking like this and asking these questions. Was it some kind of internal test, to see if she would talk about what she was doing within seconds of meeting a complete stranger? If so, it seemed a very high-powered way of going about it.

‘Really? Well, I guess not. He must have an interesting background, to be doing this job, don’t you think?’

‘I … I don’t know, sir. I haven’t seen his profile. You would have to ask Staff Operations Officer Callahan about that, sir.’

‘Callahan.’ His voice turned cool and soft, and she felt sure the temperature in the room dropped a little. ‘Yes, of course. We’ve met. I’m sure he’ll tell me.’

‘Yes, sir. I mean … I don’t mean to be obstructive, sir. It’s outside my pay grade.’

‘Of course it is.’ He smiled and leaned towards her, his aftershave suddenly close and pungent, followed by a scent of warm peppermint on his breath. ‘But not mine.’ The expression in his eyes and the sudden change of mood was almost malevolent, and Lindsay forced herself not to place her hands on his chest and push him away. ‘Understand me?’

Lindsay said nothing. Her throat was dry and she was suddenly too aware of the threat this man was making, with absolutely no fear of her objecting or arguing back.

‘I carry a lot of influence around here, Lindsay,’ Benson continued, his voice almost a whisper. ‘I’ve been in on more secrets than most people could even dream of knowing and I have friends in the highest places, even and especially the large white building down the street. You know the one?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s … impressive, sir.’

‘Influence usually is. Believe me, in the right hands it has its uses.’ He waved a hand at the room they were in. ‘For example, I could have this facility and everyone in it closed down by noon tomorrow if I chose; I have that much influence. All I need to do is make a single phone call and I could have you — where do you hail from, Lindsay?’

‘North Carolina, sir.’

‘I could have you back in North Carolina checking licence plates for the rest of your days. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, would you?’

‘No, sir.’ She heard footsteps approaching and prayed that it was Sewell, or better still, Brian Callahan. She was finding it hard to breath under this sudden assault on her senses and was closer to panic than she’d ever thought she could be.

‘Good. So, no need to mention our little chat, then.’ With that he turned and walked out just as Brian Callahan appeared, looking puzzled.

‘Is there a problem?’ he queried, before Lindsay could turn away. ‘What was he doing here?’

‘No problem, sir.’ She hesitated, aware that he must have noticed something in her face. She felt sickened at the realization that she had just been bullied and threatened by a US senator, and wasn’t sure what to do or say. ‘Sorry — his cologne … it was a little too much in this room and made me feel queasy.’

‘Oh. OK. If that’s all.’ He looked at the darkened monitors. ‘He shouldn’t have been here alone, anyway. Looks like you switched everything off, though, so well done.’

‘Thank you. He was … he was asking about Watchman.’

Callahan lifted an eyebrow and looked mildly annoyed. He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I bet he was. Any news from our man?’

‘Not yet, sir.’