Rules of Vengeance

76

One hour later, Sir Anthony Allam, director general of MI5, picked up the phone and called Frank Connor. “Your girl just turned up.”

“Where?”

“The La Reine nuclear power plant in Normandy. She tried to bring off some kind of incident to paralyze the country’s nuclear grid. Wanted to blow the place to the high heavens. Damn near succeeded, too.”

“Do you have her in custody?”

“No,” said Allam. “She escaped.”

“Dammit,” said Connor.

“The French police have issued a nationwide alert for her arrest. Interpol is cooperating as well.”

“Little good it’ll do them. She’s a ghost, that one. They’ll never find her.”

“Perhaps,” said Allam. “But we do know that she was working for Sergei Shvets of the FSB. Turns out she was Russian, but then, you must have known that all along.”

“Of course I knew. I brought her into the fold eight years ago. Hard to believe she went back to them.” Connor sighed. “The whole thing is my fault. If only my men hadn’t botched the job in Rome. I don’t like leaving a mess.”

“French intelligence has Shvets in custody. Apparently he was supervising the operation himself. We managed to track him to a safe house in Paris and nabbed him there. We’re keeping the news quiet until the prime minister speaks to the Kremlin.”

“I wouldn’t give two nickels for his chances back home.”

“Be that as it may,” continued Allam, “your actions these past days in London have been nothing short of disgraceful.”

“Emma Ransom betrayed Division,” said Connor. “I did what needed to be done. My apologies if I stepped on any toes. You don’t have to worry any longer. I’m flying out tonight.”

“Safe travels. I’ll let you know how things turn out in France.” Allam paused, staring at the clock on his wall. He’d been on an unscrambled line for over two minutes now. He hoped it would suffice. “Oh, Frank, any idea where she might have gone?”

“Who knows? Like I said, she’s a ghost.”

Frank Connor hung up the phone. The connection wasn’t bad, considering he was kilometers from the nearest tower. A wave lifted the schooner and he grabbed at the wheel to steady himself. One hand for the boat, his father had taught him. The cardinal rule of sailing. Off the port bow, the coast of France was still visible, and, far off in the haze, La Reine ’s massive white dome.

“So,” he said, handing Emma Ransom a towel. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet,” she answered, drying her hair. “It all depends on what happens now, doesn’t it?”

Connor patted her on the back. “Yes, Lara, I suppose it does.”

“My name is Emma,” she said. “Emma Ransom.”

Connor nodded. He knew better than to argue. It was natural for agents to grow emotional at the end of an assignment, and this one had been tougher than most. “You won’t try to reach him.”

Emma looked at Connor, then quickly away. “No, I won’t.”

“He can never know.”

“I understand.”

Connor smiled, and said some words about duty and country and the price that they in their profession had to pay. They were trite, and he’d said the same things a hundred times before, but still he believed them. Every word.

Emma Ransom shook her head and gazed at the distant shoreline. “Hey, Frank, shut up and drive the boat.”