Greg Rucka - A gentleman_s game

She shook her head. "But presumably it pertains to the notification folderol of last night."

Crocker reached for the cup, nodded. "Ring him back, arrange it. Before noon, if at all possible."

"Right away."

He drank his coffee, considering. His intent had been to go to C first thing this morning and demand an explanation for Box's behavior toward Chace. But Kinney's desire to meet changed the priorities; if he could get an answer that way, it was infinitely better than having another go-round with C. At the same time, Kinney's request only made him more suspicious of the whole affair. Kinney was as territorial as anyone in the Home Office: he'd never make a request of SIS unless he had no alternative.

Or something to gain.

The intercom on his desk emitted its strangled cry for attention.

"What?"

"Minder One to see you, sir."

"She's out there now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wheel her in."

He put down the cup and lit his first cigarette of the day, watching as Kate opened the door for Chace. Chace already had coffee, Crocker noted, as well as a smile.

"Morning, Boss," she said.

"Anything you two need?" Kate asked.

"Privacy," Crocker said.

Chace seemed mildly amused by this, watching over her shoulder until Kate had shut the door, before sitting, coffee in both hands. Her smile grew as she studied Crocker across his desk.

"Someone's been in my flat," she told him.

"Several someones, according to your personnel file."

"All lies. I never take them back to my place."

"You're sure?"

"Oh, yes."

She said it with the kind of certainty Crocker normally heard used for pronouncements of death.

"There's more," Chace said.

"Do tell."

"I'm being targeted, full job. Four teams on me last night when I nipped out to do some shopping. They've been at my mail, my phones, all of it." Chace's smile got even bigger, and it gave the chill in her eyes that much more of an edge. "I'd be willing to bet they've put cameras in my home."

"They?"

Chace drained her cup, set it on Crocker's desk, fished for her cigarettes. "Well, I'm hoping it's Mr. Kinney and his lads, though I wouldn't object to the PRC trying to honey-trap me."

"Not very likely, though, is it?"

Her lighter clicked closed, and she slipped it back into her pocket, blowing smoke at the ceiling and flopping back in the chair. The smile was still in place.

"No, it really isn't, is it?" Chace said sweetly.

She's livid, Crocker thought.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Oh, I know you can't tell me anything, Boss," Chace said. "Box going through my unmentionables for the second time in two, three months, you're not allowed to say if I'm being checked. Again. Defeats the purpose of them trying to catch me being a rotten apple if you warn me that's what they're doing. Trust me, I understand that. You're certainly not allowed to say if Box is suddenly twitchy with me in the wake of the slaughter in San'a', or even if I should return all those Biros I stole from Kate's desk. I know that."

Crocker waited. Chace gave him the gleeful smile for five seconds longer, then took another drag off her cigarette, leaned forward again, and jabbed it out in his ashtray. She rose, taking the empty cup.

"I just wanted you to know that I know," she said cheerfully. "I'll be in the Pit." • Kinney arrived at seventeen minutes past nine, Kate ushering him in, and Crocker liked that even less. Seventeen past nine, it meant that Kinney had come straightaway, that he'd been waiting to hear from Kate, waiting to come over for the meeting.

Crocker didn't bother to get up but decided it would be pushing things too far not to offer the other man a seat. He waved at the chairs.

"Please," Crocker said.

"Not necessary," Kinney said. "Wanted to look in on you, apologize for any confusion."

"I'm not confused."

"Clerical bloody error, Crocker. Should have my PA's hands cut off."

"They happen."

"Wanted to say it's nothing for you to worry about."

"I'd like to determine that for myself."

"And I'm here to say you don't have to bother."

They stared at each other.

Bastard, Crocker thought. Bastard, you're scared now, you blew it, whatever it was, and you're trying to get the milk back in the bottle now.

He kept it from his face. If Kinney didn't know that Chace had made the surveillance, it wasn't going to be Crocker who corrected Kinney's error.

"No need to worry Chace about it," Kinney said finally. "No need to worry anyone, really."

"You seem to think I'm a bundle of nerves, David," Crocker said. "I was concerned last night, but the Deputy Chief set me straight. Besides, you wouldn't dare put surveillance on one of the Minders without notifying me first. You wouldn't break that rule."

"And risk starting another Home Office-Foreign Office battle for supremacy?" Kinney's laugh was short and thick, much like the man from which it emanated. "No, never. My concern was only that you might take it the wrong way. You do tend to overreact."

Crocker shook his head slightly. "You came crosstown to tell me this?"

"We've had difficulties in the past. I didn't want this to turn into anything ugly."

"Why should it?" Crocker evaded. "You vetted Chace in July, and she cleared. You'll vet her again, and she'll clear again. As long as I'm notified when you're putting the lens on my people, you're free to spy on whomever you desire. Within your boundaries, of course."

Kinney's expression flickered, as if caught for a second in a strobe, and Crocker could see him thinking. Each of them was lying to the other, and Crocker suspected now that each of them knew that was the case, and still Kinney was trying to make like they were friends. If the stakes weren't so very high, it would have struck Crocker as ridiculous, even laughable, that they were so committed to their deceptions. But it wasn't funny, if for no other reason than that David Kinney was as much of a zealot in the Security Services as Paul Crocker was at SIS.

"Well, then," Kinney said finally. "I won't take more of your time."

"Kate will show you out," Crocker said, and he keyed his intercom, waited, and then watched as Kate entered and led Kinney from the room.

Once the door was closed, Crocker sat back in his chair, turned it to look out the tinted window, past the leaded curtains, at the rain drifting down on London.

He didn't come here to try to cover it up, Crocker realized. He's not that stupid. He wasn't here to try to convince me of anything.

He came to see exactly how much I know.

It bothered Crocker that he didn't seem to know anything.

He reached back to the desk, keyed the intercom again.

"Master?" Kate said from the speaker.

"Call Cheng," Crocker said. "Find out if she's free for lunch."

When in doubt, Crocker thought, coming off the intercom, go to the CIA. Even if they don't know the truth, their lies are always better than our own.

London-Mayfair, the Hole 16 September 1226 GMT Crocker assumed that Cheng picked the restaurant because it was unrelentingly strange. Wedged on a side street six blocks south of Grosvenor Square, in a house that had been built in the 1660s-and with all the low ceilings, cramped quarters, and exposed beams that that implied-the Hole was, as best as he could tell from the menu, a Scottish/Polish/Mexican restaurant, specializing in pierogi, salmon, and fajitas. The walls bristled with antique weapons and black-and-white framed photographs of American movie stars from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, and a boom box behind the bar on the ground level played Big Band tunes much too loud for the speakers'-or the patrons'-comfort.

Cheng was already seated and working on a plate of smoked salmon when he arrived, and she had to get up from the table to give him room to pass. He was tall enough that contortions were required before he could adequately seat himself, and even then he had to watch his elbows for fear of alternately ramming them into the wall or clipping glassware and sending it to the floor.