The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,49

looked back at the corner, seeing a darkened loading dock set into the warehouse wall. He must have hidden inside it, but she couldn’t imagine how he could possibly have made such a tight turn at the speed he had been going. ‘How did you get behind me like that?’

‘Evasive driving,’ he said. ‘Useful when you want to get rid of a tail.’

‘You have a very odd definition of “evasive”. I always take it to mean not hitting other cars.’ She gave the damaged wheel another mournful look, then turned back to him. ‘Wait, how long did it take before you realised I was following you?’

‘About three blocks. You’re not very good at it. Are you sure you’re okay?’ He sounded genuinely concerned.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just shaken up.’

‘Okay, good.’ He took out his phone. ‘I’ll call STS.’

‘About that,’ Bianca said. ‘Maybe it would be better if you didn’t say exactly what happened?’

For the first time since they had met, his face showed a hint of a smile. It suited him. ‘I’ll just tell them you had an . . . incident.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ He made the call, being told that someone would collect the wounded car within twenty minutes, then pocketed the phone. ‘I’d better give you a ride. This doesn’t look like a very good neighbourhood to be waiting for a cab. Where are you staying?’

‘Oh, a hotel. The, ah . . . the Beauregard.’

‘I don’t know it, sorry. You have the address?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great. You got everything from your car?’

She collected her bag, on Adam’s suggestion leaving the car key on the driver’s seat to make life easier for the mechanics, then got into his vehicle. He entered the hotel into the satnav and turned back the way they had come. Near the junction, Bianca saw curving tyre marks freshly scorched on to the road surface. Whatever Adam had done to get behind her clearly involved some sort of controlled skid, but she still could not figure out exactly how he’d managed it.

They returned to the main road. Adam headed back towards central Washington. ‘So,’ said Bianca when the silence became overpowering, ‘I’ve found out something about you.’

‘What?’

‘You’re not very chatty.’

Another little smile. ‘No, not really.’

‘But like I said at STS, I think it’d help us work together if I got to know you better.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘So . . .’ He didn’t respond to the prompt. She changed tack. ‘Roger said you used to be a soldier – Special Forces?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.’

‘Oh. But you volunteered to join Persona after you left?’

‘I can’t discuss that. I’m sorry.’

‘Right.’ She sighed, frustrated by the diktats of security. ‘Okay, so what about you personally? I don’t know much about American accents – I can recognise N’Yawk and yee-hah Deep South, but that’s about it, so I can’t tell where you’re from originally.’ Silence. He might be a spy, but taking hints was obviously not in his training. ‘So, where are you from originally?’

‘Sorry, I can’t discuss that.’

She regarded him with incredulity. ‘Seriously? You can’t even tell me where you grew up?’

‘I can’t . . .’ He looked confused, as if only just realising what he had said.

‘Adam?’

His expression hardened – though his eyes still betrayed uncertainty. ‘I don’t think we should discuss this any further. Sorry.’

‘Okay,’ she said, making her bewilderment clear with each syllable.

‘Your hotel’s only a few minutes from here. I’ll drop you off, and see you at STS tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ It only took one syllable to show her disapproval.

He gave her an apologetic look, then continued driving. They soon reached the hotel. Bianca got out. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Oh, and . . . sorry about the car.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, unsure what to make of him. She watched as he pulled away, then went into the hotel.

Bianca jerked awake as her phone rang. Its screen said 6:03. Who the hell was calling her so early in the morning? Someone in England who hadn’t grasped the concept of time zones? ‘Mmyeah?’

‘Bianca?’

It took her a moment to identify the voice. ‘Tony?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘Why – what is it?’ she complained. ‘It’s only six in the morning.’

‘We need you to come into STS, right away.’ If he had also only recently been stirred from sleep, his voice gave no sign; he sounded alert and focused. ‘We have a mission.’

14

The Russian Connection

All the Bullpen’s screens were alight with information, every workstation occupied by hurriedly roused staff . . . but nobody was looking at the monitors. Instead, all eyes were on the person who