Spy Dragon (Brodick Cold War Thriller Book 2) by John Fullerton

Author:John Fullerton [Fullerton, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Burning Chair Limited
Published: 2021-06-02T16:00:00+00:00

23

When a case officer and his or her agent meet, there are certain universal questions and answers that usually precede all other business. In this instance, Brodick wasn’t sure who was agent and who was case officer. Ostensibly he was both, and so was Fang. Or, to put it another way, it wasn’t yet clear to Brodick who would eventually take which role.

She was already waiting, having chosen a corner table near the windows on the far side, her back to the wall at the far end of the restaurant so she could see everyone else and, if she turned her head to the left, she had a view of the Mediterranean. In the dark, though, all that could be seen through the glass was the dense mass of water below a starlit sky and the rise and fall of white bars marking the waves as they rose and broke on the shore. Despite the chatter in the interior, the sea could still be heard through the panes of glass, a faint hiss.

On seeing her, Brodick ran through a range of feelings. Instinctively, his first glimpse of her pleased him, excited him. This was followed by a nervousness approaching on dread. He felt danger, a sense of the threat she posed. Not being someone who spent time analysing his instinctive responses to others, Brodick had little idea why he felt any of it.

The Spaghetteria Italia wasn’t that busy. The tables nearest Fang were so far unoccupied and that would make conversation easier and safer. Whether or not the Spaghetteria was full depended on the state of the war outside: sometimes, during a prolonged lull in hostilities, lasting days or even as long as a fortnight, it was packed and clients had to book a table well ahead. When it was really bad, or the fighting was in the neighbourhood, it was empty or very nearly empty. Just occasionally, it had shut down.

‘I’m sorry I’m late. Have you been here long?’

’My people found you, then.’ She didn’t answer his question. She didn’t even look at him, but past him as if she wanted to see who took interest in his arrival at her table.

Brodick pulled out a chair.

‘They followed me from my office. They didn’t seem to mind the fireworks.’

‘They’re used to it. It seems to have stopped; did you notice?’

He took a seat on her left, his back to the windows. He would have liked to have had a view of the sea, but there was in any case little to see out there and he would have felt very uncomfortable with his back to the entrance as well as to other diners.

Now she looked him over. ’I hope they didn’t alarm you.’

Brodick shook his head. There had been just the one word on the slip of paper: Spaghetteria. And the time: 21.30. It was now 21.55.

Brodick kicked off with the standard preliminaries of a treff. ’How long have you got?’

‘I always have time for you.’ Her mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

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