Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen : A Novel (9781101565766) by Caplan Thomas

Author:Caplan, Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2011-12-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-seven

Oliver stood in the windowless reception room of NATO HQ in Gibraltar. Recessed in the gunmetal wall behind protective glass were dioramas portraying important moments in the history of British Gibraltar. Each featured elaborate ships’ models and multitudes of miniature sailors and soldiers. Oliver was studying one entitled The Relief of Gibraltar by Admiral Lord Howe, 11th–18th October 1782 when the receptionist, a sturdy female lieutenant in dress uniform, said, “Commander Molyneux.”

“Yes.”

The receptionist looked toward a door on her left, one that would have appeared more at home in a Georgian house than an aboveground seaside cave.

Seconds later the door opened outward and laughter could be heard as Admiral Giles Cotton escorted his guest, an adviser to the island’s chief minister, to the exit. “Tell me that one again,” the Gibraltarian said. “I want to be sure I’ve got it right. ‘What’s the difference between a vitamin and a hormone?’ That’s it, isn’t it?”

Giles Cotton nodded. “You can’t hear a vitamin,” he whispered, making a display of his discretion in front of the receptionist.

No sooner had the visitor withdrawn than the receptionist, interrupting her commanding officer’s stride, said, “Admiral, Commander Molyneux is here to see you.”

“Oh, yes indeed. I nearly forgot,” replied Giles Cotton, who approached Oliver, offered his hand, and said, “Come this way, won’t you, Commander?”

Oliver followed him as the heavy paneled door closed with quiet precision.

“It’s counterbalanced,” Admiral Cotton explained, having noted Oliver’s reaction. “It has to be, since beneath the shiny veneer it’s armor plate.”

The left wall of the corridor was transparent yet soundproof, affording a comprehensive view of a high-tech office wherein dark composite desks and state-of-the-art terminals arranged in pods stretched as far as Oliver could see. The absence of the normal hum of a work environment made the large room seem farther away than it was and eerie, as though it were being spied upon, its occupants’ privacy violated. The wall on their right was cave rock, formed of long, uneven ledges in which openings that had once been gun emplacements were now sealed with thick glass. Pausing before one of these, Oliver took in a sweeping panorama of the straits, with Arabia in the distance, then noticed that in a few of the lower emplacements video cameras had been set up, pointed at the sea.

On a wall of Admiral Cotton’s office the input from these and other cameras was displayed in a chessboard of monitors. Opposite, behind his desk, hung an enormous oil painting in an elaborate gilt frame. Oliver recognized it as The Defeat of the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar, 1782 by John Copley. “That can’t be the original,” he said, “can it?”

“I fear not, but it’s a very fine copy,” Admiral Cotton replied. “The original hangs in the Guildhall in London. Have a seat, Commander.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve come all this way from Legoland,” Admiral Cotton said, referring to the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service, on the Albert Embankment of the Thames. “I am sure there must be a good reason.

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