Greg Rucka - A gentleman_s game

"He didn't say that."

"No, he said get the Minders the hell up here now, but I thought my version was more polite."

"More florid, at least," Chace said. "We'll be right up." • Kate ushered them into D-Ops's office, and Chace led the way inside to find Crocker standing behind his desk, surrounded by a cloud of his cigarette smoke and speaking on the telephone. With the hand holding the cigarette, he waved for the Minders to come in and then waved a second time, dismissing Kate, all the while listening intently to whoever was speaking on the other end of the line.

Kate closed the door behind them, and Chace motioned for Lankford and Poole to take the two chairs already positioned in front of the desk, then moved to the corner to push the third chair closer, for her own use. As she did, she glanced at Crocker's desk and the red folder waiting there. She could read quite well upside down-another skill acquired as a child-and solely from the labeling at the top, she knew that conops had at last arrived.

She settled into the chair, Lankford and Poole to her right, wondering what it meant that Crocker had brought them all upstairs for the news, and not her alone. The job had been promised to her, and she didn't like the idea that things had changed, and that it might now be up for grabs.

"I can't mount an operation based on that, Simon," Crocker was saying. "No, I understand that it's hard to get reliable intelligence out of the region, but until we have a confirmation on his location, I'm not committing anyone to the field."

From the corner of her eye, Chace saw Lankford shoot a curious glance her way. She shrugged, and he slid his attention back to Crocker, shifting in the chair, trying to relax.

"We'll talk about it later," Crocker told the phone, then slapped the receiver back into its cradle, harder than was necessary. He put the cigarette to his lips, drawing on it and looking over the three of them, and then, exhaling, he said, "Each of you is heading out to the School for a refresher. I don't want to drain the Pit, so you'll go one at a time, starting tomorrow, and starting with Minder One."

"Why me?" Chace asked.

"Because the last time you were at the School, Ed was still alive," Crocker snapped. "Because I bloody said so, that's why. I've talked to Jim Chester, he knows you're coming. You'll do the course over two days, first day standard, second day active drills. You're the damn Special Section, I expect your scores to be five point oh, nothing less. That's for each of you."

All three of them nodded, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Crocker focused on Poole. "And don't think the SAS attitude is going to help you. Last time you took the motor course, you barely passed. Not again, Nicky."

"No, sir," Poole said with such seriousness he was clearly mocking Crocker. Chace found herself looking at her knees in order to hide her smile.

"And as for you, Chris, I remind you that despite the events of two weeks ago, your status as Minder Three remains Provisional, pending approval by your Head of Section and me. I've given Chester the quick brief on that arsing up you had in St. Petersburg, and he'll be watching you."

Lankford nodded, then added, "Very good, sir."

Crocker glared at each of them in turn, then stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and took his seat, drawing the chair in closer to the desk, sitting up straight. He was tall to begin with, and with them all seated opposite, it had the desired effect of making each feel like a reprimanded schoolchild, or so it seemed to Chace.

"Her Majesty's Government has today supplied me with a directive to locate and neutralize Dr. Faud bin Abdullah al-Shimmari," Crocker informed them. "The action is to be undertaken at the earliest feasible opportunity and will be carried out by a member of the Special Section. When this window opens, it'll be one of you who's going through it.

"This means, with the exception of the refresher at the School, you're to stay in London. No leave, no sick days, I don't care if your pet bunny Flossy kicks it, you're on call. Each of you is to brief on Faud, his associations, his history, his movements, all of it. Since we don't know what may turn out to be relevant, all of it is relevant.

"Right now, Faud is presumed to be at his home in Jeddah, though we're still awaiting confirmation of that. If he is, he's safe, and will remain safe as long as he stays in Saudi. Our window will come only when he leaves the country, for whatever reason."

"How likely is that to happen, sir?" Lankford asked.

"He's been known to travel in the region. Visited Egypt last year, and Sudan in late 2001. There's a good chance he'll be moving again shortly."

"Not if he thinks he's a target," Poole said.

"We already know he thinks he's a target," Chace said. "The question is, how much of one? Is he wearing body armor beneath his thobe, that's the question."

Poole grinned lazily. "Head shots all 'round, then."

"He's guarded, we know that much, has been ever since the attempt on his life in 1996," Crocker said. "It was tribal-motivated, but since then, he's never seen in public without security. Minimum of four bodyguards, sometimes as many as twice that. Whether he knows he's caught our attention now, we've no way of ascertaining, but he'd be a fool if he didn't think we were looking at him after what happened on the seventh."

"And we know he's not a fool," Chace murmured.

"He's in his seventies, isn't he?" Lankford asked suddenly.

"Seventy-three or seventy-five, depending on the source," Crocker confirmed.

"Maybe we can scare him to death," Poole offered. "Send Tara at him in a short skirt and halter top, that should cause a little cardiac arrest."

"Or fishnets," Lankford added. "Short skirt with fishnets ought to do the trick."

"That's enough," Crocker said, and Chace was grateful, because it meant she didn't have to.

Lankford and Poole went quiet.

"Does conops specify method?" Chace asked.

"At discretion, but it'll have to be precise. HMG is anxious to minimize any collateral damage, so anything short of a sniper shot or a bullet at point-blank is probably out of the question."

"Hence the refresher course."

"Hence the refresher course, yes," Crocker echoed. "So now you know what we're waiting on, I suggest you get to it. Go on, get out."

There was a clatter as three chairs moved in unison, the Minders rising, murmuring "Yes, sir," and "Thank you, sir." Chace took the time to move the third chair back to its place in the corner, fell in last behind Poole as the others headed out the door. She followed them as far as the hallway, then tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll catch up," she told Poole, then turned back into the outer office. Kate glanced up from her terminal, her fingers still flying over the keyboard, arching an eyebrow. Chace grinned at her as she went past. Crocker had swiveled his seat to scowl at London beyond the window, working a fresh cigarette, the ashtray resting on a bony knee.

Chace rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. "Boss?"

He didn't move. "Close it."

She shut the door quietly behind her, then approached the desk. The tang of the tobacco in the air settled at the back of her throat and she felt the crawling memory of addiction. She'd quit smoking almost a year before, and still the cravings could be enough to make her want to commit a little GBH at times.

As if taunting her, Crocker flicked ash into the tray. "I don't want to hear it."

"It's mine."

"Until we know where, we don't know how. Until we know how, we don't know who. If it's going to be close quarters, Poole's a better choice."

"I can kill a man as well as the next guy," Chace said mildly.

"It's a matter of strength, Tara, and Nicky's stronger than you are. If it's neck-breaking, it'll have to be him."