shoals between the Joint Intelligence Committee, the Ministry of Defence, the Government Communications Headquarters and outside agencies like Interpol was a mystery of incredible genetics as far as Lindy was concerned. Then again, Malcolm was good at his job with a knack for diplomacy. That knack had shot him up the ranks of SIS with impressive speed.
They shared a solid relationship, not always pleasant, but based on mutual respect, with a bit of indulgence on Malcolm’s part, as he’d been responsible for recruiting her from the police force in her home town.
Lindy shamelessly admitted to taking advantage of that indulgence sometimes. Like now when she didn’t admit to hedging her bets with Joshua Benedict. The boundaries could be liquid in her line of work—one of the reasons she liked her job. Malcolm set the parameters. She did what she felt necessary to accomplish her mission objective.
Bottom line: Malcolm wanted Renouf.
“He acquired the White Star,” she said.
“You got a confirm on that?”
She shook her head. “But I’d bet my Man U tickets. Everything adds up. The thief whom we believe stole the White Star from the auction house rented a security box in a local bank. He winds up a floater in the East River and the bank’s security guard is arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct, where the NYPD find an amulet in his possession. Suddenly our target shows up and the amulet disappears from the precinct property room. What would you surmise?”
“Sounds like you’ve been tailing him closely.”
“Closely, but not too closely. Didn’t want to scare him off. You said it yourself—he’s our only lead to the target.”
“Think he’ll take the bait?”
“I’m letting him put me through my paces. He wants to see what I’m made of.”
“Sure that’s the best way to handle him?”
Here was a place she could have admitted Joshua had thrown her a curve, too, but Lindy didn’t want to be directly responsible for Malcolm’s first gray hair. “Trust me. I’m playing him exactly the way he needs to be played. Let me do my job, so you’re free to do yours. Speaking of, you look tired. MOD giving you grief?”
“Afghanistan.”
That was all he had to say. The Ministry of Defence relied upon the intel from SIS to protect and serve, and with the rumor of ties between the United Kingdom and a new, potentially well-funded terrorist cell harbored in Afghanistan, the MOD had been applying pressure to produce the information needed to assess the threat.
“Anything I can do?”
“Bring me enough to build a case against Renouf. That’ll make folks around here smile again. For a while at least.” He forced his own smile.
Lindy nodded. Malcolm was right—catching Henri Renouf would soothe frazzled tempers. When British relics disappeared, more than art enthusiasts noticed. People took the thefts personally. The recovery of any artifacts, or bringing the man who’d funded the thefts to justice, would throw good light on their agency at a time when the public needed reassurance.
With political events shifting and terrorism breeding in some of the most unexpected global cubbies, a climate of uncertainty existed everywhere. There would be media attention on bringing in a man who’d eluded international capture for as long as Renouf had. He was exactly the sort of example the intelligence community needed right now to reassure the public that justice did indeed prevail.
Which was precisely why ending Renouf’s reign had become Lindy’s personal crusade.
He was also her example, a way to force a move up SIS ranks. For ten years, she’d been confined to the field. A series of lateral moves with more responsibility and freedom had kept her from running her own ops. Lindy had a theory about why.
Her field expertise was a double-edged blade.
Malcolm and his cronies relied on using her extensive connections to hunt down the bad guys. They relied on her to train new agents to become effective team players.
They relied on her to make them look good.
Lindy was good. Too good. And she loved working in the field. But field work consumed her life. She had no time for relationships. No time to spend with the friends who’d hung in there with her unpredictable schedule all these years. So few knew she was an agent of the Crown—with the covert nature of her work it was safer that way.
But as the years passed, safe was proving a damn isolated existence. She couldn’t have a relationship with a man that involved more than a few dates. Hell, with the amount of time she spent away, she couldn’t even own a cat. She’d bought a corn plant, and frequently came home to find it looking droopy and sad from lack of attention.
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