Betrayal's End, C11 - "Errand Girl" (FRC)
Chapter summary: Eames strikes out on her own without her partner.
Chapter no: 11.
Story: Betrayal’s End.
Warnings: None.
Rating: FRC
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of “Law and Order: Criminal Intent”, and acknowledge the rights of those who do. I will make no profit from this story.
*****
Counter-Terrorism Joint Task Force (MI5 / Metropolitan Police)
MI5 Headquarters, Thames House
London
11.30am
***
“Detective Eames, what do you think?”
What do I think? I think that I wish I’d had a lot more sleep, somewhere that wasn’t a crappy bunk bed. I think that, damnit, I miss Bobby. I hope he’s alright. And I’m severely concerned that Sienna seems so driven by the urge to exact revenge on her former friend that she could put both of them in jeopardy. And, much as it pains me to admit it, I think that not involving Davenport in this is a) stupid, and b) unfair to him. And - this is the really important point - I hate the fact that I’m kicking my heels here whilst I wait around to get the call to go join up with Sienna and Bobby for this half-assed plan to see if John Durham is a) telling the truth or b) a corrupt, dangerous, bastard.
Out loud, she replied: “I think that, based upon the evidence, it’s risky to assume the Newcomers knew anything about what actually occurred in the City of London stadium. I don’t think they were ever intended to be more than a smokescreen for the real operation. It was planned with military precision; they were a bunch of fanatical amateurs”.
DI Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, conceded the point and turned his gaze back toward the table in front of them all, where some of the key evidence gathered about the events at the City of London Stadium earlier that year was spread in front of her. Not all of it - that would have required several rooms - but the parts dealing with the sequence of events which she, Bobby and Sienna had been involved with, both before and after the fatal day. Presently, they were dealing with the intelligence they had pertaining to the “Newcomers” group, the small organisation of radical Islamic students used by the man behind the terror plot, Mikhail Andropov, as a smokescreen for his own plans to attack the stadium.
Eames sighed. She knew her thoughts were unprofessional, and that she had the reputation of the NYPD to uphold, but, truth be told, that was all that was keeping her from falling asleep in the meeting. Fortunately, she had managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep earlier that morning courtesy of DI Maldon, who had taken charge of her as soon as the meeting had concluded, ushering her to a small dormitory room within the cavernous interior of Thames House.
The accommodation was about the same standard as that at One Police Plaza, which was to say nowhere near as comfortable as the hotel bed she’d been dreaming of, but more than adequate for a short rest. Far too soon, though, he’d gently awoken her and informed her that they were due to start, apologising for being unable to let her rest for longer, but, time was of the essence… She’d dragged herself awake, made herself presentable (Maldon had magicked up a towel and some basic toiletries, probably borrowed from one of his female officers) and headed on into yet another meeting.
For professionalism’s sake, she made herself sit upright, appear concerned and eager to help, but realistically, what they were talking about could have been done over a video link. As a dedicated police officer, she was happy to help, but she just wanted the whole thing to be over with, so that she could go back home in the knowledge of a job well done, and enjoy Christmas with her family. At present, she was seated around a large circular conference table, along with several other police officers who had been working in and around the stadium that day. They were answering a series of questions on how the events of that day in July had unfolded. Eames understood the principle behind it; they were trying to recreate the events as best they could.
All of them had, of course, been interviewed earlier, shortly after the dust had settled, before memories started to become unreliable, and the data had been fed into an impressive computer simulation by the Metropolitan Police’s equivalent of the NYPD’s Crime Scene Unit. She had not let it show on her face, but she had been rather disturbed by the accuracy with which the software had recreated the stadium and the events that had occurred; it had been like travelling back in time.
They had warned them before starting that it might be a traumatic experience. Eames had privately scorned that at the time - they were all experienced officers, after all, not rookies - but she knew now that they hadn’t been joking. Having to watch it again and again, checking every last detail, answering question after question about where they had been, where the terrorists had been, how long it had taken before the roof collapsed completely… it was not a pleasant experience, and even worse for having to do it on her own with no Bobby or Sienna present to share the burden.
