Shrike. Spangler had approved the hire, saying that within a few weeks the company would finish its contract with its only client, and at that time they would be looking to expand more widely into the corporate intelligence landscape.
Annika didn’t like Ennis; he was a misogynist and a lout as far as she was concerned, but today she had other, much more important problems on her mind.
She sat with Spangler and ordered a cup of coffee, then turned to her boss. “Did you see the news from Venezuela?”
“That Clark Drummond was killed in a robbery the other night? Terrible thing. Obviously, I don’t have a high opinion of the man, but I certainly didn’t want that for him.”
“A robbery? Like what happened to Gretchen here in Berlin?”
Spangler shrugged dramatically. “It appears so.”
“And Tony Hutchens’s heart attack?”
“What is it you are getting at, Annika?”
“What’s going on, Rudy? What are we doing?”
“The same as ever. We are building a private intelligence empire.”
“Our people are dying. You see that, don’t you?”
Spangler nodded solemnly. “We have one hundred thirty employees throughout Europe, and three of them have died in the past few weeks. Statistically improbable, but not beyond the realm of possibility, especially in the case of Clark Drummond. Crime in Venezuela is quite high, I hear.”
She shook her head. “We have turned into something dangerous.”
“Nein. We did not kill anyone. That’s not who we are. We are a force for good. It is difficult work, but we must do what we have to do to achieve the aims of our company, and our client.” Now Spangler leaned forward, put his forearms on the table. “No matter where this road leads.”
Annika looked at her boss for a long moment, then said, “Do you know something about where this road leads that you are not telling me?”
He glanced around the room; there was no one in earshot save for his four bodyguards. Spangler said, “What do you think about our mission?”
“Lately I find myself trying not to.”
“I’m asking you for your opinion on what is going on.”
Annika Dittenhofer considered this a moment, then spoke with carefully curated words. “I think our client had us spend two years investigating Quds Force and the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence and Security as we grew and grew as a company, thanks wholly to their unlimited resources. We built profiles of many of the Iranian intelligence actors all over Europe, and we identified a sleeper cell right here in the capital. And then, for the past few months, the client has changed our mandate, and now they have us spying on Germany, on Belgium, on other benevolent nations, trying to find out what they know about Iranian intelligence activities in the EU.
“Two of our staff expressed doubt in our mission, and another ran from us with information about our activities.” She bit her lip before saying, “And all three of them are now dead.
“You asked me what I think? I think that, whatever it is that we are actually doing, we could all end up in prison. You, for the second time.” She sniffed. “And this time, Rudy, they will not let you out.”
Spangler gave her nothing. No denial of her assumptions, no confirmation. “I follow orders. I followed governmental orders when I was employed by state security, and now I follow the orders of my client. It is who I am. We have our assignments, and we are carrying them out. Our benefactor is pleased overall with the work we are doing. Everything is going—”
“What is the work we are doing, exactly?” she interjected. “A year ago I thought I was outing Iranian spies for the good of the free world. And now, in just the last month, I’ve spied on an anti-regime activist, pretty much the opposite of an Iranian military intelligence terrorist. I’ve spied on my home nation of Germany, I’ve spied on the French and on the Americans.”
She took another sip and put the cup back on the saucer in front of her. “I have only one question, Rudy. When did we become the bad guys?”
Spangler chuckled. “I’ve known you ten years. We’ve been through a lot together. This is an odd time for you to grow a conscience.”
“No one ever died before.” She sighed. “And I never felt you were keeping things from me. Now I know you are.” She looked at him a long moment, then said, “What is Ennis doing?”
“You know I don’t talk about other officers’ operations.”
“I don’t trust him,” she said