Birdcage

Chapter 11 Dane...

The ache in my head eats away at my brain. Gwen's words from yesterday repeat themselves over and over in my mind; 'you can use her'. Until recently, my job has been my top priority, even over family. However, I really don't think I can use Lila to get information on the Gough-Whitaker girl. I cannot bring myself to break her trust like that. It does not mean I do not know the importance of the mission at hand though; I just need to find another way to gather intelligence. I pop two more pain killers from their packet and swallow them down dry, feeling each one travel down my food pipe. I couldn't bring myself to face Lila last night, so I told her I was working. It was the truth in all fairness; I was working on trying to find another way into Dupont's world other than his mistress.

Greg and I found an agent that is perfect to go covert as one of Dupont's security team. We already know that he always has them with him and he is well known for telling them things that he probably should not trust them to know. Our snag was that his team was full and even though he can have a high turn-over of staff, his men appear to be staying put for the time being. That was until Greg found out that one of them was in the country illegally and was apprehended by immigration last night thanks to a tip off; a tip off made by myself. So, as of this morning, Dupont's newest bodyguard is our very own, Joseph. Joe is young, hungry and used to be a professional boxer - perfect for the position.

I am currently sat with Greg at his work station, drinking coffee and eating a Kit-Kat; it is lunch time but I didn't get a chance to grab myself some proper food. I don't usually take a lunch break, but seems as though my face is now known, I cannot be out in the field - so I'm stuck here. Greg takes a bite of his club sandwich and chews briefly before turning to speak to me with a mouth full.

"So, the boss has had me looking into everyone who works here to see if they have had any communications with the Russians, or Dupont and his men..." Some spit and a little bit of food flies out of his mouth as he talks. I follow the flying pieces with my eyes to ensure they don't land on me, rolling myself backwards ever-so-slightly on the office chair I am sat on to make sure I am firmly out of the firing zone. Greg is unaware though; just swallows down, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and carries on talking.

"...I can't see anything obvious. I have hacked into social media, email accounts, phone accounts and there has been no traceable communication with any of us and the bad guys." This does not shock me but I'm glad to hear it all the same. Everyone who works for us are handpicked – some even by myself – and it would kill me to learn that any of them had double crossed the agency. However, even though I trust our guys whole heartedly, double agents can pop up anywhere for any number of reasons.

"Good - I'm glad to hear it, although I honestly did not doubt anyone for a second. But it still leaves us with the question of who is feeding the Russians information." It only really leaves one option and that's that it's someone from MI5.

"I know, but bear in mind just because I haven't found any hard evidence doesn't mean that someone here doesn't have other means," Greg says, taking another chunk out of his sandwich. He is right, but my gut tells me it isn't anyone from the agency. He clicks through all of our agent's profiles on his computer, regarding each image of their faces as if he could know it was them just by looking at their eyes.

I look at them too, but I know it isn't any of my colleagues. "I think it's someone from MI5 who knows about our operation - and only Gwen knows about them, so if you ask me, she needs to be speaking to her guys there," I tell him, knowing full well that this will have already crossed her mind and she is probably on to it. For all of Gwen's faults, she never misses a thing.

Greg finishes his sandwich in only a few more bites, his mouth now full to the brim with decimated food. I eye him, and when he is finished, I tell him, "That was beyond disgusting to watch, you know that right?" I ask the last part as a question because a person cannot be that unaware of that kind of mess and the fact that they caused it. However, he just looks at me innocently, licking every finger on his hand, still seemingly oblivious to the aftermath that is spread across his dark green jumper - and most of the floor.