“And we are helping her, Pope. We gave her Joshua Joyce in Somalia. That took some fancy footwork. The Americans were not pleased.”

“The hostages would all have been dead if it wasn’t for her. The SEALs had given up.”

“That might be true, but they don’t like being blindsided. And they had no idea.”

Pope ignored that. “Let’s be honest about this, sir. We’re only helping her with Duffy because it is in our best interests and because she’s agreed to do our dirty work for us. She’s engaged in SIS work and she’s not a serving agent, sir. That makes me very uncomfortable.”

“And it’s for the best that she isn’t an agent. Those oilfields are a very big prize. Billion-pound assets. Washington is heavily invested in them.”

That was true, but it didn’t make it right, and Pope suppressed a sigh of impatience. “We’re not helping her enough. She’ll need backup in Iraq.”

“And I told you, we can’t be seen to be involved.”

“There are ways around that . . .”

Stone held up a hand impatiently. “Your concerns have already been noted, Control. Let’s not rehash old ground again. It’s tedious. We give her the minimum amount needed. Twelve has no active record. No one knows who he is. He’s completely deniable. If he gets caught, then we have no idea who he is or what he’s doing there. If Rose gets caught, then we say she was going after Bryan Duffy and it has nothing to do with us. It’s perfect. You, though, are different. You are known. If you got caught, if the State Department found out who you are and why you were there, trying to interfere with American contracts, the result would be very unpleasant. That’s a full-blown diplomatic incident, and I guarantee you we would be completely and utterly buggered. So let me be as clear about this as I can be. I don’t want there to be any ambiguity. You are not, repeat not, to be involved in any meaningful, practical capacity. You are not to be on the ground. I don’t even want you dreaming about Basra. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean it, Control.”

“I understand.”

“And she’s a big girl. I’m sure she can sort herself out.”

Pope gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.” He went around to the other side of his desk and sat down.

“What about Chisholm?” Stone asked.

“There’s not much left of her. Beatrix paid her a visit. Followed her home last night, camped out and then took care of it this morning.”

“How?”

“Left a bomb under her car.”

“Not quite as . . . visceral as the other two.”

“I don’t think she cares how they go, sir. She’s not into causing them suffering. She isn’t a sadist. The way she sees it, they’ve done her wrong, and now they have to pay. It’s like a ledger. An eye for an eye. Simple accounting.”

“The police?”

“They’re investigating. They won’t find anything. Rose is an expert. It’s clean.”