Reckless

Jamie MacIntosh seemed like a decent man. But Tracy could see that his nerves were frayed to breaking point over this latest Group 99 cyberattack. He constantly worried at his fingernails and his left foot tapped an anxious rhythm as he listened to Tracy talk.

Tracy thought, No wonder he’s worried. Not only had Althea devastated and deeply embarrassed U.S. intelligence, but she had successfully managed to implicate British intelligence in what happened, thereby setting the two allies at each other’s throats at precisely the moment that cooperation was vital.

“I agree with you,” Tracy said placatingly. “No one’s suggesting that Althea is one of yours.”

According to Tracy’s research, less than 12 percent of MI6 employees were women, and the vast majority of those were in lowly administrative or secretarial positions. Of the women educated or senior enough to have the wherewithal to plan a sophisticated cyberattack, none came close to fitting Althea’s profile.

“But she did compromise your systems, just as she compromised ours. She deliberately set this up to make it look as though this hack came from within. That tells us things about her.”

Major General Frank Dorrien looked at Tracy suspiciously. “Such as?”

From the little he knew of Tracy Whitney, Frank Dorrien wasn’t a fan. Thieves and con artists were not people to be trusted, no matter how reformed they claimed to be.

“Such as the fact that she knows how Western intelligence services operate. My guess is she’s either a former spy, or she knows someone on the inside.”

“She knows you, Miss Whitney,” Frank Dorrien reminded Tracy. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that your memory has been jogged? That some connection has suddenly come back to you?”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. She resented the general’s implication that she was lying about not knowing Althea. That she was hiding something. She also resented the way the general had looked down his superior, patrician nose at her from the moment she walked in.

“She knows of me,” Tracy corrected him. “But so would anyone else who worked here fifteen years ago.”

“OK.” Jamie MacIntosh rubbed his eyes. “We’ll look into the former spy angle. Greg Walton should do the same, although I’ll admit I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Any alternate suggestions?” Tracy asked him.

“I have a suggestion,” the general piped up. “There’s a journalist at the Times, a young woman by the name of Faiers. Sally Faiers. She’s been up to Sandhurst, asking questions about me and about Prince Achileas’s death. She seems to be pursuing some preposterous conspiracy theory that I did the young man harm in order to silence him.”

“Silence him over what?” Tracy asked.

“I have no idea.” Frank sounded bored. “But I do know she’s been asking about Captain Daley as well, and whether he and the prince knew each other.”

“Did they?”

Frank looked Tracy right in the eye. “No. They may have passed in the corridor or on the parade ground but it was no more than that. Captain Daley was an exemplary soldier. Prince Achileas . . . was not. The idea that they were friends is frankly insulting.”

Dorrien’s dislike of the young Greek was palpable. It struck Tracy as odd that he made no attempt to hide it. The boy was dead, after all.

“It turns out Miss Faiers is also an ex-girlfriend of the elusive Mr. Hunter Drexel,” Dorrien continued.

Tracy’s eyebrows shot up.

“And she’s written a number of influential op-eds in the past, arguing against hydraulic fracturing, including a withering article about Henry Cranston’s company. That’s rather too many connections to Group 99 for my liking.”

And mine, thought Tracy. She remembered what Cameron Crewe had told her, about Henry Cranston having a deal with the Greeks to extract shale gas that got shelved after Achileas’s suicide. Crewe Oil had that deal now. Not for the first time, Tracy felt as if there were dots swirling before her eyes, dots that revealed a clear picture if only she could look at them in the right way.

Tracy didn’t warm to Frank Dorrien. The man was arrogant, rude and wildly judgmental. But she had to agree with him on this one. Miss Faiers sounded interesting.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Frank’s not the right person,” Jamie MacIntosh jumped in. “Clearly this Faiers woman already distrusts him. As she may be our only link to Hunter Drexel, we can’t afford to alienate her. We thought perhaps you might try?”

AFTER TRACY LEFT, FRANK turned to Jamie.

“I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t trust anyone, Frank.”

“I’m serious. Someone needs to follow her. We can’t let her out of our sight for a second.”