She understood why - Bobby was the one Durham had chosen to make contact through, and Sienna had to be present because of her history with Durham - but she secretly rather resented the irrational feeling that she was simply there as an appendage to Bobby. Particularly when she was missing out on a lot of the festive events she’d been looking forward to. The timing made relatively little difference to the British officers, of course, most of whom had not yet gone on leave for the festive season, but it was desperately annoying for she and Bobby, whose plans had had to be rearranged at short notice. She tried hard not to think about the family meal she would miss tonight, and ground her teeth.
If Bobby had been there, or even Sienna, it would have been a different matter. They could have kept each other going, laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness of it all and made plans to meet for food and / or a drink or two later. As it was, she was stuck here on her own. Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, caught her eye and smiled. She guessed that he’d seen her attention wandering, and forced herself to look bright and interested. He smiled more widely for a brief second, and she suddenly wondered if he was as tired of the long meetings as she was. Finally, the session ended, and everyone dispersed to get some refreshments. Everyone else, of course, knew the building far better than she did. She stood there for a few minutes, feeling lost, then Maldon walked over to her.
“Do you fancy getting some lunch together?” He smiled. “I’m afraid the cafeteria’s not up to much, but if you like I can get my secretary to find us some half-decent sandwiches from the deli over the road, and I have fresh coffee in my office.”
“Real coffee? Not out of a vending machine?”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t serve a New Yorker anything less.”
“Lead me to it.”
Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in Maldon’s office, chewing on a turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce sandwich, washed down with sips of mineral water and a latte (a latte! ) from the machine in Maldon’s office. They were chatting idly about the case, about their careers… he’d been in the police for twenty years, and, as he put it “have got about as far as I’m going to go, but I’m happy with it”, and was looking forward to retirement. When she’d remarked that he seemed a little young to retire, he’d smiled sadly and remarked “My wife’s not well”, and left it at that.
“So, do you think we’ll have everything here concluded by tomorrow?” she asked.
“Keen to get home, are you?” He smiled. “I don’t blame you… I hope so.”
“You hope so?” she asked, in what she hoped was a tone of polite interest, and not a tone of “you intend to keep us here for HOW LONG?”
“Well…” he pulled a slightly regretful face, “as ever, we’re a bit understaffed. I mean, you know what it’s like in the Christmas season - the crime rate rises just as half the force go off sick with flu…” She nodded in agreement “…so, I am trying to get everything here closed up, but it’s taking a bit longer than I expected. There’s still a few leads I’d like to follow up, make sure we have everything covered before we start the prosecutions… actually, I was wondering if I could enlist your help?” He smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, as I say, we still have a few leads to follow up. It’s mostly just background work, interviewing people who personally knew members of the Newcomers group. To be honest, I don’t think we’ll find anything now, but I’d like to be thorough. It’s mostly just going to addresses, knocking on doors, asking if they knew the people we’re interested in… Routine police work, but it’s better than sitting in here on our arses looking at computers.”
She smiled wryly. “I hear you, but don’t you have officers already working on this? I don’t have a warrant card to interview people on your behalf - I’m not a member of the Metropolitan Police or even a British citizen, doesn’t that give you legal problems if I turn anything useful up?”
“Oh, I can take care of that - we have arrangements in place to allow police officers from other countries to occasionally act as sworn officers whilst you’re over here. It has its limitations, but it’s acceptable for basic interviewing and information gathering. Really, I only need someone to find out if this person is still living where we last heard of her and if she recognises any of the people we’re interested in; anything more than that, and you can call me and I’ll get one of my officers to come and take over. It’s a little bit creative but-“ he pulled a wry face “- it should work, and I’d like to get the result. As for people working for me…” he pulled another wry face. “I do have a team, but the problem is that I’ve only got two female officers, and one’s just told me that she’s pregnant and needs to be confined to desk duty.”
“Why is that a problem… oh, wait. Let me guess, some of these leads are Muslim women?”
“Yes, and from what we’ve heard, from very traditional backgrounds. They aren’t going to be receptive to my sending white male officers round to their doors to talk to them alone, but a female officer in civilian clothes would be more acceptable.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Maldon suddenly looked nervous for a second, but only a second, and then his face was calm, so calm that she thought she must have misread his expression. “If you would, I’d be very grateful. We should be finishing up here soon, and then you could do it… it would really only be an hour’s work, just a short home visit.”
