A Hostile State by Adrian Magson (best finance books of all time txt) 📕

It was Lindsay Citera, and she was smiling.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Before I could say anything Lindsay raised a hand and tapped her wrist, mime-speak for ‘do you have the time?’ which I took to be in case anyone was watching. I obliged and went through the motions of checking my watch and telling her, all the time wondering if the Langley-based comms operative I’d worked with before had turned into a CIA field asset without me knowing.

She thanked me with a graceful dip of her head, blushing slightly and pointing at the half-eaten end of the baguette.

‘Sorry,’ she said, keeping her voice down. ‘Callahan sent me to help you out. He said a couple would be more of a cover than a squad of special ops types … even if he could send them. I hope he’s right. Can I have the other end? Only that bread looks great and I haven’t eaten in hours.’

I passed over the baguette and she gave a girlish laugh in a perfect imitation of being taken by surprise, and snapped off the other butt-end. She nibbled at it with grace and waved a hand around us as if discussing the area, the way you do in these awkward social situations. When in France …

‘You’re good at this,’ I told her, and meant it. ‘How’s your field awareness?’

‘Not up to yours. I just got here so everything’s a bit strange, but I haven’t seen anyone who doesn’t appear to fit … apart from some strange guy chewing on a baguette. But he looks like he might be a local, so what do I know?’ She grinned, her nose wrinkling, which made me feel nothing could possibly go wrong from here on in.

‘When did you get here?’ It had been a while since we’d last spoken and although we’d never traded personal details because you don’t in our business, for all I knew she’d got herself a posting to Europe and was now a fixture working out of the US embassy in Paris. Of course I was wrong.

‘Callahan got me on a red-eye from Washington. He got me to book some down-time and said Paris would be ideal for a short vacation.’

‘Big of him. What are your instructions?’ I was pretty sure the CIA wasn’t given to handing out occasional rest breaks to its personnel, and Callahan had to have had some plan in mind involving me and possibly Chesnais.

‘To pick up a package from the airport and meet you here. He sent me the locators a few minutes ago. He said there’s another party due here, too.’ She looked at me. ‘I’m not sure how much of a help he thought I could be.’

‘The cover thing is a good idea. A couple can skate by more easily, especially when the other team is looking for a single traveller. Would there be another reason he sent you?’

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, ‘I got the impression he thought it would be good to get me out of the way for a while. There’s stuff going on back in Langley; he most likely figured he could deal with it more easily if I wasn’t part of the same frame as him.’

‘That’s a good explanation.’ I gestured openly in the direction I was going, continuing the play-acting, and we fell in side by side, two people who’d met, spoken and formed a sort of bond. It happens all the time, all over the world, albeit not to me when I’m working. I just hoped if anyone was watching it looked innocent enough to pass off unnoticed and we could get out of here. ‘What else did he say?’

The downside to his idea was that he’d placed Lindsay in potential danger by aligning her with me. Operational personnel are trained for these kinds of games with plans for routes in and out and well-rehearsed scenarios of what to do if things should go wrong. We all know the risks and how to respond to threats. But telling someone what they should do if they should encounter a difficult situation and expecting them to react positively is a million miles away from live experience and field training. Lindsay seemed pretty relaxed, though, and I guessed she must have undergone some training on the quiet.

‘He said you were to meet the asset here. He wanted me to come along because she’s highly nervous about meeting anyone, so I can take point on that if you wish.’ She gestured ahead of us towards a small path veering off through some trees. ‘Can we go this way? I have something to give you.’

We followed the path and after fifty yards or so Lindsay stopped in the shade of a large beech tree and opened her shoulder bag. Inside was what appeared to be a leather washbag. She unzipped it and revealed the black steel shape of a semi-automatic pistol.

‘Is there any point me asking where you got this?’ I said. I lifted the gun out. It was a SIG Sauer P229. I tucked it into my waistband under my jacket. Now, at least, I felt even better dressed than I already was, with two guns to choose from.

‘A man from our Paris embassy met me off the plane. He handed it over and disappeared. I didn’t even get to thank him; I got the impression he was actually nervous of being seen with me.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ I was willing to bet the man wasn’t from the embassy at all. Diplomatic personnel don’t get involved in passing weapons around like petit fours at a cocktail party. The risk of a diplomatic incident if they got caught is far too high. So-called allies and friendly countries take a dim view of that kind of stuff. He’d probably been a local contractor, the kind I’d used myself on several occasions; non-aligned, independent and trustworthy up to a point as long