Reckless

Leaping out of bed, Tracy pulled on jeans and a sweater.

Ten minutes later she was in a black cab, heading for Wapping.

CHAPTER 15

SALLY FAIERS WAS RUSHING for the tube when a waiflike woman approached her.

“Sally!”

“Yes,” Sally said uncertainly. The woman said her name as if she knew her but Sally was sure she’d never seen her before. The huge, sad green eyes, high cheekbones and tiny, birdlike body that was closer to a child’s than a grown adult’s were all striking enough that she would have remembered them. “Have we met?”

“No. My name is Tracy Whitney.”

Was that supposed to mean something?

“I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” Sally looked at her watch. She didn’t have time for guessing games with tiny women. Her boiler was on the blink and the annoying people from Eon were due at the flat in half an hour to fix it. “If it’s about a story you can call the news desk.” She fumbled in her pocket for a card.

Tracy said, “It’s about Hunter Drexel.”

Sally froze.

“Not here,” she whispered. Scrawling an address on a piece of paper, she handed it to Tracy. “It’s a café, off East Street market. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

THE CAFÉ WAS GRIMY, with steamed-up windows. It smelled of frying bacon and strong PG Tips tea and its clientele seemed to be made up entirely of Polish builders. Tracy loved it immediately.

“Your local?” she asked Sally.

“Not anymore. I was a student in this area. Briefly.” Sally wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Who are you?”

They ordered tea and Tracy told her, the edited version. That she was working with the CIA counterterrorism division dealing with the threat from Group 99. “Specifically I’m trying to track down an American woman believed to be one of their leaders. We think she played a part in Captain Daley’s murder and in Hunter’s abduction.”

Sally looked skeptical. “So you’re a CIA agent?”

“Not exactly.” Tracy heaped sugar into her tea. “I work with them, not for them. I guess you could say I’m a consultant. Of sorts.”

“How did you find me?” Sally asked. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a Dictaphone and placed it on the table, pressing the record button as Tracy looked on. “Just a precaution. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” said Tracy. “General Frank Dorrien gave me your name.”

“Ah.” Sally rolled her eyes. “The general.”

“You’re not a fan?” Tracy asked.

Sally smiled. “Is anyone?”

Tracy smiled back. “Mrs. Dorrien, perhaps?”

I like this woman, Tracy and Sally thought simultaneously.

“So what did General Frank tell you?” Sally asked.

“Just that you’ve been asking questions about him and about Prince Achileas’s suicide. And that you and Hunter Drexel were close.”

“Hunter’s close to a lot of women,” Sally said archly.

“Not that he would trust to chase down a story for him. While he’s on the run from Group 99 and the U.S. government, and probably in fear for his life,” said Tracy.