A Hostile State by Adrian Magson (reading eggs books txt) 📗

the country’s resources to deal with them.’ She put the jeep into gear and moved out into the flow of traffic. ‘And the sad thing is, even if they wanted to, there’s precious little for them to go back to.’

It made my problems seem almost minor by comparison. At least I had a means of getting out of the country, which the refugees did not without considerable risk. As we continued north, passing more military trucks and local traffic, I saw other settlements and camps along the way, some with a solid building as a focal point, and clear signs of order in the layout.

‘Aid agencies at work,’ said Isobel, reading my mind. ‘That one’s new … Médecins Sans Frontières, I think. There are plenty more. MSF has the political muscle to resist getting pushed around too much, but even that’s no guarantee.’

Moments later, as we rounded a hillside we ran into a roadblock.

ELEVEN

Lindsay Citera was enjoying a late salad lunch in the CIA Langley comms section cafeteria when a tall, elegant woman approached her table, carrying a tray.

‘Mind if I join you?’ the newcomer asked, sliding effortlessly into a seat across from Lindsay, bringing with her hint of expensive perfume. Her tray held a bottle of water, a thin sandwich and an apple, the standard low-calorie lunch of figure-conscious champions.

Lindsay nodded and drank some apple juice. She didn’t need to look around her to see that the cafeteria was quiet, with a lot of empty tables; maybe the woman needed company, although she doubted it.

Carly Ledhoffen was in her early forties, tall and willowy, with enviable legs and the kind of high-end dress sense that seemed to get her invited to all the ‘right’ parties, according to the sisterhood washroom cat-chat. Employed in the agency’s Directorate of Support, she was reputed to have private family means and a cool apartment in Woodley Park, although nobody was sure where the family money came from. She was smart, with a bagful of degrees including law and mathematics, and had been around in the agency for a good while occupying a vague but clearly middle-management role. Like many other government organizations the CIA had a level of pecking-order snobbery, and ‘Laid-often’ as she was known down-river, was reputed to play it like a flute. Nobody had proof of anything to substantiate the nickname, but all agreed that she certainly had a talent for sucking up to people of influence. The fact that she rarely appeared to speak to anyone outside her own tight circle unless her work demanded – and certainly not to low-graders like Lindsay – made this approach unusual.

‘It’s Lindsay, right?’ Ledhoffen uncapped her bottle of water and took a tiny sip, eyes flicking around at the adjacent tables, all unoccupied. When she looked back at Lindsay, her gaze was piercing. ‘Comms section.’

‘Citera. Correct,’ Lindsay confirmed, and felt a ripple of nerves. She knew enough about the Directorate of Support to know they dealt with internal security among other things, and wondered if Ledhoffen had sought her out on some obscure kind of fishing trip. Why on earth would she be of interest to them … unless it was considered that she had stuffed up in some way?

‘Uh-huh.’ Ledhoffen smiled, showing surface warmth only, as if her facial muscles were merely activated as part of an auto-response mechanism required of the situation, colleague-to-colleague. Then she placed the bottle on the table and looked around, before leaning an inch or two closer as if they were long-time buddies.

‘You’ve probably heard the news,’ she said quietly, ‘about an agency asset burned in Lebanon? There’s quite a storm raging about it upstairs.’ The way she flicked her eyes towards the ceiling, indicating the upper reaches of the organization, was meant to convey that she was, of course, privy to the kind of upper-management scuttlebutt not available to most others on the lower floors. ‘I just wanted to check if there has been any talk about it down here.’

‘I haven’t heard any,’ said Lindsay. ‘I don’t think I’m on the right wavelength for hearing that kind of detail anyway.’ She felt the ripple increase in tempo, and wondered where this was leading. There were always stories circulating, even in this ultra-secret organization or maybe because of it. But she preferred not to be fed by the rumour-mill because that way lay the risk of being seen by senior personnel as indiscreet. And her job in the comms section demanded the highest level of discretion at all times.

‘Really?’ Ledhoffen looked surprised. ‘How strange. I thought all ops division staff would be on top of the latest buzz, seeing as how you’re all … well, pretty closely involved.’

‘Only if it involves a team on an ongoing mission.’ Lindsay wondered how much explaining she should do. Say too much and she could be accused of blabbing; say too little and someone might think she had something to hide. God, was she being paranoid? ‘I’ve been busy in closed-comms sessions elsewhere,’ she said, ‘so I guess I’m out of the loop. Was it anyone we know?’

It wasn’t a question she wanted to ask, in view of what Callahan had told her, but she figured it might look odd if she didn’t show at least a modicum of interest. Without outlets and input gossips don’t have anything to pass on.

Ledhoffen shrugged. ‘I really shouldn’t say.’ She made the zipper gesture across her lips, a gesture Lindsay found oddly childish. Yet the way it was done in a slow, almost teasing motion would probably have some of the male officers around here swallowing their tongues. ‘But the way I’m hearing it, it’s not good news, although I don’t have all the dirty details just yet.’ Ledhoffen gave a ghost of a smile to indicate that she knew of course but really couldn’t divulge anything at this point to anyone in the lower orders.

She was bluffing, Lindsay decided; trawling for details after she’d picked up a hint of something upstairs.