“Okay, okay!” She grinned. “Let me think.”
As they headed back in, she reflected that she was quite tempted to help Maldon out. Admittedly, she wouldn’t have Bobby with her, but it would be good to do some police work whilst she was over here that got her away from an endless succession of meeting rooms, arguments and paperwork. Not that she didn’t enjoy the intellectual challenge of solving puzzles with Bobby, but she had never been the type of officer to enjoy riding a desk. Right now the chance to get some fresh air and do some actual physical police work seemed like an opportunity dropped from heaven.
Then she remembered that she’d have to clear it with MI5 first, and her spirits sank. As if her thoughts had drawn him, the Five liaison officer she’d been appointed suddenly appeared in front of her, apparently out of thin air.
“Ah, Detective, I’ve been looking for you,” the young man remarked, rather pompously, as though he’d been searching the building for her rather than having walked a few paces down the corridor from the meeting room they’d been in earlier.
“Well, here I am,” she replied with a rather fake smile.
“I need to ask you to do something. Would you be willing to go and liaise with Tanya Simmons-McAllister about what we expect to happen later today?” Though phrased as a question, his tone made it sound like more of an order.
“You mean, would I go and meet her and talk about it?”
“Yes, exactly.” He nodded decisively. “I mean, obviously, we’ve sent someone over there this morning to brief them on the mechanics, but… Frankly, we need someone to go and explain to her that, well - this won’t be the occasion for heroics. We don’t want her and her husband…”
“…getting in the way?” She smiled sweetly. Those “heroics” helped saved the lives of thousands, you jumped-up little windbag.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“And you think she’ll listen to me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ms Tovitz tells me the two of you became friends whilst you were over here? The intelligence we have from John Durham-“ his mouth screwed up a little as he said the name, as if he’d just tasted something bitter “- is that he specifically asked his contacts in the Barayev organisation-“ again the screwed-up mouth “-to snatch Goren and Tovitz. You’re not the target, so they won’t be interested in you. It’s too unsafe to send Tovitz, and a visit from one of our officers could trigger suspicion if they were observed. You’re the most appropriate choice. I mean, we don’t need you to explain all the, ah, nuts and bolts of the operation - just discuss it with Mrs Simmons-McAllister, sound her out a little, ensure that she understands the importance of leaving it to the professionals…”
Oh, so now MI5 are deciding what I’ll do? Patronising bastards. She stomped on the thought as being unworthy. It was a reasonable thing to suggest, and it would get her out of the office, even if it wouldn’t be as worthwhile (or as much fun) as assisting Maldon.
“You’re sure this is safe?”
“Oh yes. We have their house under surveillance. The operation isn’t scheduled until 6pm tonight, and our observers report no sign of untoward activity, no-one in the area. Besides, in any case, the It should be perfectly safe. You’re armed, of course?”
“Yes. Very much so.” She smiled a little, watching him shift nervously.
“Okay, yes, I’ll do it.”
He sagged a little in relief. Looking at him closely, Eames guessed from his obvious youth that he had to be new to the Service, and was probably oscillating between the arrogance that his training had imbued him with - all spies secretly thought they were smarter than everyone else - and the uncomfortable realisation that she had been doing her job before he’d even graduated high school.
“Marvellous, thanks. The car is outside.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“We really need you to do this now. DI Maldon tells me that they won’t really need you for the next part of the meeting anyway.”
She forced herself to smile professionally. “Okay, I’ll go now - but I don’t think I should take a car. It’ll look odd if I take one of your cars to visit a friend when I’m just supposed to be going on a friendly visit.”
He frowned. “Hmm…”
“Trust me, I’ve done this before.”
“Okay, well… yes. I agree.”
“I’ll take the Tube.” Before he could change his mind, she was already heading for the door, her cellphone in her hand, ready to call Tanya’s number.
As she approached the door, she was waylaid by Maldon. “Um… I hear you’re just going out…”
“I have an errand to run,” she said, and hoped her irritation didn’t show in her voice. She was pleased to be going to see Tanya again, but these weren’t the circumstances she would have chosen.
