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“Your good health.”

“And yours.”

“Why not an official visit?” she asked.

The camera studied the face of the woman opposite it. Blonde hair, carefully dyed and styled, dark eyes made darker by her make-up, bright red lips, a brave choice for an ex-smoker, but no sunshine rays of colour gave her away. Her face moved freely, no fillers interfering with her reactions, masking her years of intelligence training.

Luke watched Gordon place his glass on the table beside them and withdraw a folder from his briefcase.

“Bit early for that. Still laying the foundations. I wanted to run something past you.”

“Our remits don’t coincide, Gordon. You should go through your—”

“Our remits are perfectly aligned, we all have the security of the country at the heart of what we do.” He laid two photos on the table, turning them around so she could see the faces. “These people mean anything to you?”

“Ambassador Hunter Malone, of course. But killed on foreign soil, that’s nothing to do with MI5 and, being an American national, nothing to do with Six.”

Gordon leant forward to retrieve his whisky and the camera’s line of sight showed the other photo, Tony Banks.

“He’s deceased too, here in the UK.”

“People die here all the time, it’s not a matter for the security services.”

Gordon’s index finger tapped the man’s photo, “induced heart attack. Then there’s this man,” another photo joined those of Banks and Malone, “a Duncan Leadbetter, who hasn’t been seen since last month. There are links between them and her,” he laid down another photo, “him, him, all of them.” He filled the table between them with seven photos.

The Director General of MI5’s gaze slid over them, dismissive. “And this concerns me or the service how?”

“The links are strong enough to suggest these aren’t accidents.”

“You want to share your intel.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is there a hit for hire organisation operating on British soil?”

Luke leant closer to the screen in front of him.

Gordon filled the silence while Bailey sipped her drink. “We don’t need to insult each other’s intelligence by pretending they don’t exist, that we don’t know about them.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been watching too many spy movies.”

“You must have eyes on the most troublesome.” Again Bailey thought she’d out-stubborned her guest. He addressed his whisky. “Me seeing you like this, off the record, gives you plausible deniability,” He raised his glass to her, took a sip, “I’m covering your arse for you. If I went through official channels, well, we know how messy that would get with all the oversight.”

“If such a thing were happening, anything on British soil would be MI5’s remit, not yours.” She enunciated her words a little too roundly. “Is there any proof these aren’t just random deaths?”

“That’s why I’m asking.” Gordon leant forward, “We need your help to investigate this. While we believe its roots are abroad, it’s playing out here on our home stage.”

Luke peered at the camera feed. There it was. Her eyes tightened, just slightly. Very accomplished, Ms Bailey. Had her guest seen it?

“Do you have assets that could monitor these others?” Gordon was saying. “They’re all British, on home territory.”

She looked at the photos again, back at Gordon. “I’d need some credible intel that their lives are in danger before I could consider deploying anything, we’re all stretched.”

Gordon finished his whisky, took his time putting his glass down, collecting up his photos. “Let’s hope none of the others are taken out. Malone could be explained away, maybe Leadbetter needed a break away somewhere and he’ll pop up some time.” He tapped Banks’ photo as he put it on his pile, “This one, this is the one I’m interested in.”

“Why? Anyone with an interest in crime drama knows how to induce a heart attack.”

“Knowing and doing are two different things.”

When Gordon’s lapel camera had filmed him leaving Bailey’s office, Luke terminated the recording and leant back in his chair.

His phone bLeeped, Josiah’s investigations complete. ‘Banks’ not our work, so far as I can tell, loose word is it’s some group calling themselves The Society.’

Except Luke knew it wasn’t.

In the shifting sands of this mission, he didn’t need new orders to tell him his priorities had changed. Most urgent now was to figure out who thought they could get away with impersonating The Society.

Then show them they couldn’t.

24

In the phone box, Charles replaced the handset. Tony, dead. Charles should have gone into hiding yesterday, at the least he needed to accelerate his plans.

He pushed open the door where Lily ambushed him from where she’d been playing imaginary hopscotch to keep warm.

“How much longer?”

It felt like only two minutes since she’d last asked.

“Not far now.” At least this time it was true. “It’s just down here.”

Charles led her down the turning to the industrial estate that housed his lab and office, put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait.” He could hear an alarm. “You wait here.”

“By myself? You’re going to leave me, a girl, on my own in this deserted place without my phone? Seriously? Do you ever watch the news?”

What was he thinking? She was right, that wasn’t a solution. “Stay close.”

Lily huffed. “I’m trying to.”

She walked beside him over the grassy corners to the entrance and while he led her to the back quarter of the site. The alarm got louder with every step. They must have triggered the burglar alarm getting in. No automatic response—he didn’t want anyone looking at what he was doing—but the thought there might be may have chased them away.

Charles knew his lab was under surveillance, as if he’d installed the cameras himself. The man who watched was only too aware of the hold it had over him. Partly why he gave him unlimited funds to pursue whatever piqued his intellectual curiosity, whatever could turn a good profit for both of them. Every scientist’s lottery win Charles thought he’d already paid the price for.

Until now he’d thought it of no real consequence but with Duncan’s disappearance, with Hunter’s assassination? That meant only one thing, attacks coming

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