Counterspy by Matthew Dunn

Author:Matthew Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

THE FOLLOWING MORNING I drove back to the safe house to collect the rest of my belongings. Patrick and his team had left the farm thirty minutes ago. His CIA specialists had spent hours sanitizing the field of all traces of what had happened there. Paramedics had removed Sahir’s body for cremation. The FBI officer had taken Isabella to a hospital, where she would be treated and monitored before being made to sign nondisclosure documents and flown back home to Argentina.

The sun was out and I was glad, because it meant I didn’t have to worry about being killed. Plus, tonight I was going to take Chrissie out for dinner. When I’d asked Patrick about her, he’d told me that she was still at the safe house, adding, “Why wouldn’t she be? She can’t cover your ass from any other place.” As I’d been about to leave the farm, he’d shaken my hand, given me the very slightest of wry smiles, and said, “Tomorrow, I want you on a plane out of here.”

I knew Patrick wouldn’t discipline Chrissie for helping me. She was too valuable to the Agency, and in any case I suspected Patrick was glad that I’d confronted Trapper and established that I was no longer under immediate threat. Patrick and my MI6 controller had told me that a big operation was looming and they needed me for the job. They couldn’t afford to keep me in hiding much longer.

I stopped my car outside the safe house. It was the time of day when the ordinarily quiet residential street should have been showing some signs of life—­­people going to work or doing school runs. But it was dead. I decided that the occupants of the street must all be retirees who did nothing more productive all day than watch TV. I wondered if that’s what I’d be doing in thirty plus years’ time. I doubted it.

I was delighted to see that Chrissie’s car was outside. If she wasn’t already awake, I’d start cooking some breakfast to entice her downstairs—­play housewife, as she called it; prove to her that I was a modern man who’s good around the house.

I unlocked the front door and entered the house. The kitchen radio was playing samba music, so Chrissie must be up, I thought. I imagined her shamelessly wiggling her hips in time to the beat and then stopping and feeling a bit embarrassed when I caught her. “Honey, I’m home,” I called out.

She didn’t answer. Music’s too loud, I thought.

I removed my jacket and decided that I needed to take a long soak in the bath. I felt grimy and didn’t want Chrissie to have to hang around a man who’d spent the whole night in clothes sodden with rain and sweat.

She wasn’t in the kitchen; she was probably taking a shower. Damn. Now I had a mental image of her naked.

I made myself a black coffee and tried not to burn my mouth as I drank it fast to get a much-­needed hit of caffeine.

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