“Of course, of course. Um… listen, I really would appreciate it if there’s any way you could help me.” He looked suddenly desperate.
“I will if I can,” she replied, and his face suddenly lit up.
“Really? That’s great. Fantastic. Ah, here’s my telephone number-” he handed her a piece of paper “-perhaps you can call me if you get a spare moment.”
Jesus, they must really be short-staffed if he’s that desperate. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”
As she headed out of the door, mentally reviewing the events of the past 24 hours, she mused wryly that she had never expected to find herself defending Andrew Davenport to Sienna Tovitz. Usually it was the other way around. She certainly didn’t particularly like Davenport, especially not after having several evenings in bars with Sienna, during which the conversation would inevitably get round to the topic of “why did Drew do that to me?”, and she would listen sympathetically (with just the occasional wish that Interpol would find Sienna a therapist who was actually good at their job, so she could move on and that she, Eames, wouldn’t have to keep listening to her going on about it).
Partly, she supposed, it was the fact that she’d saved his life, and there was always the wish for someone whose life you’d saved to turn out to be a good person, or at least not a bad person. More pertinently, whatever she thought of his personality, attitude or morals, Davenport was an experienced MI5 officer and knew more about the circumstances surrounding John Durham’s fall from grace than anyone else.
In the privacy of her own head, she’d often wondered whether Sienna had become so close to him because, let’s face it, there was just a slight similarity to Bobby there. What was it Jack McAllister had told her about the two of them? “She and Drew were nearly inseparable, in fact I used to think that if he was straight… anyway…” Bobby was nowhere near as callous as Davenport, but the two of them probably weren’t too far apart in terms of intelligence and cunning.
That being the case, she was deeply uneasy at the thought that this operation, an operation suggested by a man who was still technically an escaped criminal, was going ahead without the benefit of Davenport’s knowledge or judgement. Sienna seemed hell-bent on getting even with him, and with all their lives at stake, that could prove a fatal error.
She thought sardonically that at least she herself was safe. All the way over from New York to run errands for MI5 and the Metropolitan Police. She shook her head. Life sure takes you to some strange places.
Chapter no: 11.
Story: Betrayal’s End.
Warnings: None.
Rating: FRC
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of “Law and Order: Criminal Intent”, and acknowledge the rights of those who do. I will make no profit from this story.
*****
Counter-Terrorism Joint Task Force (MI5 / Metropolitan Police)
MI5 Headquarters, Thames House
London
11.30am
***
“Detective Eames, what do you think?”
What do I think? I think that I wish I’d had a lot more sleep, somewhere that wasn’t a crappy bunk bed. I think that, damnit, I miss Bobby. I hope he’s alright. And I’m severely concerned that Sienna seems so driven by the urge to exact revenge on her former friend that she could put both of them in jeopardy. And, much as it pains me to admit it, I think that not involving Davenport in this is a) stupid, and b) unfair to him. And - this is the really important point - I hate the fact that I’m kicking my heels here whilst I wait around to get the call to go join up with Sienna and Bobby for this half-assed plan to see if John Durham is a) telling the truth or b) a corrupt, dangerous, bastard.
Out loud, she replied: “I think that, based upon the evidence, it’s risky to assume the Newcomers knew anything about what actually occurred in the City of London stadium. I don’t think they were ever intended to be more than a smokescreen for the real operation. It was planned with military precision; they were a bunch of fanatical amateurs”.
DI Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, conceded the point and turned his gaze back toward the table in front of them all, where some of the key evidence gathered about the events at the City of London Stadium earlier that year was spread in front of her. Not all of it - that would have required several rooms - but the parts dealing with the sequence of events which she, Bobby and Sienna had been involved with, both before and after the fatal day. Presently, they were dealing with the intelligence they had pertaining to the “Newcomers” group, the small organisation of radical Islamic students used by the man behind the terror plot, Mikhail Andropov, as a smokescreen for his own plans to attack the stadium.
Eames sighed. She knew her thoughts were unprofessional, and that she had the reputation of the NYPD to uphold, but, truth be told, that was all that was keeping her from falling asleep in the meeting. Fortunately, she had managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep earlier that morning courtesy of DI Maldon, who had taken charge of her as soon as the meeting had concluded, ushering her to a small dormitory room within the cavernous interior of Thames House.
