FIVE
Inside his office in the U.S Embassy, the CIA agent was still trying to place Charlie Adams when his assistant came in bearing coffee on a tray. He didn’t react as she placed the cup and saucer on the desk in front of him, the tapping of fingers on computer keyboards audible from the tech area next door. Normally affable, she noticed he seemed distracted and took her time placing a small jug of milk and sweeteners by the cup of coffee on the desk, waiting for him to turn and talk to her. He didn’t.
‘Can I get you anything else, sir?’ she asked instead, subtly trying to get his attention.
‘No, thank you,’ he said vaguely, looking at the screen, his mind elsewhere.
Turning, she glanced at the television he was glued to across the room, seeing the report of the politician's suicide.
‘A real shame,’ she said. ‘I saw him on the news last week. Seemed like a good man.’
Her boss looked over at her.
‘What was his background?’
‘He used to be a soldier in the British Army. All the papers here loved him. You can see why,’ she said, nodding at a photograph of him in a suit waving to a crowd that had come up on the screen. 'I wouldn't mind going home to that every night.'
The CIA agent switched his attention back to the screen, scanning the photo, as his assistant turned to leave.
And all of a sudden, the light-bulb flashed on.
He sat up straight.
‘Hang on, Lynn,’ he said, as she walked to the door.
He grabbed a pen and scribbled three names on a small pad, then tore off the uppermost sheet, walked around his desk quickly and passed it to her.
‘Do me a favour and run these three names through the system. Check every database you can. Military, NSA, FBI, police, DMV, medical and prison records. Anything and everything you can access.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, taking the paper.
‘Don’t let anyone know you’re doing this. Not a soul. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir. Is something wrong?’
He didn't reply. He’d shifted his attention to the television instead.
His secretary paused for a moment, then realised she wasn’t going to get an answer. She nodded, pulling the door closed, and headed off to her private workstation to start searching the names he’d given her. Alone, the CIA agent saw the studio shot change to one of Adams in combat fatigues, smiling up at the camera in some dusty courtyard somewhere in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Is something wrong, Lynn had asked.
'I hope not,' the man whispered, staring at the photograph of the soldier.
The shape of Grosvenor Square and the space on the western side of the U.S Embassy meant the area facing the building was a popular area for public protest. Pretty much every day of the year a group of people from some organisation or another would be out there, claiming civil rights or protesting against political injustice, chanting and waving painted signs, generally wanting to kick up a fuss and let their voice echo around Mayfair. The armed US marines stationed on the outside of the building were used to this, ready and alert for any trouble, but despite being repetitive and occasionally aggravating to those within the building, the protestors were normally pretty harmless.
Walking through the Square, a small man in a purple delivery uniform stepped past them as they chanted and walked straight towards the Embassy. He worked for FedEx, and had a box-shaped express package under his arm. It was addressed to the London CIA office. He moved to the left and joined the queue of people waiting to go through the security hut, and when it was his turn he nodded to the security guards within, passing the package through the x-ray machine. The guard behind the machine looked at the monitor, but all he could see inside the box was a white blurry rectangle, aka stacks of paper. The usual.
It took the delivery man two attempts to get through the metal detector, forgetting a small set of keys in his pocket the first time. But once he’d walked through without a bleep from the machine and had been patted down and covered with the metal-detector wand, he put the keys back in his pocket, scooped up the package and walked up the path towards the entrance, pulling open the main door and approaching the woman behind the front desk.
‘Delivery,’ he said. ‘CIA Office.’
She was busy talking to someone from the visa queue, but she looked towards him and nodded. He pushed the brown package on the counter towards her and slid an electronic pad on the top, stifling a yawn. She propelled herself over on her swivel chair, taking the plastic pen and quickly signed the screen, then returned her attention to the lady enquiring about her visa.
‘Cheers,’ the FedEx guy said, turning and walking back out through the doors. He walked down the path and across the Square, heading back to his truck, and disappeared out of sight.
Back in the building, the woman finished dealing with the woman from the visa line, then turned and looked at the package. It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, just The Office. She scooped up her phone and pushed 4 on the internal line, lifting it to her ear, connecting to the tech team next door.
‘Delivery,’ she said, putting the phone back down.
A minute later, a young male analyst appeared and taking the package, turned and headed back towards the offices, looking at the address as he walked. It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular so he had the right to open it. The guards on the second x-ray let him pass back in straight away, pushing a button so he didn't have to bother with the face and retina scan.
Once inside the sub-station, he took the package to his workstation and ripped the side of the parcel open.
But as soon as he did so, something unusual happened.
White powder from inside the package sprayed everywhere, all over his legs and arms and his workstation. Clouds of it puffed over the dark fabric of his trousers, as if he’d been baking a cake and had spilt the flour. He jerked back, covered in the white powder, then looked at his hand and the clouds of it on his legs and on the carpet.
‘What the hell?’ he said.
Across the room, a female analyst sitting at her computer had seen what had happened. Whilst the guy with the package was still staring at the powder, confused, she realised straight away what was going on.
‘Oh my God,’ she said.
She jumped back out of her chair, covering her mouth and backing up, as the male analyst looked over at her.
Then it dawned on him what the powder was.
And his eyes widened in terror.