‘Make ready, Miss Patel.’
‘I’m so cultivated,’ Safa mutters, then shrugs because she doesn’t care one bit if she is cultivated or not. ‘Right, come on, beardy . . . Ben, you fit?’
‘Sit down.’
Tango Two pulls the chair a fraction of an inch. Miri clocks the slight movement: an effort to control her environment. Tango Two sits with her knees together and her hands holding her coffee mug. Neither defensive nor open. Passive. Not a threat. Miri notices the position: too defensive. She is using the mug as a shield. Miri sits down behind the desk as Tango Two looks round, taking in the stacks of newspapers and magazines. Boxes pushed against the wall.
‘Who do you work for?’ Miri asks.
‘The British Secret Service.’
‘How long have you been an agent?’
‘Eleven years and three months.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty.’
‘What is your position within your organisation?’
‘I am a Two.’
‘Explain.’
‘Agents are based on a hierarchal structure. Lead agents who are fully trained and experienced gain the position of One if they are sanctioned by Mother. I am a Two. I am working towards being a One. Trainee agents are a Three.’
‘How many agents does your organisation have?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Explain.’
‘We are discouraged from asking questions of each other in a social capacity. We are discouraged from seeking information about the organisation other than to serve our professional needs.’
‘How many agents does your organisation have?’
‘Seventy-eight work within the One, Two and Three structure. Those agents are forward operators. They lead teams, conduct operations and investigations. We have many operatives who assist those agents.’
‘Do not ever lie to me again. How many operatives?’
Tango Two cannot stop her reaction of guilt at lying, her cheeks burning in shame at the harsh tone Miri used. Who is this woman?
‘Over five hundred,’ Tango Two says.
‘Funding. Explain.’
‘We are funded by central government. We have primary responsibility for non-police domestic security, terrorism, counter-terrorism and overseas interests.’
‘Your experience. Explain.’
‘Combat. Surveillance and counter-surveillance, and counter-espionage. Diplomatic surveillance and disruption.’
‘Do you know why we are here?’
‘No.’
‘Why did they attack you?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Did you do anything to provoke them?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know Bertram Cavendish or any members of his family?’
‘No.’
‘Tell me what you know.’
‘You have a time machine. Bertram Cavendish invented it. You had a staging area in Berlin. That is what I knew prior to Cavendish Manor. I now know you have Safa Patel, Ben Ryder and Harry Madden, along with Doctor John Watson, who I have not previously heard of, and you, of course. I do not know anything else of any significance.’
‘You do.’
‘Only what I have gleaned. You followed a smurf to get money. I do not know why you need the money or the reasons you took it. Neither Ben, Harry nor Safa have revealed anything of significance, but may I say thank you for the clothes and the care you have shown. What are you planning to do with me? Do you know why they attacked me?’
‘Tell me what happened that led to you being here.’
‘The same as I have previously told,’ Tango Two says carefully, politely, passively. To show any degree of irritation will create an opening for an interrogator to take advantage of. She repeats the same account. Factual. No opinions offered. Only what she saw.
‘Thank you. Return to your rooms, please. Tell Safa to secure you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That is all, Tango Two. Return to your rooms. Tell Safa to secure you.’
‘Okay, hang on,’ Tango Two says, blinking as she shuffles forward on the chair. ‘You want me to walk back through this . . . this place on my own to find Safa and ask her to lock me in my rooms?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could run outside.’
‘The dinosaurs will be glad to see you.’
‘Listen, I am a trained . . .’
‘Now, Tango Two.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tango Two replies instantly at the tone and absolute authority of the older woman.
She does it too. She walks from the office down the corridor, into the main room and over to the big table, where she stands to finish her coffee. She glances at the knives, forks and other things she could use as weapons and considers taking something to conceal. She could slide a fork or a knife off the table when she puts her cup down, but dismisses the notion the second it forms. She might be under observation. They might count all the equipment, and anyway, what would she use it for? To do what? Go where? Force is not the way forward. Compliance and passivity are the best options. Something else too. Something nagging in the back of her mind.
She walks back up the corridor and stops at the open door to see Harry standing in the middle room reading Harry Potter and Safa pulling her hair back to tie off with what looks like an old scrap of grey material.
‘Hi, er . . . Miri said to . . .’
‘You going back in your rooms?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am. Miri said to ask you to lock me in.’
Safa laughs. ‘How fucked-up is this?’
Eighteen
Miri looks up from the tablet as they file into the portal room.
‘Briefing. Ready? Fort Bragg. America. Largest military base in the world at the time we are attending, which is zero two hundred hours mid-winter in the year 2009. Place of entry is the main storage depot for personal-issue weapons. We are increasing our armoury because . . .’
‘We need to go back and support us at Cavendish Manor,’ Ben cuts in.
Miri notices the lack of reaction from the other two. No, not a lack of reaction, more a sense of expectation. She knows Ben worked it out very quickly and explained it to the other two.
‘Very good, Mr Ryder. That is correct.’
‘So it definitely was us firing outside the house?’
‘It was and it will be,’ Miri says.
‘So it’s us giving us support? The us inside the house? In effect then, we’ve already done it because it already happened, which means we’ve already got the guns and so we will go and get these guns and train . . . but why Fort Bragg?’ His head drops; the frown crosses his features. His hand rubs at his jaw as he looks up at Miri. ‘Ah, yep, yep, yep, you were US military intelligence, so I am guessing at some point you were posted there, so you know this location. That makes sense because the armoury inside the base doesn’t need to be secure because it’s inside the base. Okay. I’ve got that. Why not a factory? I guess that’s because the US military is so bloody big they won’t know or simply won’t care if a few guns go missing. Right. Yep, got it. Happy now.’ He stops talking and slowly becomes aware of everyone staring at him. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ Safa says, looking away quickly.