The accommodation was about the same standard as that at One Police Plaza, which was to say nowhere near as comfortable as the hotel bed she’d been dreaming of, but more than adequate for a short rest. Far too soon, though, he’d gently awoken her and informed her that they were due to start, apologising for being unable to let her rest for longer, but, time was of the essence… She’d dragged herself awake, made herself presentable (Maldon had magicked up a towel and some basic toiletries, probably borrowed from one of his female officers) and headed on into yet another meeting.
For professionalism’s sake, she made herself sit upright, appear concerned and eager to help, but realistically, what they were talking about could have been done over a video link. As a dedicated police officer, she was happy to help, but she just wanted the whole thing to be over with, so that she could go back home in the knowledge of a job well done, and enjoy Christmas with her family. At present, she was seated around a large circular conference table, along with several other police officers who had been working in and around the stadium that day. They were answering a series of questions on how the events of that day in July had unfolded. Eames understood the principle behind it; they were trying to recreate the events as best they could.
All of them had, of course, been interviewed earlier, shortly after the dust had settled, before memories started to become unreliable, and the data had been fed into an impressive computer simulation by the Metropolitan Police’s equivalent of the NYPD’s Crime Scene Unit. She had not let it show on her face, but she had been rather disturbed by the accuracy with which the software had recreated the stadium and the events that had occurred; it had been like travelling back in time.
They had warned them before starting that it might be a traumatic experience. Eames had privately scorned that at the time - they were all experienced officers, after all, not rookies - but she knew now that they hadn’t been joking. Having to watch it again and again, checking every last detail, answering question after question about where they had been, where the terrorists had been, how long it had taken before the roof collapsed completely… it was not a pleasant experience, and even worse for having to do it on her own with no Bobby or Sienna present to share the burden.
She understood why - Bobby was the one Durham had chosen to make contact through, and Sienna had to be present because of her history with Durham - but she secretly rather resented the irrational feeling that she was simply there as an appendage to Bobby. Particularly when she was missing out on a lot of the festive events she’d been looking forward to. The timing made relatively little difference to the British officers, of course, most of whom had not yet gone on leave for the festive season, but it was desperately annoying for she and Bobby, whose plans had had to be rearranged at short notice. She tried hard not to think about the family meal she would miss tonight, and ground her teeth.
If Bobby had been there, or even Sienna, it would have been a different matter. They could have kept each other going, laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness of it all and made plans to meet for food and / or a drink or two later. As it was, she was stuck here on her own. Maldon, who was chairing the meeting, caught her eye and smiled. She guessed that he’d seen her attention wandering, and forced herself to look bright and interested. He smiled more widely for a brief second, and she suddenly wondered if he was as tired of the long meetings as she was. Finally, the session ended, and everyone dispersed to get some refreshments. Everyone else, of course, knew the building far better than she did. She stood there for a few minutes, feeling lost, then Maldon walked over to her.
“Do you fancy getting some lunch together?” He smiled. “I’m afraid the cafeteria’s not up to much, but if you like I can get my secretary to find us some half-decent sandwiches from the deli over the road, and I have fresh coffee in my office.”
“Real coffee? Not out of a vending machine?”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t serve a New Yorker anything less.”
“Lead me to it.”
Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in Maldon’s office, chewing on a turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce sandwich, washed down with sips of mineral water and a latte (a latte! ) from the machine in Maldon’s office. They were chatting idly about the case, about their careers… he’d been in the police for twenty years, and, as he put it “have got about as far as I’m going to go, but I’m happy with it”, and was looking forward to retirement. When she’d remarked that he seemed a little young to retire, he’d smiled sadly and remarked “My wife’s not well”, and left it at that.
“So, do you think we’ll have everything here concluded by tomorrow?” she asked.
“Keen to get home, are you?” He smiled. “I don’t blame you… I hope so.”
“You hope so?” she asked, in what she hoped was a tone of polite interest, and not a tone of “you intend to keep us here for HOW LONG?”
