The Shadows Below

Chapter Eighteen

'What do you mean, the funds aren't there? First of every month, like clockwork. What's changed?'

'Apologies, ma'am, the transfer was cancelled.'

'On whose authority?'

'The gentleman representing their interests, ma'am. Apologies'.

I hang up then, pressing the red button with such anger and throwing the little handset across the office so that it lands on the couch. It's not the first such call I've received this morning, hence my building frustration.

I have many projects funded by those not in the agency and one of them - oh. That's who has done this. Touché, Mr Barton. I check the usual sources and yes, it seems his firm has made a killing recently. I wonder why.

The other phone rings. 'Major Hawcroft.' Of course, it is. Thankfully, many walls of encryption exist here, otherwise, I wouldn't speak so freely. Or him, for that matter.

'I went to check our finances and it seems I don't even have enough to pay my wages, let alone my men.'

'It seems we'll have to cut our losses and cut ties.'

'Operation Thread?' He sounds resigned but also relieved. A traditional soldier through and through. He needs action to move on and I know how he feels about his men. The asset is another matter.

'Exactly, Major. I'll lay a trail of breadcrumbs for one of the more recent target's allies and organise exit paperwork for the men. They will all serve six months and have a review at the end of it, to determine their individual worthiness.'

Or lack thereof. They've just reached the end of their little holiday.

'The soldier who I have guarding the asset. What about him? His file is a lot darker than the others are.'

'Recent behaviour?'

'Better than when he first arrived, but I've read his report. A life sentence would be a reprieve for his actions.'

I pause for a moment. 'Cut him off.'

'Ma'am?'

'Don't tell me you're going soft, Major Hawcroft. Don't forget, I've read your report as well. And it's not all sunshine and rainbows.'

A weighty pause, I can almost see him and the cogs turning. 'Understood, ma'am.'

'Good. Call me when you and your men have been relocated, I'll finish the breadcrumb trail then.'

Let the dial tone ring in his ears. My superiors have just entered my office. Along with Anderson. Shit.

'Gentlemen, pleasure. Please take a seat.'

'Marion, this isn't a social call.'

'I am aware of that, Peter. Anderson, please give me my phone before you take a seat.' He calmly picks it up and hands it to me before sitting down on the couch. If he had brought some, he'd be eating popcorn. Smug little shit.

'We have a leak, Marion, classified photographs which you personally assured me would remain in our control,' Teddy Burnside begins. 'This is a serious matter.'

'I'm well aware. But I wonder which of your contacts has a direct line to Richard Barton.'

'Certainly none, that would think it prudent to sell them to newspapers.'

'Does anyone still read newspapers?'

'Serious people, and people who will know who is in those photographs.'

'Don't you mean, 'whom', Peter?'

'Mr Wyndham is your superior, Marion. Please have the courtesy of addressing him as such. I did say this is a serious matter, not a laughing one. The next ill-timed remark will have you suspended without pay. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly clear, sir. May I ask, which newspapers have some semblance of the very serious operation that was approved in this room?'

'Der Spiegel, the New York Times, the Guardian. And it's not 'some semblance'. All the very embarrassing details are in there. With a picture of you, right next to the photographs. They certainly haven't shied away and it's not as though we had the best PR in the last decade.'

'What an interesting group of publications.'

The implication is clear and Richard Barton has brought out the big guns in defence of his eldest daughter. Too bad her safety standards will be taking a swan dive after one more telephone call.

'And it won't end with those.'

'I have already begun on our exit strategy.'

'Some small piece of good news.' Anderson chooses this moment to speak up. What a brave man. The other two just nod. Three-on-one. If I were home - no. I cannot consider that. Not even the possibility.

'Good. I want the final report on this little project on my desk by the end of the day. Detailing precisely when our involvement is over. Because it is over, Marion. Once those men have been removed from the base, the funding will end completely and you will have nothing to aim in that direction, at all. Am I clear?'

'Perfectly clear, Mr Wyndham.'

'Good.'

Peter's voice has never wavered in all our dealings but he has never liked having his hands dirtied like this.

He continues, 'Once the relevant parties have had it made clear what speaking up would mean for them, and the asset has been removed, then we can safely say, 'what operation'? when asked by the appropriate channels. It is another storm for this agency to weather and Marion?'

'Yes, sir?'

'You will be the one weathering it.'

'Of course, sir.'

Once they have left, I let out the breath I was holding. It's all ridiculous really, I have weathered far worse storms than this and most of them before my 21st birthday had arrived. Such naïve men. Almost like children who've been called into the principal's office. Kasia had brought me a cake, I remember, to mark the occasion. No time to let my mind wander on the past, I have a trail of breadcrumbs to place.

X

'Major?' He certainly moves fast. I glance at the clock, another long night at the office. I must have nodded off once I filed that last report.

'Ma'am, the men and I have been evacuated off base and are awaiting their final transfer orders.'

'As agreed in the thread plan?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Good. I'll lay the final breadcrumb now.'