“Because I think I saw her.”

“Where?”

“There was another protest yesterday. Not as bad as before; we kept it under wraps, but I saw someone in the crowd. It might have been her.”

“You think? It might? You need to be sure.”

“I’m not sure. I know I’ve been thinking about it a lot since we talked about her, about Spenser and Chisholm and Joyce, and I know it’s possible I’m seeing things when there’s nothing to see. But I’m pretty sure I saw a Western woman, medium height, slender build. Blonde hair.”

“You think?” Control said again.

“There was another sighting. One of our patrols, just outside the facility—they pulled over an SUV with a blonde woman inside. She had papers for onward travel, but they had been faked. She said she was a journalist. BBC.”

“And?”

“And so I checked with them. They don’t have anyone in Basra. They haven’t had anyone here for a month. I showed the men who pulled the SUV her picture. And they think . . .”

“I need something better than that!” he snapped.

“And they think, high probability, that it’s her.”

Control glared into the camera. “I’m not going to pull you out of there on the basis of that. It’s not enough.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to pull me out.”

“So why are you bothering me with this?”

Because you asked.

Because you need to know, too.

Because if she crosses a line through my name, you might be next.

Duffy bit his lip. Control’s temper had been much worse since Milton and Rose had wiped out the team in Russia and forced him into hiding. That was understandable enough. If Rose was working her way through a Kill List, then his name was right at the top.

“Look, I just wanted you to know,” he said. “If it is her, at least I’m forewarned. We’re forewarned. I’m not going anywhere. She won’t be able to get the jump on me like she did with Joyce. We’re looking for her now. The shoe is on the other foot. We know she’s coming.”

“Have you started?”

“I’ve got men at the hotels. We’ll try them all. She has to be staying somewhere.”

“It won’t be as easy as that. She was good, Duffy. The best until John Milton. Maybe even better than him.”

And she’s just one person in a place that we control, Duffy thought. A place we have flooded with soldiers. And we know she’s coming. It doesn’t matter how good she is.

He paused. “Did you find anything out about where she went after Somalia?”

Control frowned. “Only two leads. Someone who looks very like her flew out of Kenya. There were only a handful of flights out that day. Fuel spill on the taxiway shut the airport down. Casablanca or Durban look like possibilities. We’ve got men looking into it.”

Duffy nodded and cracked his knuckles. “That’s all I had for you, sir. Thank you.”