“Well…” he pulled a slightly regretful face, “as ever, we’re a bit understaffed. I mean, you know what it’s like in the Christmas season - the crime rate rises just as half the force go off sick with flu…” She nodded in agreement “…so, I am trying to get everything here closed up, but it’s taking a bit longer than I expected. There’s still a few leads I’d like to follow up, make sure we have everything covered before we start the prosecutions… actually, I was wondering if I could enlist your help?” He smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, as I say, we still have a few leads to follow up. It’s mostly just background work, interviewing people who personally knew members of the Newcomers group. To be honest, I don’t think we’ll find anything now, but I’d like to be thorough. It’s mostly just going to addresses, knocking on doors, asking if they knew the people we’re interested in… Routine police work, but it’s better than sitting in here on our arses looking at computers.”
She smiled wryly. “I hear you, but don’t you have officers already working on this? I don’t have a warrant card to interview people on your behalf - I’m not a member of the Metropolitan Police or even a British citizen, doesn’t that give you legal problems if I turn anything useful up?”
“Oh, I can take care of that - we have arrangements in place to allow police officers from other countries to occasionally act as sworn officers whilst you’re over here. It has its limitations, but it’s acceptable for basic interviewing and information gathering. Really, I only need someone to find out if this person is still living where we last heard of her and if she recognises any of the people we’re interested in; anything more than that, and you can call me and I’ll get one of my officers to come and take over. It’s a little bit creative but-“ he pulled a wry face “- it should work, and I’d like to get the result. As for people working for me…” he pulled another wry face. “I do have a team, but the problem is that I’ve only got two female officers, and one’s just told me that she’s pregnant and needs to be confined to desk duty.”
“Why is that a problem… oh, wait. Let me guess, some of these leads are Muslim women?”
“Yes, and from what we’ve heard, from very traditional backgrounds. They aren’t going to be receptive to my sending white male officers round to their doors to talk to them alone, but a female officer in civilian clothes would be more acceptable.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Maldon suddenly looked nervous for a second, but only a second, and then his face was calm, so calm that she thought she must have misread his expression. “If you would, I’d be very grateful. We should be finishing up here soon, and then you could do it… it would really only be an hour’s work, just a short home visit.”
“Okay, okay!” She grinned. “Let me think.”
As they headed back in, she reflected that she was quite tempted to help Maldon out. Admittedly, she wouldn’t have Bobby with her, but it would be good to do some police work whilst she was over here that got her away from an endless succession of meeting rooms, arguments and paperwork. Not that she didn’t enjoy the intellectual challenge of solving puzzles with Bobby, but she had never been the type of officer to enjoy riding a desk. Right now the chance to get some fresh air and do some actual physical police work seemed like an opportunity dropped from heaven.
Then she remembered that she’d have to clear it with MI5 first, and her spirits sank. As if her thoughts had drawn him, the Five liaison officer she’d been appointed suddenly appeared in front of her, apparently out of thin air.
“Ah, Detective, I’ve been looking for you,” the young man remarked, rather pompously, as though he’d been searching the building for her rather than having walked a few paces down the corridor from the meeting room they’d been in earlier.
“Well, here I am,” she replied with a rather fake smile.
“I need to ask you to do something. Would you be willing to go and liaise with Tanya Simmons-McAllister about what we expect to happen later today?” Though phrased as a question, his tone made it sound like more of an order.
“You mean, would I go and meet her and talk about it?”
“Yes, exactly.” He nodded decisively. “I mean, obviously, we’ve sent someone over there this morning to brief them on the mechanics, but… Frankly, we need someone to go and explain to her that, well - this won’t be the occasion for heroics. We don’t want her and her husband…”
“…getting in the way?” She smiled sweetly. Those “heroics” helped saved the lives of thousands, you jumped-up little windbag.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“And you think she’ll listen to me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ms Tovitz tells me the two of you became friends whilst you were over here? The intelligence we have from John Durham-“ his mouth screwed up a little as he said the name, as if he’d just tasted something bitter “- is that he specifically asked his contacts in the Barayev organisation-“ again the screwed-up mouth “-to snatch Goren and Tovitz. You’re not the target, so they won’t be interested in you. It’s too unsafe to send Tovitz, and a visit from one of our officers could trigger suspicion if they were observed. You’re the most appropriate choice. I mean, we don’t need you to explain all the, ah, nuts and bolts of the operation - just discuss it with Mrs Simmons-McAllister, sound her out a little, ensure that she understands the importance of leaving it to the professionals…”
Oh, so now MI5 are deciding what I’ll do? Patronising bastards. She stomped on the thought as being unworthy. It was a reasonable thing to suggest, and it would get her out of the office, even if it wouldn’t be as worthwhile (or as much fun) as assisting Maldon.
