thought we were waiting for someone?” said Eva.
“We are,” replied Miss Bennett. “But he’s late. So we’ll start without him.”
Eva pulled her ponytail tighter to stop her reddish-brown hair falling about her neck, and brought out a notepad and pencil from the top pocket of her shirt. She was sitting at a glass conference table big enough for twelve, but for now there were only three.
Miss Bennett was to her immediate right, sitting totally upright. Her hair was also pulled back in a tight ponytail, but it was longer than Eva’s and, Eva thought, glossier. At times Eva almost wondered whether Miss Bennett became more beautiful with every cruel act.
Miss Bennett sifted through a pile of folders, all of them plain brown apart from the NJ7 emblem on the front – a short, vertical green stripe. Then she produced a tiny digital recorder and placed it at the centre of the table. She pressed a button, cleared her throat and began, in a business-like tone:
“Present is NJ7 Field Agent Mitchell Glenthorne and Support Staff Eva Doren…”
She continued with some of the details of the meeting, while Eva watched Mitchell, sitting directly opposite her. His eyes were downcast, as they often were, but his shoulders seemed to grow broader, pumped with pride at hearing himself described as a ‘field agent’.
“Oh, and also present is myself, of course,” Miss Bennett added. “Miss Bennett, Director of NJ7.”
As she finished, a shadow fell across the table. Standing in the doorway was an incredibly tall man. Eva thought he was the tallest man she had ever seen, but he didn’t look strong or muscly. He was so thin Eva wondered whether someone had stretched him out when he was a teenager. He had to stoop to enter the room.
“Ah,” Miss Bennett said, leaning back and giving a dry smile. “It looks like our guest has decided to join us.”
The tall man didn’t respond, but took the seat directly opposite Miss Bennett. His features looked vaguely Indian, with a nose that was the same shape as the rest of him – long and thin. His hair was dark black and shaved on the sides of his head, which made him look even taller.
“Do we have to have a kid at every meeting?” the man asked, even before he had pushed his legs under the table. He stared at Eva. She felt her heart pounding, but didn’t flinch. She’d learned to hide her emotions. “I can understand the need for Mitchell to be here, but, erm…”
“Eva,” said Eva. She felt the urge to stand up, but resisted. It would only have made her feel even more tiny opposite this giant. Instead she dropped her eyes to her notepad and started scribbling.
“Eva plays a vital part in the running of NJ7,” Miss Bennett explained, “and in particular my office.”
“Isn’t it time we sent her home?” the man protested.
“From what I understand her parents think she’s dead.” Only now did Eva look up. Look homesick, she told herself. She was surprised at how easily the fake emotion came to her. Was it fake? Play the part. Be the loyal little girl. She could almost feel Mitchell’s examining gaze, but kept her own fixed on this new man’s face.
“How long are you going to maintain that… situation?” he asked.
“Indefinitely,” Miss Bennett snapped back. “Someone of your background must know how useful it is for the world to think you’re dead. By the way, what is your background?”
Eva relaxed a little. Miss Bennett was an expert at manipulating the conversation. It was a thrill to have someone so powerful on her side. The man had no answer. He just gave a reluctant smile, lips pressed together.
It was Mitchell who filled the silence.
“Without Eva,” he explained, “we would never have been able to kill Jimmy Coates in New York.”
Now Eva’s heart rate leapt again, but this time with elation. Mitchell was still watching her. She made sure that her face revealed nothing. You serve your country, she repeated in her head, telling herself lies to fool her body. Jimmy was a traitor. At the same time every sinew buzzed with joy that her friend had escaped New York in secret – and alive.
At last the man gave a small shrug and pulled out his files.
“This is William Lee,” Miss Bennett announced to Eva and Mitchell. “The new Director of Special Security. He replaces Paduk.”
The tall man offered his hand to them with an over-the-top grin, revealing a shiny regiment of teeth. Eva shook his hand, but Mitchell refused it. They had no choice about the grin.
“You’ve been appointed already?” Mitchell asked, confused. “Paduk’s body is still warm. Probably. Wherever it is.”
“It’s highly unlikely that his body is still warm,” Lee replied calmly, “now that he’s scattered in tiny pieces around ten square kilometres of the North Sea. Not to mention all of the bits of him that were probably consumed by fish…”
“Thanks for the graphic sketch,” Miss Bennett interrupted. “I think we get the picture.”
“Which picture is that exactly?” asked Lee sarcastically. “The one in which our largest oil rig explodes? The one where my predecessor bumbles into a rescue job and gets himself blown up? Or the one where our economy and energy infrastructure will struggle to recover?”
There was silence and they all avoided each other’s eyeline.
“That’s one of the things we need to discuss, isn’t it?” Miss Bennett muttered, gesturing at her files.
“Go ahead,” said Lee.
Miss Bennett pulled out several sheets of paper and spread them around the table. Eva leaned forward to have a look, but she’d seen them already. Some were photographs of the remains of the oil rig, but most were closely-typed pages – the report from the SAS. They all bore the same bold green stripe.
“According to my forensic team,” Miss Bennett began, “all the evidence suggests it was a botched sabotage job carried out by a single agent.”
“One agent?” Lee confirmed. “An agent who didn’t intend to blow himself up as well as the rig, yes?”
“It was a girl,” Mitchell cut in. Everybody turned to him.
“Mitchell was there,” Miss Bennett explained. “Part of the SAS team.”
“I see,” mumbled Lee. “And you saw the agent?” Mitchell nodded.
“She was masked and covered in oil, but from her size and capabilities, it was definitely Zafi.”
“Zafi is…” William Lee took a moment to consult one of the pages in his own files. “…the French child assassin, correct? Mitchell’s counterpart? Another genetically modified humanoid assassin?” He grunted a dry laugh.
“Humanoid?” Mitchell exclaimed in horror. “What do you—”
“Yes.” Miss Bennett cut him off sharply. “Zafi is the French child assassin.”
“Was,” Mitchell corrected. “She was blown up with the rig, remember?”
“Do we have her body?” Lee asked brightly.
“I said she was blown up. You know – kaboom!” Mitchell gestured an explosion with his hands. “As in ‘scattered in tiny pieces around ten square kilometres of the North Sea’. Do you want me to hunt down all those fish you were talking about and make them give excrement samples?”
“OK, fine. So the French blew up the oil rig, but now at least their operative is dead. The question is, how do we strike back?”
“The PM has my dossier on that,” said Miss Bennett.
“The PM has read your dossier. But I’m