Crisis Four by Andy McNab

to comb the stuff.
    She was wearing a very smart, sensible, grey two-piece that looked as if it had cost a fortune; it would have been economical in the long run, however, because she probably wore it every third day, alternating it with the two other equally expensive outfits she bought every year in the Harvey Nichols sale. Under her jacket was a blouse with a long scarf attached, which was tied into a bow. The smart but practical look was complemented by an almost total lack of make-up – it probably took too long in the morning to put it on, and she couldn’t be bothered with that: she had a country to protect.
    I made a half-turn back towards Lynn so that I only had to move my head to see each of them. There was silence for about half a minute, broken by the rustling of a newspaper in the front. I glanced to my left and saw the driver’s huge neck sitting on a very wide back and slightly hanging over his collar. I could see part of his face in the rear-view mirror; his pale skin and near-Slavic looks gave the game away: he was a Serb, no doubt promised passports for his entire family if he spied for us during the Bosnian war. This guy would now be more loyal to the UK than most Brits, myself included.
    Still we just sat there. Elizabeth was looking at me; I was looking at her. Come on, I thought, let’s get on with it. It always felt as if they were toying with me.
    It was Lynn who kicked off. ‘We haven’t seen you for a long time, Nick. How’s life?’
    As if he cared. ‘No complaints. How long am I going to be away?’
    ‘It will depend on how quickly you can get the task done. Listen to what Elizabeth has to say.’
    Elizabeth was primed, ready to go; she didn’t even have notes. She levelled her gaze on me, and said, ‘Sarah Greenwood.’ It was delivered more as a question than a statement, and her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she was expecting an answer.
    My reaction when I heard the name surprised me. I felt as if I’d just been told I had a fatal disease. My hard drive was spinning. Was she dead? Had she fucked up? Had she got me in trouble? Had she been lifted? I wasn’t going to show these people anything more than I had to; I tried to remain casual and unconcerned, but all I really wanted to do was ask, ‘Is she OK?’
    She said, ‘You know her, I believe?’
    ‘Of course I know her – by that name anyway.’ I didn’t say how I knew her name, or what jobs I’d done with her. I didn’t know how much Elizabeth knew, so I just played it straight, which is always the best thing to do. In my experience, the less you say, the less drama you get yourself into. It’s good having two ears, but even better to have just one mouth.
    ‘Well, it seems that she has disappeared – and of her own accord.’
    I looked at her, waiting for the follow-on, but she let it hang. I didn’t exactly know what she was getting at, yet she was looking at me as if I should know.
    Lynn saw the problem. ‘Let me explain, Nick.’
    As I turned my head towards Lynn, I caught him just finishing eye contact with Elizabeth. He was playing the peacemaker here.
    He said, ‘Two years ago, Sarah Greenwood was posted to the Washington desk. You are aware of that?’
    Of course I was. I always tried to keep tabs on where she was and how she was getting on, though I never kidded myself that the interest was mutual. I’d half hoped that she’d make an appearance during my debrief over last year’s fuck-up in the States, but she didn’t. I realized he was still waiting for an answer. ‘No, not really.’
    There was a pause as Lynn glanced again at Elizabeth. It looked as if he needed the nod to continue; he must have got it, because he said, ‘Sarah has been UK liaison with the Counter-terrorism Center, a new intelligence cell set up by the CIA to provide warnings against potential terrorist attacks. It’s a central clearing house, if you like, for intelligence on terrorism worldwide. Here is the problem. As Elizabeth has