“You’re sure this is safe?”
“Oh yes. We have their house under surveillance. The operation isn’t scheduled until 6pm tonight, and our observers report no sign of untoward activity, no-one in the area. Besides, in any case, the It should be perfectly safe. You’re armed, of course?”
“Yes. Very much so.” She smiled a little, watching him shift nervously.
“Okay, yes, I’ll do it.”
He sagged a little in relief. Looking at him closely, Eames guessed from his obvious youth that he had to be new to the Service, and was probably oscillating between the arrogance that his training had imbued him with - all spies secretly thought they were smarter than everyone else - and the uncomfortable realisation that she had been doing her job before he’d even graduated high school.
“Marvellous, thanks. The car is outside.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“We really need you to do this now. DI Maldon tells me that they won’t really need you for the next part of the meeting anyway.”
She forced herself to smile professionally. “Okay, I’ll go now - but I don’t think I should take a car. It’ll look odd if I take one of your cars to visit a friend when I’m just supposed to be going on a friendly visit.”
He frowned. “Hmm…”
“Trust me, I’ve done this before.”
“Okay, well… yes. I agree.”
“I’ll take the Tube.” Before he could change his mind, she was already heading for the door, her cellphone in her hand, ready to call Tanya’s number.
As she approached the door, she was waylaid by Maldon. “Um… I hear you’re just going out…”
“I have an errand to run,” she said, and hoped her irritation didn’t show in her voice. She was pleased to be going to see Tanya again, but these weren’t the circumstances she would have chosen.
“Of course, of course. Um… listen, I really would appreciate it if there’s any way you could help me.” He looked suddenly desperate.
“I will if I can,” she replied, and his face suddenly lit up.
“Really? That’s great. Fantastic. Ah, here’s my telephone number-” he handed her a piece of paper “-perhaps you can call me if you get a spare moment.”
Jesus, they must really be short-staffed if he’s that desperate. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”
As she headed out of the door, mentally reviewing the events of the past 24 hours, she mused wryly that she had never expected to find herself defending Andrew Davenport to Sienna Tovitz. Usually it was the other way around. She certainly didn’t particularly like Davenport, especially not after having several evenings in bars with Sienna, during which the conversation would inevitably get round to the topic of “why did Drew do that to me?”, and she would listen sympathetically (with just the occasional wish that Interpol would find Sienna a therapist who was actually good at their job, so she could move on and that she, Eames, wouldn’t have to keep listening to her going on about it).
Partly, she supposed, it was the fact that she’d saved his life, and there was always the wish for someone whose life you’d saved to turn out to be a good person, or at least not a bad person. More pertinently, whatever she thought of his personality, attitude or morals, Davenport was an experienced MI5 officer and knew more about the circumstances surrounding John Durham’s fall from grace than anyone else.
In the privacy of her own head, she’d often wondered whether Sienna had become so close to him because, let’s face it, there was just a slight similarity to Bobby there. What was it Jack McAllister had told her about the two of them? “She and Drew were nearly inseparable, in fact I used to think that if he was straight… anyway…” Bobby was nowhere near as callous as Davenport, but the two of them probably weren’t too far apart in terms of intelligence and cunning.
That being the case, she was deeply uneasy at the thought that this operation, an operation suggested by a man who was still technically an escaped criminal, was going ahead without the benefit of Davenport’s knowledge or judgement. Sienna seemed hell-bent on getting even with him, and with all their lives at stake, that could prove a fatal error.
She thought sardonically that at least she herself was safe. All the way over from New York to run errands for MI5 and the Metropolitan Police. She shook her head. Life sure takes you to some strange places.