how much your word counts for at this particular moment.’
‘Hey, I don’t lie. All right?’
‘I imagine that stance poses significant problems for your chosen profession. Deception is inherent to spying, is it not?’
‘I’m not sure if we really have spies any more, at least in the traditional sense.’ She glanced around. ‘I’m an intelligence officer for the CIA. I gather information on the bad guys and sometimes I act on it, or on information supplied to me.’
‘All without a single untruth.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded, exhaling heavily, ‘sometimes I might take a liberal attitude with the truth. But only for the greater good.’
‘How commendable of you.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re trying to achieve with this.’
‘We’re having a discussion about how much your word is worth. Or not. I’m sure you can appreciate how that is pertinent to this conversation.’
‘Listen. I’m playing straight with you. I am. I wouldn’t go through all this to try and BS you.’
‘Very wise.’
Muir glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going to continue, if that’s okay with you?’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘You were supplied with a significant amount of intel on Kooi, of course, so I won’t waste what little time you’ve granted me regurgitating what you already know. The salient part of his bio is that he was responsible for the assassination of an American diplomat in Yemen two months ago, which is why Procter sent you to deal with him. He—’
The waiter appeared outside with their coffees. He smiled as he placed them down on the table. The tiny white espresso cups were ringed with lines of red glaze.
‘Would it make you more comfortable if I explain how I found you?’ Muir asked once the waiter had left them. She tentatively sipped the steaming espresso. ‘Procter figured you’d want to know.’
‘I already know.’
‘How?’
Victor remained silent and drank some coffee. He’d picked up the injury to the top of his left ear in the aftermath of his contract prior to Kooi. Procter, with his considerable power, and insight into events and those responsible for the injury, could have easily found out the specifics. He knew enough about Victor to know he wouldn’t be satisfied with a noticeable scar. Given the uncommon nature of the injury it would have been a relatively simple task for supercomputers and analysts to sift through the patient records of cosmetic surgeons for a man fitting his description.
Muir said, ‘Procter just told me to say “your ear”. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.’
Victor nodded.
‘You’re our third of four ear guys,’ Muir continued. ‘Today marks my third straight week of tracking down men with cosmetic ear surgery within the past twelve months.’
‘Procter’s a good boss.’
Muir nodded. ‘Of course. He’s the best.’
‘Even though I imagine he hasn’t told you he’s doing it, he’s looking after you. There’s a good reason he’s supplied you the absolute minimum of information about me. Do you know why that is?’
She nodded again. ‘So you wouldn’t consider me a liability.’
‘Most people wouldn’t be so careful. They wouldn’t even think about that.’ Victor sipped from his little cup. ‘You should send him a card if you haven’t already.’
‘I sent flowers.’
‘The last victim of Felix Kooi,’ Victor began after a nod. ‘When you say he was a diplomat in Yemen, what you really mean is he was a CIA non-official cover operative, correct?’
She hesitated a moment, then said, ‘That’s classified.’
‘Of course it is, Miss Muir.’ Victor swallowed the rest of his espresso and placed his cup back on its little saucer. ‘And hence I’m afraid to say that you’ve wasted the past three weeks. Because one thing about me that Procter should have made unequivocally clear is my intolerance for the withholding of relevant information. Perhaps, if you would like to know more about why I am so inflexible on this particular issue, you can ask your boss. He knows.’ Victor stood. ‘Thank you for the coffee. It was delicious.’
TWELVE
Andorra la Vella, Andorra
The man with sandy blond hair watched. He’d been watching all day. He would be watching into the night. He would watch the next day. Maybe even the day after that. Nothing but watching.
Some people didn’t like to watch. They got bored with the monotony of it. They grew complacent. They became irritated. They missed details. They didn’t do the job they were supposed to. They were lazy.
Not the man with blond hair. He didn’t get bored. He wouldn’t become irritated. He was never lazy. He maintained focus whatever the hour. However long he’d been watching for. No